Las Verónicas

"What did you just call me?"

His voice was calm and passive, low in volume, each word unhurriedly pronounced. A sparkle of irritation ran like a TNT fuse through his concrete gaze. Was he threatening? Hibari Kyoya did not have to be threatening to be threatening. Only cowards used threats. His cold sobriety, his lowered chin, his patient, dark eyes. And those tonfas, like a bull's poised horns, gave him that inherent confidence. Purple clouds nestled in a pink sky. It was getting late and many of the pedestrians had scurried back home. Few, now, roamed the streets of Namimori's shopping district.

Challenge vibrated through the humid air, the bridge a battle ring, a circle focusing them in the center, everything real, everything tangible, beyond the edge of this world. It was a confrontation of sorts, only soundless.

They did not speak for a while.

They did not paw the ground.

The only movement came from the fabric of their clothes.

The aloof prefect stood stone-still with intensity, not daring to back away, and yet, warily keeping his distance. His simple, furrowed eyes—was he studying a strange and unusual bug?

Seconds ticked by and she couldn't bear to look at him, twisting the railing she clung to. For some reason, that feeling had never left. That feeling of falling. Of not having anything to hold onto. Sure, her mind was strong. It had never been so resolute, so set like the roots of a tree. Something was eroding the soil, loosening it, making her wobble. But her body was weak everywhere from her previous outburst. She could feel her movements delayed, like pushing through viscous syrup. She could only grind her teeth, frustrated by her weakness. Her inability.

"Why are you here?" The tremble in her voice was impossible to disguise. Why did she feel like she was on the verge of crying? The welling of a tear began to form. She kept it hidden, choked it down.

Never again would he pull any emotion out of her.

"You must learn how to bear pain and suffering stoically."

"I came for my jacket. Where is it?" His tone was more casual, or at least, normal. He was already stowing away his tonfas. Why wasn't he scared of her? Hell, she had almost killed him like some screaming, crying, shaking loon. Ugh… had she cackled like a witch, like a freakish Chuckie doll? The memory was making her sick with shame… Was this just another way he had stolen her self-control?

What had gotten into me?

Her stomach capsized. She really had almost killed him.

KILL.

It's a pretty big word.

"You better hand it over." His eyes alighted on Yuka's book bag like it was already his. Like there was no way she could resist him. Like there was no way she could ever hold any kind of power over him. Like he really could do whatever he wanted, take what he pleased, neither fear nor ability ever an obstacle.

The bastard cloud had no self-restraint. No ounce of respect. She meant nothing to him. She meant nothing to him. How could she matter if he treated her like some slave? Without respect. Without freakin' honor and dignity.

And Yuka hated him to hell for this, burning with something more than jealousy, craving something more than revenge, but… how close was hate to murder?

How much was hate equal to actually killing?

To cutting out a heart from a chest, smelling the salty blood and putrid intestines all over her?

How much did it take to cross that line? Heck, didn't he get the message that she hated him? He ought to stay away or she might lose control again. And the fear… the fear that she had no power over her own body, her own identity, scared her shitless. She grew paler and paler, white as mold as he approached in even padded steps. This detestation. This fear. This confusion. It wasn't good for her arteries. It wasn't good for her heart. She didn't have any protection, any weapon, any defense, her knife lost. She couldn't find it in the reception room. Hibari probably had it.

"My jacket?" he requested again, laid-back and unthreatened in front of the person who had attempted to take much more than his coat. Yuka had expected him to be harsher. Still, she gulped down her doubt like bad medicine. Bad guy. Bad guy. Bad guy.

"If you give me my knife, I'll gladly return your clothing," Yuka promised, her voice rock solid stoic. Of course, she would never return his ugly jacket. The fish were actually nibbling the red silk lining just below the water's surface. "It's important to me."

"Hn. You mean that fake blade?" He replied. "Only I can have weapons on school property." Damn, she wanted to leave. But he was right there. Right next to her now, one hand on the railing, the other in his pocket. He leaned over her. Whether she swore never to run away or not, she could easily be caught.

"You lied when you said you hated me." Yuka pushed herself against the railing. Like his word was the only one that mattered! The nerve! His eyes, no matter how piercing, could not see through her.

