Things I don't own: KHR and this chapter's soundtrack (borrowed from AFI)

Again, this chapter gets out much, much later than planned, although soon after publishing my ranting "chapter" one of my faithful readers/reviewers, Stealth, offered to beta, and did a great job - thanks again! No, the tardiness and any errors you may find (sneaked in with some last minute changes) are solely my fault, and I sincerely apologize to every single one who might still be reading this fanfiction. orz

Chapter 5 - Summer Shudder

[Sometime during the first half of August]

As instructed by Tsuna, Takeshi was on his way to call upon Gokudera's father, concerning the still ongoing search for his son. The Rain Guardian had been respectfully led upstairs to the library, to wait here while the head of the house was informed of his arrival. Feeling caged between all these leather volumes, darkened with age, he went to pull back the heavy curtains of the already opened balcony door, but stopped dead in his tracks when he heard voices from outside.

"You can't compel me to this, father!"

His hand parted the brocade panels carefully to avoid any noise or sudden movement that would announce his presence while he inched his head forward to look surreptitiously at the two men in the garden below.

"I would never dream of it, boy. But what are your options? If you take my offer and stay, you'll be only second to me, and the next boss when I die..."

A spiteful snort was heard from his conversational partner. Silver hair, business suit, scowl in place – yes, Gokudera all over. And the other man bore great resemblance to the photos of his father, as far as Takeshi could tell from this angle.

"Mind your attitude, young man! That is nothing one declines lightly, especially one in your situation. Your only other way is to crawl back to Vongola Decimo, who doesn't need you, and beg his forgiveness, just to be re-admitted in a family that pities you because you have nothing else. And then you will play second fiddle for the rest of your life, or until you finally degenerate into his court jester! That is, if he takes you back as Right Hand at all, after the way you left and your... disgraceful lifestyle! Oh, but he probably will – that stripling still is quite merciful."

The older man's condescending words made Gokudera's face blush with – what? Anger, embarrassment, indignation? No time to ponder, since the sermon went on.

"Don't give me that look! You know that I'm right, and that I only have my son's best interests at heart. After all, is there just one thing that you can't gain here als well, or that they can't gain without you? One person who is truly irreplaceable for you, or you for them? Confess it, your life has reached an impasse and you need to choose an new route. Oh, of course they appreciate your competencies, but are there any who want you, in your entirety? Show me one person who wants to hold you there, one individual who can prove you touched their heart, and I will admit my error. Well?"

A cornered Gokudera dodged the elder's look and let his eyes dart around – only to discover the hidden spectator right now. And in his turmoil, his strained face all but cried for help. For some token gesture to prove his father wrong.

Takeshi had seen enough tear-jerkers (you had to entertain the ladies first) to recognize the cue: Enter Knight in Shining Armour for the big kiss scene. And it felt all wrong. Not only to be cast for that part, but most of all Gokudera's expression. Sure, his face looked about right, but his eyes... huge, tear-filled orbs that held not the tiniest of sparks that normally would already have lit God-knows-which fuse. So he sighed and said aloud, "It's off – this is not Gokudera. Stop it, will you?"

He blinked, then opened his eyes in the Mist Division's windowless training room and flashed an appreciating smile in his exercise instructor's direction. "Thanks for the trouble, Chrome, but I don't think there is much use in doing this."

But the young woman was gone, replaced by her dreaded other half, who gave a half-smile and drawled, "This one time I have to agree with you: There is no use at all."

The Japanese man gulped and held onto his smile as he tried to move closer to the door. "Right, so I'll just-" Darn, he would never get used to those switches!

But Mukuro wasn't finished yet. "For my dear Nagi is a nice, sweet girl, and therein lies the problem. She addressed this as a rational decision, making your pathetic 'Would I ever kiss him?' a question of ethic, and constructed a setting accordingly. Whereas it really is a matter of urge, and you were afraid to ask the right question in the beginning. You feared the words 'Do I want to kiss him?' for the possible implications. So your fear shall be our trail sign now: You will weave the setting yourself – the situation you fear the most, because you fear the answer it brings. And this way, I can test how sogno nebbioso – versione sogno pioggia, if you like – works when the victim is a full-fledged Guardian, wearing his Ring, conscious of my technique and his own doing in it. Not to mention that it will entertain me greatly. So, how deep is your fear of your dreams? Of yourself?" The mocking twinkle in the Mist Guardian's eyes was a clear challenge.

