This story is written on Fanfiction dot net and published there only. Anybody reading this story on other websites is reading unauthorised copies. Please read this story on Fanfiction dot net where I can see reviews and hit-counts, which tell me how much people are enjoying my work so I can be encouraged to go on writing.

Beta'd by the qualified Insane Scriptist.

I'm taking a break from Black Sky, but a change is as good as a rest so here is a whole new story that is probably going to be less than ten chapters. Possibly even less than eight chapters.

Bolt from the Blue

Reality has gone wrong. Of this she is certain. Whether the wrong is inside her head or outside it is of no particular importance; the fact remains that everything is wrong and there is no way of fixing it.

She is not thirteen, except that she is. Again. Her eyesight is not this clear, except that it is and it never has been before. She is mostly sure of this, but she might be wrong. Her memories are suspect, because her body is definitely somewhere around thirteen even though she has a feeling she grew out of looking like this a while back. Well over a decade back.

She should not be where she is either; the name of this town is unfamiliar and she only knows what country she is in because she recognises the language. Admittedly it's been a long time since she used Italian and her accent marks her as a stranger just as much as her looks do, but at least it's a language she understands. German would have been much harder.

The newspapers and the television in a nearby bar suggest she is in Sicily. They also suggest that she is far too lost to ever get home, because the date on the newspapers is all wrong too. She should not be thirteen if that is the date. She thinks. Again, her memories are suspect because what is more likely, that the world is wrong or that the inside of her head has gone wonky?

Admittedly the sheer scope of the wonky inside her head is rather convincing, but it's her head. It would convince her. Other people are probably going to think she's crazy though.

More of a problem is that she's part-way through puberty, homeless, entirely without money and doesn't know how she got here. The last thing she remembers before waking up thirteen in an alleyway was drinking tea in a Costa aged twenty-nine, which makes less than zero sense. Unfortunately she doesn't seem to be hallucinating. Hallucinations are not this consistent or vividly detailed.

It's been a few days since then. Sleeping rough is terrifying, getting hold of food is only slightly less so and she's sure that a number of the locals have noticed her slinking about. Nobody's attacked her yet, but that probably won't last.

She wasted found coins in a telephone box, trying to call all the numbers she remembers, but none of them work. Not even her grandparents' number, which should have been the same at this date as in the future. But nobody knows who she is asking for. There is no internet for her to look up names on and mobile phones don't even exist yet so those numbers are useless.

Elsewhere as well as elsewhen, provided her memories are not complete garbage. She is praying for a miracle and has been all day, because she needs one. Something, anything, please; a sign or some kind of guidance. Please.

It's getting late in the afternoon when she hears the sound of running feet and angry voices, driving her to hide behind pair of bins and grip the rocks in her jacket pockets. It's hot but she needs the jacket for its pockets, as there is no other way to carry rocks around. She's never used a weapon in her life but a rock is easy: either you throw it and hope you don't miss, or hold it tight and hit somebody with it.

As it turns out, they're not looking for her. They're chasing a boy. A boy who is probably younger than her by a few years, going by his height and build, but much better dressed. A boy who looks local in colouring and bone structure; when he glances back at his pursuers she glimpses red eyes.

His hands are on fire.

This is definitely a sign, she decides as the boy is cornered by his angry pursuers –all five of them almost adult– and a brawl kicks off. There is no other explanation for boys with their hands on fire. So if this is her sign, she should do something.

She removes the most aerodynamic of her rocks from her pocket, hefts it cautiously, steps out from behind the bins and throws it at the teenager with the sawn-off shotgun. It hits him in the temple and he staggers, dropping the weapon with a clatter. The boy with his hands on fire, two of his attackers burnt to ash and a two more sent running, turns snake-quick at the sound, taking in the dropped gun and concussed gunman and sets him on fire too.

Then he looks at her and demands something. In the local dialect she doesn't understand.

"I'm a foreigner," she tells him in regular Italian, knowing she looks it.

The boy frowns suspiciously. "Why did you do that?" He demands. His hands are still on fire.

She opens both hands in a slightly helpless gesture. "I have nothing, my memories don't match up with reality and I prayed for a sign," she tells him bluntly. "You're it."

That gets her a scoffing snort, but his hands snuff out. "Do you know who I am?" He demands.

"No."

"I am Xanxus Vongola," he tells her proudly and oh, maybe she does know who he is after all. Or might do anyway. There's no telling if this elsewhen is anything like that manga she used to read online.

"If I swear myself to your service, will you shelter me?" She asks.

The look she gets now is calculating. "What do you want and what do I get in return?" He demands, looking her up and down dismissively. "You're pathetic."

"I speak Italian and English with a smattering of French and even less German, I can cook, clean, do laundry, garden, sew and other domestic things, I know biology, chemistry, mathematics, art and literature, I can read music and play an instrument, swim and I am very good at managing money and doing research," she tells him promptly.

The way his eyes narrow suspiciously tells her he's noticed a lot more in her speech than she's actually said in words. "What's wrong with your memories?"

"None of the phone numbers I remember led to the people I thought they should, I remember being older than I am now and the year in the newspaper looks all wrong to me," she says bluntly. "The name I remember being mine might not actually be a person that legally exists." She pauses. "As for what I'll do, well… I'm crap at lying, so I'd rather not, I'd probably be crap at murder so I'd rather avoid that too and if you try to extort sexual favours from me I will do something deeply inadvisable and damaging, probably to both of us."

"No lying, no murder and no sex," Xanxus repeats thoughtfully. "No other exceptions?"

"Anything else you want, so long as you pay attention to my limits," she agrees. "I'm only human."

He nods decisively. "What do you want?"

"Shelter, identity, education, protection, purpose," she rattles off immediately. The first and the last matter most, but the others will help her grow and survive longer.

"Deal," he walks up to her and drags her down to her knees by her elbows, then takes her hands in his. "I, Xanxus Vongola, do take you as mine, according to the terms agreed upon. Now what's your name?"

"This is Xanna and she's mine."

Her little master had deliberately mangled her name into something resembling his own rather than keep it as it was, but Xanna doesn't really mind. His hand around her wrist is very comforting and she has purpose now, which is the important thing. Not having anything to do would kill her just as surely as hunger or exposure, but in worse ways: starvation and illness destroy the body, but lack of purpose smothers the soul. Now Xanxus is her purpose and that is bound to be interesting.

Even though Don Vongola is clearly extremely suspicious of the grubby girl his proclaimed youngest son has brought home with him.

"A pleasure to meet you, young lady," the greying man says with a genial smile. "How did you meet my son?"

"I threw a rock at a man with a gun." It's the truth.

The mafia Don chuckles. "What of your family?"

"I'm not sure I have one anymore," she admits.

"Oh?" He looks sharper now.

"I remember having parents and a younger brother, but then again I also remember being twenty-nine, so," she shrugs, "I might be wrong."

"Quite a conundrum," the Don agrees, eyes cool. "I'm sure we could find out the truth for you, if you wish?" It's not quite a question; it's almost a bribe.

"I don't think you'll find anything useful," she says flatly. "And I made a promise to Xanxus so it doesn't really matter anymore; I'm staying with him." The hand on her wrist tightens for an instant, making her glance sideways at the boy. His eyes are burning.

"I told you, she's mine! That means I'm keeping her!" Xanxus snarls, tugging her into him. Xanna obligingly moves closer, settling half-behind his left shoulder.

"She's a person not a pet," says the rather tall middle-aged man with the prosthetic arm; Xanna thinks his name might be Coyote, but isn't counting on it. "You might have her obedience but you can't own her."

"I never said I owned her!" Xanxus spits, even more furious now. "I said she was mine!"

Xanna carefully places her free hand on his shoulder. "Xanxus, they think you bought me from traffickers or something," she says carefully.

The boy goes rigid; his face is probably a picture, judging by the expressions on the faces of the adults. Then all the tension goes out of his shoulders and he scoffs. "Why the devil d'you think I'd do that?" he mutters bitterly. "I'm Vongola."

"So you are, my son," Nono said with a vaguely apologetic smile before looking at her again. "So how did you come to be found by my son, young lady?" He hasn't used the name Xanxus introduced her with yet, which suggests he thinks Xanxus made it up. Which he did, but also did not, not really.

"I woke up in an alleyway three days ago with no money or documents and my brain scrambled, right across Europe from where I think I last was," she says bluntly, "but I'm pretty sure I wasn't raped. I don't hurt enough."

There is a bit of uncomfortable shuffling among the men –Guardians? – behind Don Vongola and Xanxus' grip on her wrist is now tight enough to bruise.

"I don't have any noticeable new scars or aches either," she goes on dispassionately, "so my organs are probably all where they're supposed to be without any unexpected additions. I think I'm O negative, in which case there's probably demand for my blood, but if so why dump me on the streets of Sicily?"

"Why approach my son?" Nono asks this time.

"I prayed for a sign and his hands were on fire." That gets a cough that was probably smothering a laugh from Xanxus' supposed father and several amusing facial expressions from his men.

"I suppose that is as good a reason as any in your circumstances," the Don murmurs wryly. "Very well young lady, I will have a room arranged for you."

"She's mine and she's staying with me," Xanxus interrupts, pulling her arm around his front as he crosses his arms. "There's a room off mine she can stay in."

Don Vongola glances at her, then frowns at his son. "Xanxus, that's not really appropriate," he chides.

"Why not?" It's a challenge; a dare to see if the Don is going to accuse him again, like the trafficking thing was an accusation. These men really do not think at all highly of her little master, despite him being as straightforward as a bullet to the brain. The blatant misunderstandings are kind of heartbreaking.

"I'd rather stay with Xanxus," she says quietly, looking down at the top of his head rather than up at any of the men.

"See, she wants to stay with me too!"

"Perhaps you should both move to a larger suite then, so you have space to spread out," the Don says firmly, indicating that this is not a suggestion. Xanxus shrugs carelessly, unfolds his arms and heads for the door, forcing her to follow if she doesn't want to be dragged.

"Come on Xanna, you need a shower."

The shower reveals a need for clean clothing, so Xanna is left to wander around Xanxus's current suite in a towel while he hunts down something she can wear. There's not much to look at; the walls are tastefully painted but there're no pictures or posters on them, the only furniture is the bed, wardrobe, desk, chair and bookshelf and none of it looks like anything a pre-teen boy would own if he had a choice. The 'room off his' is more of a walk-in closet, so she's grateful that Don Vongola is moving them somewhere more spacious.

She gravitates to the bookshelf and has a look at the titles. Textbooks in five languages look back at her, mixed in with a spectrum of fiction ranging from literary classics to modern television series spinoff novels. Like the textbooks, there's a range of languages on display. There's even some Japanese manga –well it might be Chinese she can't tell– although that looks rather third-hand. Possibly even fourth-hand. It's slid behind a bunch of other books, so her little master may well have stolen it.

The textbooks are fairly advanced, so he's definitely well ahead of his age-group in terms of education. Most pre-teens also aren't fluent in five languages, even without going into the subjects being discussed in those books.

The door slams open and Xanxus storms back in, a maid following behind with an armful of clothing and the bland expression of somebody who knows better than to let how they feel about their job show to their employer. Except not quite; that look is aimed at her, not at her little master.

"Maria, show her the clothes," Xanxus demands, closing the door before hurrying over to her and dragging her towards the maid. The maid hesitates; red eyes narrow.

"She thinks it's inappropriate for you to watch me dress," Xanna volunteers. "Or even to see the underwear I might wear."

Xanxus rolls his eyes but his shoulders loosen again and he turns his back. "Get on with it then," he demands, folding his arms.

Maria the maid clearly has considerable experience with Xanxus; she immediately pulls up the chair and drapes her armful of garments over it, picking out various things for Xanna to try on. Xanna has to ask a few questions before even starting –she remembers having issues with certain laundry powers making her skin itch– but it turns out a few other people in the building have similar issues and the laundry staff have made adjustments so she is unlikely to find herself coming out in a rash. Five minutes later she is wearing what is definitely a serving uniform, if one tailored for a short man as she prefers wearing trousers to skirts. Her feet are bare –no shoes or socks were offered– and her hair is still wet, but other than that she's reasonably comfortable. Thankfully she doesn't need a bra yet, although she should probably look into where to buy them as that is something that will definitely change soon. She's going to get thicker in the thighs as she grows too, so she won't fit into men's trousers for much longer.

"Is there a hairdryer?" she asks Xanxus, who lost his patience while she was buttoning up her shirt and is now leafing through the discarded clothing and looking extremely unimpressed.

"In the bathroom, maybe," he replies carelessly, all his attention on the clothes. "You can't wear these, you're not part of the staff. You need proper clothing."

"Can I pick them out?" Xanna asks cautiously. She does not get the impression that her little master chooses his own clothes; what kind of ten- or twelve-year-old would wear slacks and dress shirts of his own volition?

Xanxus looks at her curiously. "You want to?"

He very obviously has no idea how much choice there is out there in terms of children's and teenager's clothing. "I would like to if I can," Xanna says carefully, "but I don't know what kind of standard I'm supposed to be upholding, so I would like you to help me choose." Clarity and honesty are the only way forwards now, but she can be clear and truthful without giving all her secrets away.

Xanxus looks pleased by her request. "I'll tell my father, he'll give me money to buy you better clothes," he says, turning away from the now-crumpled uniforms and critically looking her up and down. "And socks and shoes; your old trainers will do for now but you need something better."

"As you say, Xanxus." Xanna has no objections to better shoes.

The rest of the evening is swallowed by settling into a different set of rooms that are large enough to be an entire apartment; the hallway door opens into a sitting room with a door in one wall leading to a small landing with three bedrooms and two differently sized bathrooms leading off it, along with a walk-in closet with a safe in the back of it. None of Xanxus' original furniture comes with them, but she helps him move his books while the maids move his clothing, bedding and the toiletries from the bathroom. Xanna would rather have her own toiletries as well, never mind her own personalised bedding, but one step at a time. To buy bedding she would need to know what size her bed is and she hasn't even seen it yet.

She has also saved a few of the rocks from her jacket and washed them in the bathroom sink; rocks are good to have and these particular ones are now clean enough to pass as decorations or paperweights. One of them is perfectly shaped to fit into the fold of her palm and another is a thin oval that would work rather well as a lever. The half-brick has been abandoned as too obvious but the river pebbles will probably go unnoticed.

Xanxus is visibly delighted to have a larger living space, especially the extra bedroom; redundant space is not something he's used to then. All the books wind up staying in the main room, possibly because Xanna suggested there was more room for shelves there; her little master is probably not used to being in control of his living space either, which needs remedying. He's always tense and watches the maids like he's expecting them to take things away without asking him first. He's not angry at them about it though, which suggests that his father's orders are to blame there.

Her little master needs to learn to live properly, she decides. Needs to be shown how much control he can exert over his person and his surroundings. That will give him breathing space; knowing how much you can get away with is very liberating.

