Author's Note: I wanted to write Xanxus angst... I think I failed miserably. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A GENFIC!

X27 in passing. Readers be warned.

Reflecting on it now, years after his wounds had long faded, Xanxus knew he had always been so close to breaking. In his mind's eye he could see splintering cracks that ran over his skin as though he were made of glass and not flesh and bone. Some of the cracks were old, coming from the time he spent as a street rat and others were newer, stemming from the death of his brothers' and then being blamed for them despite the fact that there was no-fucking-way he could have killed them without leaving some sort of trace. He could see the black tendrils of rage, hatred and madness seeping from those cracks and desperately trying to repair them too. It was frightening to see all shades of black clinging to him as though he exemplified darkness.

Maybe that Rokudo Mukuro bastard was right. Maybe he was the Mafia's darkness. Maybe the cracks that appeared along his skin were simply an illusion created from years of mental decay that formed from years of murder and torture. Maybe he wasn't even broken at all… alright. He knew he was being a bit of an optimist with that last thought but still. Maybe if he denied it, it would go away.

But then if that were the case, why did he completely shatter when he realized that he had nothing left?

Timoteo believed that Xanxus' wrath was directed at him because he didn't have the Vongola… but he was wrong. He wasn't angry at him for holding the Vongola just out of his reach. He didn't hate the smug old fucker for giving a title he desired but didn't need to some sniveling little brat (that he would later spend about three years working out any UST with that decided it wanted to just pop up one day after the Ring Conflicts had long since been resolved). No. He hated him for an entirely different reason—one that was, perhaps, more profound and deserved.

He hated him for lying to him.

So yeah. Xanxus knew he was broken. He knew that he wasn't entirely sane either, having most likely inherited whatever psychosis his mother had before she offed herself but the fact remained—the one that had left him completely and utterly shattered had been the Ninth.

His so-called father.

It had taken years to pick up the pieces afterwards but he had finally done it. He had pieced himself back together enough to say that he was fixed, if not whole again. Thankfully, he still had his coat of black death, anger and hatred to fill in the gaps.

He had quickly learned that that wasn't enough though.

"It's not weakness to rely on other people, you know." Xanxus recalled Federico saying one evening after he had met Squalo and felt some psychotic urge to call the noisy bastard up so they could have a heart-to-heart or some shit and he had been right—it wasn't weak.

It was downright fucking stupid is what it was.

Everyone Xanxus thought he could lean on did something to hurt him. With Emiliano, an old friend of his on the streets, he had turned around and tried to stab him. Xanxus burnt the fucker to a crisp—it had been his first kill and, sub-sequentially, the first time he activated his Sky Flame. He had been six or seven at the time so he'd known both death and betrayal by name at that point. The next time he tried to lean on someone, it had been his mother and she avidly beat the shit out of him for looking like her older brother. Throwback genes or some shit like that. He hadn't killed her but he had taken immense pleasure in knowing that she was dead by her own hand. The third time had been with his brothers. They had wormed their ways under his guards, accepting him as one of their own… and then they had all died. All three of them. Just like that. No goodbyes, no nothing.

Something inside of Xanxus had burst at that, setting his constantly altering flame into a permanent state of wrath. Even after he got his revenge—which didn't help him feel jack shit. Wasn't there supposed to be some sort of closure? Hah!—his flame still burned with an intensity that was almost bright enough to burn away at his own flesh.

It was when he discovered the truth behind the Ninth's acceptance that was the icing on the cake. That had been the point of no return.

He had just felt so empty, so defeated… and when his rage sought an outlet through betrayal of his own, the old man locked him in ice for eight years because he had been completely and utterly blind to the turmoil he had created. And then he hadn't even been the one who let him out. It had been Squalo and the rest of his Elements that did so. It was unfair. It was…

It was his fucking life is what it was.

The Ring Conflicts, though. That had been the turning point for him. That had been the point when the hatred, the anger, the death had stopped seeping from the cracks, stopped clinging to him—or rather he stopped clinging to it—like a lifeline. For the first time in a long time, after his defeat at the hands of Sawada, he had felt at peace with himself and the world… even if he couldn't particularly forgive half of it.

But he moved on with his life. He didn't have time to cling to some false hope that a shrimpy little brat gave him after defeating him. He had a group of assassins to run and cracks to attempt to hide—cracks that were now running through hideously scarred skin.

The years had passed and Xanxus had forgotten about the cracks, almost forgotten about Sawada. He had forgotten how broken he truly was until that fateful day came.

It had been a day like any other. Xanxus was walking through the corridors with a week's worth of paperwork so he could file it in the record's depository before going back to his estate where he would then proceed to drink himself into a stupor as he usually did after those meetings with the old bastard.