The Rain thought of Tsuna's expectant look and Chrome's reassuring information some months ago, 'I can't meddle, for I don't see the dream', before he answered with false bravado, "All right. Show me your magic!"

And contentedly smiling lips whispered, "Showtime."

The next thing Takeshi noticed was... nothing particular. He felt safe, secure even, almost with a touch of drunken lightness. Sure, he was in Mukuro's illusion-thingy, but since he knew this, he could stop at any time, right? But while he was at it, why not test this Mist magic – it wouldn't do any harm to learn a bit more about this technique, would it? So he opened his eyes...

… to find himself in a new, yet almost familiar, scenario. Why did it seem 'familiar'? Had he been here before, in this dimly lit club, at the chock-full dance floor, and it had slipped his mind? Was it a sense of déjà vu? A long forgotten dream? Hold it – he had a hunch that he wanted to remember something important in the context of 'dream'. 'Dream'... or maybe 'holodeck'? Hm, perhaps just the club's name... Whatever, if it was important it would reappear!

Listen when I say,

When I say it's real.

Real life goes undefined,

Why must you be so missable?

But speaking of reappearing and important: In the middle of the floor, half-hidden behind some shadowy dancers and yet strangely highlighted, the only distinctive figure in the room, was Gokudera... completely absorbed in moving to the rhythm, dancing alone and yet a part of the swaying bustle. And concerning his appearance, Ryohei-senpai's description came to mind; only that 'dressed to kill' wouldn't fully do justice to it, so words like 'dashing', 'dazzling', and – Takeshi felt himself shudder with a still unnamed emotion - 'devastatingly hot' came to the rescue.

His hair was, thankfully, not spoiled with any artificial colour, so it reflected the lights as the silver canvas it had always been.

As for fashion, the Rain Guardian had never bothered to memorize styles, but Gokudera's outfit could clearly be identified as 'a ripped look' – coincidently what he thought the most becoming style for the Storm. Oh, he looked very smart in his various designer business suits, but these almost destroyed garments now were reminiscent of his best-looking moments. For in Takeshi's opinion (not that he had ever spared much of a thought about his friend's looks, it was simply a given) he was never more handsome than in the midst of a battle and at the end of a fight, proudly bearing the traces of it like others would bear a gang tattoo or a medal – as a badge of honour.

Everything you take,

Makes me more unreal.

Real lines are undefined.

How can this be so miserable?

Under the summer rain,

I burnt away.

Under the summer rain

You turned away.

And his face in such moments... post-battling afterglow was the only apt description. Truly a sight to behold.

Takeshi wallowed in memories for a minute, but his smile darkened when he remembered fights that had taken a turn for the worse. Fights that had made him realise that one of the few things to make him feel the singing, pulsing fire of wrath was a wounded Gokudera lying on the ground, unmoving – like back then, during their first encounter with Chikusa. And out of nowhere he heard Fon's voice from a lesson two years ago: "Rage tends to be expressed when a person faces fear..." - what had the conclusion been again? He shook his head, dragging himself back to the present. No need to relive those terrible encounters, right? What if someone saw the unfittingly grim expression on his face?

But nobody seemed to take notice of him. A short, careful scan of the crowd reassured him, since he could find not a single familiar face that might have taken offence. To be exact, he could not even recognise any features at all – all the faces he saw were just blurs. Strangely enough this did not worry him at the least. And since nothing in this room was in the slightest alarming, he could return his attention to its former focus.

Ah yes, the lack of business attire also meant no tie and, in this case, no collar. Takeshi felt a shiver run down his spine as he perceived beyond a shadow of a doubt that one single word could utterly describe that bared neck: enticing.

Listen I can't make.

Make a sound or feel.

Feel fine I kissed the lies,

Why must they be so kissable?

Listen as I break.

Break the fourth wall's seal.

Gorgeous eyes shine suicide

When will we be invisible?

