A/N: This chapter is for lemonsquare_cheesecake. I hope I got it correct. Thank you! ^_^
Disclaimer: I still don't own anything here but the story and the extra Sato Yoshino.
Ch 2- Remember me?
If I jumped off the roof that night, will I still be able to see you?
For Yamamoto, the dojo is a good diversion.
The meditative atmosphere of it doesn't his heart beats fast with adrenaline like it does when he's in a baseball field. Neither does it drive his whole being to movemovemove and hithithit every ball aimed for him. His movements weren't as aggressive as when he's trying to catch, pitch, hit a ball. There are no cheers, yells whatsoever. Just the peace and calmness inside the large wooden room and the sound of his shinai cutting through the air.
Ten years earlier, he would have refuse to step inside the dojo, or would have done everything to refrain from doing so, if ever he needs to.
But there came an incident that no one, not even himself, his father and his teammates would have predicted. A circumstance that had him wasting a whole day away, moping at dojo.
Because to watch his teammates play is too tormenting.
At that time, he had come to hate the baseball so much that he boxed everything that will constantly remind him of the sport, and started visiting the Asarigumi.
His movements cease, arms falling to his sides. The practice sword rests in his right hand; the feel of it is not the same as the grip of a bat, but it's still a nice feeling. Warm, subdued and powerful yet not forceful.
Through the past years, these short practices became his safe zone, a moment and place where everything in him seemed subjugated. It's a different thing for him when his playing baseball.
Yamamoto couldn't fathom it himself, but that's how it goes for him.
He pants for a few seconds, eyes shut, his other senses automatically heightened. then he sat crossed-legs on the wooden floor with the shinai beside him. A short meditation of sort.
It's his way of starting and ending a sword practice, which usually takes two to four hours, depending on how high-strung he is. Practice takes longer, especially after he return to playing baseball.
There's an instance, where his father windup fetching him late in the night just because he won't go home with his nerves itching to play again. But nonetheless, his pops approved of his nightly practice at the dojo.
That routine started, more or less, five years ago.
A sigh strained out of him. He was supposed to clear his mind, not rack it with thoughts he'd rather not dwell on. Memories of the past shouldn't bother him anymore.
But there's just one special encounter that night that he couldn't bring himself to let go of.
'What was his name again?'
The light beeping from his wristwatch snaps him out of his wandering thoughts.
"Ah~. Time to get going now."
Yamamoto got up from the floor and began gathering his things.
Good thing he had the sense to dropped by their house before heading straight at the dojo. At least, his father would know where to look for him just in case he got worried again.
Not bothering to change from his practice garments, the baseball player locked the dojo up and began his way towards their house and shop, his footsteps almost light and bouncy.
The day has been good, it night as well be great, for him.
Before he went out early for a game, his father poured him a cup of tea with its stalk floating upright. A good omen. The weather was nice to play baseball and everyone in the team thought so too.
They won the game easily.
Indeed, it has been a great day.
No matter even when the man in the black suit showed up again. It's the fourth time that the same man tipped his fedora towards him.
If it's to congratulate him or to simply greet him, Yamamoto will never know. Unless he ask the man himself. But always, in those four times, the man just mysteriously dissolved with the crowd, unnoticed.
The only trace left that he'd been there was a faint yellow aura from where he stood. It's almost the same as the blue aura that the bladed Shigure Kintoki emits.
A stable flow of energy, but a dangerous one if provoked.
He suddenly got a bad feeling about this.
Yamamoto knew very well what his father was before and a little after he married his mother.
Surely, the man wasn't after his father? Otherwise, he wouldn't be at his games, watching his every move and emitting that yellow aura just to catch his attention, right? Right?
Maybe he was just overthinking about things, but he couldn't help but quicken his steps.
Not his pops. Please not him.
His walk became a stride, until he felt his breathing turned into panting and realized that he's already running. But as he rounded the last turn to where their shop is, the panic-stricken man gradually slow down his pace. Then he halted when the shop came into view.