"I hate you, I do," she seethed in reply, shifting her body only to be blocked by his arm that grabbed the metal behind her, caging her in. And her hands loosened their grip on the wrought iron, her anger supporting her. "You know why?" she challenged, tone rising with sing-song sarcasm, sourly facing him. She sounded a lot like Heidi, but she was too irate to notice. "All you care about are your stupid rules and your stupid school. You don't care about anyone else!" Yuka practically snorted her abhorrence, raising her finger to jab him in the chest. "You don't care about what other people want. You don't care about other people's feelings." She had no more tears left. All had turned to numb resentment, her heart unraveling. "You ruined my club, you hurt my friends, and you treat me like some little whore!"

There.

She said it.

Whore.

Her lips were no longer virgin, their sanctity thrown away in the heat of the moment. All her cards on the table. She wasn't asking for pity, she was asking for respect. The word made Hibari look up, something clicking in the flash of his eyes while Yuka's cheeks heated up and she turned her back to him. Would he ever see her as a human being instead of some toy, some body? She deserved to be on his level. She thought she could at least have that recognition.

And she really ought to be crying.

Where were her tears?

Oh, they were there. Heck, she wouldn't be such a wreck if they weren't. She would be insane if they weren't. But they were there. They ran slowly, barely visible, eroding her strength like groundwater through limestone. This great, slow river trickled every time some guy wolf whistled, every time some guy stared at her, visualizing her naked. It leaked every time Lal Mirch told her she was a fool because of the way she dressed. Mud slides choked her ego every time she was taught her sole purpose in life was to make some man happy, her heart tied to his foot with a red string. A string that never broke no matter how much she twisted and thrashed. Even the strongest of fish cannot pull a boat forever, circled by sharks and tangled in line. Some fisherman out there could beat her to a bloody pulp and it would still be her duty to brew his tea and warm his bed.

So that gushing river was already there, fueled by a spring of groundwater hopes. She was born a girl, and that lack of Y chromosome practically determined her fate. No matter how defiant or rebellious her shell, Yuka was fighting a rip tide that would someday outdo her endurance. Today, she was exhausted, overwhelmed, hushed and shaking, cold, despondent, tired tired tired.

Whore.

That one little word, rooted as deep and ancient as civilization, had evaporated all her strength and confidence like some cursed spell.

Whore.

Behind her, darkness shadowed the prefect's face, growing silent like the plume from ground zero in an old black and white film. This new frown was not enhanced by any hatred of crowds, herbivores, or pathetic people without the strength to stand alone on their own two feet. It was not influenced by some bastard illusionist with an annoying, mocking chuckle.

Whore.

Hibari Kyoya was fifteen years old. He was the high and mighty head prefect of Namimori Middle school. He was the drifting cloud, strongest of the Vongola guardians. But right now, he stood a grumbling and irritated teenager. A little sour patch kid, trying to reach the sugar on the highest shelf of the cupboard. The world was so incomprehensible. Where did he mess up? In this road trip of life, he sulked in the back seat of a car named chick-magnet, denied shotgun. He passively brooded, his soul taking a moment to think. Hell, he just wanted to touch her, fix it with his hands the way she fixed him by just being in front of him. All he could focus on was the girl who had stolen his tonfa.

"I'm a whore because of you." Yuka had her arms crossed over her stomach, hips leaning on the railing turned away from him. Because of you. Everything. All her suffering. All her problems. They were his entire fault. Was he so stupid to have never realized this? Only silence stood behind her. She pictured him basking in her misery. In her servitude. The sadist.

Whore. She could imagine him saying it in his mind. Feel it creep through his silence.

Whore. Whore. Dirty slut. Just Like...

"You are hardly. Who insulted a Namimori student?" It was throaty, a pubescent crack mixed in with the demand. His earthy scent buried her alive as he pulled her tripping towards him, pulled her from something sinister she had fallen into. This wasn't the reaction she expected, but… but he had no right to be so touchy! It was practically self-contradictory, to say she wasn't a slut and then to feel her up. Scales of justice weighed on her side. Murder with REASON!

"You did, you ass! Let me go!" She whirled around, her hands raised to his chest to instinctively push him off. Hibari was in her bubble again. It was a very special bubble. Anybody who dared break through it was usually beaten to a pulp. But it wasn't that easy with this guy. The cloud guardian stood permanent like coastline rock, steadfast despite years of pounding waves.

"You're an idiot if this is bothering you," he said slowly, not letting go of his arm around her waist. He put a firm hand over hers, the one planted on his chest trying to hold him back. Carefully, he lifted it, pressing his thumb into the pads of her palm, squeezing it gently. Earnestly. But Yuka only balled her fist, defiant and unreceptive.