The uninhibited swaying and bobbing of the faceless crowd, that at first had somehow given the impression of an ancient Roman orgy (or what he thought of as), felt more inviting by the minute; calling on him to join the dance, to approach his sorely missed- what? Friend? Partner? Never mind, he knew that labels were petty in here. More than that, the ambience seemed to encourage him to dismiss worries and labelsas insignificant for the moment. The drowning sound, the low lighting, the anonymity – everything sang the siren call of discretion and conspiratorially whispered promises of secure freedom of choice: whatever he might do, nobody would ever know.

Under the summer rain, I burnt away.

Under the summer rain

We find a way.

Under the summer rain, I burnt away.

Under the summer rain

You turned away.

Takeshi savoured the thrill of being devoid of responsibility as he dove into the crush, driven onward by the beat. But even as he came into Gokudera's field of view, the other would take no notice of him – a fleeting glance, appropriate for some fleeting acquaintance, was all he got. Frustrated he wanted to bounce, to wave his hands, to shout, "See me! Hear me! Pay attention to me!". But before he could, an unexpected current in the crowd had carried him right to the dancing Italian. And that meant so very near! Now Gokudera danced so closely to him that he felt every single motion of the other's body touch some part or the other of his own.

Despite the physical closeness though, Gokudera radiated a feeling of distance, and when Takeshi tried to bridge the gap with a greeting half-hug, like he always had, the reaction was an indifferent, "Don't touch me!".

This is the fall,

This is the long way down.

And our lives look smaller now,

And our lives look so small.

Willingly crying.

This is the fall,

This is the long way down.

And our lives look smaller now,

And our lives look so small.

Oddly enough, his thinking was clearer than ever in this mental fog he felt for some reason; those three words brought about a series of enlightened realizations:

a) For Takeshi (obedient son, compliant pupil, uncritical friend and indulgent 'big brother') the phrase "Don't...!" unconsciously had always prompted an atypical spirit of contradiction, driving him into doing the stupidest things, just to provoke explosive reactions.

b) When he did not remove himself, Gokudera's hitherto missing frown reappeared – much to Takeshi's joy! Because this frown was his very own, reserved for him alone, just as the bright smile was only Tsuna's. And the frown was much more precious than the smile, for its honesty. While the smile had grown quite good at covering negative feelings, the frown showed sincere emotions – true anger and fury, or hidden enjoyment, for it had never fully mastered the art of masking that.

And when he connected the dots of the preceding don't-contrariness and the consequential frown, he heard Fon's voice again: "Rage tends to be expressed when a person faces fear; so if your opponent is furious, you already have made it into his mind."

Oh. So he had indeed worked himself into...

Before he could finish this line of thought, c) hit him like a ton of bricks. Something he had not noticed up to now. Something none of his dreams had ever evoked: Gokudera's distinctive scent. This unique blend of tangy spice soap, chosen to cover the smell of gun powder (in vain), cologne, and pure Gokudera Hayato assaulted his nostrils, took the shortest route through his brain and quickly joined forces with the resonances of that gravelly voice to assault his insides and thoroughly churn them.

So with all that light dawning on him, and all those different longings inside of him finally amalgamating, Takeshi realised with a frisson of pleasure that only one thing was truly impossible: To not kiss Hayato right now!

Under the summer rain, I burnt away.

Under the summer rain

We find a way...

"Enjoyed it?"

Two words had pulled him back; words that had, clearly audible, carried with them the malicious sneer from the lips that had given birth to them. And that sneer revealed to all the world that its wearer knew exactly how embarrassingly ill-timed the interruption had come. And even if he hadn't realised it before, Takeshi's fist flying towards Mukuro's face should be an unmistakable hint!

Really, who did this pineapple-head think he was?! First shredding the veil in front of his eyes, destroying his idyllic conception of life (and himself), and then yanking him away from the pivotal element of it when he was just about to get what, up until now, he had not known he wanted!

Not that the Rain Guardian really thought all of this; he rather felt it.

Or, more precisely, had felt it – right up to the point when all he perceived was pain from his fisted right hand; a hand that had passed through the insubstantial image of the spell caster and rammed against the wall behind it with unchecked speed.

