The Painted Lady

Summary: In which there is more to Skull's odd hobby than any had previously considered.

Author's Notes: Inspired by "Painted Lady" by OpalIstas .

[~][~][~]

It hadn't taken the Arcobaleno long to realize that Skull had an odd hobby, one that was beyond the usual quirks that they could ignore; but only because it seemed so out of character.

Skull was a brat; he gave off the feeling of a rebellious, punk-rock teenager with his brightly colored hair, multiple piercings, and penchant for leather. He was the type to read comics and attend wild parties, not collect pricey paintings from upscale auctions.

But that's what he did. The violet-haired cloud was surprisingly knowledgeable of art, able to tell the difference between the genuine thing and a fake within a moment's study, and if there was an art auction nearby, it was guaranteed that Skull would, at some point, be at it. Not that the other Arcobaleno ever understood why; Skull rarely bought anything from the auctions he so obsessively attended. He only ever seemed to be a bystander, intently staring at the pieces that were up for sale, but, to their knowledge, never making a bid on one.

Except they saw the speculative looks other attendees shot him, saw the way dealers and bidders alike would approach him, sharing information with the strangely subdued stuntman. And when Reborn had asked around, a woman had gladly shared the tidbit that the mysterious De Mort was selective, but once he found a painting he wanted, no cost was too high. Once, when he was asked why he would pay so much for a painting, no matter how rare, the stuntman had answered simply that it was worth it, that the paintings were worth everything.

(Reborn would swear that Viper had swayed just a little at hearing the price the Lackey had once paid for a painting.)

And when asked what paintings 'De Mort' favored, the informative attendee had looked almost sad as she answered. "Portraits. Rare portraits. No one knows who painted them, but there are rumors there are less than ten in the world."

.

It was Xanxus who finally brought an end to Skull's odd hobby.

Not that he was aware that Skull even had such a hobby. It was all just coincidence it worked out the way it did.

.

As a young child, fresh from the streets, the Vongola mansion was little more than luxurious prison. Xanxus was used to living on the streets; he was used to the freedom to roam and do his own thing without an adult hovering over him constantly, to just up and going without worry of lessons he had to attend or people he had to meet with, or anything like that. So, when the tutors, Nono, or Nono's Guardians got too annoying, he'd taken to exploring the mansion, disappearing for hours into long uninhabited rooms and sections of the house.

No area of the mansion was out of bounds to him in his hunt for a few hours reprieve from the nagging and the heavy weight of disapproval and distrust. He'd hidden in a linen closet before, cramped and at constant risk of discovery as it was; but, by far, his favorite rooms were the storage rooms. Rooms filled to the brim with furniture, useless bits of décor, and paintings.

It was, admittedly, a pleasant way to the pass the time; going through the bits and pieces that had once made up a home only to later be relegated to an empty, unused room was calming, often soothing his agitation.

And then, he found it. Found her.

.

It had been a particularly rough day. He'd caught hell from no less than three of his tutors, who'd complained to Nono, who'd then given him a passive-aggressive disappointed-father speech while Coyote stood disapprovingly in the background. The first chance Xanxus got, he stormed off, disappearing into a rarely used section of the mansion and losing himself in picking through a room full of paintings.

Eventually, he'd grown bored of looking at boring landscape after boring landscape and sat down in the floor, leaning back against a wall. His leaned his head back and stared blankly across the room; he wondered if enough time had passed that he could make it back to his room and hide out there for a while when something made him go still. Instincts honed on the streets told him that something in the room was different, that something – someone – was in the room with him, that he wasn't alone any longer. He was frozen, ears straining to pick up any hint of noise that might give the intruder away, eyes darting from one side of the room to the other; his hand twitched with the urge to pull out a knife that wasn't there.

And that was when the tower of precariously piled paintings on the table in front of him overbalanced and spilled into the floor. Spitting out several vulgar curse words, he reached out and kicked the closest painting away from him, revealing the one behind it.

It was a girl; not one he'd ever seen anywhere in the mansion or even heard of in his lessons before. Intrigued, he scooted closer and turned the portrait upright. He had to give the artist credit, they'd done an amazing job with this one. The girl was pretty, like a princess from a fairy tale, with her dark hair and pale skin. But it was more than that; there was a life to this portrait that others he'd seen didn't have, a depth of emotion in the bright green eyes that took her from classic beauty to something more.

Dressed in a uniform that bore hints of military details, with it's dark color and silver hardware, and wearing an expression of wary determination against an empty background, she made a somber and gripping sight.

Half an hour later, when he deemed it safe enough to leave, he carried the portrait under his arm as he returned to his room.

.

That night, as he glanced at the portrait in its new place of honor above his fireplace as he prepared for bed, he paused.

He would swear the girl in the portrait had been smiling.

.

Beyond his clothes and toiletries, the portrait was the only thing Xanxus took with him when he left the Vongola Mansion to take over the Varia.

.

Despite his best efforts, Xanxus had never been able to find any information on the girl in the portrait. He'd gone through every book he could get his hands on, researched militaries and their uniforms with a fervor that had surprised his tutors, did everything he could think of to try and find a scrap of information on her.

At the very least, he wanted her name.

.

His newly recruited Mist took one look at the portrait that hung in his office and half-demanded to know where Xanxus had gotten it.

