Chapter 21: Her Mother Taught Her to Apologize Part 3
"Lions don't lose sleep over the opinion of sheep."
-Imam al-Shafi'i
He didn't even have the decency to be surprised when he walked into his home to find the woman sitting casually on his couch. She looked over at him momentarily, but then continued to scan the pages of the book in her hands. A moment, a page flip, a fold of the corner of the page she was on, and he had her full attention.
(and what an exhilarating feeling that was, he reveled, despite still healing from his early lessons with the woman)
"I scouted out the school, and the battle is taking place inside. They've taken precautions, due to the last battle's... outcome." Steel eyes met abyssal ones with challenge.
"Which means?"
"The onlookers will be placed in a secured location and watch the battle on monitors." The distaste, almost offense on his face was immediate.
"You expect me to crowd?"
"No," she said, slipping her phone out of her pocket and skimming through her contacts, "I expect you to wait for me, while I make a call." And he bristled at this, but relented, deciding against attacking her in this moment. And at this, her lip barely quirked as she rose and passed him without conflict.
It seemed her lessons were sticking after all.
He scrunched his nose, watching as her fingers carefully pressed into the keyboard, hearing her speak foreign words to his ears with much irritation. His eyes followed the cord, leading from the laptop to the television he had his committee set in the reception room.
"Thank you, Daedalus," and with this, she snapped her phone shut, finishing her key-pressing, and an image flickered into existence, both on the screen of her laptop and the television. She leaned back from the couch, but Kyoya remained standing behind it with crossed arms.
"I wouldn't expect you to know such a herbivorous skill," he nearly scoffed.
"I don't," she responded, barely turning her head, "I said earlier that it was beneficial to know the strengths of teammates," She said coolly, side eyeing him, "and this is one of those times where having comrades comes in handy."
"Besides," she said, watching as Shamal arrived, frowning with almost an exasperated expression realizing that she had made the connection with the monitors just in time to see him aggressively berated for groping the two judges. She sighed, disappointed but not surprised, causing Kyoya to look over at her. She continued:
"This way, you don't have to crowd in order to witness this fight. It should be interesting," she noted, her eyes going to the blonde on the screen, "Belphegor's a renowned genius. A formidable opponent. It's almost sad… " she muttered, her eyes then going to Shamal's student. Kyoya slightly frowned, understanding without her having to complete her thought.
"So," Hibari almost purred, his eyes lighting with interest, "strong then?"
"An interesting opponent for you to fight, surely," Ausiliatrice commented, almost amused as he moved, sitting on the arm rest on the opposite end of the couch, "with your drastically different styles. I almost question who would win." Immediately he took on an offended front.
"Me," he grumbled, "obviously." And she simply hummed in response, earning almost a growl from her student.
The match began with an explosion.
"You can punish them after the battle," she promised her student, easily picking up on the bloodlust spiking at the thought of damage to his school, "just watch for now. It will be beneficial, for when you challenge Belphegor lately."
And undoubtedly, now that she has placed her own doubt in his ability, he would (and he would then, rightly, prove her wrong, and in turn, prove himself).
She then took her time, taking in both the battle and her student's reaction to it.
Hibari Kyoya was often underestimated; it terms of strength, not at all, but in intelligence? Many people would like to think a beast was just that. Simple and archaic. But this block was due to fear that the beast was more than that. And always, they were. They were much more than their strength, for that power is contrived of many things.
Ambition, passion, irritation, intelligence: all of these things, and so much more make Hibari Kyoya strong. And adding to that list would only make him more so, which was her reason for tutoring him. Patience, she thought, would be a lovely virtue to add to this list, and it seemed that she had, if only by a few degrees.
She watched his reaction to the fight and the seemingly impossible feats that Belphegor was pulling; and she saw the irritation when he hit a block. Already, he had easily figured that Gokudera Hayato was being tracked by Belphegor. This was a simple tactic when hunting, and was easy for both of them to pick up on, long before Gokudera did (it was part of their personalities, to be attentive when being tracked, when being followed, because hunters hated to becomes the hunted, made sure to make quick of turning the tables when this realization is made). This was figured out easily, however the next riddle intertwined with Belphegor's play?
"What is that? Wind cutting?" He asked, seeing cuts appear on Gokudera even after the knives were thrown, clearly missing but still somehow damaging.
"It doesn't matter what it is," Ausiliatrice said easily, earning a quirk of an eyebrow and the curious flicker of steel eyes, "You don't need know what the technique is," she restated, shifting to cross her legs, "you only need to figure out how to counter it."
"Gokudera Hayato isn't like us," Kyoya responded. And she blinked and shrugged, giving him this.
"I suppose he is Shamal's student…" she muttered, thinking of how the man himself would handle such a fight. Certainly not with a brutal and straight forward approach like she, herself, would implement. He was far more of an intellect than her, and tended to map out as opposed to go straight in. A difference both converted and dealt with, and thus had different styles. Opposite in fact.
But Ausiliatrice couldn't help but consider this tendency to overthink to be a burden more than anything, especially when facing another opponent who held the same mindset. However, Belphegor seemed to abandon this trait without losing this high level of thinking; forgoing overthinking and replacing it with a childlike demeanor. He, she realized, treated everything like a game, and won with ease because of this. Forgoing stakes that usually stopped people from truly realizing the extent of a situation, he played with the idea of death and utilized it with glee.
She supposed this skill came with experience (and so rarely, was it found in such a pure form, as with Belphegor), and therefore it was unfair to hold this against Gokudera. But still, this translated as a severe disadvantage for the boy.
The most interesting fights to watch, she concluded, were between two people who acted as reflections. The most frustrating to fight and be a participant in, however, had the exact same criteria. Unless a crack was placed into the mirror, neither opponent could move forward with efficacy.