A black, heavy tinted car parked right in front of the entrance. And if it hadn't been for the lit cigarette hanging from his mouth, Yamamoto wouldn't have notice the guy leaning against the car.
With the only light coming from the street light adjacent to the shop, he had no way of seeing the man's face. But the silhouette of the man hovered with the smoke from his cigarette and his silver hair was very familiar to Yamamoto.
"What the hell are you making a scene for? I'm fucking trying to smoke here!"
The silver-haired man suddenly turned his way. "What the fuck are you staring at?"
Yup. Definitely, he's the same man he met almost five years ago.
"I better not see your pathetic excuse for a face on the headlines tomorrow, 'cause I will absolutely get back at you for making me waste a goddamn stick."
"Hey, Hayato! We have to go now!"
"Hayato..."
A less frantic Sawada Tsunayoshi came to his room yesterday.
The last time Gokudera saw the young boss had been on the meeting two days ago, from which a decision was yet to be made.
Knowing the boss, Gokudera was sure he had already damned a number of soul to hell, if he could, for threatening the family. Not that he hadn't done so himself.
Whenever it concerns the family, no matter how small or big deal it was, the Tenth will always be on the edge of his sanity, with his hands on his head.
He understood the Tenth so well, up to the point that he share the same feeling and opinion.
But, there is always an exception to everything.
Everytime the Tenth would bring up the matter about the new rain guardian, the silver-haired man pointedly ignore it, changing their conversation to a more neutral ground.
His ashamed of this small folly, but it couldn't be help.
The idea always takes his mind off somewhere he's not yet ready to ponder over.
But the Tenth had him cornered yesterday.
Gokudera have never felt so suffocated around his beloved boss before.
Seeing the Tenth wore his rare stern look upon entering his room intimidated him like never before. He realized there have been no fucking point in running away from the very start.
It's fucking inevitable. Gokudera doesn't have a choice to begin with, no one does.
He just thought that stalling could prevent it.
But apparently, a new guardian has been selected.
"Gokudera-kun, I hope you give this another chance. Come with us and meet him."
The past week had him almost hating the Tenth and the family, now, he understood why he just can't.
He couldn't even comprehend why the Tenth was so compelled to act that way towards him, when all he ever did lately was to burden him. On the contrary, though, he was glad that his boss value his opinions and feelings on such a grave matter that a right-hand man really didn't have a say. Especially when his at fault.
His grip on the wheels tightens. His appearance contradicts the turmoil inside him.
There's no turning back now. After all his the Tenth's right-hand man.
So, Gokudera drove the car at a smooth pace, slow yet fast. Their destination; Takesushi. It's a sushi shop ran by a man named Yamamoto Tsuyoshi, a formerly known Japanese hitman, who wouldn't hesitate to take down anyone in the name of the Vongola Ninth.
He'd heard the name before. Hell, Yoshi used to ramble over and over the stories that circulated amongst the family, since the guy himself was a Japanese.
He, who uses katana to kill so fast, that not a single drop of blood was left on it's blade.
Gokudera remembered scoffing at the legend.
As a dynamite and a gun user, he really hadn't thought of "killing" as a neat "job".
Maybe the words were just an exaggeration, perhaps a myth that fools tend to believe in. Either way, he will surely find out soon.
Soon isn't that farfetched when Reborn-san dealt matters his way; the Vongola way.
"Take the last turn to the right." Instructed the former Arcobaleno from the backseat.
The car came to a halt in front of a sushi shop a "closed" sign hanging on it's entrance.
A brief glance on his wristwatch tells him that they came right on time. They don't want to catch any unwanted attention from the shop's patrons.
Gokudera was the first one to alight from the car, checking the area for any threats before he open the door from the Tenths's side.
He was given a simple nod as Reborn came from the other side of the car, silently directing him to the shop's entrance.
The Mafia is often mistaken to be street gangsters, even though they don't announce their presence in the most extravagant way of kicking the door. Not if they can help it. And especially not in an ally's territory.
