The sound of the ocean waves mixed with the buzz of Aerosmith's engine as it flew overhead, scouting out the area around the gang for any sign of the attacker.

Mista wasn't sure how much time had passed before he and Giorno were finally called back over to the others by Bucciarati. He had been too focused on the way Giorno's hand felt within his own and too distracted by the blond himself.

Giorno's face was still too pale and that thin sheen of sweat hadn't faded. Mista suspected he felt worse than he was letting on but there was nothing he could do if the boy wanted to act like he was fine. Not without upsetting Giorno.

And he understood it. After what had happened to Abbacchio, Mista was certain that Giorno didn't want to bother anyone else, didn't want to cause the team to worry over not one but two of them. He was that self-sacrificing type, after all.

All Mista could do was just offer his silent support and wait until they'd finally entered the turtle and were back on the road to force Giorno to confront his own physical state.

Mista was pretty sure that Bucciarati suspected the same thing as well, judging by the way the capo didn't call them back over for quite awhile. At one point, he'd looked back at the others to see what was going on, if they needed to come back, but Bucciarati had made eye contact with him and gave a not-so-subtle pointed look at Giorno before shifting his blue eyes back to Mista.

He got the message.

And of course, his suspicions were further proven right when they were beckoned over a bit later. Bucciarati had announced what the pair missed while they'd sat on the beach, delivering a stern glare to Narancia when he started to mock them. Mista made a mental note to get the little brat back later. He had enough ammunition from the past few days, that was for sure.

"Abbacchio has informed us that he succeeded in his task despite the attack," the capo said and Mista couldn't help the shocked noise he made when he heard that.

"How the hell-"

"Not all of us are incompetent," the man in question growled, arms crossed over his chest from where he was still sat on the rock he'd collapsed on. Abbacchio had moved at some point, now seated at the edge of the stone and out of the pool of drying blood.

"Looks like someone's feeling better." Mista didn't really have it in him to be upset though, not after how close Abbacchio came to dying. Honestly, it was a relief. If it had been him, Mista doubted whether or not he'd be able to recover from something like that this fast.

Abbacchio rolled his eyes before tossing something small towards Mista. The gunman stumbled forwards as he tried to grab it, plucking it out of the air just before it could land in the sand. He opened his fist to reveal a long, rectangular piece of gray stone.

"Part of the stele," Abbacchio explained, resting his chin in one hand as he gestured in the direction of the stone slab. "Grabbed it as a clue, since I thought I was dead."

"Right before he lost consciousness," Bucciarati added, "Abbacchio had Moody Blues attack the base of the stele and leave an imprint on it. You can quite clearly see the figure it left in the stone of the Boss' face."

"Seriously?!" Mista couldn't believe what he was hearing. This was great! This was a breakthrough, right?!

"But even if it's a face, if we can't recognize it…" Giorno trailed off, glancing over to see the glare Abbacchio was shooting him and winced. Mista frowned at that but didn't say anything. They'd already made leaps and bounds of progress in their relationship; he should just stay out of it now.

"You're right," Fugo agreed, appearing behind Bucciarati as he gestured towards the stele behind him. "But we have something even more important than that - his fingerprints."

Mista felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Giorno holding out his hand. It took him a moment but then he passed the sliver of stone to the blond when he realized that was what he wanted. There was the sound of warping as the gray material shifted into a small ladybug that flew off towards the stele.

Mista followed after Giorno as they approached, curious to see it for himself as the ladybug nestled itself into a crevice and morphed back into gray stone that fit seamlessly into the stele before slipping out of the hole and clattering to the ground.

An unfamiliar face stared up at them, furrowed brows and sharp eyes with a distinct frown etched into the monument with two handprints beside the man's face. Sure enough, the fingerprints were clear as day on each of the ten fingers pressed deftly into the stone.

"Incredible," Giorno murmured as he knelt down to run his fingers along the seam of the left hand's imprint.

"It's a death mask," Mista said grimly. "Or would have been, had that asshole succeeded. I can't believe Abbacchio had enough Stand energy left to leave this for us in the end."

"It's my will."

The voice came from behind them and both boys shifted to see Abbacchio standing behind them, leaning heavily on Bucciarati's shoulder with a grimace on his face but determination in his eyes.

"The will to seek out the truth. That's what matters most."

