The hours following Diavolo's defeat seemed to blur together in a rush as they were ushered around by stony-faced lackeys no doubt sent by Augustus to monitor them as much as guard them or help them. Mista had felt their gazes on him more than once but every time he'd look, they'd be staring into space as if nothing had happened.
It had only taken about ten minutes after Abbacchio got off the phone for a man with neon green dreadlocks to show up in a dark sedan with tinted windows accompanied by an ambulance, introducing himself as Vitello. Mista highly doubted the man had any form of medical degree but a pair of women dressed in white hospital robes had emerged from the back of the ambulance and began to load Bucciarati onto a stretcher and his fears had been assuaged a little.
They'd been herded into the sedan which immediately set off somewhere; Mista hadn't gotten to hear anything that Fugo, Abbacchio, and Vitello were discussing as he was ordered with the others to stay in the turtle until they were called out.
The atmosphere in the turtle was entirely different than it had been the past few days. There was still the fear, the nerves about what would happen to Bucciarati, but there was a general sense of ease and Mista wasn't surprised that pretty much everyone had fallen asleep by the time they were called out by Fugo.
Narancia and Trish had entered Coco Jumbo before Mista had really gotten the chance to question Giorno about the nature of that kiss on the cheek and he was annoyed up until he fell back onto the couch and Giorno immediately pressed up against him. What could Mista say; the guy just seemed to wash all his negative feelings away.
Narancia had narrowed his eyes and shot Mista a teasing grin that made it very clear that he would be hearing about this intimacy later but Mista just smiled back. Two could play that game, judging by the way Fugo and Narancia had been acting around each other recently. Trish had just smiled softly at him and Giorno and Mista couldn't hold back a flustered blush at her face. He had to admit, looking at Trish now made him miss his little sister; Mista wondered if this would be the kind of relationship he'd have with her if he hadn't left years ago. But then again, Mista wouldn't have ever met Giorno if he hadn't left.
Trish and Narancia had sat in the armchairs, Narancia pushing his close to hers so he could start rambling on eagerly about all the things he wanted to do with her before she went back to Sardegna. Even so, ten minutes later and they had both fallen silent, head pressed close together as they dozed off.
Giorno had been quiet the whole time and when Mista glanced down at him, he saw that the boy's eyes were closed and his breathing had evened into steady puffs of air against Mista's chest. Mista had the feeling that Giorno wasn't actually asleep but he just pulled the blond a little closer to him.
Fugo had eventually appeared through the gem over Coco Jumbo telling them they could come out now and Mista's suspicions were confirmed when Giorno pulled away without Mista having to say a word. He'd shaken Trish and Narancia awake and the four had emerged from the turtle to see they were in what looked like an apartment.
They were in the entryway of a merged kitchen-living room area, although the kitchen was more of a kitchenette than anything else. A wooden table with four folding chairs around it sat a meter or so in front of the laminate countertop of the kitchenette, a frumpy-looking futon couch pushed back against the wall with a large bean bag near a glass door leading out to a small balcony. There was at least a TV, small miracles, Mista thought. On either side of the room were two hallways, likely leading to bedrooms. All in all, not too bad. Hell, they'd stayed in worse places before, it beat sleeping in a car.
"You will all stay here while you're in Roma," Vitello said once they were all assembled in the room. Mista couldn't help but notice that Abbacchio was absent. "There's a small store on the first floor of this building that you can use to buy what toiletries you'll need and there's a grocery across the street down a block to the left. The sedan is parked in the underground lot here; you may use that as you wish. If you need anything else, I've already given Signores Fugo and Abbacchio my number."
With that, Vitello strode from the room, leaving the door to the apartment to swing shut behind him with a resounding thud.
"Think there's food here already?" Mista wondered as he headed to the fridge next to the front door. "Ah sick, they got beer!"
"Which we aren't going to drink," Fugo quickly said, slamming the door so fast it nearly caught Mista's fingers in the hinge.
"Aw c'mon, we deserve it, Fugo!" Narancia bemoaned from where he had already commandeered the bean bag.
"No, we're in unfamiliar territory, still technically on the run, with no plan, no capo, and the last thing you idiots need to be is drunk."
"I wouldn't drink this sludge anyway," Trish said with a a sneer shot at the golden Forst cans lining the shelves in the door of the fridge. She grabbed a Perrier instead, no doubt supposed to be for mixers judging by the long array of unopened hard liquors Mista found in one of the cabinets above the stovetop.