So, with a grace a mafioso should have, Gokudera slid the door open, entering in a fashion a regular costumer would. Only they didn't came here as costumers.
"Ah! I'm sorry but-" A man from behind the counter tried to reason out but was cut off at the sight the three suit-clad men.
Based on the white garment he wore, the man must be a worker on the sushi shop.
"Tsuyoshi."
Or maybe not.
To say that he was surprised was an understatement.
The man behind the counter, the one that Reborn-san called "Tsuyoshi", wasn't the hitman that he had expected. Judging by his appearance, the man could be at least three years older than the former Arcobaleno, though no one really knew what the latter's age was.
Gokudera glanced at the young boss on his side. The Tenth has this nostalgic look on his face as he smile warmly at the man.
If he recalled it right, the chosen rain guardian was a former classmate of the Tenth during his middle school years. The chance that the boss knew this man was very likely.
Breaking out of his shock, the man stepped out from behind the counter and regarded Reborn with a nod. "It's been a while, Reborn."
"Are you talking about my appearance, Tsuyoshi?" Reborn demanded.
The man in question burst out in a fit of laughter, one of his hands patting the other man at the back like they were old friends. "Nah. Just, the last time I saw you, you were as little as my Takeshi. Can't blame the old man, can you?" Then came another series of laughter.
"Ah... the curse was already lifted, Yamamoto-san."
Taking his time to regain his composure, the former hitman gave the young boss an endearing look. "I know, Tsuna-kun." he said, lifting a hand to take the boss' right hand to his. "Or should I say, Vongila Decimo?" The man lightly place a kiss on the Tenth's hand.
Even after mastering the look of indifference, that Gokudera himself had gotten so intimidated with, a tinge of pink still made itself apparent on the boss' face.
"Yamamoto-san..."
Gokudera just stood in the background; an spectator ready to blow if this man decided to take on the Tenth. Just in case.
Half his life was spent living in this mafia business, and it had thought him not to trust anyone but your boss and yourself.
Being an ally doesn't say a lot about this man, but he did trust the Tenth and Reborn-san. Though it wouldn't hurt to be alert all the time. He doesn't want to make the same mistake.
With a few words of introductions, they were ushered inside the shop, taking the table at the far end side. Gokudera only followed the Tenth, his eyes cautiously watching the older Yamamoto.
One wrong move and your dead meat.
"Gokudera."
"Yes, Reborn-san?" He asked in controlled politeness.
"Such a chary look is not needed. Just relax."
Sparing the Tenth another glance, Gokudera sighed, forcing his tense demeanor aside. he slightly bowed his head towards the former hitman seating across the table. "Please excuse my rudeness. It was purely out of habit."
To his annoyance, the man only chuckled and waved a hand at him. "There's nothing to apologized, my boy." Yamamoto-san said, his nonchalant attitude suddenly took a serious one. "You shouldn't be sorry for doing your duty." Then a grin broke out his face that turned into a full blown guffaw.
Gokudera was utterly baffled by this man. He hates to say this but this, Yamamoto Tsuyoshi, was one crazy man.
Sudden changes in mood and attitude isn't normal.
Oh God, let there be more to Yamamoto Takeshi than there was to this man.
"Being the father doesn't give me the right to decide for him."
Really, he wished that his own bastard of a father could be half the father that Yamamoto Tsuyoshi was, minus the craziness.
Gokudera let the butt of his third cigarette fell on the ground as he lit a new one.
Maybe his father was one of his kind.
He have to admit, he was never the type to separate his personal life to his work. For him, he live for his work and he face everything with his every being.
Masks were not his fashion.
His father tried to wear one, though he failed miserably, on Gokudera's account.
But Yamamoto-san, from what he witnessed, have managed to be a man, a hitman and a father in a short span of time.
It was so fucking confusing.
No man should be allowed to be anyone he wants all at once.
If you want to be a father, then don't go around wielding a sword to kill a dozen bastards or you'll end up hurting your son.
Smoke puffed out of his nose and mouth as he heaved a sigh.
Envy is a real bitch.