But oh, did Gokudera make a grave mistake when he shattered this mirror completely.
Ausiliatrice leaned forward, forgoing her casual position for one of interest, seeing Belphegor's, demeanor, stance, everything change the moment his own blood dared to escape from his veins and stain his porcelain skin, dripping down from his fingers as paled hands, now stained so brightly, clawed at his wound, a jumbled mix of blonde hair, pale fingers, the glint of his tiara, and blood, blood, blood.
Kyoya even leaned forward slightly, and she saw as his hand moved to his hip, wanting to retrieve his weapon. The intense spike in bloodlust was even evident through the screen, the two predators not even having to be present to recognize one of their own emerging so abruptly.
This truly, was the definition of danger, Ausiliatrice thought. This, truly, was an animal, a beast, pure and unaltered in this fresh form. This was why he was let into the Varia at such a young age, she realized, this is truly the definition of Prince the Ripper.
And this both exhilarated and saddened Ausiliatrice all at once.
"He's dead," Kyoya said, narrowing his eyes and noticing Gokudera Hayato not reacting as he should, "that herbivore should run now before it's too late."
"It already is," Ausiliatrice said, gathering herself and leaning back once more with a frown her face.
"Not one mistake…" Kyoya muttered, watching Belphegor's movements with intense interest and excitement. Ausiliatrice was sure, completely, that he already had plans to track this new opponent down, no matter the outcome of the battle.
(an outcome they could already see, all too crystal)
She almost winced, seeing Gokudera draw more blood, limiting his chances of survival further. Truly, it was a hopeless situation. Their positions had switched from earlier; Gokudera was playing a game of survival, and Belphegor was taking this battle seriously. Ausiliatrice even made a verbal sound of disagreement when Gokudera entered a dead end.
"Idiot…" Kyoya agreed, even going as far to frown slightly at this decision. His eyebrows then knit together, seeing how Gokudera Hayato froze suddenly. And then, a click.
"Wires," he said suddenly, coming to this conclusion only seconds after Ausiliatrice's keen eyes picked up on vague glints on the monitor. Then, a scrunched of his nose.
"His weapons are inadequate for this," he sniffed, and jutted his head, clearly seeing an easy option if he, himself, were in the same situation.
"Those who fight in mid-range," Ausiliatrice commented, "are often the most curious." She herself was either close or long range, primarily. And therefore looked at these types with a keen eye and inquisitiveness for their technique.
"Ah," she said, relieved when Gokudera found a way to slacken the wires, and then asked her student, "you've extended your range, haven't you?"
And he grumbled, but this translated as a response easily.
"It's over?" He said when the smoke and debris cleared, seeing Gokudera standing and Belphegor on the ground. His expression was that of a pouting child, disappointed that his entertainment ended so quickly.
Ausiliatrice was vaguely surprised at the outcome, but relieved. And then, made a mistake in this assumption and cursed quietly, seeing Gokudera's sluggish movements in retrieving the ring from Belphegor.
Predators, cornered and bleeding, after all, were at their most treacherous stage.
"What a volatile instinct," Ausiliatrice murmured, seeing Belphegor's almost mindless struggle against the severely weakened Gokudera.
Pathetic, Kyoya almost commented, but then thought better. He realized, with a frown, that this instinct was one he possessed. And he sneered, disliking this comparison.
And this confusion soon turned to anger, complete rage when the explosions began decimating his beautiful school. Even in the reception room, they felt the tremors, and he stood abruptly, turning on his heel and storming out of the room.
And Ausiliatrice only gave a small glance at her student in reaction, and then looked back at the screen, now filled with static. She frowned. And then rose, decided to follow her student, using the bodies he left in his wake as bread crumbs, stepping over the ones she had left in her own path when they arrived earlier;
she wanted to know the outcome of the battle after all.
(she wouldn't be surprised in the slightest to find both sides without a storm)
She hated these battles, she thought to herself, and their contribution to the needless deaths of children.
Pleasantly, she was surprised to find Gokudera alive, but injured. She noted Belphegor as well, carried by Gola Mosca. Breathing, she noted vaguely. She looked between the two groups and put together the pieces easily enough; Gokudera Hayato wisely valued his life above victory, and fled. Belphegor got lucky, and survived.
Tsunayoshi, at least, looked happy that his friend was alive. As did Shamal, she noted, but was this a loss they could afford, with the forfeit of the sky ring? Dino had explained to her the situation that transpired the night before, but before she could pursue this line of thought further, she was reminded of the situation at hand;
which was, her student attacking Leviathan of the Varia. Well, she supposed, attacked was too strong of a word, and inaccurate. Making a fool of was far more accurate.
"I'll start with you," Kyoya stated, looking livid and brutal as usual as he gazed down at Leviathan. She cocked her head as she stepped out from the hallway, considering whether or not she should stop him.
"Ausiliatrice!" Dino said, his head snapping to her. The Varia looked over, interrupted from where they were evaluating Hibari to make note of her presence. "Where have you been? And I thought you were going to keep Hibari away!?"
"I never said that," she deadpanned, leaning casually against the wall, and looking back over as Squalo stepped forward from his group.
"Voooi," he drawled lowly, eyeing Hibari, tearing his eyes away from curiously looking at Ausiliatrice, "How many times should I slash you open?"
"Are you next?" Kyoya responded, stepping past Ausiliatrice and positioning himself neatly in front of her. Ausiliatrice looked between the two, picturing their fight with an amused air, ignoring the warning from Janus's minions, advising against the two fighting.
"Ausiliatrice, please," Dino nearly begged, looking away from where he was reassuring the kids, "You're his tutor, you're supposed to stop him from attacking people!" Dino relented, holding the sides of his head. He sighed, taking in her casual lean and overall lack of apathy to the situation with exasperation. She shrugged.