It sounded to Mista as though there was another, deeper meaning to those words and the look the capo gave his partner made it all the more clear but instead of asking, Mista just grinned at them.

"I dunno if I agree with you," he said. "But good job anyways, man. You did way better than I coulda done!"

"Anyone can do better than you," Narancia chimed in, poking his head out from behind Bucciarati. "You're an idiot, Mista!"

"You're not any better, dipshit!"

"Well at least I don't ignore my mission to flirt!"

Mista felt his face heating up and darted forwards, trying to grab that stupid brat to give him the worst noogie of his life. Narancia slipped out of reach like it was nothing, laughing obnoxiously as he ran to hide behind the stele.

"I'll beat you so bad you'll have to crawl back in Fugo's lap to hide!"

And now it was Mista's turn to sprint away as Narancia turned the color of his Stand and shrieked, "I'll kill you!"

"Why are you both like this?" Bucciarati sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "Stop it. We don't have time for this nonsense right now; we need to take the fingerprints and leave. Before any of the Boss' men come here."

"Sorry," Mista and Narancia both grumbled as one. When the capo turned away, Mista shouldered Narancia sharply in the side, sending the boy stumbling to the left with an oof of surprise. A second later, the brunet's bony elbow found its way into Mista's side and they dissolved into petty pushing and shoving until they noticed the way Fugo was glaring at them both with enough ferocity to scare a lion off.

"Should we break off one of the fingers?" Bucciarati was saying as Mista directed his attention back to his capo, afraid of doing anything else that might incur Fugo's wrath. "I could unzip that part of the stone but I'm not quite sure how to transfer the fingerprint to our computer. I also don't want to damage the integrity of the stone either."

"And we can't just leave it either," Fugo added. "Now that the Boss' face is imprinted in the stele, we'll have to destroy it before we leave. We don't want to draw any unwanted attention."

"If I may," Giorno began, and Mista could tell by the look in the blond's eyes that he had a plan. "I think I can help."

"By all means," Bucciarati acquitted, gesturing to the stele.

Giorno stepped over towards it and knelt down, reaching out to brush his fingertips against one of the stone fragments that had been broken off by Moody Blues while leaving the impression in the stele. Gold Experience's hand appeared above Giorno's and the gray morphed into green as stems and leaves sprouted from the formerly inanimate object.

"This is ground-ivy," Giorno explained as small purple flowers blossomed from tiny buds as the vine continued to twist and grow. "It's leaves are quite broad, as you can see. We can use this to transfer the fingerprints onto it and I can keep it alive until we no longer need the plant."

Before anyone could voice the obvious question of just how exactly they'd transfer the prints, Giorno pressed his left thumb to his teeth and bit down, ripping a small chunk of flesh from his finger as blood trickled down freely.

"What are you-"

Mista was stopped by Bucciarati before he could say anymore, arm out to block his path and a stern look that had him biting his tongue.

Giorno held his thumb over one of the fingerprint impressions, crimson blood dripping down into the hole from the small gash. Plucking a long stem from the ivy, he used one of the larger leaves to press against the stone for a few seconds before pulling back and showing it to the others.

A perfect copy of the fingerprint was inked into the leaf in Giorno's blood.

"We can keep multiple fingerprints this way, not to mention being able to see them much more clearly," Fugo said, sounding enthusiastic as he examined the mark. "Good thinking, Giorno."

Giorno gave a brief nod of thanks as he repeated the process until one of the hand impressions was fully recorded on the broad leaves of the ground-ivy. Once he had finished, he stood up and grew out the roots from the plant.

"We can keep it in the vase in Coco Jumbo," the blond explained. "This way, we can take the fingerprints without any harm coming to the imprint-"

"And we can take the relief as well," Bucciarati finished. "I was hesitant to simply remove the impression in case of damaging it but now we have the ivy as a backup. Well done, Giorno!"

A hint of a smile crossed the boy's pretty face as he nodded awkwardly at Bucciarati.

"I'll take the plant back to Coco Jumbo and get it in the vase," Giorno said. "I'd like to get it in fresh water as soon as possible."

"Of course," Bucciarati agreed. "You can also tell Trish what's happened. I wanted to wait until we were sure the enemy was no longer around. We'll stay here to transport the relief as well. I'll need most of you as it will be heavy, but Mista, why don't you go with Giorno in case he needs any help?"

