Soundtrack: Not Enough Time - Cosmic Gate feat. Emma Hewitt

ébréchure
Chapter One

The sharp retort of a pistol made him grimace. He wound deftly through debris, gaze constantly roaming around the area to search for enemies. It seemed the fight was already winding to a close. How long had it been? An hour? Not much more. A hiss escaped his clenched teeth as a bullet sliced the air an inch from his shoulder; midstep he spun, a handgun held high, and fired off several shots. Stone shivered, dented, dust stirring in the air. There was the sound of a body hitting the cobblestone and after a wary look around he turned to continue deeper into the compound, jogging over splintered rock and spilt blood. Were it any darker he might even have tripped.

The sight of a familiar face in the rubble, eyes wide in death, made him scowl. The CEDEF had been in the Vongola headquarters for two days, a semi-annual exchange of information and renegotiation of their relationship. Any other time they would have been a hundred miles away or more. Perhaps the attack had been planned with that in mind—to take out two birds with one stone, so to speak.

The further he went, the duller the sounds of fighting. The walls were thick, making it all the more distant. Now and then there was a sharp gunshot closer, but never within danger. Since it had begun Alaude had only seen quick glimpses of the other guardians, here and there, protecting the building passionately. Everything from bombs to swords rang through the air, but here was only the dull boom of firearms and explosions. It didn't bode well for the family.

The lights were out, even the torches or candles as if some great draft had stolen through the building. He was too far inside to see any windows. Staircases and hallways were blackened with soot and char, joists cracked, walls completely obliterated. The corridor was relatively untouched—well-defended through the attack, though the dead of both the Vongola and the enemy were littered about, each as equal to the other in death.

He stopped at a pair of double doors half again as tall as he was. One hung off its hinges; he could see the burnt wood on the other side of the great slab of wood. With a little growl deep in his throat he pushed at it, refusing to think of what was happening; only on the task at hand. Finally it gave way and slammed to the ground with a sound like a cannon, sending dust flying through the air.

A huge room, like a cavern, stood before him. On the far side the wall was crumpled, torn full of holes like any piece of cotton, windows shattered and glass lying scattered along the tile. Tapestries were still smoking. At first there was no sound but the louder bursts of violence outside; gradually, his ears adjusted and he heard the sobbing. His expression was unreadable, sharp and observant as he stepped around a large pile of rubble—a patch of sunlight said it was from the ceiling above—and towards the sound. The footsteps were slow, assured. Alaude operated best under pressure, after all. But there was a sense of foreboding about all of this, some unwanted anticipation that tightened his chest beneath his dust-covered overcoat.

It seemed as if everything had slowed down. Perhaps it had, without the urgency of imminent battle. A patch of colour, dampened by dirt, drew his eyes. Another step, and another.

-x-

Daemon's head rose at the sound of his footfalls, eyes wide, expression stricken. "Alaude…" His voice was hoarse, face daubed with the same dust in his hair. "She's—" He cut off, jaw clenching. In his arms was a small, broken body, no different from the others that crowded the rest of the compound like so much trash. "Alaude." A pleading expression. He'd seen desperation before, but never on that face, never directed so closely at him. "I'm sorry. I'm so…"

His expression didn't change. Closed, as always. He exhaled slowly.

He shut out the voice calling his name as he turned to continue walking. Look for his people. There was nothing to do here.

-x-

Her smile was just as sweet as always.

He'd been listening to her for days, never giving an answer, perhaps a shrug if she said something that rang particularly true. There was a newspaper spread on the table before him as he sipped his tea. It was hard to get tea in Italy; here, everyone drank coffee. It was alright, but it had a grainy, bitter taste that left him pining after the savoury chamomile and refreshing peppermint tea he was used to. Alaude folded his hands together, elbows on the table, and leant his chin on them as if poring over the periodical. She only chuckled—she knew better than to think he was ignoring her.

"It wouldn't hurt anything, you know," she said suddenly. His gaze flicked up to her for a second before returning down to the paper; she hadn't tried this tact before. "Mister Giotto is a very good man. If you decided you didn't like being in the family after all then I'm sure he'd only give his best wishes to you as you left. The Vongola is going to be an amazing thing."

Right. The Italian man with the unkempt hair and the piercing eyes; he'd come to Alaude through one of his informants a month before. He'd begrudgingly agreed to meet him a week after. It had been puzzling, to say the least. Who would come to strangers with some family so new it could be crushed like an ant underfoot? But, in some way, he'd liked the quiet smile and the fiery gaze that Giotto had carried himself with. There was something impressive—not power, no, but potential. Charisma, that was it. That was what it took to make something truly great.

He had to admit to being mildly interested in the concept. It sounded sort of like the legend of Robin Hood, a band of mismatched vigilantes all chasing after corruption to bring justice to the world. The idea of this in earnest was nearly laughable. But still, there was that something tickling at his mind that made him think if anyone could pull it off it was this mysteriously trusting brunette with the messy hair and casual aura.

So he didn't really blame Elena for being so attracted to the idea. She was an optimist, after all. Always believing the best in people, always seeing the silver lining. Always so sweet he couldn't help but be a little bit fond of his cousin. "What if I want to be the boss of my own family?" he asked suddenly, mildly taking a sip of tea. It seemed she always kept a stock of French teas just in case he visited her home in Italy. Dropping by was like a little return back to his home of France. Perhaps it was just a bribe she kept to be sure he'd keep her company now and then; she was clever like that, more than one would think.

The little villa was just outside of the city. The skyline in the west was that of buildings, in the east of hills and rolling plains and wildflowers that were bright in every season. But it was isolated, something he'd been concerned about more than once for a young, beautiful woman to live in alone. The city was fifteen minutes' brisk walk away and well out of earshot. She never seemed to worry, though, and so he left it alone.

She regarded him with surprise, clear blue eyes wide. "Oh—really, Alaude? Is that what you want to do?" For a moment she seemed unsure of how to respond before a wide smile spread across her face. It seemed to brighten the room.

"No." His voice was flat, gaze never leaving the paper that he wasn't quite reading.

There was silence for a long moment before she laughed. A hand rose to cover her mouth, shoulders shaking, somehow managing to look dainty nonetheless. "Oh, Alaude, you had me going there for a minute! You're a rascal."

He couldn't quite hold back a very small smile as he took another drink.