"That's not in the job description. And besides," she said with a slight raise of her head, pinning him with her gaze, "I'm volunteering." And he groaned loudly in response. Squalo however, faltered in his demeanor, taking in this information with surprise, and then storing it. Dino gave Ausiliatrice another exasperated look, which she ignored, opting to watch Yamamoto Takeshi instead approach her student and put himself between Kyoya and Squalo.
She briefly wondered if this was an idiotic move on this part, but allowed him a moment to justify his actions with words. She blinked, her mouth barely quirking with amusement as he apprehended her student. What improvement, she thought with excitement, but this deterred as she looked back over at Squalo.
Would it, she questioned, be enough, however? She allowed Reborn to sedate Hibari, and instead focused on Squalo's reaction, the kid's conversation not raising interest with her, only vaguely acknowledging Reborn baiting a possibly fight with Kyoya's rival. Rokudo Mukuro, was his name, she recalled vaguely, but held no interest in this person beyond this point.
She looked away from Squalo, however, as her student decided by his own will to leave.
"Don't," he addressed Yamamoto Takeshi, "lose to that one over there before my turn comes around." And with that, Hibari Kyoya made his exit. Perhaps, she thought with humor (pride?) the importance of comradeship had barely brushed against his priorities after all.
Her eyes met Squalo's once more; meaningful, a message, clear and concise,
and then she turned on her heel as well, making her exit.
"You going after him?" Dino asked, watching her, Squalo watching as well before addressing his own opponent loudly.
"No," she corrected, "I'm going on another date," and she winked, and could have sworn that he nearly fainted from surprise. Shamal looked over as well, putting a hand to his chest, playing offense.
"Without me? I thought we were drinking buddies, my dear," He teased, smiling lightly, clearly relived, relieved, happy that his student did not perish as he thought (as they all thought) he would.
"You're her drinking buddy?!" Dino accused, pointing a finger at the older man. "And she hasn't killed you yet?"
"You offend me, Cavallone," Shamal said with a faux frown, "I consider myself to be a gentlemen, wouldn't you agree, Au- And she's gone," he sighed, slumping a bit, looking to see a vacant spot where the woman once was. They turned, noticing the Varia to be gone as well, having left after Squalo's promise of his opponent's demise. Dino ran a head through his hair, sighing in vague disbelief, once again being reminded of how little he knew about his body guard. He put this aside however, and went to comfort the kids.
Shamal turned as well, but nearly froze, immediately meeting oh-so familiar, abyssal and endless eyes. Although, at a lower level than he was used to.
"What's this about you two being drink buddies, Shamal?" the Arcobaleno asked, all too sweetly.
It must be in their blood, he decided at that moment, to have the tendency to strike this much fear into his poor, poor heart.
(he was getting old, he realized, but with a look at the kids, the next generation? Perhaps, the world was in good hands. But ah, the doctor tended to be cynical by nature, didn't he?)
She dropped to the ground, meeting him beneath the tree, in the manner of a leopard, dropping down from a tree with their kill; a movement of elegance and grace, but also a vigilant display of danger. He had also taken note of her elegance. But he had never wanted, nor displayed that quality.
"You never fucking said you were tutoring one of the brats!" he accused her the moment she met the ground, "Neutral my ass!"
"I'm not actively fighting," he returned smoothly, "and my reason for taking Hibari Kyoya under my wing is personal; it has nothing to do with the battles."
"Oh, fuck that," Squalo snapped, "that Arcobaleno put you up to it, didn't he?" He nearly stepped back against the tree however at the sudden change in her mood the moment his accusation left his lips. "Fucking hell," he breathed out, "What's your problem?!" She nearly scrunched her face, crossing her arms.
"I make my own decisions, and tutoring Kyoya happened to be one of them," she said, and he easily translated, move the fuck on from the subject. And he was a wise enough man to do so.
"Why the hell did you even call me out, huh?" He asked swiftly moving on.
"Yamamoto Takeshi," she said, exacting the same swiftness, "I wanted your opinion on him."
"The sword brat?" He asked, allowing confusion to penetrate his expression, "The fuck about him? I'm going to slaughter that kid tomorrow night. End of the fucking line for him." She pursed her lips, if barely.
"Don't you want to train the next sword emperor?" A moment; and then he exploded.
"The fuck are you suggesting, huh?!" He said, volume increasingly drastically, "You trying to tell me what do?!"
"I don't," she snapped, shutting him up, "tell people what to do. I don't enjoy it, and therefore don't inflict that on others," she tutted, crossing her arms and turning her head from him, reviewing their meeting place. Her eyes traveled form the tree line to the quaint shine. Thinking.
"I was suggesting it," she reworded. "And I considered that this thought I had might be of interest to you." He snorted, gruffly.
"Like a fucking twerp like that could handle real sword training," he scoffed.
(But the seed was planted. It just needed rain to grow)
A moment of silence passed between the two. And Squalo shifted almost uncomfortably at this lull, realizing how caught off guard he had been at her proposal. An idea struck, and he held back a grin, wanting (childishly, childishly) to get her back.
"My shitty boss is fucking obsessed with you, you know?"
Ausiliatrice blinked, looking back over at him
"What." And he sputtered in response, knowing vaguely of her ignorance, but not guessing it to be to this extent.
"You don't even fucking notice?!" A moment, and he allowed her that, and then a light hum.
"I suppose I've never paid much attention to matters of this nature," she admitted, recalling the countless times Shamal had informed her that she was being flirted with, multiple times on multiple occasions as multiple bars around the world. She hummed again. A slow blink, reviewing the few instances where she had interacted with his boss. A thought.
"Are you sure that it's me that he's obsessed with?" She asked carefully after a beat. Squalo hummed gruffly, looking at her with inquisitiveness.
