Turn Turtle

"…these are flames?"

"That sensation you can feel, licking at the edges of your conscious mind? That what is calling to you and you call to in return?"

"Yeah, those."

"They are indeed flames, Slow-Sawada."

When he opens the door, Hayato's expecting his recently acquired, grumpy landlady. He's expecting her to be demanding payment already, despite having spent the past evening hashing out with her that he needs at least a week to get his shit together. He expects a fight.

What he doesn't expect is his new boss on the other side of the threshold, the World's Greatest Hitman on one shoulder and her school bag thrown over the other.

"Jūdaime?"

It stings, calling her that. But he can't deny when he's been out logiced, nor can he find any reason to backdown out of his recently acquired position in the Vongola family. After all, it's the biggest, strongest family in the Mafia. To work for them in an honour. He's lucky Reborn-sama thought of him at all. After all, what does he have to offer other than his shady business deals as the Smoking Bomb? There are hundreds of other independent assassins out there, others that could have been selected. Sure, he's intelligent, but Hayato isn't blind. He knows he has a temper and he's far from a pleasant people person. Why on earth Reborn thought to pick him to help introduce the Sawada heir to the Mafia, he doesn't know.

But he'll take what scraps he can get. It's why he doesn't put up a fight as Sawada slips around him and strides into the apartment, inspecting it as if she's an American soccer mum freshly arrived in her holiday home and just looking for something to complain about. From the stern cast to her features, she's more than found it.

How had she even known where he lived anyway?

"This won't do. Reborn, do I have access to Vongola funds yet?"

"No, Slow-Sawada."

Sawada's lips thin, though he can tell it's more in response to the answer of her question rather than the name. After all, you can't just tell Reborn of all people to stop calling you names. One does not command Reborn, one asks and prays to every god in existence that he's willing to entertain the idea you've put forwards.

Sawada turns to him again, those unnatural orange eyes (and he has questions there; are they to do with the 'flames' he's heard whispers about during his time in Italy?) locking onto him and sizing him up. It does make him want to stand up a bit straighter, make himself appear a little taller. He squashes the instinct before he can respond to it. Her head tilts to a side before she nods, seemingly resolute, stalking around the confines of his room.

"Right. Pack your bags please, Gokudera-kun, you can stay in Mama's spare room until we can find you something more," she prods at the mysterious clump of plaster and dust with the tip of her shoe, "accommodating."

What.

"What." It's not a question that slips through his lips and it's rude as fuck; Reborn knows it too with the way his chameleon changes into a gun (UMA?!). Sawada ignores it, instead turning her eyes on him again, expression soft in a way no one has looked at him since he chose to become a street rat.

"You're officially one of mine now, Gokudera-kun. As I'm sure you are aware by now, I have a reputation in the town of being a helpful, friendly face. I look after the people in this town because it's my hometown. As you're now one of my people, that means you fall under that bracket of people I look after. In truth, helping my people is important to me. Please, let me take care of you." And she fucking dips her head. It's not a bow, nowhere near, but it's respectful and a shitload more than he's ever got off anyone else.

"I've already paid a deposit," Hayato ends up saying, holding up the fact like it's his last defence against this sudden change in behaviour. True, he'd eaten lunch with her the previous night, been exposed to the two she already claims as her inner circle. He sure as fuck doesn't understand the Sword-idiot (he'd seen the wooden one the other carried on his back; it was obvious what his favoured weapon is) but the Gesso Heir? It'd taken Hayato a moment to place him, but once he'd did, the majority of his questions had been answered. Then, the fucker had opened his mouth and waffled on about parallel universes and other shit like that. From the grumpy look that'd thundered across Reborn's face and the clam acceptance on Sawada's, it's safe to say this wasn't just a tale spun for Hayato's benefit.

"Tagara-san is the landlady here, isn't she?" Sawada muses to herself and, before Hayato can put up any kind of fight, the girl is already out the door, leaving behind the hitman who leaps off her shoulder to land on the as-of-yet unsanitary kitchenette.

"Reborn-sama, what-"

"Your boss just told you to pack your bags, Gokudera. While I am here to train Kamehime on how to become a Mafia Boss, one key skill she already seems to have well established is how she treats her own people." The gun is cocked, locked, and loaded. "Now get packing."

.

As he trudges down the stairs, pulling along a suitcase full of explosives and with a backpack of non-explosive essentials slung over his shoulders, Hayato skids to a halt at the sight that greets him in the entryway. His dragon of a landlady, the beast he'd done battle with for an entire hour yesterday, is all but simpering before Sawada.

Hayato approaches in a sort of daze, the World's Greatest Hitman walking along beside him as if the sight of the most ferocious civilian Hayato has ever met going butter soft at the slight warmth Sawada gives off is completely normal.

"-no idea he was a friend of yours."

"I think Hayato-kun didn't want to worry me when he said he had accommodations, but I'd already arranged it with Mama that he could stay with us for as long as he's in the country, which will hopefully be a year, maybe two. I'm sorry about this whole mess, Tagara-san."