Only this time his plans seemed to have been put on hold.

Xanxus had opened the door to see the last person he expected—Sawada-fucking-Tsunayoshi. And he was lounging almost carelessly on a spot by the window, watching the people below patrol with an almost bored expression. Sensing someone new, he tensed and then looked up at Xanxus.

There had been a very tense moment of silence.

"Hello, Xanxus," Tsunayoshi inclined his head. His voice had gotten deeper, resembling now that of a man's instead of a woman's. It was a smooth, rich tenor. His hair was longer too and although he was enshrouded by darkness, he managed to make the entire fucking room seem so much brighter with his eyes alone.

"Sawada," He jerked his head back in what could have been a nod before he got to work with his filing.

It was through some third eye that Xanxus felt the cogs turning in that former-Arcobaleno's head. "Dame-Tsuna," Reborn said, his evil grin evident. "Why don't you train with Xanxus today?"

"The shit?" Xanxus jerked, spinning to glare at the assassin. "I've got better fucking things to do than take your place as his sparring buddy, lazy trash."

Reborn looked deeply unimpressed with his dialogue. "Like drinking yourself into a stupor?" Reborn asked almost disinterestedly.

"Damn straight." Xanxus huffed through his nose and arranged the files. Maybe he could get Squalo to do it next week. If this was going to be what happened every week, Xanxus didn't think his wine cellar could handle the major blows it would receive.

But Tsunayoshi, ever the mothering hen, frowned, "Now, Reborn. If he doesn't want to, don't force him." And then he smiled but it looked like one of his Mist's lecherous smirks. "Though I admit a rematch would be fun."

He had been so confused when he heard those words. Fun? He'd thought the brat hated violence… turns out that, after years of fighting, he had developed just the slightest taste for blood.

Their fight had lasted for hours and yet it had been so intense. Completely and utterly no-holds-barred. Xanxus remembered feeling an enticing and very addictive thrill—like liquid fire when their Wills connected and then separated and then connected again. It had been almost too much to take and by the time he returned, he was so achingly hard that he spent a good hour and a half trying to get some of the desire out of him.

The next time they met was at a party. It was a private, welcoming home party for the more sadistic half of his Mist. Only the higher Echelon was allowed. Tsunayoshi had leaned on Mukuro, getting him used to interaction again before they all had made a toast. Xanxus had lingered, allowing his senses to drown him in Tsunayoshi's intoxicating presence that he didn't bother to hide when he was at home—as he referred to the main Vongola Estate anymore.

Maybe that had been the turning point for them… when Xanxus realized how much that little boy's presence influenced him. Either way, he was glad he had worked up the balls to court him, to lean on him just a bit even though it had taken three of dancing around each other to do so.

It had taken meticulous planning to get him alone so he could ask him for the chance. He had smiled a warm, breathtaking smile and so willingly put his life in Xanxus' hands… it was almost enough to keep him from attacking the first person that threatened him.

Almost.

Poor Hayato had been punted out the nearest window.

Tsunayoshi had been upset but he found it more amusing than anything else if the way his lips twitched when he tried to scowl to mask his amusement was anything to go by. The former-Arcobaleno had been the most polite about it, flicking his wrist to tap the concealed holster under his jacket and giving him a very sharp look that would have had other men diving for cover. Xanxus had actually acknowledged that threat because hey, this was The Number One they were talking about and he had no doubts that Reborn could and would kill him if he hurt his Sky.

Later that night, after almost two months of dating, Tsunayoshi had taken up making the first move, spinning around and kissing Xanxus straight on the mouth without warning or anything. Xanxus had smirked into the kiss and broke it long enough to whisper seductively, "I am going to make you scream."

There hadn't been much screaming but the small sounds Tsunayoshi made in his desperate attempts to take all that the older assassin had to give while giving in return had been enough to drive him insane. He had writhed and clawed and bit and scratched, giving Xanxus both his pain and his pleasure as he drove himself deep into the younger man—because he certainly couldn't be called a boy anymore.

In the aftermath, with Tsunayoshi laying against his chest and skin touching where it was allowed, Xanxus let his thoughts (which had gone from being a noisy buzzing sound that resembled a nest of angry hornets to being cool and collected) drift.

He didn't feel the cracks much anymore. Actually, he was starting to feel that same sense of calm he had felt after the Ring Conflicts only on a more intense level… knowing that he held something so tender and so precious in his arms when he slept at night, something that was apart of him and yet at the same time, a separate entity altogether.

It was then that he realized... he may have been far from being fixed... but at least he was whole again.

Owari.

Thanks for reading~!

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