"The hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Your boss…" she said, trailing off and forming her words carefully, "he's a man abstained from power. Something that has obviously has been given and torn away from him too many times. Repeatedly. I heard he was originally from the streets?" she asked suddenly, eyes lighting up with curiosity, almost hopefully grasping at familiarity, "Is that true?"
"… yeah."
"I see," she murmured. A moment. And then she moved on, not giving much thought to this topic any more than what had already be implemented in her mind. This, signaled her retreat, and she restated the topic she had called him out to discuss:
"I hope you consider my suggestion."
"Fuck off!" He yelled, scoffing again at the absurdity of the thought.
"Emperors are overthrown all the time," she said easily while walking away, sending almost a playful look back at him, "and you might as well have control over who takes your place."
(because, they both were keen, mindful of the unawareness of when they would die)
(he only had one hand left, he might as well use it to guide the next generation)
Glass shattered violently against the wall, splattering Levi, hunkered underneath, having ducked just in time, with shards and remains of alcohol.
Xanxus stood, red eyes scanning the room with fire, in the open doorway.
"Where the fuck is he?"
The three other occupants remained silent, even Bel, wounds wrapped and resting on the couch, looked away, his usual playfulness absent for this situation. He was a genius, after all, and knew better not to engage his boss when in such a volatile state. Especially when the captain wasn't around to equate the situation. Then again, Bel thought, turning and hiding a grin, that was what put Boss in such a pissy mood in the first place, wasn't it?
"He was called out," Mammon called easily, not looking up from the paper they were studying, "by that woman."
And with this, Xanxus's eyes fell to flame once more; another shot at Leviathan, and he turned once more, leaving the three in his wake.
"Wonder what that was about," Bel mused with a grin, going back to admiring the ring on his finger as Leviathan shakily stood.
"It's not our issue," Mammon concluded, looking back at their failed (dammit) attempt to uncover the identity of their own opponent. But despite frequent attempts, Mammon was left with a block, and two simple letters:
C.D.
(this person, whoever they were, was just having fun with them, weren't they? But this also indicated skill, did it not? And this brought vague excitement to Mammon; they supposed they could use this opportunity to sharpen their claws. They doubted that their opponent, unknown to them or not, would provide that much of a challenge. They could always hope that this C.D. would be interesting)
(Mammon wouldn't be risking anything in making this assumption)
She felt pain, immensely. Her right eye throbbed excessively, and a feeling of invasiveness, uncomfortableness stemmed from this. This eye, this cursed her to the bare thoughts and intentions of others as it frantically looked about the room, white lab coats blaring violently and reflecting off the blank almost metallic walls.
The only color in the room seemed to be red, violent against the austerity of its surroundings. And all of this color stemmed from one man.
A hand gripped her shoulder, tightly and crude words were spoken to her. She was shaking, violently, as was the man, his large muscles under dark skin quivering with pain as he fought back against her. His blood dripped from the table he was strapped to, metallic, metallic and cold, and his bindings, thick and tight, digging into his skin, and hers too because she could feel this.
Wounds littered his body, and her hand was shaking, holding the weapon responsible. He screamed out, rough voice yelling and body baring against the straps, straining and straining; the men, fearful of this beast, went to push him down further, scared of his strength, of the possibility of such a monster breaking free.
But why, she thought, would ithey risk attempting to cage such a force of nature in the first place?
She witnessed his right eyes flicker between soft brown and violent red, back and forth, flicker, flicker, brown and red, brown and red.
And she realized she was screaming too, she felt these men push her shoulder down, and shards of a perception that did not belong to her.
She saw memories:
a tall woman, looking up with strangely abyssal eyes, cupping her face gently and whispering soft words of comfort. A man, similar facial structure to the one strapped to the table, to the one whose memories she was intruding on, laughing, skin crinkling beneath his eyes. She saw the woman again, countless times, numerous flickerings of the same woman, and then the man again, and then smiling faces of all different colors and cultures, and flickerings, flickerings, of spots of happiness and love, and love and love,
and they both screamed out in pain again,
and she felt as if she were stepping onto sacred grounds, she felt that she should burn for doing so. These were not her memories to see,
and this scene she was dreaming now didn't even belong to her.
Chrome Dokuro woke with start, cold sweat on her brow. Breathing heavy, her hand went to her right eye – no, she corrected herself, her right eye socket, empty and covered by her collapsed eyelid. Although no longer there, the pain from the dream – memory, she corrected, almost lingered. She shifted, pulling her knees up and hugging them, looking around the vast and aged room she had been given to sleep in. Her eye went to table, where the mist ring sat, and reflected passively in the small bit of moonlight intruding. The couch she slept on croaked at this small movement, testifying to its age, and then silence encompassed the room.
Chrome took a breath, long and shaking, just as her body was even now that the dream (memory, memory, she corrected) had passed.
"Chrome..." A voice spoke from the recesses of her mind.
"Mukuro-sama…." she answered back, vaguely whispering his name as a prayer to the empty room.
"I apologize," he said, careful in his choice of words, and she could feel an air of hesitation (of shock? Of apathy?) to his words spoken intimately in her mind, "for what you saw…. I didn't mean for it to transfer."
"It's fine, Mukuro-sama," she reassured him, "I'm fine with sharing your burdens."
At this statement, he was silent.
"If you don't mind…" she said, hesitant and still lingering, "who… who was that man?" And silence met her once more, but she knew he was present (as always, as always) and attentive. She allowed him this, patient. Loyal. He spoke:
"A memory," he said at last, "and not one that you need to be reliving, my dear Chrome. Please, go back to sleep."
"Yes, Mukuro-sama…" and her words almost seemed untruthful, her mind very much still lingering on the mysterious man,
and the woman that man seemed to cling to in times of great pain. Her image wafted in Chrome's mind, still fresh from the intrusion of her savior's memories, of his nightmares.