A dark chuckle from another corner reached his ears through the fog of pain. "Oh, you're welcome. But mind that hand, you might still need it once you're back in the privacy of your room."

o-o-o

[August 31st]

"... but you promised to ask Sasagawa out soon. All I'm asking is how much longer until 'soon' arrives. You give away your feelings to anybody who watches you walk into walls after she smiles at you, see? So if everyone knows that she is your weak point already, you can tell her just as well."

"I haven't walked into a wall – since graduation at least -, and yes, you are right, but we wandered off the topic, Yamamoto. So, when did I ever give you a two-sided puzzle?"

The two friends were sitting in the manor's sunny garden after a welcome midday downpour, enjoying nature's smell and colour – and the topographic advantage that no eavesdropper finds any eaves above a vast patch of grass. The perfect time and place for two grown-up mafiosi to chat about downright embarrassingly human topics; movies, parents, stupid jokes, still foreign habits, girls (one girl in particular, that could shift gravity to vertical surfaces around Tsuna), and Yamamoto's first solo pub crawl the night before.

"No, no, I meant that, when I saw the puzzle box in this guy's bag yesterday and he explained it to me... the whole thing reminded me of my list, you know? When I find a piece of one picture, it adds to the other one without me noticing, and sometimes I have to look at the second picture even if want to fill a gap in the first one, and with some pieces it's really difficult to see which side belongs to which picture. And just like that, I knew that the two main groups, 'Why did Gokudera...?' and 'Why did I...?' are connected just as closely, you know?"

Tsuna did his best to nod and smile while he almost heard Gokudera's impatient voice, "Don't bother the Tenth with presenting the obvious as a discovery, idiot! How much alcohol, which usually lowers the brain power, did you add to your natural stupidity, so that it neared intelligence from the other direction?!".

His diplomatic silence soon paid off, since Yamamoto went on, "And, even if I hate to admit it, what brought me the most pieces was that dratted dream-illusion-thingamy with Chrome and Mukuro. But never tell them I said that!"

"Of course not, my lips are sealed," his friend quickly assured him, "but..." and here he had to admit to himself that it was less helpfulness and more ordinary nosiness he felt, "what was it about? What pieces did you find?"

The Rain Guardian hesitated. "Well, it's not so much what it was about but what I felt during the whole thing – just like any stupid dream, but clearly defined, you know? He was there and ignored me, so I knew that I simply had to have his attention, and I think I still do. Silly, isn't it? And right in the middle of it I remembered, no, I realised what it was that Fon told us about rage; that if you make someone furious, then you influence them. At first, after the session, I felt smug that I always could make Gokudera angry, until later I noticed that I haven't seen him angry at me for ages, and that bothered me. After that I realized that instead I have been angry at him for the last months, and I was enraged for him at times before, when he was hurt. So now I know I'm influenced by him, but I want him back nevertheless. I want his attention and his anger – ridiculously simple for a revelation, don't you think?" He couldn't help snorting and the next words had him wearily burying his face in his hands. "Even more ridiculous is that only the memory of Lal's penalties for 'breach of secrecy' kept me from telling this to any complete stranger after the third glass last night. Heavens, I've never felt so stupid before."

Though sensing that there were still some more freshly discovered feelings unmentioned, Tsuna allowed the presumably more tender parts to stay secret for now. He even kept silent about his musing about what fear was the source of whose rage (oh yes, he remembered that particular lesson too). Instead he said, "You know, it's easier to share something intimate with an utter stranger. To reveal your bare self to someone you'll never meet again feels less risky than showing it to someone who knows you. It's no wonder people even pay for that particular security. It should be easy with really good friends too, but sometimes that's even more complicated."

Yamamoto puckered his brows in confusion. "Sorry - what exactly are you talking about?"

"Your drive to reveal your innermost thoughts to strangers, why?" Now it was Tsuna's turn to look confused.

"Aah, nothing, it just sounded funny." Never, never would he let his friend know that his words had evoked the unwelcome memory of a certain someone's sex-life. "Go on."