Xanna sleeps very badly in her new and comfortable bed, not dropping off until the early hours of the morning and waking to the sound of water in the pipes; that is probably Xanxus showering. Giving up sleep as a lost cause for now she rises, has a stand-up wash at the sink in the other bathroom –there is no shower cap and she doesn't want to get her hair wet– and puts on yesterday's clothes. Maria provided three pairs of knickers so she's not wearing the same ones she did yesterday, but the other things are fine to put on again. Sliding bare feet into her trainers, Xanna wanders out into the main room.

There's now a small dining table over by the window, a desk near the door and a sofa and chair in the middle of the space. All rather fancy-looking and horribly impersonal. No pictures on the walls, the light fitting is a chandelier-thing and the walls are powder blue; it looks like a swanky hotel room rather than a space for actually living in.

A hand around her wrist ends her dissatisfied pondering and she has to jog in order to not be dragged to breakfast.

The breakfast room is not at all what Xanna expected; for one she and Xanxus are the only people in it. There's a small buffet on a trolley and evidence that somebody has already helped themselves to the coffee, but nothing else. Glancing at the clock, Xanna realises that it's barely six in the morning and that Don Vongola probably isn't up yet.

"Father won't be eating breakfast until eight," Xanxus tells her, confirming her suspicions, "but I want to show you the house before then. You need to know where everything is so you can run errands."

Clearly he expects her to make herself useful right away. "What about lessons?" she asks.

"What about them?"

"You are obviously getting a very good education," Xanna tries, "so in order to keep up with you I will need to learn some of the same things. I definitely don't know enough languages to keep up with you yet, for instance, even though I might manage on the science side of things."

"I'll sort out the language thing," Xanus says dismissively, making her wonder how exactly that was going to be sorted out, "and I'll talk to my father about lessons later." Then he tears into his breakfast, so Xanna decides the conversation is over.

Xanna does not get to see Don Vongola this morning; she is made to wait in the hallway while Xanxus talks to him. This puts her little master's back up right away and makes her wonder if the older man really has the slightest clue how to court a genuinely hostile should-be-ally, because going by his treatment of his youngest he is either blind to the nuances or doesn't think they matter. She lacks a precise grasp of time passing, but before too long there are muffled raised voices coming from the breakfast room and soon after the door is thrown open and Xanxus storms out, grabbing her in passing and dragging her after him.

Nobody calls after them to stop, which is fairly telling. This is clearly a regular occurrence; Xanna lets herself be dragged all the way back to their new rooms before trying to loosen his grip on her shirt.

"Xanxus?" She asks. The pre-teen releases her and takes several deep breaths through gritted teeth.

"He doesn't understand!" Xanxus finally explodes, tone furious yet plaintive. "You're mine! Not staff or anything like that, mine! I don't want you wearing the uniform! Nobody gets to give you orders but me!"

Oh, so that's how Don Vongola is trying to play things. Well, time for her to make her position a little clearer then. "Do you know anywhere in the house where large amounts of cash are kept?" This house is more of a working manor than a purely domestic residence, so there is bound to be cash floating around somewhere. Especially since she is mostly sure this is the heart of a large criminal enterprise and those generally run on cash.

Xanxus narrows his eyes at her. "Yes," he says carefully.

"Is there a motor scooter we could borrow, to drive to town ourselves?" Yesterday a car had come and picked up Xanxus when he made a pay-phone call, suggesting he'd got a lift or maybe walked there.

Xanxus smiles. It's actually a very mean smirk but it is still vaguely smile-like and Xanna will take what she can get at this point. "We'd have to go to the next town over, it's bigger," he says thoughtfully. Clearly there is a scooter somewhere, possibly even a range of them to choose from.

"Is there a bus service?" Xanna asks, having another idea. "Carrying a lot of bags on a scooter is awkward but if we chain it to the bus stop and leave a note for the staff, they can rescue the scooter for us then you can call like you did yesterday once we've finished."

"I don't know, maybe?" Xanxus looks like he hasn't considered the opportunities offered by buses before.

"We'll take the scooter today then, and look into buses for next time," Xanna suggests.

Xanxus is visibly enthused by the prospect of 'next time'.

It's while she's trying to pick out socks that she notices Xanxus's sideways glances at the selection. Children's socks are explicitly gendered, less strictly than adult socks perhaps but still to a truly ridiculous degree. Clothing does not determine gender; it either fits or it doesn't and you either like it or you don't.

"See anything you want to wear?" she asks. They're technically here for her but she doesn't get the impression her little master has ever been allowed to choose his own clothing and that's a crime. Agency is very important for personal security and how is Xanxus ever going to stand on his own two feet as an adult if he hasn't been allowed to practice making easy choices as a child?

"They're all for girls."

Xanna will not let that stand. "Who told you that?"

Xanxus rolls his eyes in disgust. "It's written right there."

"And they're lying." His shocked and suspicious eye-contact spurs her onward; Don Vongola may well murder her for this but it's a worthy cause. "Clothing is just clothing. What you wear doesn't make you a boy or a girl, who you are inside does. You are a boy and you will always be a boy even if you wear pink socks. The shop says these are girly socks because they want to make more money, so an adult buying socks for their kids has to buy two lots of socks rather than have their son and daughter just share them. All advertising is lying: the pictures and slogans are insinuating that if you buy the product it will make you happy but it won't and they know it won't. They just want to make you insecure so you buy things to feel better."

His outrage is palpable. "Does everybody lie?" he hisses.

"Everybody trying to sell you something is probably lying about you needing it," Xanna says flatly. "If you really needed it you'd have known that before, like how I need clothes because I don't have any. Once I have clothes I don't actually need more, but the shops still want me to give them money so they try to convince me that the clothes I own are 'not good enough' and I should get more. They do the same with cars and jewellery and shoes and everything."

"I don't need more socks," Xanxus says, his tone uncertain.

"Maybe not," Xanna agrees, "but do you want some? Do you think any of these socks are better than your current socks? Not because the shop wants you to buy more, but because you like them more?"

Xanxus stares at the socks for a long moment before selecting a pair with tigers on and another with bears. "Pink isn't girly?" he asks quietly.

"No," Xanna says firmly. "Flamingos are pink and there are as many male flamingos as female flamingos. I've seen a fabulous eighteenth century painting of a man in pink silk suit. It used to be that baby colours were blue for girls and red for boys, because red is a strong, passionate colour and blue is what the Madonna wears, but the fashion industry decided pink was girly about fifty years ago so they could sell more and now everybody thinks it's blue for boys."

"That's so stupid." Xanxus takes two more pairs of socks off the display, one dark pink pair and another actually decorated with flamingos. "Is it the same with skirts?"

"Yes." Xanna turns towards the till. "Scottish men wear kilts, which are basically skirts, and men wear robes in lots of other cultures and there is no real difference between a robe and a dress other than what you call it. Wear what you want and take no shit." The cashier looks amused by the conversation, which is a relief because so far as she remembers gender is still considered performative by most people at this point in time. Then again Xanxus is only nine or ten so he is still young enough to get away with bending the rules a bit without comment.

Xanxus pays for the socks then drags her out of the shop, face set. "You need more clothes."

What her little master means is that he wants to try on clothes too. Xanna is fine with that; this is something she can give him and she is going to give him everything she can.

Clothing leads to toiletries, which leads to stationary and pens in all the colours of the rainbow, then to posters –"To go on the walls of our rooms, they're pretty boring right now" – and on to a toy shop.

"Toys are for babies!"

"Who told you that?" Xanna knows her tone is vicious right now and does not care. "That is a dirty lie; point them out to me and I'll kick them. Toys are for everybody; adults buy toys too, that's what fancy sports-cars are. Adults buy miniature train sets like the one at the stationers and model-making kits and all kinds of other things! Some adults even collect dolls and those are definitely toys!"

"Why do you want toys?" Xanxus asks, voice wavering a little at having his worldview smashed again. Twice in one day is a bit much maybe, but the sooner all that toxic garbage is demolished the sooner he can feel comfortable in his own skin.

"I want a soft toy to cuddle in bed, because I sleep better with something to hold onto," Xanna tells him simply, "and I want games to play with you because that's fun. I want building blocks because I like building things, I want a water pistol to chase you around the gardens with and I want to see what else they have here because there's bound to be something you like and I want to do things you like with you, so I can get to know you better."

Xanxus stares at her for a long tense moment, then grabs a basket, pushes it into her hands and drags her up the nearest isle, scowling furiously. Xanna hopes it wasn't Don Vongola who told her little master that toys are for babies; she's made a promise and will keep it, but doesn't want to die just yet. She has a duty to Xanxus, to ensure he grows up free from the shackles of other people's expectations, and she will see it through to the end.

She has no idea quite how much money Xanxus 'borrowed' for today's trip, but it was clearly a hell of a lot as they have mountains of shopping but haven't run out of funds yet. Hopefully they won't get in too much trouble over that, but Xanna wants to make sure they have plenty of things to fall back on later in case Xanxus's father decides to ground him.

The main difficulty is going to be getting it all back to the house on the scooter.

Xanxus's plan for getting back into the house proves that he's been sneaking out regularly: they get off the scooter a way down the road, cut across the grass below the boundary line and wheel in through a small gate at the bottom of the garden. From there it's up the paths to the house, leaving the scooter leaning against a hedge as they carry in the bags. Xanxus then quickly unpacks everything, slices off the labels and burns them, then hustles her into helping him put everything away. Clothes into closets, shoes on racks, books and toys onto shelves or into drawers, toiletries into the bathrooms and the posters are unrolled and rolled the other way in preparation for being stuck onto the walls. Only then do they go back downstairs to move the scooter.

Xanna finds this strategy to be very telling; Xanxus has ensured his father can't take any of the things they bought back to the shops, and by putting them away creates doubt that he even bought them at all; maybe they were gifts, or maybe they've always been there. His doing this paints a rather nasty picture of his life so far, implying that people have taken things away from him on multiple occasions.

Once they have put the scooter back where they got it from Xanxus drags her back to his suite, tells her to change into something new and leaves, presumably to put the remaining money back. Xanna decides to shower properly before getting changed into new and clean clothes, so goes to try out her new soap.

She is just getting out of the shower when the door is thrown open. By a strange man. Xanna screams as loud as she can, holding the high note as she clutches her towel with one hand and throws everything within reach with the other. The intruder retreats; Xanna darts forward, slams the door, throws the other lock –this door has two– and leans against it, wrapping her towel around her middle properly as she breathes deeply and tries to think. She didn't bring any clothes with her into the bathroom. Where's Xanxus?

There is a polite knock on the door.

"Xanxus?" she asks despite knowing for certain that it isn't; Xanxus would hammer on the door.

"It's Maria, miss," comes the voice of the maid, slightly muffled by the solid door. "Signor Vongola would like a word."

Xanna considers this. On the one hand, this is Xanxus's father. On the other, she only answers to Xanxus. Politeness will probably serve her best though. "Am I allowed to dress first?" she asks loudly, not opening the door yet.

"Of course, miss."

Xanna cautiously opens the door, leaning against the wall next to it rather than standing in the doorway. Maria is alone and the door connecting the landing to the suite's main room is closed. "Call me Xanna, please," she says, looking the older woman in the eye as she steps out of the bathroom then past her towards the main room. There is muffled shouting coming from the other side of that door.

"Get dressed quickly please, Xanna," Maria tells her. "You're keeping Signor Vongola waiting."

Xanna changes quickly, putting on loose, comfortable trousers and a very cute pink t-shirt before sliding her feet into the ballet flats she bought for wearing indoors and tying up her hair in pigtails. Pigtails make her look young and silly, but that's the point. She is young and silly now, what with being thirteen or thereabouts. Then she heads out to face the music.

The shouting is loud and rather scary. Xanxus is bellowing at his father, fists clenched and glowing, there's another man looking a bit like Don Vongola standing in the door to the hall –also shouting– and half the room is full of people in suits, including the man who barged in on her in the shower who still has soap on his face. Xanna can't make out the words because Xanxus has lapsed into a language she doesn't understand. He spins around seconds after she walks in, stops shouting and lunges for her, but is caught by one of the men in suits. This results in some very loud swearing; it's definitely swearing with how he's saying it, even if she can't make out the words.

"Young lady I would like an explanation," Don Vongola requests firmly and rather loudly, making himself heard over Xanxus's profanity. Except she doesn't know he's Don Vongola, does she? All she knows for sure is that this is the man her Xanxus calls father, that his surname is Vongola and that he's very rich.

"For what?" She asks. What does he want explaining exactly?

"You absconded with my son and a considerable sum of money," Signor Vongola tells her severely.

"I never had any money; I don't even know how much money there was," Xanna says perfectly honestly. "Xanxus said he wanted me to have proper clothes so I suggested he borrow money from somewhere. I never touched it."

"Where did you take my son?"

"He took me shopping," Xanna repeats, a little exasperatedly. "He picked out the scooter, he gave me directions; I didn't even know that town existed before this morning."

"And why did you go along with this irresponsible and dangerous behaviour?" the aging man demands disapprovingly, his presence somehow smothering.

"I promised Xanxus everything I could give him," Xanna replies, trying to breathe evenly. "He just wanted to buy me clothes and I wanted to have clothes. I didn't have socks or pyjamas or t-shirts or a toothbrush or hair ties–" her voice is rising and she lets it, lets her buried grief rise like a tidal wave because there is power and safety there "–or soap or a hairbrush and Xanxus wanted me to have them and–" she sobs, tears clouding her vision, "–and you didn't want to give me anything!" Her accusation is a high, ugly wail but she doesn't care. Xanna clutches at herself and cries loudly and messily as the shouting ramps up again. Somebody looms in her peripheral vision and she cringes, stumbling sideways a few steps and stilling as small, hot hands grab her arm and spin her around.

"Xan?" She manages to gasp, blinking away more tears and sniffing.

Fierce red eyes glare into her soul. "You are mine and I am going to look after you properly," Xanxus declares fiercely, every word loud and sharply enunciated, "and you will have everything I can give you."

Xanna reaches out and grips his hands tightly, not caring that they're currently on fire; it's hot but it doesn't burn. She can't stop crying now she's started though, so she just leans into him and sobs, so tightly hunched in on herself that they're pretty much the same height.

He tugs a hand free and cautiously reaches around to pat her back; Xanna tries to fall apart a bit more quietly. This isn't Xanxus's fault. It's a lot easier to breathe now too, so she's less afraid and that makes it possible to take deep breaths, eyes closed and forehead resting on Xanxus' shoulder. She's still sobbing and shaking though.

"Xanna?" Xanxus sounds worried. Probably because she's not stopping crying; the hand not patting her on the back twists out of hers and slides up her arm to grip her elbow.