She wanted, she thoughts vaguely before drifting back into blissful, dreamless sleep (Mukuro would make sure of this), she wanted, Chrome resolved, someone to think warmly of her as this man thought of this woman.
Even in times of torture.
(And God, and God, and God, was he tortured. Mukuro, often, remembered this)
(It was selfish to think that a ghost only hovered around one person)
"Are you kidding?" Shamal responded to Reborn's blunt question, "Esmeralda would rise from hell and kill me herself. Hell, Ausiliatrice herself would smite me before that woman even stirred in her grave." A scoff, and then another drink.
"I'd be a fool to try anything with her," Shamal continued, and then side eyed the small figure sitting next to him at the bar, "but why the sudden claim? You never took any interest in her before, right?"
"You know my reasoning, Shamal," Reborn answered evenly. At this, the doctor sighed.
"It's not like you, to back off," he mused, stirring his drink absently. And the hitman's mouth pressed into a firm line at this.
"How long?"
"Have we been 'drinking buddies'?" Shamal clarified, giving almost a teasing smile as he looked over. He then hummed, putting a hand on his chin. "Damn. I guess since she was sixteen, seventeen? It was before Mateus, that's for sure…" and he trailed off, thinking.
"Mateus?" Reborn asked, running the name through the records of his head.
"An… old partner," Shamal said with a frown, "dead now. Got caught up in the whole deal with the Estraneo," and this, with a sneer, "Shame, really. They were a good couple, worked well together. In love, I'd say," he commented with a softer look. Reborn looked down at the bar, almost frowning.
He had been aware of her partner, but had been lacking the intimacy of their relationship.
"I really shouldn't be telling you this, you know," Shamal pointed out, side eyeing Reborn. A small sigh from Reborn, and he nearly winced at how it squeaked.
"I know."
"You've been in love before, haven't you?" Abyssal eyes turned, meeting green, forested and muted, but still shining with wonder and intelligence; this trait, Ausiliatrice noted, was one Bianchi shared with her brother.
"You're annoying, you know?" Ausiliatrice answered, almost huffing, but allowing herself to sit down on the roof. Bianchi sat as well, but at a pleasant, respectable distant. She smiled, easy.
"You didn't answer my question," Bianchi noted.
"Have you?" Ausiliatrice shot back.
"I'd like to think I am," Bianchi said truthfully, "it would be nice, wouldn't it? It's nice," she repeated, smiling, her eyes soft as well, "to be in love."
Ausiliatrice hummed, and found her hand at her necklace, gently turning the ring between fingertips.
"Yes," she answered Bianchi's question suddenly, "I have."
"How did you know?" Bianchi asked, looking up from where she had been watching Ausiliatrice play with the necklace (his necklace, his mothers, a reminder).
"I didn't, at first. And now?"
This awareness followed her constantly, but it was no haunting; no, she welcomed this reminder and wore it warmly.
"I wonder," Bianchi stated, "what kind of person someone like you would fall in love with?" And this hum was airy and mystical.
"A person like me, huh?" Ausiliatrice said with vague humor, "Meaning?"
"Oh, you know," Bianchi figured, "serious, brooding, strong. You two are really just like each other – " and Ausiliatrice scrunched her features and turned to voice her disagreement, but Bianchi then took a different turn - "but so completely different at the same time. I just wish," she said with a frown, "that you two would realize this and talk. But I understand that this is just who you are…"
"Warm," Ausiliatrice said suddenly, listing qualities as her hand retracted from her necklace, "vibrant, soft, a great smile," and at this, she smiled herself, "caring in every way." And Bianchi just stared over at her curiously.
"What?"
"You asked what kind of person I would fall in love with," Ausiliatrice answered simply, and continued, "laughing, happy. Strong, incredibly strong and annoying. Persistent," she said, side eyeing Bianchi once more, "but happy." And Bianchi smiled once again, seeing this gentleness reflected in Ausiliatrice's usually cold and unreflective eyes (not cold, she corrected herself, but guarded).
"They sound like a wonderful person," Bianchi moved, looking just as Ausiliatrice was across the quaint skyline of the town. And in response Ausiliatrice smiled, slightly pained, but relieving, reliving.
"He was."
His mind that day, he recalled, had been quite scattered. Quite understandable, really, seeing that that was the day that his power reached its full potential, and that his captors and tormentors succeeded, only for the success to be the trigger to their demise. So yes, after murdering his tormentors in a blind rage, bent up pain of dying repeatedly and the resentment of being forced to retain and use this power constantly, one could say that his mind was rather scattered.
He recalled, vaguely, standing in the middle of mutilation and blood, and wanted to escape. To leave. To be free. Secondarily, he strove for revenge. Against the mafia, against family, against the very world that put him and others, others, recalled, thinking of the other children (and him, the man, this hazy image of warmth and dark skin? But there was much pain attached to that image, and so this was pushed to the back of his already scattered mind), and not wanting to be alone. And so, he made it his first task to find familiarity,
not finding it in the strange woman he encountered, and wanting to move on, despite knowing that she wasn't one of them,
but then what was she then? For there was a vague tug when he first saw her, but this brought a keen spurt of pain and therefore was pushed aside and repressed.
And so he moved on did not give thought this until a considerable amount of time he passed, until he could properly sort through his memories of that place.
And with this resurgence of memories; he felt pain.
He felt guilt. And he remembered this man and he recalled kindness. Warmth, and so much of it, despite how much pain and hurt accompanied these memories.