"Okay, what I wanted to say: it's easier to be weak in front of people unknown than in front of those who know you as strong. Let me prove it to you even! Every now and then I dream that I'm still Loser-Tsuna – do you know what I feel when waking up? Relief perhaps? No, I feel remorse, because I relished the indulgence of saying, 'I can't do it' without anybody doubting it - when I said that people took the problem off my hands. On this planet, there are less than five people I'd tell this – people I know, mind you; because I know they wouldn't exploit my weakness. The funny thing is, as a weakling I wanted to be strong but shied away from weight of expectation and responsibility that would come with it. I voluntarily remained weak for years on end because it was easy.

"On the other hand – Gokudera taught me this, even if he doesn't know – it is exactly those who think they always have to be strong that, just once in a while, they need the opportunity to be a little bit weak while someone else is strong for them. It's an impossible situation in everyday life, because so much depends on their strength, but in a very secluded corner of life, they need to succumb a little bit. Sometimes it's as simple as saying, 'I don't want to talk to that person; just say I'm not here', or even losing in a game or a sparring match. Such hazard-free defeats are important, because deep down we know that it would be impossible to win each and every conflict – well, except for Hibari perhaps. He's the perfect example of the strongest not granting themselves the luxury of weakness. For that, they need real friends."

It was to their credit that the two of them mastered the image of Hibari voluntarily giving in with only a little shiver. They had their own theories concerning his occasional training-weekends with Dino that even Romario was barred from attending...

With an effort Yamamoto resumed the original line of thought. "I guess I see. Gokudera is so terribly self-reliant – he never asks for anybody's help, favour or goodwill, especially when it's for himself. He just goes and pays the price." He couldn't help the chuckle, "y'know, sometimes I think it would be real fun to shower him with unexpected presents like a personal Santa and watch his reactions."

'Wary', 'most suspicious', 'flustered' and 'loud' were the words that came to Tsuna's mind immediately – and also the term 'fun'. God yes, he would love to see that! Constant worries didn't let him savour the thought though, and even if he knew that hurrying his friend's soul journey wasn't the wisest choice, he had to speak. "But I fear that, the longer we take to find him and bring him back, the sooner Gokudera-kun may assume the role of an outsider again and convince himself that he's meant to be solitary. So, to be blunt: If he came back now, would you treat him differently?"

"Better, you mean? Heavens, yes! At least now I understand that, even if fate hands an important person to us on a silver platter, afterwards we have to constantly make an effort to keep them, just as with training for baseball or sword fighting – the effort proves the worth. How can I say my friends are worth more than, say, my sword when I won't give my best to clear up a complication in friendship? Gokudera always called me an idiot, and rightly so – in the past, I didn't even try to think about the things important to others. But now I have to – I have to think things through if I want results."

Steely resolve, usually reserved for fights to the death, was finally dedicated to this tricky relationship, and that kindled hope in Tsuna's heart. It gave him the courage to pose one last crucial query: "After that meeting back then, when I first suggested your list of questions, one of them was 'How could I have guessed?'. Have you thought about that?"

"Of course." The swordsman's head was bowed in shame. "I could have guessed full well... if only I had wanted to. If I had wanted to see, to know, to..." His words ended in a deep sigh.

His friend clapped him on the shoulder and smiled wholeheartedly. "Have a talk with Bianchi, okay? Tell her what you've learned. Then I'll tell Kyoko-chan what my feelings for her are – promise!"

o-o-o

[September 1st, 7:30 a.m.]

Like almost every morning, Takeshi entered the back kitchen for a peaceful breakfast by himself after his daily training and shower. But today, it seemed, destiny or a meddlesome friend had other plans for him. Already seated at the table, at the place facing towards the door, was Bianchi; reading (or at least staring at) a magazine she quickly closed at his entrance, her finger left between the pages as a bookmark. To his astonishment, the title on the cover was the same as on another magazine on the table – but although they both looked fresh from the press, they had different covers; the second showed Italian words as well, but the one in her hands was lettered in... something else.

The woman interpreted his wonderment correctly. "The 'Vogue' has different editions in different countries. I read the Italian and the French issues, because, as they say, 'When you are in Rome dress in the Roman style; when you are elsewhere dress as they dress in Paris'. With some of our business associates, unfashionable attire could mean termination. Astonishingly enough, it was Lambo's idea to order the subscription service with an extra early delivery, and he placed the order even at the evening of his birthday party. Yes, that boy has become quite useful," she sent him a meaningful look as he sat down on the chair opposite to her, "under a certain someone's guidance."