His father cannot be the father and the boss that he wants to be, and ended up hurting his own son.
Gokudera himself can't be anyone but Hurricane Bomb Hayato; the Vongola Tenth's right-hand man and the storm guardian. He couldn't be anyone, not even the younger brother that he once was.
Not anymore.
He might end up like his father if he dare try, so no, thank you. It was never one of his options.
The cold night breeze sent chills to his body, but it was more than welcome.
After Reborn's obtrusive way of stating their purpose, in which the older Yamamoto responded like the father that he was, Gokudera decided that a dose of the cancer stick will help him calm his nerves, and excused himself.
Yamamoto Takeshi was yet to arrive, as they were informed of his nightly practice at a dojo.
Gokudera's wristwatch says nine-forty. They've been here for almost an hour now.
How long does this Yamamoto Takeshi intend to take his time?
He groaned in frustration.
Goddammit. He had just lit the last cigarette in his person and he didn't even notice. He prayed that he had, at least, a spare pack in his car.
Gokudera unlocked the door from the driver's seat to hunt for a pack of cigarettes on the dashboard, if there are any.
Luckily, he have an emergency pack hiding under the dashboard mat. So, lighting a new stick, he resume his post just in front the shop entrance. His only company were his cigarette, the cold night and the murmured words coming from the shop.
If Yoshi were here, he will surely scold him for smoking more than he eats.
And if he were here, they wouldn't even have to step a foot on a former hitman's sushi shop, requesting for the service of his son.
Gokudera felt, more than heard, a ragged breathing that broke his trail of thoughts. His hand automatically move to his breast pocket where his prized gun was placed. One can never be too sure, even if he cannot sense any danger.
"What the fuck are you staring at?" He asked roughly, looking at the intruder.
Though the darkness of the night was making it hard for him to see the guy standing a few meters away, he could tell that he wasn't holding any weapons, nor was he in a combative stance.
"Hayato..."
Who the hell... "What did you just say?"
"You-You're Hayato, right?" The shadowed figure shuffled towards him, revealing a tall man carrying a duffel bag and two long cases.
Something in the way the guy had utter his name made his pulse jump a few beats and it didn't do any good to his mood.
"Who's the shit that gave you the right to call me by my first name, bastard?" He hissed, the hand in his suit shifted, locating the mini bombs he place in a different pocket in case the urge to blow this man to pieces came over him.
"No. I just... you don't remember me?" The bastard looked genuinely confused-and stupid, might he add- with his hand scratching the back of head.
It pisses him off.
And the bastard even have the guts to act like he knows him?
This guy definitely has a lesson to learn.
But before Gokudera could lit up one of his bombs, the door to the shop slides open.
"Gokudera-kun? What- ah! Yamamoto!" The Tenth exclaimed.
He looked from the his boss, to the guy he nearly blow-up minutes earlier. The stupid man appeared to be more confused. "Who- hey! You're that guy from this morning!"
"Heh. Seems like you remembered." Reborn said, coming out of the shop.
"Well, why don't we all come in so I can properly introduced my son?"
He was trying to be the best, but he windup at the hospital, rendered useless.
The hours passed by in a blur of pain and screams. One moment he was just swinging his bat, then minutes later his right arm felt numb and when he forced it to feel, an excruciating jolt of pain almost made him tear the said limb off his body.
His teammates from the university ran towards him when he fell to the ground. Gripping his dear limb, Yamamoto was begging to please stop hurting or he won't make it for the tryouts.
But it throbbed even more.
Repetitive Strain Injury or RSI, that's the pathetic case his right arm had fallen to. The doctor explained that overuse of muscles on his arm was the probable cause of the injury. That he's lucky enough to have spared his left arm from the same state.
Who's lucky? The fallen look on his father's face surely doesn't indicate such luck.
After the pain came the numbness. His arm felt tender and not a pinch could make a reaction out of it. Yamamoto couldn't feel a thing and it scared the life out of him.
What about baseball? What about the tryout for the Namimori team? What about everything.