He remembered the scientist (his own family) forcing him to test his skill of possession on this man, and this man, for some unforgivable reason, being the only subject so far that hadn't died as a result of possession. He was strong, Mukuro understood, but often wished that he wasn't, wishing to release this man from the pain they both shared,
(he remembered hearing their captors talk of harmony, and resilience, but this was lost to him as a child)
but through this connection of pain, they had established more connections as well. And so Mukuro wasn't really surprised when he had stumbled into the man's mind while in a fitful sleep, seeking warmth that he could only find in the strange man. At this point, when this occurred, they were well into possession experiments, and they were truly connected. But the force of this connection left it fractured and impure; so much pain involved, and there was a matter of intrusion, and invasion of minds. Mukuro had no choice in the matter, but there was still so much guilt in the mind of a child.
(And where was that guilt now that he was older? Surely, such an amount did not just vanish, surely)
But the man forgave. The man was kind, and in the instance of calm where their minds merged, the man confused Mukuro by being concerned about him; the very source of the man's pain. And he would speak kindly and do his best to share the strange warmth that had attracted Mukuro to him, this warmth being the reason for his reliance, he guessed (both saving and damning him all at once).
And in these moments of peace between agony, the man would talk to Mukuro and share stories and memories. He would do everything to comfort Mukuro, even when crying, even when screaming with pain, the man would put Mukuro's before his own.
And he would accept no apology; this, perhaps angered Mukuro the most, thinking back.
"It's fine, it's fine, yeah?" the man would gargle to Mukuro through broken Italian, choking on his own pain and agony, and yet putting forth an effort to convey this message of forgiveness.
Forgiveness. What a baffling concept to Mukuro, even now that he was grown. Perhaps this man, this stranger that made such a point to care for Mukuro (one of his tormentors, basically one of them, and Mukuro could ever understand this man, but dammit, did he truly appreciate him, both as a child and now), could forgive,
but Mukuro was a far lesser man than him. He had accepted this long ago, but his tainted soul did not mean he could not be a savior.
(he had guilt to make up for, after all; and there was no better motivator than that, even when masked with the concept of revenge)
he only wished that he had recognized that woman on that fated day. After all, Mukuro had always felt the desire to know more about that man, without the use of memories raped from an unwilling conscious.
(Could he ever forgive himself? But ah, that wasn't the right question)
(he was a man of action, of illusions; and he had never foolish enough to have any pertaining to what he truly was)
(Mateus was the humanity to more than one person, it seemed)
"Tell me about the loud one."
And there was flicker of amusement in her eyes as she looked over at her student. They were positioned on the roof of the building opposing the rain battle, or at least, the building that held the rain battle in it. Janus's minions were kind enough to provide a large projection, easy to see from a vantage point, even as far away as the one they had established.
Mist rolled around them, only slightly obscuring. There was a familiar prickling at the back of her neck, and she had her assumptions; but she kept quiet, deciding it was not her place to stop others from watching the fight as she and her student were doing themselves. And if they preferred to remain unseen with the aid of illusions? She disagreed with their methods, but had no room to interfere.
"Superbi Squalo…" she started, looking down as the group, all but the two potential rains, exited the building,
(and red eyes noticed her, and bloodlust, excitement filled them, because goddammit if that shitty shark wasn't going give both him and her a good show, Xanxus would murder the scum himself)
"He's honorable. His loyalty, his pride, is his most dangerous quality."
"Loyalty?" Kyoya sniffed, looking down at her almost disdainfully from his perch, sitting on the water tank.
"Don't be quick to scoff, Kyoya," Ausiliatrice warned, eyes on the figures shown, alone, on the screen, "loyalty is dangerous. It's best to know that. And with these kinds of people," she said, looking back between Xanxus and Squalo once more, thinking, "it's even more so."
"You know him then?" Her student guessed easily. She barely smiled, easily.
"You could say that, I suppose," she admitted, then grew serious, "he's the most formidable, out of the Varia." Kyoya raised an eyebrow at this, slight surprise on his face at her statement.
"It's a combination; skill, drive, power," she explained her reasoning, "he's perhaps the most versatile, a tactician, but it not held back by his own bloodlust, like Belphegor, or…" she trailed off, her eyes lingering on Xanxus once more. "Pride," she moved on, hers eyes not leaving the man, "is perhaps one of the few things I can fault him with."
And Kyoya hummed in slight agreement, because pride? That was something he could understand.
"Yamamoto Takeshi…" he mused, looking at the young boy on the screen, sword bared and ready to face his death, "I wonder what you'll prove…"
Ausiliatrice remained silent, arms crossed and with a frown. Superbi Squalo, she knew, would not let the boy live. This was certain, if he were to win the battle. But if the boy won? She could only hope that he would consider her suggestion.
Certainly, the battle field was built in advantage to Squalo, who could easily use the water around him, and was far more experienced and adept in such various and obscure surroundings. Then again, all these battles, she had noticed, settings were built in advantage to the Varia. Which was a given acknowledgement, seeing how the entire battle and game itself was obviously tainted. But so was everything else in this world these children were being dragged into. Therefore, those who pitied and helped them had no footing to complain.
It was sad, she thought as the battle began, watching Yamamoto Takeshi barely fend off, let alone fight Squalo, that such raw talent should be slashed so quickly before it blooms.
"He could never win," Ausiliatrice commented sadly, seeing as Yamamoto stuck with a single style, "if he continues like this."
"Yamamoto Takeshi," Kyoya disagreed, "is an adapter. He shouldn't be brushed aside so easily." And this last note was said almost with threat, as promising a worse demise to Yamamoto if he dared lose. As if the boy losing would be a mark against Hibari Kyoya himself.
(It was wonderful, she thought, to see Kyoya acknowledge others, because once they had that acknowledgement? The prefect would severely punish them if they dared to fall short of his expectations after earning his finicky approval. Fascinating indeed)
She winced, however, seeing Yamamoto completely miss the one chance he had been graciously given to attack Squalo (a test, was it? Perhaps he had taken her words with more salt than she had thought), and Kyoya barely flinched as well, and scowled, picking up on this easily.