"Nonsense, Kamehime-chan! All the hard work you put in to keep this neighbourhood as one of the best in Japan, how could anyone ever be mad at you?"

Unbe-fucking-lievable. What the hell is he witnessing? He'd had to spend an hour screaming at this beast of a woman to get her to give him a week to get the funds, his deposit for this shit-hole had been too large for what is it, and now here Sawada is just charming her and- and the bitch Tagara is even handing what looks like his deposit money over to her. Hayato's aware he's staring but he genuinely, honestly, cannot help it.

Even when Sawada bounces over, looping her arm through his in order to drag him along, he can do little more then stumble after her.

.

Three streets away, he recovers enough to wriggle his arm free of hers. By this point, Reborn has returned to his resting point on her shoulder, watching him with dark eyes that reflect absolutely no light at all. Sawada Kamehime stops as he frees himself, one hand wrapped around the strap of her schoolbag, the other hanging by her side. The one that'dbeen resting on his forearm until he's pulled away.

"What the hell," he seethers, one hand clenched into a fist, feeling his heart pound away beneath the cage of his ribs, the stinging prickle behind his eyes. "Why the hell are you going so far with this."

Sawada considers him for a moment and he's starting to see where that old Mafia warning about Skies and orange eyes (though what the fuck allows a person to be classified as a Sky? He only knows Sawada is one because the Gesso heir had mentioned it yesterday) comes from. He can't fucking tell if she's sizing him up for a lackey suit or if she wants to fucking eat him.

"I'm assuming, Gokudera-kun, that you're asking why I'm bothering to help you, to make sure your living arrangements are okay and, basically, why I'm sticking my nose in your business. And really, it's quite a simple answer."

She smiles and the expression shouldn't make him as warm as it does. Fuck, Reborn-sama hasn't been here long, has he? How the hell has he managed to beat that level of charisma into her already?

"If I am going to be a Mafia boss, I am going to be one whose core principle will be the idea of putting her people first. I'll try to be good, to look after everyone that I can, but the epicentre of who I am is to look after what is mine. And, by stumbling into my life like you have, with the way Reborn has all but bullied you into the Vongola family? That makes you mine. I'm not sure how other bosses run things, and I don't particularly care to learn outside of anything that could be potentially useful. My family comes first. And, it would appear that accounts for those who are blood and those who are not. Bya-kun follows me because his fucked up alternate selves have all ended up orbiting in the path of my alternate selves. Takeshi-kun follows me because I saved his life. I hope someday you'll find a more substantial reason to follow me than I was just your best opportunity to become a somebody."

Gokudera spends the rest of the night stewing in the spare room; he doesn't once emerge and Kamehime would feel so sorry for shanghaiing him into moving in with her if she weren't doing it for his own good. Tagara-san is far from a pleasant woman, that's for sure but, like everyone in Namimori, she has a soft spot for Kamehime. She's worked hard to ensure that's the case, even if she'd always completed any tasks with the full intentions of doing it to help her people.

It's a difficult thought process to balance, but Kamehime manages.

What's more important is that Gokudera is ready for their next day at school, dressed in a uniform so sloppily presented it has to be a styling choice than any unintentional effort. The amount of punk jewellery he wears is enough to get him mobbed if they walk by a concert hall. He's also holding a wrapped bento box away from his body like it's primed with explosives. Mama must have done him a packed-lunch too; she'll have to remember to thank her later.

"Good morning, Gokudera-kun," she greets, aware she's still a little red in the face from her (Reborn-enforced) morning exercise despite the shower. The teen offers her a shallow nod, one hand buried deep in his pants pocket and his eyes looking anywhere other than her. Kamehime persists.

"Did you sleep well?"

"… Yes."

"I'm glad, the last time Bya-kun weaselled his way into a sleepover, he said the spare bed was lumpy, but I'm relatively sure that's his silver-spooned, entitled princess-and-the-pea mindset shining through."

.

Their walk continues on much on the same vein, Kamehime talking and Gokudera slowly offering up one or two syllable word responses. It's only when she gets on to admitting her Italian is only rudimentary and, that for all his intellect, Byakuran make a terrible teacher, that she manages to begin coaxing the other out of his shell. They're halfway through the school gates when a cold chill drops down Kamehime's spine, as if six feet of snow had just fallen, all at once. When she lifts her eyes, it's to meet a pair of glacially cold grey, staring right at her. Her and Gokudera.

Ah. Hibari is back. And he's making his way over.

Swallowing and accepting the fact she will no long be living in a separate bubble to Hibari as she has so carefully maintained over the past decade or so, Kamehime steps forwards and left, not quite blocking Gokudera from sight (she's too small for that) but having a good go at it regardless.

Hibari stops. Cocks his head to a side. Exactly like a hawk that's spotted a rabbit in the grass. The eyes are certainly sharp enough for it, that's for sure.

"Hibari-san. Good morning." She offers up her most charming smile, the one that's won over practically all of the town. Only, Hibari is on another level completely.