Recognizing it as the obvious chance that was, Mista gave a quick salute and followed after Giorno with a grin.

"I don't need any help, you know," Giorno said matter-of-factly as Mista caught up to him and fell back to match the blond's pace.

"Sure ya do," Mista drawled easily, grinning as he pointed to the ivy and said, "Just look at all that heavy lifting you're doing! As a gentleman, it's my job to get the door for you on your way."

"Even though there's no door?"

"The proverbial door," Mista insisted.

"I'm surprised you know what that means," Giorno answered wryly. "Fugo?"

"Fugo," Mista confirmed. As they neared the turtle, Mista rushed towards it to scoop it up off the ground and, with an overexaggerated flourish, bowed low as he held it out to Giorno. "Your carriage awaits, my Lord."

"I can see that," Giorno said with a roll of his eyes but Mista's sharp ears caught the soft giggle that followed it right before the blond disappeared inside Coco Jumbo.

He couldn't help the giddy grin that spread across his face as he realized he'd actually made Giorno giggle of all things. Fuck, he was so damn cute. Way outta Mista's league. Lucky for him though, by some miracle, Giorno didn't seem to think so.

When he entered the turtle himself, Giorno was already speaking to Trish, who was actually off her favorite chair for once, and boy, did she look pissed. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her foot was tapping impatiently, and the scowl on her face could rival that of Fugo's on one of his worst days.

"-an hour!" she was yelling angrily. "Did it ever occur to your assholes that maybe I don't want to stay in here by myself for hours?!"

"Trish, we couldn't help it," Giorno tried to placate, awkwardly holding the ivy plant in one hand and the vase of yellow roses in the other and Mista rushed over to yank the vase out of the boy's hands. Giorno shot him a grateful glance as he said, "Like I said, it wasn't-"

"Wasn't safe, yeah, I know," she interrupted before Giorno could continue. "Maybe you boys are too dumb to realize this, but I don't need want to play the princess in need of protection! I'm not some damsel in distress! I have Spice Girl! I can help!"

"Did you tell her?" Mista asked, and when Giorno shook his head, the gunman sighed before turning to trish. "Trish, Abbacchio almost died."

That seemed to get her attention, freezing in place as all color seemed to drain from her face.

"…What?"

"Someone - we think one of the Boss' men but we don't know for sure - punched a hole straight through his damn chest." Mista's hands tightened around the vase as he recalled the only thing that was going through his mind when he'd seen that happen. "We weren't really thinking about anything else but trying to save him."

Trish was silent for a few seconds as Giorno carefully pulled the yellow roses from the porcelain vase, eyes fixed on the stalks and nowhere else, no doubt remembering how close he'd come to failure.

"…Is he…?"

"He's alright," Giorno murmured softly, setting the roses down on the carpeted floor. "But he'll likely be unsteady for awhile yet."

"I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry," Trish whispered, averting her gaze to the floor. Mista reached out with his free arm to set his hand on her shoulder, her green eyes lifting up to meet his.

"Trish, you're important to the team. Really, I ain't just saying that," Mista encouraged. "But you're also the one Boss wants most, y'know? And Abbacchio is one thing, but I know that if Bucciarati failed to protect you, he'd never forgive himself. It ain't that we don't trust you, we just want you to stay safe until this's all over."

Trish stared at him for a few moments before her eyes seemed to water and she looked away. "I know that, idiot," she sniffed, taking a step back. "But thanks, I guess."

Mista grinned and flashed her a thumbs up. Once Giorno had finished positioning the ground-ivy how he wanted it, Mista set the vase back down on the pedestal it had sat on, feeling satisfied despite having done next to nothing.

"What is-" Trish cut off as she noticed something and quickly exclaimed, "Giorno, you're bleeding!"

"Oh shit, I forgot!" Mista cried, darting a hand out to yank the blond's arm towards himself to examine his thumb. It had stopped freely bleeding by now, but the red blood crusting around the small wound hadn't quite dried yet.

"It's really not a big deal," Giorno muttered, although he didn't pull away, and Mista got the sense that he was embarrassed. "For something like that, a little spit will do."

"Oh yeah?" Mista said, brows furrowing as he glanced at Trish. "Get the first aid kit, will ya?"