'IDIOT?' This treatment damn near hell bothered her and she was no idiot! Just because she may—may—be attracted to him, he had this right over her. This… This… This… ownership. This license to do whatever he wanted. This complete access to her body?

"What if I don't like this touching? You don't even ask."

"Then may I?" He brought the hand to his lips, feathering them over a knuckle, eyes closed. He felt like a lion nipping at her neck, but still human. Still human.

"Y-you think it's that easy? You think I can just be buttered up?"

Oh, the way he kept her pinned! Like he really thought he was asking her permission? Did she really have any choice? No one had ever given her a choice! Not Lal Mirch, not Reborn, not Squalo, and most definitely not the Midori faculty. No, she was always stuck in her tar pit, held in place by whole crowd of people.

"You know, I hate this chit-chat."

Yuka was looking down at the ground when he pushed a ring into her balled fist, making her eyes widen in surprise.

"Only because you've survived this long." Her mother's ring seemed to pulse in her hand. "I don't mean to hinder you."

And with that, his grip on her loosened. She could so easily pull away. She could so easily slam her knee between his legs. She could so easily escape. But something new kept her tied. A string so fine, so spider silk thin, she had never even felt it dig in until now. Something begged her. She could feel his resolution begging her.

"What? Do you hate me even more?" The husky sulk in his voice was only partially hidden. "Then fight—"

"Young love. I didn't think you had it in you, Kyoya. Kufufu~" Hibari wheeled around, tonfas immediately in hand, barely avoiding a pike jabbed at his back. A European boy in a Kokuyo Middle uniform stood behind him. Yuka would have mistaken him for a tourist, if it weren't for the uniform… and a pedestrian, if it weren't for trident. Was he Varia? He wasn't in any of the pictures of men Lal Mirch had warned her about.

"Illusionist. I'll bite you to death."

In front of a wall of television screens, the rotating chair slowly came to a rest as coffee from a sideways mug drip-drip-dripped onto the floor.

"Oh ho? Kyoya, I always find you so interesting. But I regret to say I am not here to entertain you." Still the aggressive swipes preoccupied him. "I actually have a favor to return to our little friend by the railing." However, the prefect, had already put her aside, completely invested in trying to break through this strange foreigner's defenses.

"How about you return it after I call an ambulance?"

The two boys were everywhere, all over the bridge at once! Which way to go, left or right? It was her chance to get away now, to get alone, to think. She couldn't understand the new boy's strange accent, but inwardly, she thanked him for interrupting them. Now was her chance to get out of here! But she had never seen the prefect so… distant. Did he really have someone he hated as much as she hated him? Hate. The word felt like crumbly chalk in her mind.

So she kept watching, feeling different now, freer, somehow, now that the ring was safe in her hand. It was way more important than the knife. The ring meant something now. It was more than an heirloom now. It was what kept her glued to the spot. Somehow, the foreigner always seemed to irritate Hibari more, a tight-rope walker on the bridges railing while he fought, a general who rode high on his horse. Was he a former student? Did he used to belong to the Disciplinary Committee or something? He did have a funny haircut. He had more range than Namimori's prefect with that long weapon.

Hibari couldn't seem to reach him. His tonfas were too short.

Still, they were so evenly matched. Was it possible for someone to exist who was more powerful than that jerk? She vowed never to fall into his hands. No. Now would be a good time to run. But it was like she was stuck in a circle, running in a wheel. He had returned the ring. He had returned it. That meant something.

And, hell, she couldn't forget him now.

She just couldn't.

No matter how much she wanted to. Why was it so much harder to break from that circle? Her mind's eye, a glowing ring… the touching… isolated in that dark, cavernous reception room. If his glare was so cold, why were his hands so warm? It felt so good. He felt so good. It was impossible to forget. Impossible to suppress. Her memories breached the surface like stubborn buoys. Who was she kidding?

Her world revolved around his steady eyes, separated by that singular curl of hair. Her hand rolled around the ring. Was it really hers again? Yes! The waves seemed to applaud below.

"You're early."

"EH! Auntie?" Yuka spun around, only to be whacked on the head.

"What's going on here?" Lal Mirch asked in her stern drawl as she pointed at the two fighting boys.

"Uh… nothing…." She almost blushed. She could never let Lal see her blush. Ever.

"Are you a fool?" Lal Mirch slapped the dazed and off-balance Yuka with a quick hand, while her tongue listed off everything the girl did wrong. "You are getting caught up in your old ways. You never learn. Don't you ever let your guard down! Didn't I teach you better?"

