I wrote this instead of the two essays I have due tomorrow. You lot had better be grateful.

…Okay, I probably would have done that anyway. Technically, I did do that anyway. All-nighter, here I come.

Reviewers! You're awesome. So very, very awesome. Together, we must spread the Arcobaleno love.

Verde and Reborn are up! (Skull and Viper's time will come. Hopefully soon-ish. Especially since, y'know, they all have yet to meet or anything. Geez, how long is this thing going to end up being?)

Shielding Thunder and Healing Sun

Anyone who had ever met Verde would acknowledge he was not a social man, but most would be surprised to find out that he downright hated people.

Yes, he understood the necessity of people in the grand scheme of things, particularly due to the fact that he had to interact with them on a regular basis in order to continue funding all his projects, but he'd never understood the attraction of the human race. Why should he have to deal with flawed, messy, judgmental and emotional people when he had a world of reliable numbers, mechanical wonders and fascinating chemicals (that admittedly sometimes exploded on him, yet still managed to be less volatile than human beings) to live in?

He knew for a fact that Luche had only given him the entire basement of her impressive mansion as his workspace in order to keep him as isolated from the rest of the Giglio Nero family as possible, but it was the one thing his boss had ever done for him that he genuinely appreciated. Luche didn't want him dealing with people, and neither did Verde himself.

Speaking of his charming boss, Verde often found himself confused as to why he was even working for the woman in the first place. Luche hated him. He despised her. By all accounts it didn't make sense, but for all that Agosto of the Calcassa family and various other well-paying customers appreciated his work, only Luche seemed willing to fund him around the clock, provided he stayed locked away in his basement. He deeply suspected that it had something to do with mafia politics and the like, but if it was made of flesh and blood he'd never bothered to see how it worked, so he couldn't be sure.

This was the only reason he didn't attempt to stab the woman to death with his screwdriver when she so very rudely interrupted his latest project by grabbing it out of his hands.

The fact that she'd brought her hulking brute of a bodyguard along with her may have factored into it somewhere as well.

"Verde," Luche said, and he was pleased to note that her smile was far too strained to be the diabolically sweet display she chose to show to practically everyone else.

Behind her, her bodyguard (a particularly unrefined, violent, scarred wreck and presumed American war veteran by the name of Jonathan Cain, who was quite possibly the only member of the Giglio Nero family whose membership made even less sense than Verde's) cracked his knuckles threateningly, while her second-in-command Este peered around Jonathan's massive bulk to gape at Verde as though he were some sort of zoo display.

"Luche," Verde returned, his eyes leaving Jonathan and Este to stare pointedly at the unfinished device she held in her hands. "This is…a surprise."

He settled back in his chair and nodded towards the other two men. "But really, bringing down the mutated caveman and yapping guard dog with you just to deal with one harmless scientist? It's almost as though you don't trust me."

Luche's already strained smile began cracking at the edges. "Wouldn't that be unfortunate?" she asked, swinging Verde's project back and forth absentmindedly. "The last three attempts on my life within the recesses of your lab must have been nothing but untimely coincidences, then." She paused for a moment and peered closer at the device in her hands. "I'm sure it's just that I'm an ignorant woman completely unfamiliar with advanced technology, but this thing looks lethal, Verde. Tell me, is it one of mine, or something you're selling to one of the many people who want me dead?"

Verde gritted his teeth. "It's not much of anything right now, Luche, because it's very much incomplete." His eye twitched as she started swinging it again. "And fragile."

"Pity," she said absently, then turned to her entourage. "Jonathan, Este, I apologize for dragging you down here with me, but it seems you're not needed. Thank you for your support, you're free to leave."

Both men immediately began to protest.

"B-but, boss, you can't!" Este began, before Jonathan's rumbling bass overpowered the boy's stammering completely.

"Don't think you want me to do that," the bodyguard growled, eyeing Verde with open hostility. Jonathan's Italian, Verde noted with some amusement, was just as rough as it'd been when Verde had first joined the family, eight years ago. "Can't trust 'em, you know. Scientists. 'Specially not that weedy little bastard."

"Thank you, Jonathan," Luche said firmly. "But Verde is my subordinate, after all." She beamed at the surly American. "Just like Este. Just like you."

Verde closed his eyes and comforted himself with thoughts of strangling his ever so charming boss.

Jonathan continued to grumble under his breath, and Este looked close to cardiac arrest (if only, Verde wished; at the very least it'd be a more dignified death than the brat's old man had gotten), but they shuffled out regardless. Verde smiled mockingly at his remaining guest and gestured to an overturned crate.

"Please, have a seat," he said, facing her properly for the first time and folding his arms across his chest. "I must congratulate you, Lady Luche," he added as she carefully inspected the crate before settling down. "It seems you're finally within reach of your lifelong dream of becoming a living caricature. Why, in only a few weeks' time you may have no genuine personality whatsoever."

