Author's Note (READ): I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn; it's all written for fun and no profit whatsoever. Potential SPOILERS if you're not familiar with the Future Arc. I've always wondered what the others are doing in the past while the main story is taking place in the future. Still, I've read some theories about them being stuck in between, so nothing is definite yet. For now, I'm assuming that's where they are, although I am wondering about a few things. . .

I'm doing my first KHR character POV fic (usually it's the other way around; I start with a POV whenever I enter a new fandom), so I hope I haven't messed up my attempt at getting into Yamamoto's mind.

Just for one hour, one minute, one second even – that's all I need. I promise I won't take long. Believe me, I will come back to help change and preserve the past, present, and future of the Vongolas. I gave my word to Tsuna, like you all did, and I'll be back. You don't need to worry about that. I won't betray you. Everyone, please wait. I will return.

Just let me go and see him. Just this once. Please.

My old man. . .my dad. I never did tell him how much I care because boys and men aren't expected to say stuff like that. They say it's not a "manly" thing to do, but that's a lie. That's an outright lie. I know it because I'm learning the hard way right now. No. I was supposed to have learned years ago, but I didn't.

Mom died when I was nine, and I didn't tell her then or before that. I must not have understood the importance of love, for I know I would have rushed outside and told her—no, I would have grabbed her hand to drag her back into the house, so she wouldn't have to go ingredient shopping by herself that day, and not encounter that speeding car whose driver I hated so much when Dad broke the news to me.

I should have told her.

I should have told him, but I was too caught up in life and everything I had to do as a guardian and as a member of the Vongola Family. I thought he would always be there whenever I came home from school, from practice, from Italy. But I was wrong, and the Millefiores took him away from me, like they did everybody else who mattered to me, to all of us, and I'll never completely understand why.

But I do know that the enemy will not go unscathed by the Rain Guardian.

I'm running as fast as I can. Even though Namimori looks far more peaceful than it does in my time, I still know every corner, road, and house. Everything is as familiar and real to me as the feeling of gripping my sword. I'm passing by the Nakajimas, who own a crazy cat and live in a brown house next door to the Murakami family, whose house is just before the main street, which will take me to Takesushi.

"Sorry!" I call out quickly, narrowly missing a woman and her child as I dash around the corner. I would have stopped to pick up that book she dropped in shock, but there's just no time. I'm expected to return soon to the others to work out this unbelievable situation, and I want to devote every single minute of the twenty minutes I have been granted to see my father. Already, I've lost ten.

Will he notice the difference, I wonder? That I am not the fourteen-year-old Takeshi he knows right now? Maybe. The old man's pretty sharp. After all, he taught me the Shigure Souen style. I envied that skill and devotion he held for the sword style so much that I made a personal vow to exemplify that prowess and honor he displayed, and make him proud. I would not be the swordsman I am now if it weren't for him.

And I wouldn't be the man I am now if it weren't for him.

While I have inevitably taken my own path in life, choosing to be a part of the mafia, I will never forget my dad's lessons and wisdom in spite of the occasional arguments we had. He has taught me to how to have a positive outlook on life, even after Mom died. He was the stronghold that brought the two of us through that tragedy. His smiles and booming voice cheered me up, made me laugh in spite of the darkness we were experiencing with the loss of Mom. The pain never went away, but his presence and attitude helped us adjust to our new life.

Dad showed me how to hold my first baseball. I still remember how heavy but natural it felt in my four-year-old palm, how delighted I was to throw it even if it did not go very far. But Dad always declared to the skies how brilliant and powerful my throw was. He instilled in me the confidence I have today, the confidence I took with me upon joining my first baseball team and club. Because of Dad, I gave it my all, swung that bat with every ounce of strength I had, and threw that baseball with passion! This was our sport, my dad and I.

And the sushi – the way he handled the knives, expertly chopping fish and vegetables that would soon be made into the delicious, trademark sushi my old man is known for! I learned everything I know about cooking from him. There is none better than he is. I can't even compare as his assistant.

Speaking of sushi, I'm finally here, standing in front of the shop, almost hesitant to go in. I feel like I am about to witness the dead come back to life.

Nevertheless, I gather my nerve and step inside, inhaling the smell of something good being prepared. For once, I am glad there are no people right now (these middle afternoons bring slow business).

The old man has come out, almost as though he was expecting me, but I see that he has only come to remove leftovers. He stops, and looks at me. I feel this tremendous urge to embrace him and never let go, to take him back with me into the future, but I know I can't. I can't deny my younger self the chance to appreciate his dad even if he embarrasses us from time to time, and I only hope that the teenage Takeshi realizes how important Dad is before it's too late.

Dad is still staring, and I stare back, knowing I must look very different with a suit, tie, and a bluish-green dress shirt with a katana strapped to my back and a scar on my face. I am taller, too, at his height, maybe a little more.

But Dad. . .he looks just the same, if only younger. That openly warm face, the same dark hair and eyes, the same white uniform with a few fresh and damp stains.

"Takeshi? What are you doing here? Hmm. . .you look different today."

I don't know whether to be relieved or not. Still, I smile, feeling a lump in my throat. Here he is, my old man, alive and well. Alive. "Dad. . ." I breathe.

"Aren't you supposed to be in school?" he asks with a frown, eying me strangely. "And what are you wearing? Did Aunt Mayumi take you shopping for clothes again? I can't remember when the last time she visited was." He scratches his chin, no doubt confused, and with good reason to be. Thankfully, he has not noticed the sword yet, for I don't wish to explain everything right now.

"I. . ." I don't know what to say. There are so many things I want to tell him! I want to ask him questions I forgot to ask, share memories, because I don't know if I will see him again.

My eyes feel watery as I glance at the clock on the far wall. My time is up. I have to go back.

Maybe I shouldn't have come. It's so painful! I had no idea it would be this hard. It's the toughest thing I've ever faced. Even when I found out he was dead back in my time – that doesn't compare to seeing him alive again and then leaving, knowing I have to face the reality that he is gone in my era.

I don't want to leave you, Dad.

But. . .I have to because I don't want my younger self to experience the grief I went through. Once is enough.

"S-Sorry. . .I just. . ." I take a deep breath and face my old man, and with a heavy heart, I say quietly, "Dad, I've never told you this before. . .but I just want you to know that I'm really grateful for everything you've done for me, and. . .I. . .love you—Dad." There. I said it. The words just flew out my mouth before they even registered in my mind. I try to swallow the lump, but with little success.

He doesn't say anything right away, but I can see something change in him. He smiles. "Well, I don't know what suddenly brought this on, but I love you, too, son. You're the best thing that ever happened to me! Your Mom would be proud of you." I was suddenly glad that they didn't know about the mafia.

He wipes at his eyes, saying, "I think I chopped too much onions back there. Anyway, you get on back to school!"

I laugh. "I will." I pause, and then say my last words to him: ". . .See you later, old man."

"Don't call me 'old man!'"

I laugh again as I step outside, relieved to have some closure, but inside, my heart aches. Reluctantly, I begin my run back through Namimori to the others.

Author's Note: If you happen to think adult Yamamoto was too emotional, think about how it feels to lose a parent you love.

Also, please review! It is greatly appreciated when you do, because I can't stand it when people put my stories on a favorites list, but don't review (and I may start messaging those people). When you review, it shows you took the time to acknowledge to the author that you've read it, and it makes it very worthwhile to hear from readers.