"Sorry, I," she tries, "I, I've only got you, now, and, I thought, thought he was going to, make me," she can't even finish that sentence. It's too scary and makes the sobs come back.

Xanxus doesn't need her to finish the sentence; he knows exactly what she's worried about judging by the way he suddenly pulls her closer and digs his fingers into her flesh. "Mine," he hisses fiercely in her ear. "Only mine, I won't let anybody take you away, not even my father!"

"Kay," Xanna manages, eyes screwed shut and breathing deeply through her nose in between sniffing. "Believe you."

"Have you calmed down now?" Xanna cringes into Xanxus at the sound of the voice that threatens everything she has managed to hold onto since arriving in this confusing and terrifying new place.

"Go away!" Xanxus snarls. "You made her cry, go away! I was trying to be a good boss, like you always say I need to, and you wouldn't let me! You say looking after the family is the most important thing but you don't really mean it! She's mine and I don't care what you think! Leave us alone!"

"I apologise, my son," Signor Vongola sighed. Xanna stiffens and looks up at him.

"You're not sorry," she manages. "You're not sorry you upset me; you're not sorry you just tried to take me away from the only person in the world who cares about me. You're just sorry trying to do that made your son angry."

"You think so?" Signor Vongola asks quietly.

"I know it is the truth." Xanna isn't entirely sure how she knows that, but she knows it right to her bones. Don Vongola –because this is Don Vongola– does not care about her at all. She is a massive inconvenience to him and he wants her out of his life. But he is going to have to live with disappointment.

"Father?" Xanxus asks sharply.

The Don sighs. "I fear she may be a liability," he says, like that isn't an obvious sidestep.

"I know she's pathetic," Xanxus replies bluntly, "but I can fix that. Anyway, all family is a liability, you said so. That's why we have to be strong, to protect the family."

The Don's eyes slide back to Xanna. "No comment?" He inquires lightly.

"He told me I was pathetic to my face right before I pledged to him," Xanna manages to say without her voice wobbling too badly. "Still accepts me though." She took another deep breath. "Still wants me."

"I promised and you're mine now," Xanxus confirmed flatly. "I don't break my promises."

"I know." It was the truth. Xanxus does not break his promises, the same way the earth revolves around the sun. "You don't lie and you keep your promises."

She feels him relax. "You don't lie either," he adds confidently.

"I am very bad at it so prefer to avoid it entirely," Xanna agrees. "If I ever tried you would notice instantly." That gets her a tiny amused huff.

"How do you know he tells you the truth?" Don Vongola asks mildly, like that's not an insult.

Xanna glares at him. "The truth is. Like, like light and gravity and love are. Truth is tangible. It has power and weight and substance." She knows this, it's written in her soul. "Xanxus tells the truth; his words have weight."

"Where mine do not?" The man seems more amused by the implicit accusation.

"Your words are all shadows and mirages," Xanna mutters grumpily, "with the occasional thrown rock. If you told me the sky was blue I'd still double-check with Xanxus."

There's a round of chuckles; she's reminded of their audience. She doesn't care that they've seen her cry though; it takes courage and strength to cry in public.

"I do regret upsetting you, young lady," Don Vongola tells her a little ruefully. "Xanxus, perhaps you could take her for a medical check-up? To make sure she's in full health."

Xanxus' arm drops from her back and he heads for the door, forcing her to follow or be dragged by the elbow. The crowd parts to let them through and they're out in the hall and away in seconds.

"Was that true?" Xanxus demands moments later. "What my father said?"

"He regrets that upsetting me was necessary," Xanna replies quietly. "Which it wasn't, but he thinks it was. He would do it again if he thought it would get him the results he wanted." She takes a breath. "But he really was sorry that you were upset by it all. He didn't want to upset you."

"But he doesn't care about you."

"No."

"Not even just because you're mine."

Xanna shrugs; Xanxus' father does not care about her at all. That is the truth. He might possibly think she is useful, but he doesn't care. Not like Xanxus does. "I'm sorry he disappointed you," she says.

"He goes on and on about looking after family," Xanxus growls, leading her around a corner.

"I doubt he sees me as part of his family," Xanna points out rather reasonably. She hasn't even been here a full day yet.

"Well I see you as part of my family and he sees me as family, so that should count!"

Xanna hums, not saying that Don Vongola is probably one of those people who considers children to be mentally immature and therefore incapable of making rational, competent choices. She doesn't know for sure if that is true or not. However he initially believed that she had taken advantage of his son, which implies that he thinks Xanxus is easily led. That is untrue, but believing whole-heartedly in a lie makes you susceptible to other lies, both ones other people tell and the ones you make up inside your own head.

"I am very happy to be part of your family," is all she says.

"Good morning kids," Massimo says as he wanders into the breakfast room trailed by three Guardians, who all wander out again upon determining that there is nobody else in the room except Xanxus and herself; presumably in search of their own breakfasts. Massimo settles opposite them a few minutes later, plate bearing a ham sandwich. "Nice eye-liner, little brother."

Xanxus grunts an acknowledgement; the gold eye-liner does look very good on him. The make-up wars died down during August due to it being far too hot for Xanxus to wear any, but now September is starting the conflict might flare up again. The battle lines fall with Don Vongola, Enrico and Federico on one side, Xanxus on the other backed up by Massimo and his grandmother. Xanna is of course on Xanxus's side, but as she is not actually a Vongola her opinion is no more sought after than those of the other Guardians. Not that she is a Guardian either.

Xanna recognises that she is the technical instigator of this conflict due to her firm denouncement of gendered clothing and accessories –which is what led to Xanxus buying the make-up in the first place and experimenting with it on both of them– but it was Federico's insistence that Xanxus should not wear make-up that made her little master dig his heels in and persist. If nobody had commented then Xanxus' interest would probably have waned within six weeks or so; instead a fuss had been made, battle lines had been drawn over the dinner table and here they are four months on, with Xanxus still experimenting with eyeliner, eye-shadow, lipstick and nail polish.

Admittedly the nail polish doesn't really get commented on –Xanxus sticks to clear or black on his hands which is sufficiently 'manly' to pass– but Xanna knows Don Vongola and his fussier sons would object more if they realised that Xanxus is the only reason she wears nail polish at all: he does all her nails every week, sometimes twice a week. His toenails are also invariably much brighter and frequently sparkly. Hers are too, even though glitter polish is so much harder to get off toes.

Xanna gets the impression that this campaign has worked wonders for Xanxus' relationship with Massimo, who at that initial dinner very sensibly declared that his baby brother could wear anything he liked and the makeup wasn't hurting anybody, so there was no problem. Xanna also knows that Massimo's Guardians have been smuggling in new nail polish bottles and eye-shadows for Xanxus to play with, along with magazines to provide new ideas. Xanxus's grandmother has been right behind him too; she was the one to teach him to apply liquid eyeliner and the various tricks to using foundation, which Xanna has been model for. Xanxus doesn't usually bother with foundation, but he treats applying makeup like he does all his other skills so it gets practiced regularly and occasionally experimented with. He is ambidextrous and his hands are much steadier than hers, so he doesn't usually let her apply anything more complicated than lipstick to either of their faces; he can do it all so much better.

"Any plans for today?"

Xanxus swallows his food and meets his brother's eye. "Xanna is learning to shoot," he says firmly.

Xanna does not particularly want to learn to shoot, but Xanxus insists so it is going to happen. He has already beaten gun safety into her head and forced her to take on an extremely challenging exercise regime, but shooting will hopefully be less painful than learning languages turned out to be. Xanna had been expecting textbooks and conversation lessons, not a grey-haired woman with a sly smile stopping by in early August and dropping four-and-a-half languages directly into her brain. She spent most of the following week delirious –all she remembers is pain and vividly unpleasant dreams– but since then she has been able to read Xanxus' Japanese manga without any trouble and has been expected to participate in his lessons on Russian, German and Greek literature.

Her French is finally fluent as well, rather than just passable, and she no longer mixes it up with German when writing. Xanna does like the advantages provided by being polyglot, but would have much preferred for the learning process to have been less painful.

"You are?" Xanna looks up at the second of the Vongola brothers.

"Xanxus says so," she agrees.

"You always do exactly as he tells you to, don't you." That isn't a question, so Xanna doesn't bother answering. "What if he asks you to do something you don't want to do?"

"He won't."

Massimo smiles, the expression wryly cynical. "You sure about that?"

"He is aware of my limits and has agreed not to violate them." Xanna pauses, feeling for the nuances in what Massimo wasn't saying. "And I am allowed to enforce those limits, because they are the conditions of my pledge to him."

"So it was a mutual pledge," Massimo muses. Clearly he's been wondering about that.

Xanxus glares across the table. "It's not a proper pledge if both sides don't promise."

"My apologies little brother; you are, of course, completely right," Massimo drawls. "Dragging Xanna into your bed every night is a bit much though; according to the maids her bed hasn't been slept in for a month."

"We've been sleeping on the floor," Xanna tells him bluntly; "It's too hot in bed."

"On Xanxus's floor," Massimo specifies, "while mostly naked and flopped over each-other."

"It's too hot for pyjamas in summer," Xanxus says matter-of-factly, "and everybody moves around in the night." True, but not Massimo's point; Xanxus knows exactly what his brother's point is and is deliberately missing it. Because he thinks it's funny to miss it and that the point is stupid. Which it is; they're both children, nothing is happening.

"Are you going to stop sleeping together when it gets colder?" Massimo asks.

"No."

"And you're fine with this, Xanna?" Massimo is genuinely concerned. That's rather sweet of him and at least he thinks of her as a child with feelings and vulnerabilities of her own, rather than however his father sees her.

"I sleep better with something to hold onto," she says lightly, "and Xanxus makes me feel safe." Sleeping alone in her room here has never felt safe, which she knows is due to getting barged in on while getting out of the shower on her first day. Xanxus noticed she wasn't sleeping, demanded to know what the matter was and then took to joining her in her bed most nights until it got too hot. He then decided they would be sleeping together on his floor, so she mostly uses her room for storage now.

"I don't think this has reached Dad yet," Massimo tells Xanxus, "since he's not tried to take you aside and ask about it, so watch out for that."

"Why is he convinced Xanna wants to hurt me?" Xanxus snarls, throwing up his hands and kicking the table leg. "It's stupid!"

"He doesn't understand me," Xanna replies, pushing her plate away. "He seems to think I have a hidden agenda."

Xanxus snorts. "You have a fucking obvious agenda," he snarks. "You want people to stop lying all the time."

"Language, little brother," Massimo says dryly. "I think he believes Xanna wants more from you than you're willing to give."

"I'm already getting everything I need from Xanxus," Xanna says blankly. "I told him what I needed right from the start and he's giving me all of it. That was the deal; I get everything I need, he gets everything I can give."

"And what do you need?" Massimo asks, adult superiority seeping into his posture and tone.

Xanxus bares his teeth. "Shelter, identity, education, protection, purpose," he rattles off instantly.

Massimo opens his mouth, pauses and closes it again. "That's… not a bad summary," he concedes eventually. "Housing, food and clothing go under 'shelter' I assume, education you're getting, protection my baby brother is very determinedly providing and he's very clear on what he wants from you, so you have purpose. Identity is what?"

"Legal identity, for one," Xanna explains, "since I had no paperwork before he made your father get me some. Then my name and family connections, as those are a large part of personal identity. I am Xanna, belonging to Xanxus who is Vongola."

"But not truly Vongola yourself," Massimo deduces shrewdly.

"Your father says not." Xanna would not mind being Vongola, but not being Vongola means she belongs to Xanxus and only to him, purely and incontestably. There's security in that. She knows Xanxus will fight to protect her; she is far less certain of Don Vongola doing so. "I won't promise him anything unless Xanxus agrees to it first, so I'm not Vongola."

"He won't even let you be my brother's Guardian?" Massimo looks incredulous.

"Nobody's explained to me what one of those actually is," Xanna admits. "Xanxus told me what they do and why you all have them, but he's fuzzy on the fine details since he doesn't know why Don Vongola says I'm not one either."

"It's a Flame thing," Massimo says bluntly. "Well, the bit Dad's fussing about is anyway; it's not really a requirement but the Flame thing is undeniable proof of being a Guardian and Vongola Law then forces everybody to recognise the relationship as such."

"So I can be a Guardian without this Flame thing," Xanna summarises, "but since your father doesn't want me to be Xanxus's Guardian, he can deny me the position on the basis of the lack of Flame thing."

"Precisely."

"That's unfair."

"Yes." Well, it's nice that Massimo recognises that. He even explained the details to her, if very vaguely.

"How do you even prove the Flame thing?" Xanna doesn't ask for specifics; Flames are something she barely knows anything about because she can't use them. Xanxus has always had his, so has no idea how to wake hers up –he says she has them and she believes him but that's not really useful as a starting point– and Don Vongola has seen fit to deny her training in that area, so she is stuck. She doesn't even know what type she has.

"Active Flames make it more obvious," Massimo explains, "but mostly people go by behaviour and conviction. You're pretty easygoing around my little brother and not really protective of him at all, so you probably aren't a Guardian."

I'm not protective?" That's the biggest load of bullshit Xanna has ever heard. Xanxus doesn't need any help on the physical side of things so she doesn't bother, but emotionally? She's ferociously protective of his mental health and she knows it.

"Lie," Xanxus chimes in dryly. "Does Dad think you rip his stupid lectures apart for fun?" Her little master is resigned to her doing that and does actually appreciate it… although he also finds it a bit baffling how physically demonstrative she is in private. She likes hugs. She will convert him eventually.

Xanna has no idea about what goes on in Don Vongola's head though. "Maybe?"

"If you were a Mist you might mess with Dad for the hell of it," Massimo concedes, "and you do act kind of Misty sometimes."

Xanxus snorts. "No, Xanna's more like a sledgehammer: if it's a lie, she smashes it."

"Am I that unsubtle?"

"Yes."

"I can live with that."

"It's how she smashes things that comes across as Misty, little brother," Massimo says in a rather put-upon manner, "the clever wording, tripping people up on their own lies, coming up with multiple reasons for doing something at the drop of a hat despite none of them being her actual motive."

"So my being polite and offering ways for other people to save face make me suspicious." That was rude.

"More that you don't fit into any of the neat little boxes Dad is used to categorising Flame-users by," Massimo sighs. "Which is probably because you weren't raised Vongola, but whatever; nobody listens to me." That is only partly true; what he means is that his father puts no stock in his opinions and his other two brothers don't listen to him much either.

"So Dad's being stupid and prejudiced while insisting that he isn't," Xanxus summarises, getting to his feet. "Whatever; come on Xanna."

"Coming." Off to the shooting range.

A few days later there is another fight between Xanxus and his father, but one not at all connected to sleeping arrangements: Don Vongola has arranged for her to start attending school. Which Xanna would not have minded had he asked Xanxus about it first, or even informed them at some point sooner than the evening before the first day of term. Suffice it to say that dinner is ruined; new china may also be necessary considering that Xanxus dragged the tablecloth off the table mid-tantrum, taking most of the plates and food with it.