The doctor had banned Yamamoto from doing anything that would strain his arms for the next six months, tentatively. If the pain stays regardless of the rests and treatments, he would have to quit baseball completely.
He couldn't take the pity on his father's face so look away, asking everyone in his hospital room to leave him alone for a while.
Their pity won't change a thing. It'll only be an extra baggage for them, and he don't want to be a burden to anyone.
He listened as everyone left the room, including his father. The silence of the room wasn't making him feel any better.
Yamamoto was released from the hospital the next day. It's not like the doctor could do anything on his current condition. All that was left to do was wait, see the doctor weekly, hope, see a therapist, wait, avoid the baseball field, hope and wait and hope and wait.
Until the days became weeks and then months and the hoping and waiting was over. Only to turn out that six months wasn't enough.
Yamamoto just smiled at his father and excused himself from the doctors office.
They said that it usually takes longer, sometimes a lifetime, to overcome this injury.
No. Six months was enough. He couldn't do this anymore. So he ran.
He ran through the quiet corridors of the hospital, ignoring the warnings coming from the nurses he passed by. He climb the flight of the stairs and pushed the heavy metal door leading to the rooftop.
The autumn night felt damp on his skin. Aside from him, the rooftop was empty.
Maybe, his arms could do this much. He could now do only this much.
He headed for the edge of the deck and gripped the fence. A piercing pain ached through his right arm, forcing a strangled scream broke out of him, tears of pain and helplessness poured out of his eyes.
How pathetic he had become. First, he couldn't swing a bat and now he couldn't even try to end his misery?
Gripping the fence even through the pain, Yamamoto could now only laugh miserably.
"What the hell are you making a scene for? I'm fucking trying to smoke here!"
"For fuck's sake. Why do you keep staring? Got a problem with me?"
Yamamoto blinked a few times before he saw the scowling man seating on the driver's seat beside him.
"Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't notice." He said, scratching the back of his head and an embarrassed smile on his face.
"What? You hate smoke?" Gokudera snapped. A pale hand resting at the open window of the car flicked, the ashes at the end of the cigarette stick came flying after the speeding vehicle. "Not gonna fuckin' waste it just to please you."
"Uh... No. Not really. It's just..." the other man did not respond, but he continue anyway. "Don't you really remember me?"
The car came to a sudden halt that he almost fell towards the dashboard. He glanced in front of him, then at the stop light by the pedestrian crossing before turning back at Gokudera, whose frown only deepen.
"Do I look like I fucking recognize you? And if I did met you, as what you have assumed, then I'm sure it's not worthy enough to be remembered. Now, zip that mouth of yours and let me drive in peace." The silver-haired man stepped on the gas and off they went.
Well, that's a bit harsh for something that had somewhat changed his life. Yamamoto sighed inwardly and leaned back on his seat.
Two nights ago, this man beside him, with Tsuna and his former tutor, came to inform him that he had been chosen to be the new rain guardian of the Tenth Generatation Vongola Family. It was rather confusing and overwhelming at first. But even though he hadn't got the gripped of the matter at hand, he still nodded an affirmation in the end.
Yamamoto didn't even know what got him to say yes. Probably it was this smoking man beside him, even though he don't recall meeting him. But a big fraction of his decision was his father.
And the morning after he called his decision to Tsuna, this man, Gokudera Hayato, came early in the morning for a formal meeting with the rest of the guradians, that brings him now to the passenger seat of a red luxurious car being driven by the said man.
He wasn't formally introduced to the silver-haired man, but he knew that he's one of the guardians. Though that doesn't explain why Hayato was the one to fetch him. And judging from the seemingly permanent frown on his face, the task has been against his will.
Yamamoto just hope it wasn't because he had annoyed the man. That was the least thing he would ever want to happen.
End of chapter 2.
Hah! At last, chap two is done. I hope the longer chapter and the sort of interaction between the two-you know who- could make you type a short review. It's really a pain to type, ya know. XD
Oh, plus I don't have a first hand experience of the mentioned injury, so pardon for the short explanation.