And soon enough, the first arc of blood burst beautiful from Yamamoto's shoulder.
"His will," Ausiliatrice noted with almost a nostalgic tone, commenting on the boy's insistence of his technique being undefeatable, "is admirable." But she frowned, immediately after.
"He's getting serious," Kyoya muttered, shifting slightly and almost leaning forward. She hummed in acknowledgment.
"Superbi Squalo…." And she stiffened, feeling a presence come into existence just beside her as an unfamiliar voice wafted through the mist, growing thicker as the presence came into contact with the physical world, "What a fearsome man, wouldn't you agree?"
And she turned her head, seeing a young man – no, a boy still – standing beside her.
"You're…" she said, taking in his hair, his features, his one red eye (and a memory, resurfaced, seeing this same face, but much, much younger), "the boy from long ago." And his expressions shifted, just slightly, allowing her keen eyes to pick up a slight air of surprise.
"I'm pleased you remembered…" he muttered, going back to watching the battle. She turned her head to her student, seeing that he remained unaware of the new arrival to their perch. So this, she connected, was the illusionist that was watching.
"Rokudo Mukuro," he introduced after a beat of silence.
"Ausiliatrice," she answered back easily, calm, but prepared, unsure of his intentions. Naturally, she had made the propter connections to the jail break and Tsunayoshi, but seeing how this was in the past, and she had been uninvolved, she would much rather focus on the now:
"You're Tsunayoshi's mist, I presume?" She asked, her eyes moving back to the battle as their conversation (could they call it that? What was this?) resumed. Mukuro gave a wry twinge of his lips in response.
"I suppose you could say that, yes," he admitted, but then allowed that small smile to fall, "but that's not why I approached you – "
"Obviously," she quipped, and he smiled dryly once more.
"Clearly, you're a woman who values efficiency," and the way he said this gave her a strange feeling, like he knew this without having the meet her, as if this was a fact he was already well aware of through strange means that he himself did not agree with, "and I came down to ask you simply… because I want to know."
And she allowed herself to shift slightly, and turn her head to face him; a sign she was willing to listen.
"That man…. the one you were looking for," he asked carefully, almost hesitantly (as if hiding feeling, as if hiding pain), "What was his name?" And she looked at him curiously, many question bubbling in her for him, and yet;
seeing the small flicker of resentment, seeing the way in which he repositioned his hand on his trident and the bare shift of his feet; she was polite enough to not push for this, as she knew this was a sensitive matter (for both of them, for both of them, although she did not know why), and although she very much wanted to ask, she didn't out of politeness, out of understanding, even if she didn't know the question, let alone the answer.
"Mateus," she said, repressing all of this in one slow blink. "His name was Mateus."
And the use of past tense, the way which she turned from him again, gave Mukuro all the answers he needed. And he frowned, and turned as well.
"Thank you, Ausiliatrice," he said, using her full name, as he knew he should, not daring to intrude on this respect, "I'll leave you to the battle for now."
For now:
a promise to return.
And she barely watched him disappear in a flurry of mist again, curiosity bubbling but being quelled by understanding; no matter this connection, she would not force him to speak of this apparent link they both shared. And Ausiliatrice watched the rest of the battle with almost mute interest,
surprised, of course, when Yamamoto Takeshi won, but not surprised, rather pleased, when Squalo pushed him away and refused help (pride, his downfall after all, being the most unsurprising fact of the night).
It seems that they would be pulling Squalo out of bloodied waters, instead.
And after that?
She had a few more calls to make; ones that she should have made long ago.
"Ausiliatrice," Dino called, coming to stand beside her waiting outside of the operating room, "You knew him well, right? Then why didn't you seem worried?" Her eyes moved away from the closed doors, scaling the blood spots leading to it, fresh from Squalo's wounds, and then met Dino's soft brown eyes, so full of wonder and concern.
"People like him," she said, "like us. We don't die easy. His instinct is to live," she answered simply, with a shrug, "I knew, even if he gave up? In the end, he would never go through with that decision. He'll fight, even against death."
"So you had faith, huh?" He said, running a hand through is hair and sighing, "That's admirable. Seeing how we found him and the circumstances…." he trailed off, nearly scowling, thinking back to the battle, to the kids (too young, too young), and to how Xanxus simple laughed and dismissed the one who had shown the most loyalty to him so quickly.
"Don't be so quick to lay judgement, Dino," Ausiliatrice berated, looking over at him, "I can see what you're thinking."
"He just laughed, Ausiliatrice," Dino said, sighing roughly and falling back to sit on one of the benches placed outside of the emergency room, "If one of my men died like that? If someone who gave their life for me died and I just…." he trailed off, scowling once more, "It's despicable, he doesn't even care about them, does he?"
"You can't compare every family to yours," Ausiliatrice said, causing him to look up at her in confusion, "And loyalty, or anything else for that matter," she corrected herself, "doesn't fall under the same definition for all. Squalo knew who he was pledging his life to. He knew what he was dying for."
Dino let out a long sigh, his body slumping with it.
"I sure hope so…. you think we can get any information out of him when he comes out?" He asked, looking up at her. Her expression deadpanned.
"Dino," she said flatly, "think back to the conversation we just had, and ask yourself that question again."
A moment. Then:
"So I'm guessing that's a no?"
"… don't ask idiotic questions."
"You know, this information would have been a lot easier to get if you hadn't burned the entire place down."
"Is that hostility I hear, Hermes?" She asked almost playfully, "how unlike you. Maybe I should have contacted Iris instead?"
"…. listen, punk, I'm faxing the information to the number you gave me now, just," he said with an almost pained sigh (she swore, she heard a mutter of 'I'm getting too old for this'), "give me a little appreciation here, okay?"
"I didn't think I had to vocalize it," she said, shrugging, despite the conversation being on the phone.