Xanxus is utterly enraged, made more so by his father's point-blank refusal to let her continue sharing his tutors even in the face of fire and destruction. However Xanxus for all his strength of will is not quite ten yet, so he runs out of energy after several hours of howling fury; Xanna eventually has her swaying, semi-conscious little master handed off to her by Don Vongola and is sent to bed.

Xanna carries her boy back to their suite, gives him a quick sponge bath and applies antiseptic to his injuries before tucking them both into his bed. Don Vongola has made his move so now it is her turn; she has had several hours to think her retaliation through while waiting in the hall, in between wincing at the explosions and screaming.

She wakes to arms wrapped tightly around her ribs and Xanxus crying tears of frustration into her chest.

"You're mine! He doesn't get to take you away from me!" Xanxus sounds more desperate than anything else and Xanna hates it. Why is Don Vongola doing this to a child he claims to love? She doesn't care either way about attending school –her future is set in stone so grades mean less than learning useful things– but this is hurting Xanxus and that is not allowed.

Good thing she has a very tidy plan. "Xanxus, come to school with me."

Xanxus stares at her, wild-eyed and trembling. "What?"

"He wants me to go to school and he is an adult with authority over both of us; we can't stop him from forcing me to attend school," Xanna explains, "but you can come with me. You're on my level in most of your studies so you'd have no trouble with the work and if he tries to make you stop then he has to either admit that he only set this up to separate us or make some excuse that would insult the school administration. I asked Visconti for more details while you were fighting: I've been put in the diplomatic track at the Vongola-affiliated high school. Classes are on economics and laws and cultures of the various countries with strong Underworld ties to the Vongola, with opportunities for specialisation in other cultures a few years ahead." It is very well-chosen for her actually; if it hadn't been a deliberate ploy to drive a wedge between her and Xanxus she would have been grateful. "Languages are assumed to be fluent, there's a bit of science on the side but it's mostly about learning to listen to what people really mean and negotiating without losing face."

Xanxus is listening. Really listening with that tiny crease between his eyebrows that says he's working the angles in his head.

"Your father is going away on business this morning," Xanna goes on recklessly, "so if you pretend to sulk in here I can fetch you breakfast and then alter a pair of my uniform trousers to sort-of fit you before the driver takes us over to the school; your father set this up in secret so the driver won't know you're not supposed to come. Then after lunch when we get back you can talk to your tutor, apologise for not showing up and say that your father has set things up so we can attend school, you'd think he'd tell people this, can scheduling be rearranged? Or subjects be moved around a bit so we can get our homework done? Anyway, the school isn't going to question you showing up, there's clearly been some paperwork lost somewhere, and when your father gets back next week you'll have a routine going that he can't interrupt without raising serious questions. After all, you're doing so well at school and getting to know people in the wider community…" Xanna tails off with a grin.

Xanxus bares his teeth. "He would lose face if he took me out of school for no reason, especially if I'm in a class several years ahead of my age and doing well."

"Lots and lots of face, especially since by then everybody at school would know I'm yours and that you don't like being apart from me," Xanna agrees. "Some people will assume I'm your Guardian, others will think I'm an adopted sibling your father picked up to socialise you a bit and others still will come up with all kind of outlandish rumours, but they'll be talking about us and that makes us visible. And your father cares about what people think." Which is exploitable.

"Yes," Xanxus says firmly, sitting up abruptly and rolling out of bed. "Where are your textbooks?"

"Visconti said they got put in my room along with the uniform," Xanna tells him, rolling out of bed herself and heading for the bathroom. "I'll get dressed and get us breakfast."

"I want hot chocolate," her little master demands, fire back in his eyes at last, "and brioche and Bresaola and figs and ricotta and honey–"

"Okay, okay, let me shower first," Xanna counters laughingly, hands raised in surrender.

Xanna's arrival at mafia high school is almost identical to the vaguely remembered first day at normal high school, but the differences really stand out. For one, she is a year younger than most of her year-mates; going by age she should be in her last year at middle school and Xanxus his final year of elementary. There are a couple of others about her age and one a year younger, but Xanxus is the youngest in her new class by over two years.

For another everybody is wearing the completely hideous school uniform –thankfully Don Vongola bought her trousers rather than the skirts some of the girls are wearing– which appears to have been specifically selected so nobody looks good in it. Xanxus spent a good fifteen minutes fussing over her makeup before they left –something she would never have bothered with by herself– so she is wearing lip-gloss, eyeliner and an eye-shadow which somehow makes the terrible uniform trousers look slightly less terrible. Her nail polish is turquoise and sparkly –done yesterday morning when she had no idea this was coming– so it clashes with the terrible trousers, but there's no helping that so she's not worrying about it.

Thirdly, Xanxus has a death grip on her right wrist and is unlikely to let go any time soon. The hastily-shortened trousers he is wearing are too big for him around the waist but a belt makes that less obvious, his shirt is one of his own and therefore much higher quality than the standard school offering and his tie is also rather nicer, or would be if it didn't look so abused. It's black and narrow though, which is the important bit. He is scowling blackly, which means he's nervous; he's never attended any kind of school before. Remembering that reminds Xanna how incredibly isolated her little master is: she is his only friend, he knows nobody his own age and has no social experience. Actually that isn't true; up until he was six he was living more-or-less on the streets with his mother. So he does have early social experience, but not in this kind of environment and not for a long time.

The first day of classes is fairly informal and no text books are required; it's mostly about meeting the teachers, getting the timetable and being told what other specialist materials they're going to need in later classes, if any. Mostly what it's about is getting to know their classmates, as there's five years of high school ahead of them all and they're stuck with each-other.

It's a little bit amazing how quickly Xanxus adapts: barely five minutes after they find the right classroom and exchange introductions with the teenagers already in it and he already has them looking at him as a person rather than an oddity. Xanna also finds out that Xanxus knows a whole lot about the families and backgrounds of his new classmates, most of which he has probably picked up by eavesdropping.

By the end of the day Xanxus has been promised better-fitting pairs of uniform trousers by their class tutor, has become the focus of a curious social circle of half-a-dozen teenagers and is visibly blossoming under the attention and affirmation. He's politer than she's ever heard, paying fierce attention to how everybody else is interacting, participating in the conversations without trying to dominate them, offering interesting information and actually listening to everyone. He's also side-eying some of the girls' hairstyles, so Xanna has a feeling she's going to have to grow her hair out more so he can experiment. It's no great hardship; longer hair is easier to manage, so far as she remembers.

She doesn't actually do much talking; she is more of an outsider than Xanxus, knowing nothing at all about the Cavallone, Visconti, Lanza, Riccio, Vezzini, Notaro, Bianchi and Superbi families that the classmates in the closest desks belong to. In fact she doesn't even have a surname anymore, which makes the first class register a bit embarrassing –damn Don Vongola for definitely doing that on purpose– for the split-second before Xanxus speaks up:

"She's mine and nobody else's."

That statement creates the impression that whatever surname she may once have had has been firmly erased to consolidate Xanxus's claim, which does lead to an interesting chat with a couple of boys called D'Ignoto in between lessons, discussing adoption, orphans and Vongola Alliance naming conventions. It turns out that it is perfectly 'respectable' for a Vongola member to rename themselves after their profession if they lack a surname, wish to renounce their family names or even just want to strike out on their own. Xanna isn't sure what her profession is –since it apparently isn't 'Guardian' however much that might fit– but the jokey suggestions pass the time until the next teacher shows up and the class goes through the whole introduction again.

By lunchtime Xanna has made some tentative friendships but Xanxus has half the class enthralled and is fully committed to staying at school. He's a brilliant boy and has clearly been desperate for social connections. These kids aren't quite his peers, but they're close enough and more mature than anybody else his age would be. They're also people who have chosen the diplomatic track for themselves: they want to talk, listen and debate, discussing points of view and pooling known information. They are people who pick words apart and discuss nuances, looking for the bigger picture and not settling for what they can see on the surface. In other words, people who are actively trying to avoid the wilful stupidity Xanxus is so frustrated by at home.

Her scheme to not get separated from Xanxus while thoroughly inconveniencing Don Vongola is turning out even better than she'd hoped; she may have to thank Xanxus's father for setting this up.

Xanxus very obviously loves school. He argues with the other students and occasionally with the teachers but it lacks the notes of frustration and desperation that his fights with his family carry within them. He also keeps his Flames firmly smothered, as it's considered inappropriate to use or even mention Flames in an environment where a good number of the students don't actually know what they are; Flame training is a family matter. That one of their classes –Philosophy– is essentially all about teaching them how to argue makes it all that much funnier; Xanxus is very attentive then.

He enjoys the arguments, loves that people talk back and have different opinions based on knowledge they are happy to share with him; smart as Xanxus is, he's still a very sheltered child in the care of Don Vongola and has a lot of blind spots. He likes having people to talk to about the things he enjoys and finding out new things he could be doing; Xanna has already been made to promise to take him to a library and that they will go ice-skating once the weather gets colder. Her eyeliner being complemented leads to Xanxus discussing makeup with Daniela Vezzini, Falena Superbi and Emanuela Bianchi as they all argue about what would suit her best considering her pale colouring. The next day he wears eyeliner to school and is complemented extensively, including by the D'Ignoto boys who are experimenting with their hair colour. This leads to Xanxus discovering the existence of gothic and punk fashions, which Xanna can tell is going to be amusing for her and headache-inducing for his father.

She's well aware of the unavoidable upcoming clash, but Xanxus is living in the moment and she doesn't want to spoil that. He's making a wonderful impression on his teachers and on his classmate's parents by proxy and he's so much calmer it's amazing. Everybody at the house has noticed too: they spend the afternoon with his grandmother on Saturday and when she asks about school Xanxus instantly brightens, expounding at length about classes and connections and new things he's discovered. Signora Vongola gives Xanna a very knowing look over her tea while he is in full flow, but the approving smile says that she is in their corner now.

Then Don Vongola returns halfway through the following week –while Xanxus and Xanna are at school– and things come to a head. Not that either of them knows anything is amiss until they return from classes, Xanxus with his head in a gothic music magazine and several pirated cassette tapes hidden in his rucksack and Xanna clutching the camera she has been lent by the school for their art project. It's intensely disheartening to see how Xanxus's buoyant mood collapses when he scrambles out of the car and sees two of his father's Guardians waiting for them outside the front door.

"Good day at school?" Visconti asks calmly, smiling at them both.

"We got the results of our starting tests back; I came fifth in class," Xanxus replies sharply, shoulders stiffening defensively and one hand snaking out to grab her wrist. That's turning into a bit of a tell; Xanxus tends to grab hold of her any time he feels his right to run her life is being questioned. Of course he also does it when nervous, excited or impatient, so it's not such a big deal really. He's nine; he'll grow out of it.

"And you, Xanna?" She gives the man mental points for calling her by her chosen name; Don Vongola is still calling her 'young lady'.

"I came twenty-fourth overall, but top of the class in biology and third in economics," Xanna replies evenly. "I have remedial work to do for civic studies and Japanese calligraphy." 'Civic studies' is basically mafia social indoctrination and she left most of the test paper blank due to not knowing what the questions were about. Calligraphy is an issue due to being left-handed and never having done it before; her brain knows what her hands should be doing due to having it implanted last month, but implementation is spotty.

"Xanna doesn't know anything about the Vongola," Xanxus says bluntly. "I didn't tell the teacher that Dad won't let Xanna be Vongola and ordered me not to tell her family things."

That is news to Xanna; it's clearly not news to Visconti though, as he looks more pained than surprised. "She is part of the Vongola now, Xanxus; your father wouldn't have enrolled her in the Academy otherwise," the Guardian replies.

"He didn't give her a surname," Xanxus says hotly, glaring up at the man. "Not even a placeholder one like Trovato or Incerti. She's on the school register without a surname." Xanna realises belatedly that this is a major sore point for Xanxus; possibly to do with his particular parentage and related issues –his mother was a prostitute and possibly mentally ill from what little he's let drop so far– so he's taken it a lot harder than she has. Most of her unease is due to not actually remembering her original surname, like she can't remember her birthday. The medic who looked her over estimated that she had turned thirteen in early April, but even that doesn't ring any bells. It is really disconcerting.

Visconti's face smoothes out, blank to hide his reaction. That's a reaction in itself really. "Ah."

"The two D'Ignoto boys in our class offered to adopt me but Xanxus didn't want to share," Xanna says, trying to lighten the mood.

"You're mine and nobody else's," Xanxus replies automatically, glancing at her grumpily. It's not a serious glare though, so mission accomplished.

"Why the camera?" Nie asks, transparently trying to change the subject.

"Art project," Xanna replies, "on how the medium affects the subject being portrayed. We've got a list of twenty-eight different things I have to photograph and Xanxus has to do fine-point ink sketches of. Everybody has the same list and a different medium; in two weeks' time everything is getting compared for a class discussion." Xanna likes this project because it's all about presentation bias, not that the teacher has said so in as many words.

"Half of the requirements are really precise but the others are just annoying," Xanxus complains. "How am I supposed to draw laughter or heat or rest?"

"How did you end up with a camera?" Visconti asks shrewdly. It's a good question; the camera is a proper old-fashioned manual one with adjustable exposure rather than a basic point-and-shoot.

Xanna grins. "I demonstrated I knew how to use it," she replies smugly. "Where and how to load the film, selecting exposure times, winding on the film and everything."

"She even knows a bit about developing film," Xanxus adds proudly, equally smug despite her competence in this field not having anything to do with him. "The teacher is developing the films though, so she has to get her work in by next week rather than having a fortnight," he finishes a little petulantly.

"Can we get started now?" Xanna asks, not really holding out any hope for the answer being 'yes' but wanting to find out what kind of censure she is going to suffer for her thwarting of Don Vongola's latest attempt to disentangle her from his son.

"I'm afraid not," Visconti says. "Xanxus, your–"

"Father wants to talk to me, I know," Xanxus grumbles, shrugging off his backpack and shoving it at Xanna along with the magazine.

"Xanna is also expected," Visconti adds.

"Did he ask for her by name?" Xanxus inquires bitterly. Oh, so it's not just her finding that omission annoying.

"Your grandmother did," Nie drawls. "They're on the terrace outside her rooms."

"Can we go by our suite to put down our rucksacks?" Xanna asks a little plaintively. "They're heavy." Textbooks weigh a lot and despite them sharing her set, Xanxus's rucksack still feels like it's full of rocks. What else has he got in there?

"It is on the way, sort of," Xanxus chimes in.

"Very well then," Visconti agrees, glancing briefly at the magazine in a way that suggests he knows very well why they want to hide it from Don Vongola for a little longer.