Okay, the initial small-talk about fashion had been eerie enough, considering their cool relations of the last months. Time for some real talking. "Bianchi-san, you put a lot of work into coaching Gokudera, and I wrecked it. Please accept my apologies for wasting your efforts."

"Yamamoto Takeshi..." she could see and hear the severity of his apology, and her heart almost forgave him - as far as her own efforts were concerned anyway. But first she would see this through, would sound the depths of his heart. "What answer would you give him today?"

The young man cast his eyes downward and shook his head once. "I- I don't know for sure. Still, after everything..."

Her sigh sounded of forced patience. "'There is no one so blind as they that won't see.' - Swift - does that ring a bell?"

To her surprise, he nodded. "Yes, I didn't want to see any signs before he... I never thought... thought of him that way."

"And Hayato knew that already – after all, he always called you an idiot because you have a brain and neglect to use it." The words were not so much biting as explanatory. "What do you know, now?"

"I know that I ducked out, and broke my word, and was plain unfair... and that I ruined a lot with that. And what I know absolutely for sure: I miss him. So much so that these dreams have come back."

'Dreams? What kind? Since when?' She was all ears now, but sadly he went on, ignoring it and describing the hunt for the jigsaw pieces instead and what he found. And the picture she saw arising from his words pleased her, enough to administer a bit more help to her dearest brother's beloved. (That this hopeless airhead still held that special place in Hayato's heart was beyond dispute for his sister, as well as the fact that he would need all the help she could give.)

"His attention is what you seek, hm? How about some image training?"

That took Takeshi by surprise. He knew about image training, of course; his baseball coach had introduced his team to it and, since it had proved to be useful, later on he had applied it for sword practice. 'Imagine the opponent moves that way...' his mind would order, and his body acted accordingly. So, even if he didn't see the applicability at first sight, he decided to trust Bianchi. He obediently closed his eyes and gave her voice his undivided attention.

"Imagine a school girl, in middle school to be exact. Cute looks, nice character, pretty normal – you know the type. Can you see her?" When he nodded, she continued, "And now imagine some fellow student; this one is a boy. Not stupid, but terribly immature – he still believes in showing fondness by punching, throwing objects and name-calling. And our girl seems to understand his behaviour; no matter how deterrent, she would not be driven away. On the contrary. She is always there - always friendly, always smiling. She takes to his interests, compliments him and strives to be recognised as useful. She asks for his help with studying, even when she wouldn't need it. She touches him more than occasionally, casual and very proper touches of course, and is attentive – for example in form of home-made bentos to share." She fell silent for a few heartbeats, so he could experience the image. "And here's your prize question: How do you call that girl's course of action?"

"Erm, 'courting'?"

"But what if it were a boy?"

"... Now wait a minute! You mean that I was courting him?!"

"It sure looked like that for a certain big sister – who didn't like it one bit back then. But the signals you sent, this constant favouring that encouraged him, were the reason why I supported Hayato's declaration of love." The woman finally smiled congratulating, and patronisingly patted his head. Yes, she could see her brother go for that dimwitted expression, even if puppies weren't her cup of tea. "See? I always told him you could think your way out of a wet paper bag if you wanted to. And as your prize..."

The magazine was reopened at the still marked pages and turned around, so that Takeshi could look at it the right way up.

And in a wink he was mesmerised.

Not that he could read the short French article about this newly opened bar in one of Paris' back streets, but that wasn't what mattered at the moment. All that mattered right now was one photo, showing (blurry, as if he had tried to dodge out of the picture) the rear view of a barkeeper. Or to be more exact, a silver ponytail hovering above a pair of shoulders Yamamoto Takeshi would have recognized anywhere, and...

The sound of Bianchi clearing her throat brought him out of his reverie, so he looked up and blinked, realizing she wasn't seated near him any more. When had she moved? She had paused at the door on her way out and now turned round to face him again. With a fake look of puzzlement she raised her right hand, the slightly bent forefinger hovering next to her chin. "Aah, just one more thing..., sir, do you recognize the nape that trespassed on your dreams and stole your sleep?"

