Hello. My name is EK, and I'm a regular of the RK and S7 sections, visiting here. KHR took over my soul last August, and I haven't been the same ever since. Hope you like. This doesn't have the usual stuff; I'm not that kind of writer. But I hope you like.

None of them are mine. I'd like to borrow Yamamoto on Mondays and Hibari on Tuesdays, though.

"You look beyond awful," Gokudera frowned.

It would not be fun messing with the enemy if he looked so terrible. The enemy had dark rings under his eyes, constantly yawned, and went through walls. So unlike the perky baseball player Gokudera normally saw laughing with the boss.

"Huh?" the enemy turned his head slightly in his direction. "Oh. Hey."

Yamamoto made his way to his desk and sat down behind it. He took out a notebook and lay it open in front of it, then he stared at it, ignoring the movement of the rest of the class around him.

Gokudera walked up to the enemy desk and peered at whatever it was that had Yamamoto's full attention. He was definitely not reviewing for anything, because the notebook pages were blank. It was a faded picture on top of the notebook that he was looking at, in a drowsy kind of way.

The picture had faded to sepia, with wide white borders. In the picture was a young lady, probably early 20s or late teens, wearing a flowery dress, with a young man her same age, with curly hair.

Gokudera had been to the sushi restaurant a few times. The man was not a younger version of Yamamoto's father.

Gokudera held Yamamoto by the shoulders and shook him a bit, waiting until he looked up at him.

"This is your mom," Gokudera guessed.

Yamamoto nodded.

"This isn't your dad."

Again Yamamoto nodded.

"And it's driving you crazy."

"Just couldn't stop thinking about it," Yamamoto replied with a yawn. "Even at night."

Gokudera had some idea of the feeling. "Where did she go to high school, your mom?" he asked, before he could stop himself, his quick brain churning without his consent.

"Here," Yamamoto managed to say as his head bobbed.

He know a plan of attack from there. "Could I borrow the photo?" he asked.

"I guess," the enemy smiled at him. A smile that unnerved him something bad.

"I'm on it."

It did not take much detective work to settle his enemy's dilemma; the enemy was just too unhinged to do it himself.

Gokudera went to the high school's library, a short distance from the junior high school. He asked to see yearbooks from the decade he guessed the photo was taken, and went through rows and rows of pictures. He found the closest match to the girl in the picture, then the closest match to the guy. He listed their names, and their addresses at the back of the yearbook.

He skipped the last period to do this.

He waited at the locker rooms, knowing Yamamoto would eventually pass by, but did not understand why he had to wait half an hour.

He eventually had a call.

"Yes, boss? He's supposed to pass by your house? Not there yet?...C'mon, boss, he's always only just in the baseball field or your house...he's didn't go to practice?...Fine, fine, I'll find him...I'll call you, boss tenth, alright?" He ended the call.

He made his way up to the classroom.

Sure enough, Yamamoto was slumped over his desk, his textbooks and notebooks strewn on the floor around him, his schoolbag turned upside down. He checked if the classmates had taken the wallet and cellular phone as well, and was relieved to find that they had not.

He gathered up the books on the floor, stuffed them into the bag, and shook Yamamoto awake. He managed to have him open his eyes. "Look, baseball-head. Pay attention. Your mom is Akihiro Takako, am I right?"

Yamamoto nodded.

"Well the guy is a classmate in the same year level, Takeda Hiroshi. He used to live a bus ride away from the school."

"Take me there," Yamamoto drowsily begged.

"Not with you like that I'm not. I'm taking you home. I'll call the boss about the change of plans. We'll go tomorrow. At least it's Saturday."

Yamamoto stood and began to sleepwalk out the door, Gokudera holding his bag and tailing him in a panic.

The taller boy managed to walk in a daze down three floors to the lockers, and out of the school. The rest of the way, poor Gokudera cursed the fates as Yamamoto leaned heavily on him, until they reached the sushi restaurant.

Where he was greeted by Yamamoto's father. "Goodness! Drunk so early!"

"No, he's not, sir!" he said, and dragged the son up the stairs to bed.

He managed to get the door open, drag the tall boy up to his bed, and throw him onto it.

"Hey. Gokudera."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Gokudera tsked. "Sei pazzo. I'll be here by 9 tomorrow."

But Yamamoto was already snoring.