"What did you and Vitello talk about?" Giorno asked, sitting primly in one of the folding chairs. Mista took the one next to him, passing the blond a bottle of water before cracking one open for himself.
"Logistics, mostly," Fugo said, sitting next to Trish on the futon. "I'm sure you're all wondering about Bucciarati, so I'll start there. He was admitted to Azienda Ospedaliera San Giovanni Addolorata under the alias Claudio Lorenze. The hospital itself is only a ten minute walk down the road; I'll accompany all of you once we figure out a schedule for visitations."
"A schedule? We can't all go together?" Narancia piped up.
"Of course not. Some of us will have to stay in the apartment at all times, not to mention the hospital itself has strict visitation rules. He's in their ICU in a private room, but the physician assigned to him is the only one under Passione's thumb; we don't want to give them any reason to expel him from the facilities, so I expect all of you to follow the rules."
"Is that where Abbacchio is?" Giorno asked with a hum of agreement.
Fugo nodded; "I'm heading there myself once we've figured out the room situation here."
"But Fugo, you need to sleep‒"
"And I will, but I'm the only one who knows where both locations are. I don't plan to stay long; in fact, one of you could come with me if you wouldn't mind waiting until Abbacchio and I are finished talking to see Bucciarati."
"Me, me! I wanna go!" Narancia cried excitedly, "Oh, wait, I promised Trish I'd let her do my nails again…"
"Oh just go," Trish said with a roll of her eyes and a wave of her hands, "You wouldn't be able to sit still long enough anyway."
The grin Narancia shot her way was blinding and Trish must have felt that way too because Mista watched as the faux annoyance in her brows settled in a softened smile.
Fugo was quick to explain the visitation rules after that; whether it was because he wanted to get back to the hospital or just because he wanted to be alone with Narancia, Mista wasn't sure. Only two visitors were allowed in the room at a time except when switching with each other, visiting hours were strictly from six in the morning to six at night and family members were the only exception to that.
Once he'd finished, they'd quickly surveyed the room situation: three bedrooms, one that was distinctly smaller than the other two but with a single twin sized bed in it, and the other two a bit bigger with queen beds. Trish had laid claim to the room with the single bed in it, and Mista was honestly a little surprised she hadn't tried to insist on getting one of the queen beds to herself. That left the five boys to figure out how to fit them all in the other two rooms. In the end, they'd decided to rotate out who slept on the futon in the living room while splitting the other two beds between each other.
Fugo and Narancia had then left to head to the hospital, with Fugo promising to be back in about an hour. He also said that he'd take someone else over around two in the afternoon, but that the others would have to wait until the next day to visit.
There was only one bathroom, Mista realized after the pair had left, and Trish had immediately staken her claim to the shower first. That was fine with Mista; he'd already pulled Giorno into one of the bedrooms, flopping down on his back atop the quilt and instructing the blond to hurry into his bosom.
Giorno had laughed at Mista's phrasing but obeyed and for the next hour or so, they'd just lain there together. Mista didn't know if the blond actually fell asleep, but he figured it didn't really matter because in the end, he was at least resting.
True to his word, Fugo had come back around eleven with a bag of pastries from a bakery down the street. Trish had emerged from the shower smelling vaguely of vanilla and citrus and looking much happier than she had the past week. They'd sat around the kitchen table and ate in comfortable silence before Fugo had said he was going to take a quick nap and to wake him up when it was time to head back to the hospital.
Mista had left Giorno to use the shower and ventured downstairs to the first floor to check out the small convenience store armed with about fifty thousand lyre and a pink-haired girl with near categorical knowledge of the best snacks, sweets, drinks, and magazines this side of the Tevere.
They'd returned with Gianduja chocolates, Mista's favorite Mulino Bianco galletti cookies, a bag of cedrinca caramels, a thing of seneca apple chips for Trish, two bags of amica chips, one original and one ketchips (for Narancia), and as many fashion and entertainment magazines as they had money left over for.
When Giorno came out of the shower, he found Mista lounging on the futon eating the potato chips while he flipped through channels on the television while Trish sat curled in the bean bag reading aloud an article about ten ways to use scarves during the summer from the most recent edition of Vogue Italia. Giorno came up beside Mista, pulling the remote away from him to browse quickly through the guide until he came upon a nature documentary. Satisfied, the blond fell onto the couch next to Mista and immediately pressed up against his side. Mista caught the knowing grin Trish sent his way as he wrapped his arm around Giorno's shoulder and he stuck his tongue out at her pointedly.