"Verde, if you understood the finer nuances of human interaction even remotely, you wouldn't be stuck working for me," Luche replied, placing his project in her lap. "We all have our coping mechanisms. Yours is rejection. Mine is…adaptation."

"Yes, you've adapted very well to becoming about as plastic as a Barbie doll," he said, sliding his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He smirked. "Was your dismissal of the oaf and the toddler supposed to fill me with ingratiated hope that my loving boss still trusts me? Because I regret to say it didn't work."

Luche smiled grimly and tossed Verde's project up in the air. Verde felt his heart leap into his throat and started forward in alarm, but Luche snatched it back mid-fall, cradling it to her chest and preventing any damage from coming to it.

She waved the device around gently. "As long as you love your work more than you hate me, Verde, I have nothing to fear."

Verde bit down a snarl of rage and slumped down in his chair, unwilling to acknowledge his psychological defeat. "Just tell me what you want," he snapped, turning away from her to glare at his work table.

He heard her sigh. "There's an excellent chance I've gone completely insane," Luche murmured. She clapped her hands. "Verde, I am going to give you a once in a lifetime opportunity."

Verde snorted and reluctantly faced her again. "The last time you said that I ended up bound to you and your damn family for the rest of my foreseeable existence. What could you possibly offer me that would be worth whatever price you want me to pay this time?"

"A place as my Thunder Arcobaleno," Luche said.

Verde blinked. Stared blankly at his boss for several minutes. Blinked again. Cleaned off his glasses. Started staring again.

"You're not serious," he said finally.

Luche looked as though she'd swallowed a lemon. "Unfortunately, I am. I would never sink so low as to claim that I actually like you, Verde, but you are the best and possibly only option I have as user of the Thunder flame."

Verde stared at her for another minute before turning back to his work table, trying to stop the tremors in his hands.

"Verde?" Luche asked cautiously, when the first cackle of maniacal laughter escaped his lips. Within moments it had escalated into a howl.

"Yes, well, I'm going to take that as your acceptance," his boss muttered as Verde's psychotic cackling continued. "Lunatic." He heard her exit the room.

It took him a while to calm down, gasping for breath and still grinning maniacally. He ran a hand through his hair.

The Arcobaleno. God, all that power. And his boss—his wonderful, desperate, fool-hardy boss—was offering it to him, free of charge.

Oh, Luche was going to regret this one, he thought to himself, still grinning so widely it had begun to hurt his face. He looked around for his unfinished project, and the grin abruptly vanished.

Luche had taken it with her.

That damn bitch.

-

Reborn took a long, soothing sip of his espresso before setting it on Timoteo's desk and leaning back in his seat with a contented sigh. He folded his hands behind his head and took another glance at the clock on the wall.

Half an hour late. Hmm. Whatever Luche had wanted really must've been urgent, then.

Reborn set his fedora next to his coffee and began drumming his fingers absently on the desk.

What were the odds that Timoteo had yet to hear about how the assassination had gone?

Reborn picked up his hat again, dusted off the brim and set it back on his head before sifting through the hastily completed paperwork on his boss's desk. How Timoteo managed to keep up with both maintaining the tenuous balance within the Mafia Alliance and dealing with the antics of the psychopaths within the Vongola family itself was beyond him.

Hah. Who was he fooling? Timoteo had definitely heard about it.

Reborn winced mentally at the thought of his impending reprimand and continued sorting through the papers to keep his mind off it. The hitman's brow furrowed as he came to the family's finances. Apparently his boss wasn't keeping up with everything as well as he'd thought if the Ninth couldn't even do basic math.

Reborn had managed to rewrite practically the entire report by the time Timoteo finally burst into the room not fifteen minutes later, out of breath and slightly wild-eyed.

"This really is pathetic, Tim," Reborn said, eyes still fixed on the paper. "None of these numbers are even close to right." He frowned and squinted closer. "Is that supposed to be a seven? It looks like a mutated two. And it's not even supposed to be a seven anyway, that clearly adds up to nine." He finally chanced a glance up at his boss. "Have you considered going on vacation?"

Timoteo's expression was an even split between long-suffering and homicidal. "You," he growled. "You are going to be the death of me someday." He blinked and seemed to notice his surroundings for the first time. "And you're sitting in my chair."

"You weren't using it," Reborn pointed out, neatly jotting down the last few numbers and setting the finances aside. He held up his cup of espresso. "Coffee?"

"Hah," Timoteo said weakly, looking suddenly drained and sitting down on a paper-free corner of his desk. "Seriously though, Reborn, was any of that really necessary?"

"Not at all," said Reborn. "But I'd like you to take note of the fact that no one died who wasn't supposed to."

Timoteo groaned and put his face in his hands. "I stopped reading the report after it mentioned the horrible fake mustache and hideous Hawaiian shirt."

Reborn smirked. "Yes, well, the mustache I'll give you, but the shirt was yours."