When she nodded and turned away to go get the white box from where they kept it nestled in the bottom cabinet, Mista made eye contact with Giorno and lifted the boy's thumb up to his mouth and licked it. The tang of iron spread across his tongue as Mista deftly cleaned it off. His girlfriends had always said he worked wonders with his tongue.

Giorno looked shocked for a split second before he winced and pulled his finger away, murmuring a quiet, "Ow," as he averted his gaze, a hint of pink spreading over his cheeks.

"See? Spit won't work," Mista chided as Trish walked over to them with the first aid kit.

"Won't work?" she echoed curiously and Mista finally felt some embarrassment under the girl's keen gaze. Recognition filled her green eyes and she smirked something awful as she said, "Nevermind. Here you go. I'm gonna go check on the others, so see ya."

And then she was gone, leaving Giorno and Mista alone in the turtle.

"…Gimme your thumb again," Mista muttered awkwardly before the silence stretched too long. Giorno glanced up at him and looked away as soon as they made eye contact. Still, he held out his hand anyway.

Using one of the baby wipes they kept mostly for Narancia and his sticky hands, the gunman quietly cleaned off the bite wound and wiped the last of the crusting blood from it. He squeezed a small blob of disinfectant cream onto the bite mark before covering it with one of the smaller bandages they kept in the box.

"All done," he said as he put the items back in the kit. "It coulda gotten infected if you just left it, y'know."

"I know," Giorno answered. "I just…"

"Didn't care all that much?" The lack of response was answer enough and Mista sighed quietly. "I get it dude, but still. Trust me, if ya don't, there's hell to pay. This one time, a bullet clipped my arm during a fight and I just left it alone 'cause I forgot about it. Well Bucciarati found out later and I had t' listen to a three hour lecture about private wound care and how to 'talk to your teammates.' And Fugo and Nara never let me forget about it either. Ya gotta take better care of yourself."

"I'm sorry."

"Not 'sorry,'" Mista said as he set the box back in the cabinet before turning to point a finger at Giorno. "'Thank you.' Geez, you're as bad as Nara used to be."

"Then thank you." Giorno offered him a small smile, holding his bandaged thumb against his chest with a soft expression. "For earlier too."

"Already said that," Mista reminded, feeling the last bit of awkwardness ebb away as he walked back over to Giorno's side, flopping into the armchair the blond stood beside. A cocky grin stretched across his lips. "But if you're that grateful, then I can think of a couple ways you can make it up to me."

Giorno watched him for a second before he smirked as well. The blond walked slowly around to the front of the crimson armchair and, without even a shadow of hesitation, plopped down right on top of Mista's lap.

Giorno wrapped his arms around Mista's shoulders as he leaned in to whisper, "So can I. You aren't the only one with an adept tongue."

The only thing that came out of Mista's open mouth was a high-pitched squeaking noise that sent Giorno into a fit of laughter. The boy clutched his chest as he laughed, deeper than Mista would've expected with an overtly jovial tone, and Mista couldn't help but start chuckling too.

"I'm not sure that's healthy," Giorno snickered. "Nor that a man your age is supposed to be able to make that noise."

"Like I've said," Mista answered, clearing his throat to get rid of the knot lodged in it. "I'm a man of many talents."

"So it seems," Giorno said as he began to recover from his fit and Mista couldn't help but notice the blond was still perched on his lap.

Before he could do anything about that, the sound of yelling drifted over to them and a second later, Fugo appeared in Coco Jumbo. The blond's head was pointed at the gem in the ceiling, hands cupped around his mouth as he cried, "Just a few more steps forward!"

And then he noticed Mista and Giorno, who were watching Fugo with a mix of surprise and embarrassment. Well, Mista felt embarrassed. Giorno looked like he owned every centimeter of the land they walked on, and therefore had nothing to be embarrassed about.

"What are-"

And then Narancia was inside the turtle as well, holding the impression of the Boss' face with a look of frustration and exertion. Of course, Mista realized, he'd insisted on carrying it himself, that was exactly like Narancia after all.

It was also exactly like Narancia when he dropped the damn thing as he burst out cackling, sending Fugo diving to catch the part of the stele before it shattered. Much as Mista wanted to kill that little shit, he figured he didn't need to do anything about it.

Narancia wouldn't be laughing for long.