That was Fugo found them all when he came stumbling out of the other bedroom, complaining that it was after two and they were supposed to wake him. Stealing one of the gianduja chocolate bars as recompense, Fugo asked who was going to the hospital with him and Mista quickly volunteered. Trish and Giorno waved them off and Mista followed Fugo into the sunny day.
The Italian sun was beating down on them, the first hints of summer starting to show despite it being early April. They emerged onto a small road with brick buildings and a row of oak trees sprouting between the road and the sidewalk. Fugo led him down the street past an elderly couple who were strolling along, grocery bags in their arms. They turned a corner and headed down a slope leading to the main road, which was bustling with cars and pedestrians, the soft hum of the vehicles and the chatter of the civilians mixing with the songs of the birds perched in the trees that were beginning to sprout little green leaves along their branches.
It was only a ten minute walk or so, just like Fugo had said, and Mista paid close attention so he'd remember how to get back by himself. The hospital itself looked old, made of weathered stone and fractured concrete edges but the inside was every bit as clean and orderly as he'd expected. Fugo led him to a stairwell and up towards a reception desk. With a nod at the older woman sitting behind it, Fugo hurried Mista along down the hallway until they came to a room numbered 227. The door was open and when Mista stepped in, he couldn't help the sad feeling that crashed onto him.
It just felt wrong, to see Bucciarati lying there in a hospital bed hooked up to monitors with an IV attached to his left elbow. The steady beep of the heart rate monitor was both unnerving and relieving to hear. Bucciarati himself looked… different. Mista couldn't really put his finger on what was off though until he got close enough to see the man's limbs. They were much thinner than before, to the point where Mista could make out the outline of the two bones that made up the forearm.
"Atrophied muscles," came a voice from beside the bed and Mista looked over to see Abbacchio staring at him from where he sat in an ugly coral-colored chair pulled up beside the bed. "That's what they're calling it at least."
"So they've come back with their official diagnosis then?" Fugo asked, coming up to stand beside Mista as he surveyed their unconscious capo.
"Oh, I know! Duchess disease!" Narancia cried proudly from the windowsill he was perched in.
Abbacchio shot the brunet a glower; "Duchenne, you idiot, not duchess. The guy called it a coma induced by sudden onset of duchenne muscular dystrophy. Or at least that's what they're gonna be calling it and treating it as."
"I see," Fugo said, "I'll have to do some research of my own then. Maybe there's a public library nearby…"
"Can we look around while we go back?" Narancia asked, "I wanna be outside for a little longer! It's such a nice day."
"Sure," Fugo agreed with a soft smile before turning back to Mista. "Do you need me to come back around six to pick you both up or do you remember the way back?"
"I got it covered, boss," Mista gave a mock salute as Fugo rolled his eyes.
"Right then. Come on, Nara, let's head out."
"Okay!" Narancia hopped off the windowsill and paused by Bucciarati's beside. Grabbing the capo's hand, he gave it a quick squeeze and said, "See you tomorrow, Bucciarati! I'll tell you all about how Trish is doing, so don't worry!"
Mista took the boy's place in the windowsill since there didn't appear to be another chair and he wasn't really inclined to call the nurses just for that. Maybe once upon a time when he'd want to ogle their uniforms and flirt with the bustier ones he would've, but now he just didn't see the point. He had Giorno to flirt with now.
"So how's he doing?" Mista asked.
Abbacchio's eyes flicked over to him briefly before they settled back on Bucciarati. "No change since we got here, really. Guess his limbs looking like that is the biggest thing. 'Course, it's not because they've atrophied. I don't know how you'd go about fixing something that's dead."
"Well, won't new stuff start to grow to replace the dead stuff? Wasn't that what Fugo was talking about when he explained what he and Giorno were doing?"
"We can only hope," Abbacchio muttered with a sigh. "Speaking of the brat, I'm surprised you're here and not him. The kid didn't wanna come?"
"Nah, I'm sure he did," Mista replied, remembering the conversation he'd had with Giorno back at the Colosseum. "I didn't want him to come though. If he did, he probably would've kept trying to help or fix him. I dunno how much more he could really do anyway, but it'd be even worse if he collapsed again."
"Knowing when to stop's important," Abbacchio agreed, "I'd say I'm surprised he listened to you but who am I kidding?"
Mista just grinned; he liked the implications of that. If Giorno listened to him but not the others, then that meant Mista's words held some sort of weight that the others' didn't, even if that weight was just because he valued Mista's opinion. Of course, Mista hoped it was because Giorno valued more than just that, but hey, they'd have time to figure it out, wouldn't they? They actually had time.