Xanna thinks she could be less wary of Don Vongola if he didn't always have at least four armed men backing him up. He's bad enough by himself; the middle-aged grandpa look is a lie, he's more of an emotionally manipulative businessman, making you feel valued while deliberately underpaying you.

It's rather judgemental of her, but he made a bad initial impression and he won't stop lying. She's tempted to call him out on every single one of them, except it would be the last thing she did. Xanxus matters more to her than that.

"So, what's this I hear about you attending high school, my son?" Don Vongola asks as they arrive at the wrought-iron table that he and Xanxus' grandma are sitting at.

"You didn't say I couldn't," Xanxus retorts, folding his arms and glaring. "I'm fifth in class," he adds, daring his father to tell him the material is too advanced for him.

"And you?" Don Vongola asks, looking at Xanna.

"Twenty-fourth overall, but top of biology and third in economics," Xanna replies calmly. "I have remedial work to do in civics and need to practice my calligraphy." Francesco Cavallone has lent her his old middle school 'civic studies' workbooks as a starting point, since there very tellingly aren't any textbooks on the subject.

"I didn't tell anybody why Xanna doesn't know anything about the Vongola," Xanxus adds, just to make it clear that he knows exactly whose fault that is. "Or why she doesn't have a surname." The 'it is your fault but I can be discreet when I want to be' is almost too explicit to be subtext.

"So what is your surname, dear?" Xanxus's grandma asks.

"I have no idea," Xanna shrugs. "I can't remember my birthday either. The D'Ignoto boys in my class say that according to Vongola tradition I should be called Trovato or Donato or Incerti, or possibly even share their surname. They offered to talk to their parents about adopting me and Xanxus growled at them."

The old lady chuckled. "Ah, the D'Ignoto are all like that. So are the Esposito; charming and unconventional the lot of them."

"When I offered to send you to school when you were younger you didn't want to go," Don Vongola says to Xanxus. "You wanted to learn more challenging things. What's changed?"

Xanxus huffs. "That was four years ago! People my age are all doing boring stuff or expecting me to care about stupid shit. High school's interesting and I can do the stuff they don't teach in the afternoons, like everybody else does."

"Who is this 'everybody else'?"

Xanxus narrows his eyes at his father. "Francesco Cavallone fixes up cars and motorbikes in the afternoons, when he's not doing family shit with his father and brother. Daniela Vezzini plays piano and designs electronics. Falena Superbi breeds plants and does clay pigeon shooting; she's promised to invite me to the next training day at her range. Claudio and Piero D'Ignoto are in a band and Emanuela Bianchi does rock-climbing. Didone Notaro is on the school volleyball team and Giuseppe Riccio trains dogs with his parents."

"I'm glad you've made friends," Don Vongola says warmly, which is only half a lie because Don Vongola is both pleased and not-pleased at the same time. "However now you are in school you will have to stay for the full five years; I won't have you dropping out halfway through or failing a year because you lost interest."

"Fine." Xanxus nods, accepting his father's terms. "So until I'm fifteen, right? I can't do much of anything in the Vongola until then anyway."

"I suppose not," Don Vongola agrees with a smile, one that vanishes as he looks at her again. "What made you think this was a good idea, young lady?"

"Her name is Xanna!" Xanxus snaps. "If you want to call her something different then give her a surname and call her that!" His father ignores the outburst, gazing sternly at her.

"I recognise that neither I nor Xanxus can stop you from sending me to school," Xanna says simply, "because you are an adult with authority and power over us. But I promised Xanxus everything I can give him and he doesn't want to be separated from me, so I suggested he come with me."

"It was a foolish and risky thing to do," Don Vongola chides her. "I have enemies and Xanxus could easily be injured or killed away from the safety of the house."

Xanna blinks at him. "Is the school's security insufficient? Lots of other mafia heirs attend; Francesco Cavallone is his father's second son and Pantera Superbi is in the management track a year ahead of us." She pauses, "Or is it that the driver isn't a qualified bodyguard? Xanxus says all the cars are armoured." She will not succumb to emotional blackmail.

Xanxus' grandmother hides a smile behind her drink and one of the men behind Don Vongola coughs into his hand.

"If going to school isn't safe why did you want Xanna to go by herself?" Xanxus demands. "I'm much better at fighting than she is!"

Xanna knows exactly why Don Vongola wanted to send her away to school but isn't going to tell Xanxus that. She isn't going to ruin his relationship with his possible-father just because the man doesn't trust her commitment to his son. Don Vongola clearly sees something in her face to that effect as he drops the subject entirely and asks Xanxus what he wants to do for his birthday next month, seeing as he now has friends he could invite to a party.

He won't forget this though; a grown man is unlikely to forgive a teenage girl for outmanoeuvring them and 'suborning' their child, especially when he knows she did it on purpose. He is certain he knows what is best for Xanxus and doesn't take kindly to her sabotaging his plans.

Don Vongola probably doesn't think enough of her to class her as an enemy, but she is definitely an annoyance and an obstacle now.

"Let me take you out dancing on Saturday, Xanna, come on," Francesco cajoles, elbowing her gently. "You know you want to."

"You don't want dance with me, you want to date me," Xanna retorts with a teasing smile. The cheerful Cavallone grins back.

"Of course I do; who wouldn't? You're beautiful and clever and sneaky and have excellent taste. In women."

Xanna sniggers at that not-so-subtle reference to her short experimental relationship with Falena. It was really fun, but while kissing another girl was alright, she hadn't been as into it as Falena and the older girl had noticed. So they'd split up. Xanxus still regards their relationship as a 'weird girl thing' –Xanna isn't sure he even noticed they were going on actual dates for a while rather than just hanging out together– but if she decides to date 'Cesco her little master will definitely notice.

"What, you want me to help you pick up girls?" She teases.

"I'd much rather pick you up, darling," Cesco replies, catching her hand and kissing her knuckles. "Come on, say yes."

Xanna hums, side-eying him under her eyelashes. "Where were you thinking of?" She does like Francesco Cavallone, he is fun and sweet and very responsible. She trusts him not to push her into anything she is uncomfortable with; he is also blond and nice to look at.

Cesco grins. "The Blue Midnight in Lanza territory. Good music, no drugs, barely any alcohol. I promise I'll get you home before one."

"Fine, I'll give you a chance," Xanna capitulates, rolling her eyes at his gleeful smile and letting him lean over and kiss her.

Then the table's hitting the floor with a symphony of shattering glass and Xanxus has a hand wrapped around her new boyfriend's throat, his other hand alight with a ball of shining Flames.

Xanna is on her feet in an instant and grabbing his wrist. "Xanxus, don't."

Glowing red eyes shift from Cesco to her. "He was kissing you."

"Yes, he was," Xanna agrees, still gripping Xanxus's wrist. "He asked first and I was fine with it."

The Wrath Flames snuff out and the twelve-year-old reluctantly lets go of Cesco's throat, luminous red eyes still boring into her. The look on his face is complicated.

"Look, let's take this outside," Xanna says, glancing briefly at her possibly-no-longer boyfriend then back to Xanxus, aware that they now have the attention of most of the people in the bar. It's a mafia bar, so mostly they're watching so they know when to dodge flying debris.

"Fine." Xanxus grabs her wrist and marches towards the door, other patrons quickly shifting out of his way. Cesco follows them, waving briefly to the rest of their friends so they stay in their seats; no need to ruin everybody's evening.

Once they're outside Xanna picks up speed a little and leads the way across the square to a bench, where she turns around but doesn't sit down. "Okay Xanxus, ask me."

Xanxus looks at her, face still tight and complicated. He's not much shorter than her these days and unlike her, he's still growing. "You're mine," he says.

"Yes, I am." It's the truth.

"Are you going to have sex with Cavallone?"

Going by the spluttering behind her Cesco is acutely embarrassed by that question. Too bad for him. "Do you mean today specifically or in a general sense?" She asks.

"Both," Xanxus decides, looking more confident now.

"No, I am not going to have sex with Francesco today. I may possibly have sex with Francesco at some point in the future, but I am certainly not going to have sex with Francesco any time soon," Xanna states.

"Then why were you letting him kiss you?" Xanxus looks confused now.

"Has anybody ever explained dating to you?" Xanna asks. Xanxus has a father and three older brothers, somebody had better have done it by now. Please God?

"It's what you do when you want to have sex with somebody," Xanxus replies promptly, which is superficially accurate but not at all the point.

"No, that's not dating, that's a fling and that's different," Xanna says instantly, because this needs clearing up. "Dating is a vetting process. Dating is what you do to get to know somebody better, because you maybe wouldn't mind having a relationship involving sex with them later. But first you want to find out about them, because for most people sex is private and intimate and vulnerable, so not something you do with people you don't trust completely. So people date to find out if the other person is trustworthy." Well that is the ideal anyway.

"I might date Francesco for a year without having any sex at all," Xanna continues. "We might date for two months then decide that actually we don't want to date anymore because we want different things out of life. Dating is a trial period, where you do things with the person you find interesting and talk about anything and everything. People hold hands and kiss and snuggle because that's intimate and feels good, but isn't as vulnerable and risky as sex. So if things go wrong in the dating phase it's less of a loss, but you still made an effort." She hopes she's being coherent here. "Most people want to settle down with one person for the rest of their lives and dating is a way of looking for that person. So Cesco and I are going to date and see if we can get along, but if we don't then we haven't really lost anything." Of course most people don't actually rationalise it like that as it's an emotional thing, but she's always been an over-thinker.

"Not about sex," Xanxus concludes.

"Some people do make it about sex," Xanna concedes, "but anybody who says that sex is part of dating just wants to take advantage of you, so don't be pressured. Nothing in dating is compulsory, it's all about finding out what you and the other person are comfortable with." She is going to have to mention her ex-girlfriend now. "I dated Falena for three months."

Xanxus's eyes go very round; moments like this remind her that he is both very young and very sheltered, for all that he is not remotely ignorant of the mechanics of sex and that people want it. "Girls date other girls?"

"Yes and boys can date other boys if they want to; like I said, it's about finding out what you're comfortable with," Xanna explains. "Some people find out that actually they're not really bothered and aren't interested at all, others realise they like the kissing and such but don't want the sex, while others still think it's all fantastic and can't get enough of it."

"So you like girls and boys for kissing," Xanxus concludes, "but you don't know how you feel about sex yet."

"That's right and I am in no hurry to find out," Xanna says firmly. "I'm not sixteen yet, I have all the time in the world to find the right person for me."

"Okay." Xanxus is definitely much more relaxed about her dating now he knows what's actually going on. "Cavallone, if you hurt Xanna I will murder you."

"I knew that already," Francesco says ruefully, walking into Xanna's field of vision and rather red in the face. "Can we go back inside? I need another drink and to pay for the broken glasses."

"What time is it?" Xanna asks. They've got a fairly strict curfew since it's a school night and Xanxus is still rather young.

"It's not even eight yet, you've got another hour," Cesco tells her, offering her his hand. Xanna takes it and lets herself be towed back into the bar, Xanxus at her heels.

"I'll pay for the glasses," the twelve-year-old says firmly as they walk in the door, "I broke them."

"Thank-you," Francesco says simply, knowing better than to say 'that is very mature of you' or make other patronising comments of the kind Xanxus so despises. He smarter than that and Xanxus is not in the mood to be teased. "We'll go join the others at their table. Want another drink?"

"I can buy myself something," Xanxus says, side-eyeing them both with a tiny smirk. "Buy a drink for Xanna instead."

Cesco laughs and Xanna smiles in relief. That could have gone terribly wrong and she is tremendously relieved that it didn't.

Christmas in the Iron Fort starts with the Vongola Solstice Ball, which Xanxus isn't allowed to attend because he isn't fourteen yet. Xanxus is perfectly happy with this, having a very low opinion of the society people who attend this kind of Vongola event. The parents of most of their classmates work in the lower echelons of various Vongola Alliance businesses and while some run their own businesses, none of them are family heads, bosses or even underbosses except for Francesco's father Don Cavallone. Xanxus has met a decent number of such people –although Xanna has not– and is very eloquent on how useful he thinks most of them aren't.

Being sixteen Xanna could technically be attending the ball by herself, but Xanxus put his foot down so she isn't. Seeing as she doesn't want to attend any more than he does, she is fine with that. She and Cesco broke up nearly two months ago, so she doesn't have to attend as his date either.

Seeing as they don't have to get ready for the ball, the two of them are hiding out in Xanxus's grandma's suite with books, music and sewing silk for friendship bracelets. Xanxus really likes the patterns and technical challenges involved in designing and then creating the knotted wristbands and Xanna is happy to try out his patterns, so both of them are wearing several and everybody in their class has at least one. Currently however Xanna is on the couch reading Dracula and Xanxus is sitting on the floor, leaning back against her legs with his nose in some old book from the Vongola Family Library that she's not even allowed to touch.

"Xanna?"

"Hm?" Xanna glances up from her book; Xanxus has set his own book aside and is staring at her.

"Do you have to be dating to kiss somebody?"

"Not necessarily," Xanna concedes. "There are lots of reasons to kiss somebody and because you're dating is only one of them. It also depends on the kind of kissing you mean."

Xanxus rolls his eyes at her. "I mean kissing with tongue," he says impatiently.

"That generally gets reserved for people you are dating, unless you're pretending to be dating for some reason and the kissing is part of making the cover convincing." Getting swallowed whole by the mafia has been very educational in all kinds of ways, not all of them good for her peace of mind. For instance, she has been browbeaten into learning to fight with collapsible batons so she is 'less of a liability'.

"I don't want to have to date some random girl just to find out if I like kissing," Xanxus says grumpily. "Can't I date you?"

"We can't date," Xanna replies flatly. "You are thirteen and your father would think I am taking advantage of you. I also don't actually want to date you, because to me dating is vetting people for possible sex and I am not interested in you like that."

"Because I'm thirteen," Xanxus specifies, eyes steady.

"Yes. Even discussing it like this is making me very uncomfortable," Xanna says frankly. "I am over three years older than you and while it's not a lot in the grand scheme of things, it is a lot right now and will go on being a lot for some time." Until they are both finished with puberty and are properly adult, in fact.

"Okay, no dating," Xanxus says easily. "I still want to know what the fuss is about kissing though."

Xanxus is not going to drop this; he will go on asking her until she either comes up with a reason he respects or she bows to his demand. Xanna puts her book aside, leans her head against the sofa back and sighs. What are her objections to Xanxus kissing her? He doesn't know anybody his age to experiment with, being Don Vongola's son means a lot of girls would agree to date him just for the prestige rather than out of actual interest in him as a person and he's asking her because he trusts her.

Most of her issues are to do with still seeing him as a child. But his asking this says he's not really fully a child anymore, even though he's only recently started being a teenager.

She's his friend. She can do this as his friend; she has kissed some of her other friends 'just because' before now.