Xanxus' eyes sharpened, narrowing at the Esper-brat. The Mist knew something; everyone else who'd walked into his personal wrote it off as inconsequential, just a painting of a pretty girl. Yet Mammon had recognized it, recognized her.

"Why?" he demanded in return, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips when he noticed the aborted almost-twitch of the Esper.

"Muu… It's a rare painting. It could easily fetch a fortune," Mammon finally replied, and Xanxus really did smirk. The baby was good, as to be expected of a Varia officer; but there'd been no hiding the genuine emotion that'd been in their voice when they're first seen the painting.

"I found it. Why is it rare?"

There was a long stretch of silence as the pair of them studied each other.

"The woman in the painting. She was infamous for refusing publicity of any kind, so to have an actual portrait of her is… singular. There've been rumors of other portraits, but it's difficult to know for sure as they are quickly snapped up by an anonymous buyer."

It was the most information Xanxus had gotten on her in the literal years he'd been searching. He leaned forward, glaring intently at the Mist.

"Her name?"

"Holly."

.

Xanxus knew something was off with the portrait, with Holly. He could never pinpoint what it was, could never find proof, but he would wake sometimes in the middle of the night to the sound of a woman humming though he would find no one when his eyes automatically snapped open. There were times when he was in a particularly emotional state and his Wrath would be flooding the area around him when he would feel the faintest hint of something brush comfortingly against his Flames; or, from the corner of his eye as he worked on getting the Varia back into shape, he would catch a hint of movement.

There was something more to the portrait he had found, and he was determined to find out what it was. As soon as he'd handled the bullshit with Nono.

.

It was sheer dumb luck, really.

Several years later, after Xanxus had been sealed away, after he'd thawed out, after the Future-That-Never-Was, after breaking the Arcobaleno curse, Tsuna had visited the Varia mansion.

The relationship between the Varia head and the soon-to-be Decimo was still rocky at the best of times, but it was steadily improving as the trash continued to prove just how unlike his idiot father he was.

Tsuna had walked into Xanxus' room and, for the second time ever, had paused at the portrait above his fireplace.

"Huh. You know, Skull has one of the same woman. Several, actually."

The glass of whiskey in Xanxus' hand had cracked.

.

Within days, Skull appeared at the Varia mansion. The Stuntman wasn't looking much like himself, his purple hair looking dull and faded, and wearing jeans and a baggy hand-knit sweater. He carried packages the same size as the portrait above Xanxus' fireplace under each arm, with Tsuna and Reborn following behind him with another two each.

Skull came to a stop in front of Xanxus, and though there was a wealth of emotion in the violet eyes, he met Xanxus' eyes steadily and without fear. A corner of the Wrath user's mouth ticked up in something half-amusement and half-approval; without another word, he turned and led the way to his personal rooms.

To Holly.

.

Skull took one look at the portrait and inhaled sharply, a fierce hope and desperate longing appearing on his face. He set his own portraits down carefully before stepping closer to the portrait Xanxus had found over a decade ago.

Reverently, Skull reached out – and, suddenly, all Xanxus could focus on was the sight of the Stuntman's bare hands stretching towards the painting that Xanxus himself had treasured for years – and just as Xanxus was about to give in to the impulse to slap the Cloud's hand away, those pale, strangely elegant fingers touched the frame.

.

An invisible wave of energy – like Flames, but not – exploded from the portrait at Skull's touch, leaving those present in the room not quite physically reeling but feeling like they should be.

A delicate yawn caught their attention, their eyes snapping in the direction of the sound.

In her frame, Holly came alive; she stretched her arms above her head, leaning from side to side as if she were stretching. Emerald eyes blinked as though shaking off the remnants of sleep, and looked languidly at those in the room.

Suddenly, those emerald eyes sharpened on the violet-haired teen that stood closest to her.

Vibrant green held with vivid purple; then, a slow smile appeared on the portrait's face.

"Wotcher, my little wolf," she said, voice gentle and warm and overflowing with affection.

Skull let out a sound that was half-laugh and half-sob. "Wotcher, Mum."

.

Skull de Mort, the Immortal Stuntman, was Teddy Potter, the only son of Holly Potter, The-Woman-Who-Conquered.

The son who had willingly allowed himself to be dragged further and further into the Underworld, who had willingly become an Arcobaleno, all in the hope of gathering the series of portraits that had imprisoned his mother's soul after she had given herself up to protect her family. To protect him.

The son of the woman who had smiled at Tsuna, at Reborn, at Xanxus, and thanked them for looking after her Teddy-bear, for playing a part in helping to reunite the pair who meant so much to each other.

(If Holly, as she'd introduced herself, wasn't Skull's Sky, Tsuna would eat his X-gloves.)

(And if Tsuna had thought his Elements protective of their Sky, he didn't want to be around when Skull realized that Xanxus had the beginnings of a crush on the woman that was both Sky and Mother.)

[~][~][~]

This chapter feels largely incomplete to me. I kept getting ideas on how to expand it into a multi-chapter fic while I was writing it, so I feel as if I've rushed and ignored HUGE sections of story even though it's meant to be a stand-alone/one-shot.

Also, hi. Hello. Not dead.

-D.