The hours passed quicker than Mista expected, with he and Abbacchio making small talk on and off. More often than not, they'd lapse into a comfortable silence and when Abbacchio would reach out to grasp Bucciarati's hand and bring it up to his chest, Mista would look out the window and people watch, pretending not to hear the soft whispers coming from the hospital bed's direction.
A couple times, a nurse would pop into the room to check Bucciarati's vitals and draw some blood. Each time, Mista would exchange pleasantries with her and more than once he'd catch Abbacchio eyeing him from the side as he cracked a joke that made the nurse giggle as she wrote something on her clipboard.
"Not chasing their numbers?" Abbacchio asked when a particularly attractive woman with vivid red curls left the room.
"Only one I'm interested in doesn't have a number," Mista replied simply with a grin. Abbacchio stared at him for a second or two before scoffing and turning back to Bucciarati.
A few minutes later, he heard the man say quietly, "Well, you two are at least good for each other."
That was as close as he'd get to getting Abbacchio's approval but it still meant a lot and Mista couldn't help but jump off the windowsill to give the man a tight hug. The white-haired man yelped, spinning around to glare at Mista as he danced out of Abbacchio's grasp before the guy had a chance to smack him, laughing as he left to get some water.
It was close to six in the evening and the sun was just about to fall behind the buildings across the street, casting long shadows into the hospital room, when the nurse on the evening shift entered.
"Six o' clock," she stated, "Time to leave for the day."
Mista glanced at Abbacchio; the man looked tired, dark purple shadows under his eyes, but it was clear he didn't want to leave by the way his hand gripped their capo's even tighter.
"Can't he stay longer?" Mista found himself asking before he could think too much about it. He felt Abbacchio's eyes on him as the nurse pursed her lips.
"I'm sorry but the only exception is family members," she said, not unsympathetically, "Unless you can provide identification-"
"Who do you think gave Bu- Claudio that ring?" Mista protested, barely remembering the alias they were supposed to use, "They're as good as family."
The nurse frowned as her blue eyes flitted over to where Abbacchio was still holding Bucciarati's hand. "Even so, the identification-"
"What identification? They ain't married, it's not allowed," Mista argued, now determined. He tried to remember the stuff Fugo said when he was raging about the Italian government not accepting same-sex couples' unions. Mista had thought that he'd been angry on Bucciarati and Abbacchio's behalf at the time, but after seeing Fugo's interactions with Narancia recently, he wondered if that hadn't been the case.
"I don't see a sign saying men aren't allowed to stay with their partner unless it's a woman," Mista continued, "Unless you guys just aren't telling us about it? If it's a rule, then fine, but if not, that's just discrimination."
Mista pointed at Abbacchio; "He's got as much of a right to be here as any other husband or wife. And Claudio would want him here no matter what."
The nurse looked conflicted, clearly trying to decide what she was going to do before she sighed and threw up her hands.
"Oh all right," she agreed, "Honestly, I have no problems with it. But if I get into trouble later with my superiors, I'm directing them to take it up with you. Does that sound fair?"
"More than," Mista grinned, nodding his head triumphantly. Wait 'til he got back to tell the guys about this; they'll be so damn proud of him. Hell, Mista was proud of himself.
As the nurse turned to go, Abbacchio spoke up for the first time. "Thank you," he said, staring straight at the blond woman, "Seriously. It means more than I could tell you."
She smiled at him; "No need for thanks, honey. Coma patients regain consciousness sooner if their loved ones are with them. Keep talking to him. I'll check in again around eight."
With that, she left the room and closed the door behind her, leaving Mista and Abbacchio in the hospital room.
"Well, that's my cue to head out," Mista said, stretching his arms above his head. He was stiff from sitting still for so long; strolling back would be good exercise. Maybe he'd stop by that bookshop he passed on the way, see if he couldn't find something for Fugo or Giorno.
"Mista," he heard Abbacchio say and paused, hand still on the doorknob. Mista had just turned around when he felt arms wrap around his chest and was pulled into a tight hug by Abbacchio. He grinned, eagerly returning with a slap on the man's back as he laughed.
"You're awfully affectionate; ya sure we don't gotta admit you here too?"