"If you want to kiss me, you may kiss me," Xanna says carefully, "but I want you to not touch my front and keep your hands outside my clothing. I am going to keep my hands on the couch, because if somebody walks in on this and thinks I'm taking advantage they will probably murder me without bothering to ask any questions first."

"You couldn't overpower me if you wanted to," Xanxus says dismissively, eyes alight with curiosity as he gets to his feet and climbs onto her lap.

"No, I couldn't, but I could manipulate you," Xanna points out, shoving her hands down the back of the seat cushion and tilting her head up to keep eye-contact.

"Except you won't lie to me," Xanxus points out smugly, resting his hands on her shoulders and settling down over her thighs.

"You know that and I know that, but nobody else believes it," Xanna says dryly as he kisses her forehead, then her eyelids and the tip of her nose.

"I like kissing you," he tells her smugly, "like this anyway." More kisses are pressed to both her cheeks then along her jawbone, increasingly messy and sucking lightly on her skin. Somebody's been spying again, or possibly watching inappropriate television. His hands are cradling her face now, holding her steady as he moves closer to her mouth. Xanna's eyelids flutter and she can feel her heart rate picking up a little despite her misgivings; this may not be sexual but it is definitely sensual. Being kissed feels nice and she does trust Xanxus.

The first brush against her lips is light and chaste but he quickly presses in, tilting his head for better access and opening his mouth against her lips. Xanna reciprocates, because it's not really kissing unless it's reciprocated, opening her mouth just enough to slide her lips against his.

Xanxus makes an interested noise in his throat, moves his hands down her neck and one back up to cradle the base of her skull, his mouth still sliding and pressing against hers. He's leaning into her now and she can feel his heartbeat against her chest, like he can feel her pulse fluttering under his hand.

Xanna curses her hormones; yes she likes Xanxus but she is not physically attracted to him! The kissing is inherently enjoyable but she does not want to do anything more than that! This is teenage confusion clouding her mind!

Xanxus sucks delicately on her lower lip, scrapes his teeth over it before sucking harder, then targeting her upper lip as well. Xanna closes her jaw just enough to nibble his lower lip for a moment –turn-around is fair play– and is promptly muscled bodily into the couch back as he growls against her mouth.

Her heartbeat jumps, partly in surprise, and then Xanxus's tongue is sliding over her lips, along her gums and past her teeth to rub against her own. Reciprocating is almost automatic and Xanna has to dig her fingers into the underneath of the couch cushions to remind herself that this is Xanxus, who is thirteen, who she is never, ever going to take advantage of in any way. No matter how good it feels to be kissed by him.

He finally pulls away, breathing hard and licking his lips as his eyes shine happily. "I like kissing," he says brightly, sitting back on his heels over her thighs, "and you taste nice."

"Curiosity satisfied then," she replies, deliberately nonchalant. It's not lying. It's not. Her body is being stupid. "Anybody in mind you'd like to date?"

Xanxus pouts at her; it's cute and terrible. "I don't know anybody my age," he whines. "Everyone in class is going to have the same problem you do."

"They'd better," Xanna mutters before she can catch herself. Xanxus sticks his tongue out at her; he's definitely in a really good mood to act this childish. "Falena's got a cousin your age, Nepa Superbi; she's two years below us at school, in the sports track." Superbi usually have their heads screwed on straight. "Michele Lanza's sister Sara is your age too and she's probably heard enough about your antics to not get stupid about who you're related to." Xanna stares at him flatly. "Go sneak into the school records after New Year or something. You're brilliant and you know it; use that brain of yours to your advantage."

Xanxus grins at her, slides off her lap, grabs his book and hares off who-knows-where; Xanna flops sideways along the couch and buries her face in a cushion. Why is she doing this again? Oh yes, she prayed for a sign, got Xanxus and now she's committed.

"That was really very inappropriate," says an elderly voice far too close to her ear. "You handled it relatively well though."

Xanna twitches, hugging the cushion to her face. Finding out that Xanxus's grandmother probably heard all of that is too much for her right now. This is so embarrassing and not just because of the hormones that were clouding her mind just now.

"I will not mention this to my son," the Vongola matriarch continues, "but I do expect you to keep your hands off my grandson until he is at least fourteen, no matter what he says. Once to satisfy his curiosity is one thing, repeatedly indulging him is quite another."

Xanna relaxes her grip on the cushion just enough to peer up at Xanxus's grandmother. "I will find other people to date until my hormones settle," she promises meekly, "but if I try to go back to sleeping in my own bed he will think I'm angry with him." Because the old lady means it when she says she wants Xanna to keep her hands to herself.

"I will tell him I overheard and am punishing you both, so a week of sleeping alone," Signora Vongola says implacably. "Him for coercing you into it and you because you know better yet went along with him anyway."

"Sorry Signora." Xanna really is sorry; she hadn't realised what Xanxus was doing counted as coercion but now she will be on the lookout for it and can call him out if he tries it again.

A wrinkled hand strokes her cheek. "You're a good girl Xanna, not like my naughty grandson," Signora Vongola tells her gently. "I'm not angry with you. You just need to realise that you give Xanxus a lot of power over you and now he's a teenager he's going to start trying to push you further. I expect you to push back; letting him turn into an entitled horror will do nobody any good."

Xanna had not considered that. "We're going to hurt each-other," she predicts gloomily over the edge of her cushion.

"Of course you will; life is like that," the old lady says matter-of-factly, patting her hair. "But nowhere near as badly as you would if you indulged his adolescent foolishness against your better judgement. You've done a lot for him already, so I'm sure you are up to the challenge."

Well, at least somebody is confident.

It's Christmastime and Xanxus is avoiding her. He's been avoiding her since the day before the ball; since being told by his grandmother that talking her into kissing him was coercion. He's gone before she gets out of the shower in the mornings –the first day she was in the corridor when he was coming out of the bathroom and he instantly locked himself back in for half an hour, so she doesn't get up until after he's back in his room now– although neither of them is sleeping at all well. Xanna's heard him going for drinks in the middle of the night; she's just so used to his presence beside her that she can't sleep properly alone now. Her cuddly dog toy is a very poor substitute.

It's the holidays so he can get away with avoiding her, although it makes family mealtimes intensely awkward as she's expected to sit next to him at those and he won't look at her. Don Vongola would probably suspect her of something heinous had his mother not told everybody that she caught Xanxus coercing Xanna –into what was not specified– and that they are both being punished.

Xanna is more upset by the continued avoidance than she was by the coercion. Xanxus is brilliant, sneaky and fully confident in his authority over her; she now realises something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. His refusal to so much as look her in the eye, let alone speak to her, is however intensely distressing. That he is more guilty than angry over getting caught out does not exactly help. A guilty Xanxus is pitiful-looking and somehow smaller than usual and that's just so wrong considering his usual temperament.

Christmas week is quiet in the Iron Fort; most of the staff goes home on Christmas Eve and doesn't come back until after St Stephen's day and everybody else who works or lives here does too, some of them not coming back until after New Year. It means there're a lot more places for Xanxus to hide in than usual. Xanna's tempted to go looking for him, but has a feeling that would distress him more than just leaving him alone.

Or at least that's what she thought on Christmas Eve; waking up on Christmas morning to find Xanxus has vanished with all his presents rather than waking her up so they can open them together is acutely painful and makes her want to go back to bed and cry. She doesn't though; enough is enough. So she loads her still-wrapped presents into her school rucksack, dresses quickly and goes looking for her idiot.

She finds Enrico first. He doesn't like her much but he's mostly resigned to her by now.

"Oh, it's you," he says, sipping his coffee as the two of his Guardians not visiting relatives eat their breakfast. "What do you want?"

"Have you seen Xan?" Xanna asks, squaring her shoulders.

Enrico eyeballs her thoughtfully. "Maybe not seen," he concedes, "but I sensed him going past about half an hour ago, heading for the stables. Are you crashing his pity party?"

"I am going to get him back to his usual angry self if it kills me," Xanna says firmly. "Thanks."

"Have fun with that!" the eldest Vongola brother calls after her as she leaves the room and hurries down the hall towards the stables.

The stables are past the garages and the only place on the grounds –other than the kitchens– where staff are still hanging around at Christmas, as the horses need feeding just as much as the various Vongola and their Guardians do. The stable hands take it in turns to work Christmas and this year it's supposed to be Guido and Pietro staying on. Except that's Pietro lying just inside the doorway with his throat slit and the emergency alarm has clearly been sabotaged.

Xanna very carefully retreats back around the corner, removes her rucksack and dashes into the garages to pull the alarm there, then heads outside despite the bitter morning chill and lingering gloom. If this is an abduction then they might have left already, so she needs to find the trail.

There isn't a trail, but a muffled crash coming from the upper floor tells her exactly where Xanxus is so she shimmies up the wall and unhooks the upper shutters so she can eel her way inside. Part of living in the Iron Fort and being Xanxus's 'liability' means knowing how to get into and out of everywhere.

Guido is clearly not as loyal and he might be and has brought friends; they've got Xanxus cornered in the hayloft, which he's obviously reluctant to light on fire since it would set the whole building ablaze and possibly the main house as well. Xanna is unarmed but that doesn't make her incapable of doing harm, not even when faced with strong men twice her weight.

Throats are all equally vulnerable and she has sharp teeth; she only has to last as long as it takes for people to respond to the alarm and if she is distracting enough Xanxus might be able to escape. Xanxus is more important to her than any of these people who want to hurt him.

She goes for Guido first, sidling along the beam above the group and then dropping forwards on his head, curling herself over his shoulder as he struggles and sinking her teeth into either side of his trachea. Ripping it out is made easier by one of his friends yanking her off him; spitting out the bloody nub of flesh she twists in the stranger's grasp and goes for his throat too, missing the trachea but managing to rip open his carotid artery. It incredibly messy and very loud; once thrown to the floor she tries to blink the blood from her eyes while looking around for persons three and four but one of them gets her first and she feels the dart hit her in the arm.

The world goes wonky. Like inside her head is wonky. Oh, is she dreaming then? Neat; it's easier to rescue Xanxus if she's dreaming, she just has to get up and rip that person's throat out with her claws. And charge the zombie with the gun who thinks shooting her is going to do anything; bullets barely hurt at all in dreams because in dreams nothing really hurts. Being helpless and hurting would make this a nightmare and it isn't.

There are more zombies; two of them have dampened Xanxus's fire and are carrying him off down a forest path into scarlet screaming, so she sprouts bladed wings and gives chase. They underestimate her reach and fall part quickly; she stamps on their heads so they don't get up again.

Xanxus isn't moving. Why isn't he moving? He should be moving. He's always moving. Maybe it's the cuffs on his wrists? Those come off easily under her claws, although even being careful she scratches his wrists. The forest is all tentacles now and there is purple everywhere, but waking up Xanxus is more important. He needs to be okay.

Maybe he's sleeping? She picks him up and cuddles him. He's all sluggish on the inside, maybe she should poke him. But not with a claw; she uses her nose instead. He twitches, so that clearly worked. She does it again and this time he responds properly and sets himself on fire.

It's angry fire but that's okay, because Xanxus has never hurt her even when he's angry. He doesn't hurt her now, in fact he stops being angry almost as soon as he began and wriggles, kicking her shins and meowing.

The meowing is new. So are the kitty ears and the thrashing tail. Everything is sparkly now rather than being tentacle-flavoured purple, but the sparkles make her dizzy and she falls over. She remembers not to fall on Xanxus though, so he lands on top of her, ears flat against his skull. She's tired. Flying is exhausting and she hasn't had breakfast yet.

Now she is somewhere white and crowded and somebody is taking Xanxus away. That's not allowed, he's hers, so she soars over the bees and kicks the jackdaws away.

"Xanna!" Oh he's talking now, that's good. The meowing was a bit confusing.

"Mine," she tells him severely. "No leaving me behind."

He gapes like a goldfish and moths flutter out of his mouth; that can't be healthy. "I'm sorry! Are you okay?" Why is he asking that? She isn't the one who almost got snuffed out.

"Stop running away," she tells him, poking him in the chest and rustling her wings. "How can I look after you if I can't keep up?"

He laughs, sprouting brown fur and spots as his tongue hangs out of his mouth and his eyes roll. "I promise not to run away from you anymore."

"Thank-you." Graciousness in victory is important. She is tired; where'd her nest go?

"We can lie down over there," her hyena says, pointing over to the twisty thicket she just emerged from. Xanna is dubious; it wasn't very safe over there. "Over here then?" he offers, twisting into a tabby kitten and making big hopeful eyes at her as he waves a paw at a little grove of steel with fewer vines.

That looks nice. She carries him over to it and curls up on top of it, folding her wings over both of them and closing her eyes.

Xanna wakes up with a thumping headache, body feeling like she's been trampled and the inside of her mouth tasting like week-old fish. It's also really bright; she screws up her eyes and rolls over so she can bury her face in Xanxus's chest.

"Ah, welcome back," says a dry and vaguely familiar voice; oh, it's one of the medical people. It's Christmas though, he shouldn't be here. "You had a very interesting drug reaction so Don Vongola called me in to make sure you didn't die."

Xanxus growls at the mention of her possible demise and Xanna remembers that they're not supposed to be sleeping together this week. Rolling off him again is however not possible because he's got a death-grip on both her shoulders.

"What happened?" She croaks, because the last thing she remembers is… a murdered stable hand, finding Xanxus being attacked and deliberately using her self-defence training to kill people. It's all blurry and confused after that. She's also not entirely sure why she went straight to homicide without passing 'Go' or attempting something more subtle.

"There was an abduction attempt and you were hit with a combined tranquiliser and Flame-suppressor," the doctor says briskly, handing her a glass of water, "except that it turns out the tranquiliser was laced with a hallucinogen and the Flame-suppressor acted on your system like a stimulant due to you having an odd metabolic reaction, so you were staggering around hallucinating for a few minutes before the sedative finally overrode it. You also went Flame-Active, but that may have been more to do with the nature of the situation than the drugs in your system."

"I don't remember setting myself on fire," Xanna says bemusedly after drinking half the glass. "Just…" Colours. Flying. Writhing and mutating scenery. Zombies. Xanxus with stripes and cat ears. "…lots of weirdness."

"You had wings made of Flames," Xanxus says quietly in her ear. "They had circuits on them."

What? Like the theoretical Flame-buffering exercises that she's been playing with based on Xanxus's explorations into Flame Tech? "Did they work?"

Xanxus makes a frustrated and incredulous noise. "That's what you're asking?"

"Well the abduction clearly failed," Xanna says practically, "and you're talking to me again so I'm not really bothered about the rest." She pauses. "I'd like my Christmas presents back though; I left them outside the stables when I found Pietro and I haven't even unwrapped them yet."

Xanxus stiffens and turns his face into her hair. He doesn't let go or push her away though.