"What? What do you mean?" Behind her, the foreigner got a stab at Hibari's shoulder. Hibari barely flinched, though, as if it were merely a pinprick.

"You have no sense! There are cameras everywhere and here I find you gawking at a mafia fight!"

Hibari smashed through one of the railings with such force that he bent the metal, making it look like a car had crashed into the spot. Good thing the stranger had neatly evaded.

"W-what do you mean cameras? I thought the Varia only—ay—CAN'T BREATHE!" Her aunt interrupted her with a very old, fancy, whale bone corset strung around her stomach, tightening it, and tying up the back laces. "LAL?"

"Reborn told me about the cameras this afternoon. We aren't training here. I've rented a boat in the harbor."

"WHAT?"

"It's to practice breathing when your lungs are under immense pressure. Where is your swimsuit? Didn't I tell you to come prepared?" The tight fabric suffocated her and the bone dug into her ribcage.

"Follow me," Lal ordered and walked away, expecting Yuka to follow wordlessly. However, both froze to see the prefect fly past them and into the brick wall that belonged to a jewelry store.

"Kufufu~I owe you a favor for helping my dear Chrome," a cobra-smooth voice said behind her. Upon the mention of Chrome's name, she noticed the resemblance.

"Are you Chrome's brother?"

"I am Mukuro Rokudo," he smiled and held out her mother's pocket knife in his gloved hand. "It's a more powerful illusion than it appears. I've had a lot of fun with it. I wouldn't return it, if I didn't owe you a favor." Still, smiling he pushed it into her hand, and on touch, Yuka's eyes rolled up into her head. "But still, I think its meant for you." All vision disappeared, all into darkness, a black chasm. Black and deep and dark, filled with shivers.

In the misty darkness.

Retching. Stomach turned inside out.

A flood gushing from her mouth of putrid, sour acid.

A cold pressure under her chin.

An anchor tied to her feet.

She didn't want to go down, because up was where she had come from.

Metal around her wrist.

A white porcelain bowl.

Tile.

Blood.

Mixed with the zingy scent of vomit.

She was handcuffed to a pipe, water leaking out from where it was loose.

She pulled, she pulled.

Something cracked.

Her skull against the toilet bowl. Her teeth studded the floor.

A hand and a mask above her.

Again.

Again.

No control. No stopping.

She couldn't feel it anymore. Her jaw had gone numb, shattered.

Used to the pain.

And then nothing.

She was still alive, soaking in the mixture on the floor.

She was naked, too.

But she always had been, hadn't she?

The world flooded back, pushing her eyes open, bringing her back to her rag-doll twisted body. She was missing a chunk of time. She didn't remember how the steel carving knife embedded itself in her bleeding arm. Broken glass all over the floor... Where was the bridge? The embellished, corset, faded a festive red and gold, sagged, no longer quite so constricting, but still wrapped around her middle. The laces had exploded out of the fabric. Lal Mirch was nowhere to be seen. Nowhere to be heard. The air was still, muffled. Had the storm passed or was still yet to come? Where was everyone? She had moved, she was not at the bridge, but she couldn't remember what had happened. How did she get here? She could only remember the darkness.

Where did the switchblade get to? It had just been in her hand. She looked around, but only found sharp glass shards, useless jewelry, wedding rings, diamond earrings - the jewelry store. Cases were broken and smashed. Knives studded the wall behind her. How come she only had one in her arm? There were thousands embedded in the walls the floor, as deep as the lesion she was too horrified to look at. Her hand went to the handle to remove the instrument, but her fingers were uncoordinated and knocked it.

Suddenly, the shooting pain in her arm reached her brain, and Yuka ground her teeth, staring at her gored flesh, the blood flowing to the beat of her heart, some already starting to crust around the blade. It was so sharp, so piercing, so disgustingly inserted into her body, but still, the tears refused to come.

It was like it wasn't her body.

That good old trick Lal Mirch had always taught her.

Her good arm threw itself out, grappling for a hold from a pile of crumbled bricks, the dust of the mortar still in the air. The bridge was right in front of her, across the street. She saw it through a hole in the wall. But she had no memory... no memory...

"VOOOOIIIII!—" came from the distance, but she couldn't hear the words that followed the familiar battle cry. How was it familiar? The shouter's name danced on the the tip of her tongue. She had heard it only a few days ago. The world was muffled, lost in deep, black fuzz. Even though her vision was perfectly clear, everything still looked different. The shadows stood out more. She turned her head to the vibrations of thumps and smashes in the distance, down the road.