The Ninth shot him a withering look. "Why are you stealing my shirts?"

Reborn smiled at Timoteo with an innocence he'd never possessed. "As a service. They really are hideous. Stop wearing them. When you have kids, you're going to give them epileptic seizures."

"I am your boss, and I will keep all the hideous Hawaiian shirts I want," Timoteo said seriously. What little anger remained in his expression drained out and was replaced by exhaustion. "Are you really that bored, Reborn?"

"Yes," the hitman answered flatly. He glared into his espresso. "It's been over five years since I've had anything even remotely close to a challenge." He shook his head. "I don't blame Dorn for retiring, and Wendigo was just getting old, but you'd think that Russian bastard would at least be more active with those two out of the way." He frowned. "You think the Calcassa family's up to something?"

Timoteo laughed bitterly. "Almost definitely. You should have seen Agosto in the meeting today—he wasn't even trying to hide it."

Reborn narrowed his eyes. "You didn't tell me Luche summoned the Calcassa family as well."

Timoteo sighed. "Mainly because she didn't tell me, either."

Reborn felt himself tense up at that. Overall, the Vongola family's sentiments towards Luche were…polarizing to say the least, but it was no secret that she loved the Ninth like a brother. The day Luche failed to warn Timoteo about someone like Agosto Calcassa showing up at an emergency meeting was the day Hell froze over.

And Timoteo had let him off far too easily. Something had happened.

Reborn set down his coffee and looked his boss dead in the eye. "What exactly was that meeting about, Timoteo?"

The Vongola Ninth's expression went completely blank. The two of them locked gazes for a full minute before Timoteo broke eye contact and nodded towards Reborn's espresso. "You know, I think I could use a cup after all." He slid off his desk. "Just give me a minute to let the kitchen staff know—"

"Timoteo," Reborn growled, half rising from the chair. "What happened?"

Timoteo froze halfway to his office door. "It wasn't just Agosto," he said quietly, not turning to face the hitman. "Santo Estraneo and the Nero family don were summoned as well."

Oh, shit.

Reborn flopped back into the chair, his hand straying to his gun. "So let me get this straight," he said slowly. "Luche actually contacted and forced into the same room all five mafia dons capable of controlling the Da—"

"Reborn," Timoteo snapped, turning to glare at him. "That name—"

Reborn rolled his eyes. "Right, right, speak not the name." His hand left the gun and waved vaguely in his boss's direction. "You were saying?"

Timoteo smiled bitterly. "Was I?" he asked, crossing the room to sit back on his desk. He started shuffling through his paperwork. "You don't want to hear this."

Reborn yanked the paper out of his boss's hands and slammed it on the desk. "I do now."

Timoteo stared at his bookcase as though it would give him the answer to all life's questions. "Arcobaleno," he muttered.

Reborn snorted. "Ha. Funny." Timoteo still refused to look at him. The hitman felt a chill run down his spine. "You're not serious."

The Vongola Ninth's gaze dropped to the floor.

Damn. And Reborn had actually been one of the few who liked Luche up until this point.

"I don't suppose she actually gave us a choice?" he asked, mind racing. There had to be a way out of this.

Timoteo winced. "She did, but…" he trailed off and shrugged.

Reborn laughed incredulously. "But what? But you aren't? Do you really want to get rid of me that badly? Look, I'll admit there have been one or two incidents that got a little out of hand but—"

"She said the world's going to end!" Timoteo shouted. He started pacing the office. "Luche of all people wouldn't do this if she weren't desperate, and this isn't just about her, it's about everyone. Reborn, I wouldn't—this is important. And if this is all I can do to help, I will."

Reborn took a few deep, calming breaths that failed to help at all. "Do you know the definition of 'messiah complex', Tim?" he asked. "Little sister or not, Luche takes advantage of you. Admit it, she didn't ask any of the other dons for their Da—sorry, best hitman, or whatever the hell you want to call it instead."

Timoteo grinned slyly at him. Reborn frowned, slightly unnerved. Timoteo didn't do sly—he did ruthless when he had to, reluctantly wrathful, righteous anger, but sly?

Clearly, Luche was a terrible influence.

"She asked the Nero family for Fon," the Ninth said calmly.

Oh God damn it.

Reborn pulled down his hat, gritted his teeth, and wished for the days when Luche secretly being a conniving, manipulative bitch actually benefitted him.

"Right," he said with a sigh, getting up from the chair. "I guess I'd better give this back, then."

He pulled the Vongola Sun ring off his index finger and dropped it on the desk. Timoteo winced.

"Reborn…" he began.

"I'm sure there's more to it," said Reborn, shoving past his boss and making a direct beeline for the hall, "but you can tell me later. I need…air."

"Reborn—" Timoteo called again as the hitman slammed the door.

Reborn counted slowly to ten and then headed off for the Vongola training grounds.

He really needed to shoot something.