"Well, you're not going to die," the doctor says, "either from the drug reaction or from Flame exhaustion. However you will be staying right here for the rest of the day and eating as much as you can. You need it." On cue, Xanna's stomach growls. "I will have some lunch sent over." He leaves the room.

"Xanxus, what's wrong?" Xanna asks immediately.

"I made you do something you didn't want to do even though you told me you didn't want to do it," Xanxus blurts out. "Do you hate me now?"

Xanna tilts her head up, resting her chin on her not-so-little master's sternum. "Don't be stupid. You made a mistake; everybody makes mistakes. I forgave you right away. You avoiding me all week hurt more. Especially waking up this morning to find you'd run off with your presents." She feels tears welling up; she must be really worn out for her emotions to be this close to the surface. "You promised I was yours, you're not allowed to abandon me and break that promise." Some of the tears escape and she sniffs, not wanting to actually cry right now.

Xanxus looks stricken; he feels stricken too, like there's a whirlpool inside his chest. "I, I didn't want," he stammers. Xanna pokes him in the ribs.

"Apologise."

"I am very sorry for coercing you. And for not talking to you afterwards. And making you kill people," Xanxus mumbles miserably.

"You didn't make me kill anybody," Xanna says firmly, "I chose to do that all by myself. It was a stupid decision but it was still mine so you can't take the credit. And I don't want you to ever avoid me like that again. Shouting and wailing and acute embarrassment are less hurtful than silence so you need to be brave and face things."

"Are you calling me a coward?"

"Yes," Xanna says flatly. "Not talking to me was cowardly. Facing up to your mistakes and apologising takes courage and is admirable. Denial and avoidance is pathetic and beneath you."

Xanxus glares at her, clearly understanding exactly what she means but still infuriated at her for calling him out on it. "Fine, I won't do it again," he grumbles eventually, letting go of her to flop back on the pillows and throw an arm over his eyes.

Xanna leaves him to his face-saving nap; the door has just opened and there is food to be had.

By Easter Xanna sincerely wishes she'd never Activated her Flames, because the sheer pressure on her to conform to the Vongola's stereotypes is painful, infuriating and probably going to drive her to grievous body harm if not outright murder. Yes, it's vaguely gratifying to finally have her relationship with Xanxus validated and be recognised as his Guardian – separating them is no longer something Don Vongola is mentioning as an option– but far more trying is the blatant indoctrination they are trying to shove down her throat.

According to Vongola tradition, the role of the Lightning Guardian is to take the damage directed towards the family upon themselves like a lightning rod. Which is just a prettied-up way of saying that Xanna is supposed to throw herself in front of Xanxus in a fight and die; Xanna refuses to do that. Xanxus is better in a fight that she is, so getting in his way is stupid and short-sighted. She also refuses to die for him; how can she look after him if she's dead? Dying means getting left behind and she will not. She is his support system, not his shield: her job is to live for him.

She has had countless screaming matches and messy, painful fights with four different tutors already and might actually have died once if Xanxus hadn't crashed the session and set that particular tutor on fire. Since then he's stubbornly attended every single one of her lessons he possibly can and taken her side in all of the shouting matches, both with her tutors and with his father for picking them. There have been no deaths yet but it's been a near thing.

All this stress at home is affecting their school performance as well, as Xanna can't always get her homework done around her 'training' –beatings– and Xanxus is even more ferociously possessive of her than ever so often doesn't get his own work done because he's hovering. Since she has twice been ambushed by her so-called tutors in his absence she can't bring herself to tell him to stop; she hasn't actually been taught anything yet –not even given instructions on how to use her Flames– and the only thing she's learned is how to take a beating without getting half her long bones cracked every time, which is a product of trial, error and desperation.

This really can't go on.

Ten days later and forty-five minutes after being introduced to the fifth tutor Don Vongola has hired, Xanna snaps.

"Look, you can't stand me and want me dead, that's fine, I've been living with that since I was thirteen, but can you stop trying to destroy my soul, please!"

Don Vongola looks pained, which might be due to the meeting room door she's just shredded or the fresh blood spattered all over her. "I do not want you dead, Xanna," he says quietly. He even thinks it's the truth.

She makes a high, frustrated sound in her throat. "You want me away from your son, who is my Sky, my reason for living and the only person in the entire world I consider family. Being away from him would kill me, therefore you want me dead. Pretty it up with fancy words and look away from the consequences all you like, it won't change the truth." She takes a quick, harsh breath, "and you hired a rapist to tutor me. Go fuck yourself. I'll handle my own education."

"What happened to him?" the man the Don is meeting with asks laconically, eyeing her with interest. It's probably the wing-like fans of Flame-blades hovering behind her shoulders that have caught his interest; according to Xanxus her idiosyncratic Flame manifestation is unprecedented and possibly related to her being a somewhat Misty Lightning.

"My Will to live was stronger than his," Xanna says flatly, "which does not surprise me in retrospect, because all of my ex-tutors have insisted that the only Will a proper Lightning is allowed to have is the Will to die. I will not die for my Sky; I will live for him and I will not be taken from him!"

The stranger nods acceptingly. "Looking for a job, sprite?"

"I'm a Guardian, I've got one." She does at least get a proper allowance now, rather than having to let Xanxus buy everything for her. Admittedly his budget is stupidly generous, but it's still nice to be able to buy things without asking him first.

"Second job? Part-time freelancing on the side?" Is he serious?

"Tyr, please."

Xanna ignores Don Vongola and tries to remember where she's heard that name before. "As what?"

Tyr smiles very slightly. "I'm Head of the Varia, sprite."

Oh; assassination. "Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent," Xanna quotes, sticking her nose in the air and folding her arms. Yes, she is covered in blood but she was defending herself from violence, not randomly attacking somebody. The assassin laughs at her, but it's a genuinely amused laugh.

"Asimov," he agrees. "Still a market for it, sprite: lots of incompetents out there willing to pay for quality service."

"I'm more into the continuation of war by other means," Xanna banters back. "It's less expensive."

"Diplomacy, the patriotic art of lying for one's country," Tyr responds with a smile, "or in your case, for your Sky."

"I'm crap at lying, so I generally resort to the tactical deployment of truth and honesty," Xanna replies, smiling almost despite herself. This man is a killer and a snake but he's smart and he actually sees her. It's a nice change from most of the adults she has to put up with. "It's very effective when you're the only person doing it."

"Sure you don't need a job, sprite?"

"I…" Xanna pauses. Well, Xanxus does have a lot of money on hand and she also gets paid a decent amount… "Do you have any sneaky Lightnings working for you who are actually capable of teaching?"

"Xanna!"

She turns snake-quick and glares at the Don. "You hired four brutes and a rapist, not one of whom has taught me anything. You do not get a say. At least the Varia have standards."

"Several," Tyr drawls, eyes alight with amusement. "I'll send the Lightning Officer over to discuss particulars with you and your Sky."

"Thank-you."

"You're very welcome, sprite," the assassin tells her easily with a wicked smirk. "I look forward to hearing from you."

Xanna smiles back, glares at Don Vongola one last time and marches off to find Xanxus. Hiring an assassin to teach her to use her Flames is probably excessive, but at least they will be working for her and Xanxus rather than for Don Vongola. They will probably have skills she can use, too; she is better suited to a supporting role when it comes to an actual fight but it is the everyday utility applications of her Flames that interest her the most. The Varia are infamous for achieving the impossible and unlikely, so she should at least get a sympathetic ear and some assistance with the technicalities of her experiments.

First though she needs to get somewhere safe so she can break down and cry properly. She's known for a while that Don Vongola doesn't much care for her, but that he cares so little as this hurts. Doesn't he realise that hurting her will also hurt Xanxus?

It's nearly a full year since the experimental kissing session that lead to Xanna becoming Flame Active and in that time Xanxus has gone through four girlfriends, the last of whom dumped him just three weeks ago for the heinous crime of not wanting to take her to the Vongola Winter Solstice Ball. This leaves her teenage master –who is now exactly four centimetres taller than her and incredibly proud of it– without a date for said occasion. Considering the ball is a compulsory 'plus one' event, that really won't do.

"Can't you be my date?" Xanxus asks, kneeling behind her on the bed and fingers busily styling her hair to match the complex design in the magazine lying next to him.

"If I come as your date I would have to wear a gown and heels," Xanna points out. "If I'm attending as your Guardian I can get away with wearing a suit." She has never been a fan of skirts and three months of abuse at the hands of so-called tutors followed by another seven of pseudo-Varia training personally supervised by the now-retired Lightning Officer have turned that initial dislike into a strong aversion. Skirts are just not practical and she is Xanxus's only Guardian; maybe once he has more she will feel comfortable dressing vulnerably, but until then she would prefer not to.

"So who do I ask?" Xanxus mumbles, half to himself. "Nepa laughed in my face when I asked her, Sara's dating somebody else, Maddalena's going to Canada for Christmas to visit second cousins, nobody else with a brain is single and I'm not taking a stranger or a liability to that snake pit."

"Ask Falena," Xanna suggests.

Xanxus pokes her scalp. "You know she doesn't date guys."

"Make it a business arrangement: she gets to network and scandalise everybody by flirting with the pretty ladies, you get to show off your 'close relationship with the Superbi' and scandalise everybody by wearing eyeliner, I get to wear a suit and confuse everything further by being completely fine with you two flirting with each-other, me and every other woman in the building. We make the Vongola upper ranks think you're manly enough to seduce lesbians and get away with sleeping with multiple women at once, because stupid old men think getting lots of sex is a sign of personal quality and will therefore take you more seriously. Then once you've got a platform you can move onto consolidating your position and proving you are in fact competent, intelligent, ruthless and charismatic enough to run the family circus," Xanna suggests. That is what Xanxus wants, to run the Vongola after his father, and while she suspects Don Vongola is no more her Sky's father than the man is hers, she has no proof. No lies have been told in her presence and Don Vongola truly considers Xanxus to be his child in every way that matters to him.

"Nice plan, very evil," her Sky commends ironically, patting her neck.

"Thank-you, I try."

"Your angle?" He asks, proving that he is always going to be able to read her like a book.

"Watching your father and brothers' heads explode," Xanna says promptly, "and seeing your grandmother laugh herself sick."

There is a snort from behind her. "Sold."

"Boss! Stop!"

Xanxus stills, knee jammed in his victim's spine and a fistful of Wrath poised right over the man's neck. "Why?" It's a vicious snarl. He doesn't say that the idiot on the ground slandered her, she was there for that and the aspersions cast on Xanxus's background. In fact Xanna's pretty sure he only stopped because she just called him 'boss' rather than by name.

"If he's dead he'll stop suffering and people will forget," she says bluntly. "Then you'll have to deal with this shit all over again. Maim him and let him live on the other hand…" she trails off and watches cruel glee ignite in her Sky's eyes. On the ground the idiot who thought he could get away with suggesting her body was for sale –and going cheap– whimpers.

"My Lightning always has the best ideas," Xanxus purrs, the Flames around his hand attenuating slightly as he flexes his fingers. "I am going to make you wish I'd killed you for this."

Xanna turns her back and walks out of the alleyway Xanxus dragged his victim into a few seconds ago, tuning out the screams and calling up a handy little Flame trick to deaden sound. Learning from a Varia tutor has dramatically expanded her Flame repertoire, if in ways that are disturbing for her peace of mind at times considering what he thought she needed to master as basic skills. Nothing to hear, nothing to see; condoning torture is not at all Christian of her but pragmatically, the idiot will get to live and might even learn something from the experience. It might also dissuade other idiots from making similar insinuations, which will mean fewer deaths in the long run.

The main problem with Xanxus competing with his older brothers for the heir position is that he is blatantly more brilliant, competent and charismatic than they are despite being half their age or less. He's in his last year of high school despite being only fourteen, is top of his class and both well-known and well-thought-of by almost everybody who has so much as met him in passing on Academy grounds, which includes all the parents. Xanxus is naturally compelling; adding on four years of diplomatic training and extensive social networking makes him well-informed and dangerously irresistible.

Thing is, a lot of dumb young men find that kind of natural charisma threatening, especially in a teenager several years younger than them, so they run their mouths spouting lies to make themselves feel better about being outclassed. Suddenly a whole lot more people care that Xanxus's mother was a prostitute and feel entitled to make assumptions about Xanna's relationship with him. Nobody in their class of course –they know better– but still an annoyingly large number of gossipy twits.

Hopefully clear evidence of horrific reprisals will persuade everybody to keep their scurrilous speculation to themselves.

Xanna isn't that bothered about wearing makeup to school; she sees it as a mask, something to hide behind and the people at school know her and either like or dislike her on her own merits, so why does she need to hide? Xanxus doesn't share her views though. To him makeup and accessorising is a combination of self-expression and public communication, a way to make sure everybody knows how he's feeling on any given day so they don't overstep and try his patience. Everybody in school has long since got used to this, so they now all look at her to see what kind of mood her Sky is in. It's different when it's just them hanging out at home or out and about, but at school or at Vongola events her makeup is very expressive.

On a normal day when Xanxus is focused on learning Xanna can get away with plain eyeliner, a smidge of eye-shadow and clear lip gloss; her hair will be in a simple ponytail or a clip and she'll be wearing ankle boots. On a happy day when he's feeling bright and confident Xanxus will do something more time-consuming to her hair, styling it so it bounces and curls loosely to soften her face and will paint her skin with gentle blended colours to make her look sweet and approachable. He might even let her get away with wearing her pink sneakers to school rather than insist on sandals or a pair of low heels.

Today is however an angry day, so Xanxus has pulled her hair back in a pair of tight French braids flat against her scalp and is painting her eyes and lips with harsh colours and sharp lines. Steel-toed boots have been taken off the shoe rack, he's got feathers pinned in his own hair and is wearing slightly more eyeliner than he usually bothers with; Xanxus is clearly still brooding over yesterday's fight and will probably go on doing so for a while.

After finishing her makeup and pocketing the lipstick so he can touch up her mouth later Xanxus throws on a battered leather jacket, which tells Xanna that he's really very angry and wanting to embarrass his father by bending the school dress-code. The only way this could be worse would be if he was wearing lipstick himself, but things are thankfully not quite that volatile; lipstick at school is Xanxus's way of telling his father to go fuck himself. It might be a good idea to see about going to somebody else's house after school though; that way Xanxus can simmer down a bit and do homework well away from Don Vongola.

Lacing up her boots, Xanna grabs her uniform jacket and rucksack and follows her Sky out to the car.

Xanxus usually sits on the outside of their paired desks, letting her have the wall and window, but on days like this he takes that seat –although technically they are not supposed to swap desks– and glowers silently into space rather than looking at the teacher and participating in class discussion. There were few explosions in the early years when unobservant adults failed to read the signs and tried to get him to participate regardless, but by now everybody knows better and just lets him get on with it. He takes notes, he listens, he does the work; poking the grumpy Wrath-user when he's in a snit won't improve matters.