And the door jingled, the tinkle for a new costumer, and she turned around, her sore neck stiff.

He was more bruised and beaten than she had ever seen him.

Out of Hibari's back, many silver carving knives, like the one in her arm, like the ones decorating the sheetrock of the destroyed store, disappeared under his skin. Blood dripped down like colorful streamers, making his white shirt look dark and leathery. His tonfas were folded to his side like a bird's closed wings.

The hand and the mask.

Something aligned in her sight. Two images fused into one. A dark figure, solid and strong and threatening, power with a 'P' that spit. It was like she had never seen him before until this day. He was only a stranger, an animal that needed to be slaughtered. He was the anchor. He was the handcuff. Everything about him was wrong. Everything about him needed to disappear.

Her hand reached out to a metal pipe for support, but her eyes never left him, like empty fishbowls, translucent and new and empty empty empty. He was smirking as he approached her, smirking painlessly, moving effortlessly despite the cold metal in his back. And all she saw were the tonfas threatening to pierce her just like the metal in her arm. They were threatening to bash her skull in again. Again. Again. FEAR rippled up her spine. She check her clothes. No… she wasn't naked, but she damn felt like everything had been ripped off. That she stood bare before him, still collapsed on some tile floor. Would she never escape? His hand was heavy against her shoulder, pushing her against the wall. His mouth leaning down, moving over unheard words. Something different in his eyes.

Just different.

The red blood, oozing from her wound, dark and velvety, was the only place his head was turned.

The damn fixated beast. He stepped on her feet, he cut apart her life. Memories fresh of pain and hurt were all she could remember. The vile oil on top of her ocean. Her hand. It was the only spot on her body that was warm. It was the only spot on her body that could feel this pulsing life. This screaming life. It screamed as Hibari leaned lower and lower over her.

And there it was.

There it was.

The black switchblade.

In her hand.

In his chest.

Reaching towards his most vital organ.

And she didn't have to pull it out because it had already misted away. Some purpose achieved, deflating into its vapor. The cloud guardian slumped onto her shoulder, gone to exhaustion. And with this vision, the bloody, Shakespearean vision, wreathed in the overwhelming weight of his body leaning against hers, something lifted. Something rose away, into the clouds.

BANG!

Luminous clouds of pink pink smoke. And next to the prefect fell the trademark weapon of a butterfingered Bovino.

Hours later, at the Namimori emergency room, one boy leaned against the wall scowling, blood still on the shoulder of his sweater. Not his blood, of course. The other three sat on the white chairs.

"The weapon came close to his heart, but stopped before it could go too far."

"A-are you sure?" the shortest asked.

"He's very lucky. He'll be fine. He just needs to rest."

"The Varia idiots are insane," the boy against the wall muttered.

"Is Lal still looking for Yuka?"

"...Yeah. She should have returned after being hit with the Ten-year Bazooka."

An older boy in a black jacket, a torn look on his face, slipped the doctor one last worried question. Then, he left the emergency room, heading to investigate the bridge, anxiously flipping his cell phone open and shut, open and shut.

Yuka's hands reached out to shards of a floral tea cup. She couldn't place what had happened. One moment, she was dancing on cloud nine, eyes lifted, cheeks puffed with a smile, and the next, she couldn't keep the tears from flowing. Hell, she was torn apart, ripped to shreds on the inside and out, because with whatever had lifted away, it had taken the last of her wall, of her great great dam. The great clog, like a crusty scab, had fallen away.

Everything emptied out onto the kitchen tile like the hot liquid from the broken china teapot, the herbal fluid mixing with the blood from her arm. She couldn't help it, her voice shrieked as she cried.

She wished she had never done it.

Hell, she didn't even know why she had even done it.

The knife had entered so easily.

And now…

It was all over. He was dead. She knew he was dead.

What about the ring?

Why had she forgotten?

He had given the ring back to her.

Why had she forgotten?

Why?

Something strong lifted her up. Strong and big like a bull. Was it him? He yanked the knife quickly from her arm, making her screech and fresh tears streamed forth. Tears came so easily. The hold on her wasn't hesitating, but neither was it comforting. It was so dark. Her eyes were closing. Black hair brushed her cheek as he lifted her.

"Hi-Hibari?" she hiccuped.

"Genkishi," the man said mechanically.

Author's Note: Concerning the timeline, I am sending Yuka roughly a two weeks ahead of Tsuna into the future. This promises the availability of a Cloud Guardian who is not at the base. Perhaps, he is not even in Namimori.