She can feel him now. One night, sitting on the floor of her bedroom and feeling the tightly controlled inferno of Reborn's flames licking up against the edge of her one; that's all it's taken. The cheat-code (intuition, whatever) had kicked into high-gear, had registered the feel, the sensation, had logged it for future reference. And now, she can sense Hibari.

It's both exactly the same as Reborn and nothing alike. The same ferocity, the same potent promise of power. But, while it's locked up exactly like Reborn's had been, how it's stuffed away is completely difference. Reborn's flames had felt like the kind of dragon's warrior princes had rode in fairy-tale books; well trained, ferocious, the kind that only listens to the call of its master. Hibari's on the other hand…

Hibari's flames are like that of a feral tiger born into captivity and just a hairsbreadth of escaping. And once they're free, they're never going back.

They're breath-taking.

"Sawada," Hibari states as he finally places her, eyes narrowed as they sweep up her form, frown firmly placed on his lips. "Your herbivore is in violation of the dress code. He will be bitten to death."

The draw of the tonfas is hella fast, the kind of 'blink and you'll miss it' speed. Kamehime barely, barely, manages to catch the first swing. Her palms smarts with the motion but she's spent a couple of years training in hand to hand combat with Byakuran. She can hold her own.

Maybe.

There's a horrified gasp from somewhere in the crowd of people that have stopped to watch the confrontation and Kamehime meets Hibari's narrowed eyes, her own no longer the picture of wide-eyed innocence.

"I'd really appreciate it if you could let this one incident slide, Hibari-san. Gokudera-kun is new to Namimori High and I'm more that capable of informing him of the uniform policy."

"No exceptions, herbivore."

And then there's no more time to think.

.

It's ducking and weaving and blocking blows with the palm of her hand or the flat of her forearm, swinging up for high-kicks and, somewhere in the back of her mind, being thankful for the athletic shorts she wears beneath the skirt. There's no time to think, just the slight instruction from the cheatcode to react and she has to follow it instantly. Any failure to mee the nudges of instructions given to her will result in a blow that can steal her breath away, as she finds out the one moment she tries to think during the fight. Kamehime doesn't do it again.

The crowd that scream and scramble back out of the way as their fight spills over into the courtyard only register because they open up enough space for Kamehime to throw herself back and away, putting some much-needed distance between herself and Hibari. That he isn't immediately upon her means she risks lifting herself slightly from the crouch she'd landed in, tracking Hibari as he tracks her. She can hear Takeshi calling her name from the side somewhere in the crowd; judging by how his dark head of hair is progressively working its way to the front, he's probably elbowing everybody out of his way to get closer to the epicentre of violence. Gokudera's lost somewhere in the crowd, even with his fair hair and- and there's Reborn, nestled on the ledge of the second storey window with a gun trained on her.

She meets his eyes, mentally daring him to.

He does.

Because of course he fucking does.

He better be using that Mafia bullshit to make it seem like she's got clothes on; if he's thrown her into the middle of her entire school population in nothing but her underwear, she'll never rest until she'd beaten the same level of humiliation into him.

.

From there, it both blurs and comes into startlingly clear focus. The cheatcode predicts where Hibari will attack, the flames give her the speed and power to not just duck and weave, but to hit back, to give as good as she gets.

The muscles in her legs are cramping, her arms are on fire and Kamehime is relatively certain that Hibari has stripped the first layer of skin from her forearms with the amount of times he's hammered this with his tonfa. She's half-certain he's cracked two of her ribs as well.

But, Hibari doesn't look any better than her. His usually carefully combed hair is heavily ruffled, sticking up in six different directions and he's got the beginning of a beautiful black eye blossoming on one side of his face. He's still ready to go though and Kamehime-

She's not. She's done. If Hibari's gonna bite her to death now, then it's a fate she'll accept. Moving her muscles is beyond her.

Flopping down onto the floor and putting the last of her energy into landing on her back, Kamehime stares up at the sky, taking note of the lazy clouds that occupy the large blue space. There's a cirrus, she knows that much. The high, wispy one. She only remembers the name of that one because it was the nicest one to look at, the most interesting. The word nimbus comes to mind, but she's not good enough with meteorology to identify one from a glance alone.

There's a poke in her side and she tires not to groan, glancing up to meet the still standing Hibari's eyes. He's favouring his left leg. ibari

He pokes her again, this time in the shoulder and Kamehime's nose scrunches with a visual sign of her displeasure, she can feel the pull of the skin that comes with the motion. Unless Reborn if feeling up to hitting her with another one of those bullets, then she's not getting back up anytime soon.

She's in a traditional Japanese school dress; where on earth Reborn found this one, she has no idea. She's still thankful for it.

"Tch." And then he's gone in a flutter of black gakuran, disappearing from her view.

Takeshi is quick to appear in his place, Gokudera following a moment after and looking, well, odd. More importantly, Reborn sits upon Takeshi's should with a pleased little smile on his face. She must have impressed him. She'll have to remember to thank Bya-kun for his hand-to-hand training.

It bites, having to ask. If this had been three year ago, he'd have continued regardless, would never have given in. But-

Orange flames.

Grudgingly, he rings his uncle.

"Kyoya?"

Stay safe,

Tsume
xxx