And after that comment, since it was not her style to tease (much), she just turned to leave. She did have the enormous satisfaction of seeing a pair of ears redden though.

Not ten minutes later Tsuna had his first unplanned appointment for the day - his Rain Guardian, a fashion magazine in one hand, overnight bag in the other, and his eyes shining with eagerness. Kyoko and Lambo had been carried in from the outer office by his momentum, but it took all three of them a few moments to make sense of his garbled sentence bits.

"... gotta go... sorry 'bout our movie night tonight... I'll borrow one of the cars, okay?... oh, have to fetch Shigure Kintoki - you never know...and on the way give the word to the guys from my division... I'll call when I'm there- oh, phone charger!... can I borrow yours, Tsuna? Thanks a lot... say, France is down the road and then left, right?"

Tsuna had emerged from behind his desk, but did not know how to slow down his friend's babbling.

Kyoko on the other hand suddenly grabbed the taller man's shoulder and said with the tone of authority, "Yamamoto-kun, STOP!" He obeyed, taken by surprise. "Now take a breath, deeeep down to your stomach! And out! Good. Another one. And another. So, when you are ready - what were you talking about? First things first."

The ordered breathing had indeed cleared the onslaught of thoughts in his brain and he could remember the crucial point he wanted to put across. He waved about the magazine and restarted, "Bianchi has found Gokudera, and I-"

"Gokudera?!"

His audience's reactions were worth another moment of simple breathing.

Lambo just brought his fist up in the air and down again with a loud "Yes!" and whipped the magazine out of Yamamoto's hand to clasp it to his bosom after a short look at the page with the picture. Then he shouted, "I knew it! I just knew it! God, I'm so clever!" and ran outside.

Tsuna felt like he would burst with joy any second if he didn't share it with someone. So when the woman of his dreams hurled herself into his arms, apparently feeling the same way, he didn't stop to think, but whirled around with her held tightly in his embrace. And when this still did nothing to dampen his joy, he peppered her beaming face with kisses, never wasting much thought on if that was prudent, too sudden, or the correct technique. Although sometimes, it seemed, not thinking was the right frame of mind, for he was rewarded with a pair of vanilla flavoured lips that obstructed the random advance of his own, invited them to dance together instead, and his joy knew no bounds.

Unfortunately the third person in the room felt like bursting too, and the grand declaration of love had to be postponed. Oh, it would be so much nicer then, without audience, anyway. So the kiss was broken and Kyoko, in tune with her Tsu-kun, smiled at him and turned, still in his arms, to lean against his chest, eyeing the bearer of glad tidings with a look of expectancy.

And finally, finally Takeshi could report the events of the morning (well, 'report' was perhaps overstated – but at least he knew what he meant to say) and tell his friends without a trace of hesitation what he intended to do. To go to where Gokudera was. At once.

"Wonderful, Yamamoto, I'd just like to know, what for exactly?"

"Sorry?" Clearly the taller man completely missed the point of this question – which was, in fact, a very good answer as such.

"Oh, nothing, everything's fine. So, what's you're plan?"

"To drive there and see him, what else?" His uncomprehending tone spoke volumes - what did his friend's questions mean? What else indeed was there to plan?

"Oh, okay already, just go with it and drive to him."

The news had done the rounds quickly, it seemed, for the next family member already entered the office before Yamamoto could leave - Dr Shamal, on his arm a cat-sized Uri. The feline promptly jumped to the floor, faced the Rain Guardian and hissed with all his might. To avoid painful scratches, the traveller-to-be opened his box to release Kojiro (cat whisperer by practice and vocation) who trotted to his irritable charge and, like many times before, licked the cat's head – against the fur! The following tussle (humans would call it sparring) served on the one hand as aggression relief, and was on the other hand a perfect opportunity to soak this poor, abandoned playfellow with calming Rain flames. Plus it was fun.

While the box animals were busy not quite taking apart the room, and the Sky moved to the drawers of his desk to remove the Storm Ring and Uri's box, Shamal took Yamamoto aside. "Depending on Hayato's mood, and on what you want to say or do, he might very well open fire immediately. So if you ever want to play hide-the-dynamite, you'll need a 'nailer' - a diversion that buys you the precious first three seconds for initiative. Uri should do perfectly."

