Chapter Fifteen – Face The Problem

Tsuna looked at the newly installed lock on the inside his door with a bitter feeling in his stomach. The metal was shiny, and sturdy.

It was a match for the one on the outside of the bedroom Mukuro had chosen as his own. Tsuna didn't overlook the significance of their placements.

"You'd lock him in his room?" he turned to face Reborn who was sat primly on his bed.

"And I'd expect you to lock yourself in yours," Reborn replied immediately. "For your safety and his."

"For his safety?" Tsuna replied, voice high with disbelief and he took a moment to breathe in deep, hands fisted at his side. "You wouldn't care about him even if he came crawling towards you begging for help."

Reborn's expression shifted, minutely, but he didn't deny the claim.

"Mukuro is dangerous," Reborn began, "evidenced by the fact he chose to kill you without remorse. He's a dangerous person with a dangerous past and knows more about the mafia than you. For whatever reason he knows your circumstances, he might play on that to weaken you, or bring himself favour. He's not to be trusted."

"He was doing what he had to, to survive," Tsuna bit back angrily. "Because of what he went through, and to stop others going through the same."

"Mukuro is not a dog, Tsuna. He can't be trained to your ideals. He's dangerous. He's killed people."

"So have you!" Tsuna shouted back, unable to help himself. From downstairs the soft murmuring between his mother and the new household guests, Lambo and Mukuro, fell quiet. There was a smash, and Tsuna didn't doubt his shout had caused his mother to drop a glass.

"â€ĶI have," Reborn conceded. "But I have your best interests in heart."

"Oh, my best interests, really?" Tsuna seethed, starting to pace. "My best interests, in order to further your goals, in order to further the mafias goals. You'd sit me on a throne made of the bodies of children and men and women, a throne made to further progress at the expense of others!"

"That's not how it works," Reborn snapped back. "And you'd take care to watch your words."

"I will not!" Tsuna could feel his nails biting into his skin but it was nothing compared to the near encompassing range. "You say Mukuro is dangerous, that he's killed, that he's snuck his way into other families to tear them from the inside out – but you do nothing to stop the circumstances that caused him to act this way in the first place! Mukuro has an excuse for his actions; you don't! You chose this, chose to say 'yes' when it came to training me, and all for what? Dragging my friends into a war they have no right to be in and more death in a year than even I've experienced."

Tsuna's shoulders were heaving, his whole form trembling. The sting in his palms had turned to a burn, the slick consistency of blood slipping under his nails. He hadn't noticed the dark, shadowed expression on Reborn's face, of being compared, of being told he had no excuse.

"I have no illusions, Reborn. Mukuro isn't here because he cares for me. The first thing he did was stab me in the heart – and didn't go behind my back for it. He sees me not because he gives a damn but because he's gone through the same. He knows what it's like. A kindred spirit, maybe. But while I can wake up in the morning after being speared in the gut or shot in the head, he had to suffer through hell all the while. If that happened under the jurisdiction of the Vongola, what other secrets have I got to inherit? How much more blood will be put on my hands?"

"The mafia isn't a lawless place," Reborn said quietly.

"You could have fooled me," Tsuna retorted, but the wind was out of his sails and now he just felt tired, and wrung out. "Mukuro was wronged and wanted to right it. He got rid of his symptoms and chose to go for the cause. All of those people he killed, that can't be fixed. Results like Mukuro, can. Please take the locks off, or I will."

Tsuna stopped by the bathroom first, shoving his bleeding hands under the hot spray of the bathroom sink, letting the burn amplify and then whisk away the sting, water turning pink until he'd bled all he was going to.

Mukuro had been in his head, and he'd been in Mukuro's. He'd told Mukuro he'd seen everything and it wasn't a lie. Every lie, every deception, layered over every time he'd gone under a knife or listened to someone else scream when the knife was in his hand instead.

Maybe Mukuro couldn't be fixed, maybe he wouldn't stay or trust Tsuna for any longer than he had to and that was fine, but Tsuna could be the idealist all the same. A lifetime of suffering, repaid in a lifetime of the like and Mukuro had years left to live.

Turning the tap off, Tsuna pressed plasters into his skin one by one and fought the urge to scream. Weeks ago he was living a normal life. Now he was harbouring a fugitive freely because of sympathy of his plight and, slightly, empathy.

When the ideals came of burning it all to the ground, his legacy, his inheritance, Tsuna wasn't sure if the thoughts were his or not.

"Everything okay, Tsu-kun?" Nana asked almost anxiously as she set a bowl in front of him. "There was a lot of shouting upstairs. Is the tutoring not going well?"

"Something like that," Tsuna sighed, picking at his dinner and not feeling particularly enthused about the prospect of food. Mukuro was seated across from him and was staring intently at the flashes of colour that the plasters brought to his skin.

Mukuro was a good actor. His infiltration and betrayals were enough to prove this. It left a sour taste in Tsuna's mouth as he wondered how long Mukuro would be courteous to his hosts before he took off again.

"The tutor isn't happy about having another student in his domain, hmm?" Mukuro asked, lifting his elbow to the table so he could cradle his head in his palm.

Actor or not, right now he just looked tired and Tsuna couldn't blame him, felt the ache of exhaustion himself.

"Something like that," Tsuna repeated, and shovelled a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

"I never said thank you," Mukuro added. "For letting me stay here," he clarified, because it was between Tsuna and himself the hurried thanks whispered in the bleak face of a quick death.

"Mama enjoys the company," Tsuna said, tiredly. "And anything that riles Reborn like that is welcome here."

Mukuro gave a bark of laughter and took his elbow from the table so Nana could set a bowl in front of him. He muttered some soft thanks, and Nana tittered before taking a dozing Lambo from his seat and leaving the kitchen to let them eat.

"If at any point during the night you get the urge to try and kill me again," Tsuna began, and watched as Mukuro spluttered into his food at the non-sequitur, "please let me know. We can go ahead in the bathroom because it's easier to clean."

"What makes you think I want you dead now?" Mukuro asked, setting his utensils down and tilting his head like a curious dog.

Tsuna smiled, but it felt cold and unnatural on his face.

"I saw everything," he reminded Mukuro, watching as the curious expression twisted to something ugly then, proud and angry.

"It's better for me this way," Mukuro dismissed. "I know now that killing you will end in nothing but disappointment. There are many paths to a goal. Endearing myself to the future Decimo of the Vongola is just one of them and less bloody too."

He batted his eyelashes at Tsuna and returned to his food with a murmur of, "There's someone I've been following, as have others. I think it will be beneficial for you to get to know them."

"Beneficial," Tsuna murmured in reply, even as Mukuro smiled slyly back at him.

Endearing himself indeed.

When Tsuna made his way to bed, the locks were gone. He was quiet in his hard won victory.

Drama is my middle name. Tsuna is realising the impact of his new adopted slightly psychotic son who is actually older than him.