"Shut up," Abbacchio drawled, pulling back to clap Mista over the side of the head but there was barely any force behind it and the man was smiling. It wasn't the normal sneer or grimace Mista was used to that he was fairly certain killed a puppy every time Abbacchio made it, but one of the rare genuine ones that Mista normally only caught a glimpse of when the man was relaxing with Bucciarati.
"Thanks kid," Abbacchio said as Mista turned back to the door. "Really. I couldn't have done that myself. I owe you."
"Nah, ya don't owe me anything," Mista shrugged, "We're family, right?"
Abbacchio nodded. "Right."
Mista left feeling very pleased with himself. Not only did he feel like any possible rift still between him and Abbacchio was mended, he'd also managed to finagle something that Fugo hadn't even thought of. Of course, it might be an issue later if a different nurse worked the next day, but at least for tonight - the first night that Bucciarati was like this - Abbacchio could be by his side. Mista didn't know the medical benefits the nurse was talking about, but he figured that if it were him in that bed, having Giorno beside him would be plenty of incentive to get better as quickly as possible.
The walk back to the shared apartment was nice; it wasn't as hot now that the sun was going down and the traffic had lulled into a slow hum. He passed office workers with their briefcases on their way home from work, saw a few families out for an evening walk, a group of children ran past him laughing and shrieking. Mista couldn't help but smile; even if he wasn't in Napoli, Mista loved this damn country. That he got to protect it from a guy like Diavolo was more than he felt like he coulda hoped for when he became a gang member.
He made his triumphant return to the apartment with a canvas bag loaded with a couple different things he'd gotten at the bookstore: another pack of chocolates, this time a box with different types of truffles, today's newspaper, another fashion magazine that he didn't think Trish had gotten earlier, some fantasy novel with a kid in glasses on the cover that was sitting out on a bestseller's table that he thought Narancia might like, a book titled Pappagalli Verdi that the shopkeep had recommended when Mista asked what kind of interesting nonfiction the guy had, Oceano Mare, a novel that he thought had a pretty cover that maybe Giorno might like, and finally the novella that The Bridges of Madison County was based from. Mista hadn't even known it was based on a book until he saw the title and he'd practically leapt for joy. He didn't know if he'd really enjoy it or not but he loved the movie, and anything for Clint Eastwood.
They had asked him where Abbacchio was and when Mista told them, he was met with the praise he'd expected but it still felt way better than he thought it would be. Obviously he hadn't done it to be praised but Fugo didn't hand out commendations everyday and it felt damn good. Plus the proud smile on Giorno's face did all sorts of things to his stomach.
Surprisingly, Trish had commandeered the book he'd gotten for Narancia while Narancia was more than happy to look at the pictures in the magazines instead. Trish had given him such a disdainful look when Mista said he'd never heard of Harry Potter before. She'd rolled her eyes and said that yeah, he didn't look like the literate type. Mista had taken mock offense before showing off what he'd gotten for himself, which just had her laughing at his taste in what she deemed 'girly romance.' Mista had flipped her off before he plopped into the bean bag to read it.
Fugo had eagerly begun to tell Narancia all about the guy who wrote Pappagalli Verdi, which Mista was glad to hear since it meant he'd found a good book for Fugo. Giorno had come over to Mista and basically sat on his lap to read his own book. Mista had flushed bright red when he caught Narancia's eye and the boy made a crude gesture with his fingers that had Fugo smacking him upside the head.
And that was how their night went, with Fugo making macaroni at one point for dinner. It was barely after ten when they retreated to their bedrooms but Mista was fairly certain that all of them were exhausted. Besides, he was sure Fugo would probably be getting up super early anyway to head back to the hospital so better to have an early night.
Mista pulled off his sweater, noting that they should probably get some new clothes when he saw how dirty it was, wondering how the hospital staff even let him in in the first place. The others likely weren't much better.
This time, Giorno had taken off his jacket too, lying it atop the dresser on the far side of the room. Mista did his best to not stare but he probably did a piss poor job of it, seeing as Giorno snickered when he caught Mista's gaze more than once.
Mista had quickly scrambled into the bed, face flushed as he pointedly faced the window while Giorno finished getting ready. It was only when he felt the bed creak behind him that he dared to turn back around to find Giorno staring at him. A moment later, he felt something brush against his hand and realized that it was Giorno's own.
"Do you mind?" Giorno asked softly and Mista quickly shook his head no, grabbing Giorno's hand to squeeze it tightly. The blond smiled gratefully as he settled back onto the bed.
They exchanged goodnights, but lying there in the dead of night with his fingers entwined with Giorno's, it felt to Mista like they were exchanging much more than that.