Even as Takeshi tried to make sense of the middle section of the doctor's advise, Lambo returned and announced that a car was readied (gas, money ready for the French car toll) and it's sat nav programmed with the bar's address as printed in the journal (easiest route, a suitable roadhouse halfway through for a rest, and inserting the parking facilities next to the destination). On top of this, he passed on that Haru had produced something she called a 'ninja power bento' (apparently some kind of very substantial dumplings Kyoko swore would leave no traces on the breath and were easy to eat while driving) and already stored it in the car, together with a few bottles of water and tea. Never let it be said that Lambo had delayed the daft Gokudera's retrieval for even one minute!

Meanwhile Kojiro felt the aggression level in his partner was normal by now and surrendered. When the Rain had pocketed the Storm's Ring and box, and left the office with his bag and friends, both animals amicably followed him.

By the car, the complete Rain division was present to deliver Shigure Kintoki and wish Godspeed and success to their commander – wishes that were echoed by their Storm co-workers. Indeed, something both groups could agree on again at last.

As the peripatetic young man got into the car, Kyoko whispered into her Tsu-kun's ear, "Wouldn't it be more reasonable for Yamamoto-kun to book a flight to Paris to save time and his energy? This drive will be exhausting."

The lovestruck young man took a few seconds to find back to reality at that. "Ah, now that he finally does know what he wants to do in this matter, I won't distract him from his chosen course of action. Besides, perhaps this will show Gokudera-kun how very seriously Yamamoto takes their unresolved issues."

His sweetheart nodded in cutely feigned sageness. "Since nowadays there are so few dragons to slay, it's the thought that counts when one wants to make an impression on somebody special. But seriously, I do think you're right, Tsu-kun."

While those two retreated into the shared private world they had found in each other's eyes, Bianchi had stepped up to Yamamoto's still open window with her own means of affecting her brother's decisions. She bent forward and held a small, pale blue paper sachet under his nose. "You see this? Think of it as a talisman, an Italian kind of omamori. Carry it close to your heart all the time," with this she put it into his shirt's breast pocket, "so you'll have it ready when needed. It might help you to bring Hayato back to us. Just remember: When you're around him, think, for God's sake! And don't you dare to come back without him, or else! You got it?"

Yamamoto gulped, nodded, started the motor and moved off with squealing tyres - to her utmost satisfaction. For being a firm believer in the power of love, she also believed equally firmly in the motivating power of "fear Bianchi's wrath".

A/N:

Bianchi's impersonation of Inspector Columbo: If a mafioso can really have a favourite police detective, it would be one of Italian descent, I'd imagine. And if you think that she got wise to Yamamoto's nape fetish by chance – no, she too read the article from which I learnt that the nape is considered very erotic in Japan, so clothes' collars are often tailored to bring it out.

The (adapted) nailer is borrowed from the universe of Modesty Blaise [retired leader of an international criminal organization = rich + oh so bored, so she became a freelance agent for the Special Intelligence Section of the British Foreign Office that would give James Bond a run for his money]. Here is how the original technique works: Our very sexy heroine strips to the waist before entering a room occupied by the enemy. So named because it was guaranteed to "nail" a roomful of men, holding them frozen for two or three vital seconds.

Yes, I just love the plain-and-simple tactics... but she and her partner Willie use some pretty cunning gadgets that are also cool. If you're looking for some classic spy thriller featuring a strong female lead with human flaws, read one of the books or comic books (both written by Peter O'Donnell) – but better ignore the movie. Really.

Omamori (御守 or お守り) are Japanese amulets (charms, talismans) commonly sold at religious sites and dedicated to particular Shinto deities as well as Buddhist figures, and may serve to provide various forms of luck or protection – but of course you knew this already.

Actually, I planned to write a little cameo here: The guys from 'Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle' should drop in, so Gokudera could finally meet a real UMA. But then I couldn't decide which language Mokona would produce for him.

Italian, since it is his native language?

Japanese, since he almost exclusively used it in the last nine years?

French, since he would expect to hear the local language? And in that case, what would happen if he decided to be polite and speak to Kurogane in Japanese?