He arrived at the sushi restaurant the next day at 9 o'clock, as he promised. But the father told him that Yamamoto had not appeared downstairs yet. He waited patiently, finishing a cigarette while reading a history textbook he had taken along.

But he never expected to wait until lunch. Which was when the enemy finally showed his face at the restaurant, a silly grin on his face.

"Merda. Testa di cazzo," he swore under his breath. He slammed his textbook shut and squashed his cigarette.

Yamamoto sat in front of Gokudera, rubbing the back of his head. "So, where are we going?"

Gokudera gave the address, a bus ride away from their current location.

"Lead the way, then."

Gokudera wordlessly stood up and walked. He just may hurl more Italian profanity at the baseball-head, besides clobbering him in the middle of the street, if he opened his mouth.

The enemy was back to his normal self, almost, talkative and cheerful, chatting about school and practice. But there was still a nervousness about him that Gokudera was not used to feeling.

They got off after two bus stops and walked to the address.

But they found a deserted lot, with a burned and rotted house.

Gokudera took out a cigaratte and a lighter. "Che cazzo," he growled.

Yamamoto shook his head. "I thought as much," he sighed.

"I called a few people after going home last night," Gokudera said. "Talked to one guy who said he used to live here. I thought he just meant he was living in the city and there were relatives who still lived here."

"It's alright, really..." Yamamoto said. "You did your best."

"Don't quit yet, baseball-head," Gokudera stopped him. "I have the guy's new address. But it's a train ride away."

"It's cool. Let's go," he said with a happy grin.

Gokudera muttered in two languages...maybe three, he did know a fair share of English from all the traveling...as they walked to the train station. And he inwardly hoped it had been this easy to find out about his family history.

A long train ride and a long walk later, they reached a modest house, with a few plants in a small yard. They rang the doorbell. They looked at each other.

Yamamoto shuffled his feet. "What am I going to talk about?"

"We've traveled so far for you to back out now," Gokudera waved a fist at him. "Talk about anything."

The main gate opened. They found a middle-aged man in a golf shirt. He bowed politely. "May I help you, young gentlemen?"

Yamamoto faltered and shifted, until Gokudera elbowed him.

"My...my name is Yamamoto Takeshi," the taller boy began. "I am Akihiro Takako's son. Um...I found this photo in the basement last week." He then showed the man the picture. "Are...are you Takeda Hiroshi, sir?"

The man looked at the picture with fondness. "Yes, I am he. And how is your mother? I have not heard anything about her these many years."

Yamamoto lowered his head. "I...don't remember much...they just told me..."

"My condolences." The man lowered his head as well. "Come in, young gentlemen. Let's talk."

Gokudera let the two talk about Yamamoto's mother inside the house, while he smoked on the porch. It was not his business to know about Yamamoto's family history, as it was not Yamamoto's business to know his own. More or less he overheard that the man had been a childhood friend, and did try to win Takako's hand, but Takako had refused.

Yamamoto came out of the house as the sun set. By then Gokudera had finished two more chapters in his history book. Bows were given, invitations to return were accepted.

They went on home, Yamamoto unusually silent, Gokudera not breaking that silence.

The enemy invited him into the restaurant, for a meal on the house. "It's the least I could do, in exchange for this afternoon."

"Di niente," Gokudera waved it off, relieved to see the enemy back to normal, knowing that the boss would worry about it himself if he found out. But he did accept. It had been quite a trip, and he was hungry.

Yamamoto's father served the two tuna and egg sushi, miso, and iced tea. Gokudera quickly gobbled up and finished off the iced tea, begging for more and getting it. He did not notice that the baseball-head had leaned on the wall where he was seated, and had fallen asleep.

The father came to the table with more iced tea. "Did you know my son is a light sleeper?" he asked.

Gokudera shook his head. Having seen Yamamoto the day before, he could not believe it.

"He always wakes up to any small noise," the father said, smiling at his son. "It's a good thing this street is generally quiet at night. So seeing him able to sleep this deeply is a welcome thing. Thank you."

Gokudera shrugged.

It would be one of the rare times he would help the enemy. That he swore. He prayed there won't be any more.

Um, the Italian I quickly found off the internet (they're basic or usual swear words), so I won't translate them here.

Thanks for reading the oneshot. EK out.