"And hey, Atalanta," she then stiffened at this, picking up on the sudden change in his voice, "I didn't…. I didn't know he died like that. Sorry," he said almost hesitantly, but still respectfully.
"It's fine," she said, truthfully, "Thank you for getting the information." And with that, she shut the phone, looking from her position, sitting with her legs crossed on the desk, to the corner of the hospital office, where pages were being neatly printed.
She rose and retrieved the papers, leafing through it, confirming what she already knew and gaining new information all at once:
Mateus had been their prime test subject for the possession bullet, due to his strong harmonizing factor. Given, his body didn't reject the young boy's forced presence as violently as the others, and therefore survived many more experiments. Not only was his mind strong and not as easily broken, but his body was at well, making him rather attractive for this kind of experiment (and at this, her hand clenched, marring the paper, and she moved on quickly to the next). Some small notes scrawled with messy handwriting confirmed another theory for her; that Mateus and Rokudo Mukuro had gained a connection through these forced connections.
But how far, she wondered, looking up from the papers and to the window of the hospital room, did this connection extend? With how Mukuro Rokudo approached her and expressed interest? Most likely, far beyond these tiny notes on paper, made by those who were less than the dirt that clung to her shoe.
Only Mukuro could tell her that she supposed (because the dead certainly couldn't), and she wasn't the type to force the words out of another's mouth. Especially about matters as delicate and close as this.
She could wait (as she always, always does), for Mukuro to reveal more on his own terms.
(she thought back to that day, seeing that child and comparing that image to the boy that talked to her just this night)
(and nothing, she realized, had changed)
He looked over, seeing an incredibly beautiful woman; warm, dark and rich skin, large lips, and those eyes, those beautiful, beautiful eyes, and then he looked and followed the curls and tresses of hair that billowed around her, and there was a need to reach out and touch it, asking first and then getting to hear her beautiful, low voice spill from gorgeous lips,
but this need wasn't his, nor were the dark hands, or rough but happy voice that gently asked for consent. This body that wasn't his leaned forward and dark, large fingers wrapped around textured curls, and the smile he felt on this face certainly did not belong to him,
and this feeling that seized this chest as the woman (Ausiliatrice, Ausiliatrice, and he had a name to attach to this body too now) looked up at her, her usual hardened eyes softening just for that moment, but this feeling wasn't his either, nothing of this belonged to him.
"I love you, you know that?" He heard this body say, and then patiently wait as the woman, Ausiliatrice, opened her mouth to respond.
But her image flickered, and a new feeling entered him, seeing another familiar face. Dark skin flickered to pale, curls switched to short and straight hair, losing its volume but gaining sleek and a dark purple color instead,
and he found himself holding the face of dear Chrome.
"It's time, Mukuro-sama."
And he felt his body flicker as well, from his own to Mateus's (Mateus, Mateus, Mateus, he repeated this as a mantra, finally having a name to the small speck of warmth from his childhood). And instead, he pushed these complications, feelings and past aside, and smiled slyly down at his vessel.
"Let's go have a little fun, shall we?"
"I am a monster. What I do is evil. I have no illusions about it, but it must be done."
-Joss Whedon (The Operative: Serenity)
AN:
Sorry again, for not finishing this arc yet, but my computer keeps shutting down on me, so I decided to do what I could to update this weekend. I swear to god, the next chapter after this will finish the Varia arc, and if it's doesn't, I will literally die (can you tell I've been watching Parks and Rec lmao)
So, I honestly don't know the next time I'll be able to update, with my computer acting up. I'm going to work on trying to fix it after this. Lmao, kill me now
anyway, is anyone interested in me posting my playlist for Ausil, or any of them for this story? It gives me strength when writing this.
Sorry if there are any mistakes, I'm literally updating from my phone, fml
Review Response:
Guest: Hahah, glad you're excited! Unfortunately, with my computer being a lil bitch, I don't know when I'll be able to update again, but I'll try! Thanks thinking it's awesome and thanks for the review!
Guest: Aw, thanks for thinking it was a fantastic chapter! Hahah, sorry to have you wait a little linger for If He Had Lived, but hey, Mateus is mentioned in this chapter! And yes, it's heavily implied that Mateus was a sky. Thanks for the review!
Guest27: Bruh, she would both mother and beat the shit out of Sasuke for being so stupid. And I a=could actually see her and Itachi hitting it off if she were in the Naruto universe? Hm. But yeah, I love writing her and Hibari's little interactions. And Bel is such a kid, lmao. But like, such a deadly kid. And although I like her being Kakashi's kid, I don't know man? Like I really want her to be from Kumo. Although the Root suggesting is awesome. Thanks for the review!
Blacksky: In no way are you chill, bruh. And Lmao, hell yeah, that little scene was just a big middle finger, I'll admit. And I would actually put DinoxAusil as Zeus? Because Mateus isn't exactly involved anymore...And nah, you're not a bad person, a lot of people hate Iemitus, lmao. I don't mind him honestly, and see his reasonings, he just coudl have been more considerate to his family. But I get it though. It's just that his personality and his actions cause Ausil not to like him. And lmao, you'll get your wish of them talking soon. Get rekted. And wow, it's almost like the concept of waiting is a huge motif for this story. Huh. And I cannot wait for her to react to Levi's assumption, lmao. And i love writign her and Shamal, liek it's such a pure, fun friendship? And I guess you'll just have to wait to see what timeline I got with. Thanks for the review!
Aka: Chrome is my babe, my little perfect and adorable bi babe that I cherish with all my heart and being. Holy shit man, kitty chrome. You can't just hit me with that out of nowhere, you feel? And honestly, although it hasn't been addressed yet, as long as Chrome consents to it, then Ausil honestly would not care? And thanks for the questions! I'll be sure to put them in the next interview! Thanks for the review!