"Hey you two, want to come over for lunch?" Cesco asks, twisting around in his seat the instant the teacher leaves at the end of the first lesson. "I've got some more parts for my car and dad's had people set up the machines to make the bits I need to shape myself. I wheedled him into getting that etching stuff you said was best too," he adds, looking at Xanxus, "so can you check it over and look at my designs to make sure I haven't made any dumb mistakes? You're way better with Flame Tech than I am and I don't want to blow up my baby."

Xanxus snorts, but it's an acquiescing sort of snort rather than a 'piss off and die' one. He really is completely brilliant with Flame Tech –the circuitry she manifests on her Flame-wings is partly his design– and is currently working on modifying the design of his great-grandfather's Flame guns to accommodate both higher levels of charge and Wrath Flames. It's slow-going though, as nobody's ever made anything to process Wrath before so he has to work everything out from scratch. Wrath is rare enough that nobody ever saw the need or had the ability.

Maybe he blew up his workshop again and Don Vongola tried to lecture him on safety? That would certainly annoy Xanxus enough to prompt this particular response.

"Neat; I'm having trouble with the doors," Cesco admits with a grin. "Moving parts are a nightmare."

"Only for sloppy trash who half-ass everything," Xanxus drawls, glancing at Francesco before dismissively shifting his gaze away again.

"That hurts you know, right here," the burly blond says mournfully, clutching at his heart. "Don't you love me anymore?"

Xanxus snorts again and deliberately turns his head to look out of the window, but there's a twitch in his cheek that says he's making an effort not to smirk.

"I'll just go die in a ditch then, shall I?" Cesco mumbles quietly, turning back around as the next teacher walks in.

"Only if you promise to leave Xanxus your precious," Xanna retorts softly, making Cesco stiffen in mock-outrage and prompting Xanxus to elbow her. She knows he likes that car; Cesco's a Sky too and actually very good at engineering, so he and Xanxus have had a lot of fun in the past few weeks arguing over how to rebuild the Cavallone's latest fixer-upper in a way that can be weaponised.

Come lunchtime Xanxus tells the driver who came to fetch them that they're 'leaving with Cavallone' so he departs without them, then they all get into the back of the limousine Francesco's father sent for him and set off. The Cavallone run the entire northwest coast of Sicily between Castellamare del Golfo and Palermo, so it's a bit further to where Francesco lives then going back to the Iron Fort would be.

They're stopped at a traffic light about half-way there when the driver and escort are shot repeatedly in the head through the open windows and two men reach in and open the doors, dragging the bodies out into the road and leaping inside; it's all over in seconds. Cesco instantly tries the door, but somebody in the front has hit the locks and they're trapped. Definitely a major design flaw in the manufacturing stage; those in the back can't leave the vehicle unless the lock is disengaged at the front. Xanna pops both her seatbelt and Xanxus's and throws them both to the floor before either man notices they've picked up a few extra hostages.

There's a bulletproof glass partition between the front of the limo and the passenger seats, most of it tinted with a clear upper section so the driver can use the rear-view mirror; it's splattered with blood now but it means neither man notices the extra two occupants as they speed off when the lights change.

"I can cut us out of the car," she whispers as the carjackers pick up speed and turn off the main road and away from Cavallone territory, "but at this speed it's going to be messy."

"Dad sends separate cars for me and my little brother," Francesco says tightly, "and they always stay within visual range of each-other. Our men will already be alerting Dad of what happened and giving chase." The vehicle lurches around a corner and they all brace themselves so as not to go flying. "At this rate those morons are going to drive us off a cliff first though."

"Do it," Xanxus says sharply.

"Right." Xanna crouches down in the middle of the wide foot well, bending over the central seat and bracing her hands by grabbing hold of the seatbelt buckles. Xanxus clambers onto the seat to her left and belts himself back in, eyes luminous with fury as Francesco pulls his feet in as close as he can. "Three, two, one–"

She calls on her Will and the Flame wings manifest, blades punching out of the roof, floor and doors and severing fuel lines, brake cables and rear-wheel steering as they screech through the metal. The driver notices instantly but nobody is in control of the car now; they lurch around another bend, clip a signpost, scrape along the barrier and fishtail across the road before the car finally snaps in two and the rear half careers across the road again and back into the barrier with a scream of tortured metal, almost ripping it right out of the ground and spilling them down the hillside. Xanna winces at the impact, then again as she realises there's blood dripping down her friend's unconscious face and the bulletproof window on his side is cracked and bloody.

It's been barely ten seconds since she started cutting the limo in half.

Xanxus pops his seatbelt and leans over to feel for the older boy's pulse. "Not dead yet," he says shortly. "Stay with him." Xanna nods and briefly furls her left wing so Xanxus can leave the wreckage. Her Sky does so, hands igniting as he stalks on down the road towards the front half of the limousine, which has slammed into a vertical rock face about twenty metres away.

Carefully stepping back and taking care to keep her wings wide enough to protect the both of them from potential flying bullets, Xanna moves closer to Francesco and quickly checks him for damage. Broken collarbone from the impact; Xanxus probably cracked his too, not that he'd let it show. A bloody bruise on his temple, probably from hitting the window when they were careering all over the place, and–

Oh. Oh no. Cesco wasn't bracing properly against the floor like Xanxus was when she started cutting! Xanna snatches at her tie, fumbles the knot loose and tugs off the remains of his shoe so she can tie a tourniquet around what's left of his ankle and hopefully stop the blood loss before it kills him. "Xanxus is right, you half-ass everything," she growls furiously as she pulls tight. "Don't you dare die on me, dumbass!"

Being unconscious and possibly concussed, Francesco doesn't answer her. Xanna swears some more and hopes the promised back-up arrives soon. Xanxus will make short work of their would-be abductors but his medical knowledge is no better than hers.

"You clumsy short-sighted shit the hell did you do that for!"

"I didn't know that would happen!" Francesco protests, hands waving wildly. Xanxus glares at the older boy in the hospital bed, one fist propped on his hip and the other hand pointing a jabbing finger.

"We were in a fucking moving vehicle and I ordered Xanna to trash it! Of course we were going to lose speed and get thrown all over the place! It's fucking obvious! I didn't think I needed to tell you to brace for impact, you moron!"

Xanxus had very firmly taken complete responsibility for Francesco's maiming when the Cavallone men showed up, which nobody questioned because 'everybody knew' Lightnings always did as they were told. Xanna isn't sure how she feels about that. One the one hand her friend has lost most of his foot and is probably going to have the rest amputated to make it easier to fit a prosthetic to his ankle; on the other she would much rather not deal with people blaming her for that. She told both boys what she was going to do and that Francesco didn't take things seriously is not her fault. His inability to react sensibly in serious situations is one of the reasons they broke up way back.

"I'm sorry!" Francesco shouts back. "I was shit-scared, okay! I thought we were going to die or worse! I wasn't thinking straight!"

"Damn right you weren't!" Xanxus roars back. "The hell would you have done if we hadn't been there, trash?"

Francesco snorts bitterly. "Died, probably," he admits shortly, all the fight going out of him. "I, I was never trained for that. I'm the second son, the spare. Vincenzo's the Heir."

Xanxus kicks the bed. "Don't give me that shit; Dad trained all of us!"

"Yeah, but you're Vongola; you rule by strength as well as by blood," Cesco says sharply. "My dad just trained Enzo and since he's good at it, doesn't see the need to bother with me or Dino when he's already decided who's going to be the next Don Cavallone."

"Your dad's fucking useless," Xanxus tells him flatly. "Demand training; if he says no let me know and I'll lean on my dad for you."

"Thanks Xanxus," the eighteen-year-old says quietly. "I'll make sure Dino gets included too; I don't want my little brother getting murdered because he didn't know how to escape."

"Dino's the one with dyspraxia, isn't he?" Xanna asks. She's seen Cesco's baby brother trip over nothing and fall flat on his face trying to run into his older sibling's arms; the only reason he's not horrendously bullied for his clumsiness is that the Cavallone are powerful and influential enough for his classmates' parents to make sure their children leave him alone. He's obviously rather isolated though.

"Dis-what?" Her friend asks. Xanna stares at him.

"Dyspraxia; also known as 'developmental coordination disorder', about five percent of school-age children have it –mostly boys– affects both gross and fine motor control as well as memory? Basically the brain can't communicate properly with the body. Your brother is textbook." There are all kinds of interesting books in the library near the school; that particular one had been on neurological disorders. Admittedly she'd only cracked it in the first place because she wanted to find out when the various neurodivergencies she remembered being culturally acceptable became classed as 'conditions' rather than 'pathologies' but it still counted.

"That's a thing?" Francesco looks horrified. "I thought he was just clumsy!"

"He is 'just clumsy'," Xanna says dryly, "but I think you mean, 'we thought he just doesn't pay attention' when you say that."

Her friend buries his face in his hands. "Fuck. What do I do?"

"Tell your dad it's a thing, get him to pay for a trip to a fancy paediatrician for your brother and let the doctors pin it down properly, then do whatever they're recommending for therapy and mitigation strategies that Dino is comfortable with," Xanna says unsympathetically. "Attention, patience and understanding will help him work around it and be happy regardless; knowing it's not his fault will help. Becoming Flame Active might also help, but on the other hand it might make it worse depending on his Flame-type and how he's taught. He needs patient teachers so he can be calm and train his brain and body to do what he wants them to."

"Is it fixable?" Xanxus asks. Xanna shrugs.

"Not conventionally. I doubt Don Cavallone wants to put his youngest through experimental Flame-therapy on the off-chance it might maybe work, if there's even a neurology specialist in the Alliance to do it."

"Well at least he's never going to have to try and be Don Cavallone," her friend mumbles, running his hands through his hair. "Hell, I'm glad I don't have to deal with that and I was even before coming up a foot short."

"Lazy trash," Xanxus drawls.

"Excuse you, I am not lazy! I just don't want to run a mafia family!" Cesco grumbled. "It's a nightmare and you, my crazy friend, are welcome to it! I'd rather do something where my success is not dependant on a few thousand other people somehow managing to not be total morons!"

Xanna giggles at this indictment and even Xanxus smirks. "Let me know when they let you out," the fourteen-year-old says, changing the subject, "and I'll show you what I've come up with for the car."

"Come up with?" her friend asks suspiciously. "Xanxus, did you steal my drawings?"

"Would I do that?"

"Yes you would. Give them back!"

"They're shit. I can do better."

"That's not the point!"

"You're welcome," Xanxus drawls, walking out of the room and leaving the older teenager to fume; Xanna gives her irate friend a quick hug before hurrying after her Sky. That was pretty mean of Xanxus but at least now Francesco will be motivated to get out of that bed…

Graduating would probably have felt more like a celebration had Francesco's older brother not got himself killed in a riding accident in the fortnight between them taking the exams and getting the results; both Xanxus and Xanna attend the funeral. A week later their friend shows up at the Iron Fort, limping and mostly naked but utterly furious.

"My esteemed father," he growls, flopping onto the sofa in their suite after slamming the door, "has decided that I need 'toughening up' now I'm Heir; possibly because he's still on bed rest after his surgery and the doctors aren't sure he's going to recover. And he's borrowed your father's pet hitman to do it." Don Cavallone is recovering from cancer, or is at least trying to. Success is not guaranteed.

"The Arcobaleno?" Xanxus asks, glancing up from his drawing board.

"Yes and his fucking strategy is to shoot me with Dying Will bullets!" Francesco shouts, throwing up his hands. "Admittedly that is what got me up here, as my dying regret was not getting a chance to tell you about this farce, but still! He shot me! In the head! I fucking died!"

"Why are you in your underwear?" Xanna asks, perfectly reasonably. She knows a lot about those bullets from Xanxus's projects and they don't do this.

"Custom modification," Xanxus explains succinctly with a smirk. "Don't get hit."

"Thank-you for that, I'm raiding your wardrobe," Cesco replies grumpily, levering himself off the couch and limping deeper into the suite. "You're at least tall enough for me to do that now."

Xanxus is actually slightly taller than Francesco despite being more than four years younger, which is vaguely amusing to Xanna. Her Sky is very tall, much taller than his father and even has a good five centimetres on Massimo, who is next tallest of the Vongola brothers. He hasn't stopped growing yet either; he looks a lot like his brothers around the face, Federico in particular, but is much taller and leaner than any of them. Enrico looks taller and slimmer than he actually is but that is due to wearing pinstripe suits and clever tailoring.

"Your foot is shit," her Sky tells the Cavallone Heir when he returns wearing a borrowed t-shirt and pair of tracksuit trousers.

"I know," Francesco grumbles, dropping back onto the sofa with a groan. "I was trying to design a better one but then I got set upon by a demented toddler."

Xanxus tears off his current page, sets it to one side and joins the older teen on the sofa. "Show me," he demands, handing over his pencil.

"Okay, well…"

Xanna tunes them out, not really interested in the technicalities of load and form and stress. Then Xanxus throws a cushion at her. "What?"

Her Sky points at the coffee table with the pencil. "Sit."

"Why?" she asks, getting reluctantly to her feet.

"Foot," Xanxus tells her, waving his hand impatiently in her direction and grabbing her ankle the moment she sits down, pulling the requested appendage onto his lap. Then he starts flexing it, staring attentively and feeling how the bones move and the muscles pull.

"Sorry," Francesco tells her sheepishly as Xanxus prods at her toes.

"It's fine," Xanna tells him. It's not like she's got anything better to do right now and it's almost like a foot massage. "Besides, better prosthetic designs mean better care for men injured in service and improved chances for them to get back into work. Let Xanxus get his geek on and you'll be running around properly again in no time."

Her Sky pokes the sole of her foot with the pencil point in retaliation for the jab at his nerdy tendencies and she sticks her tongue out at him. "What, it's true," she tells him. "You are a total Flame Tech geek and were just as bad over guns even before Cesco got you into metalwork and engineering generally. Your brain is terrifying and magnificent and I am in awe."

Xanxus gives her a Look and continues playing with her foot with his left hand, leaning into Francesco so he can sketch with his right. "Like you aren't hot shit with Flame circuitry," he retorts absently.

"It's easy with Lightning; I just crib off regular electronics and fiddle it until I find the optimal layout," Xanna says dismissively. "I'm not thinking outside the box much."

"Your Flames manifest as plasma blades and you do it subconsciously," Xanxus counters dryly, "and that was before you started fucking about with electromagnetic fields."

"You had to explain the equations to me with very small words." Physics is not Xanna's best subject; those are still biology and economics.

"You make them and they're stable."

"Both of you are brilliant and terrifying and I adore you equally," Cesco says easily, "and not just because you saved my baby brother from having Reborn set on him." He shudders. "Dino's only thirteen."

"I'm only fourteen, trash," Xanxus drawls without looking up from Xanna's foot, pencil still scratching confidently on the drawing board.

"You are a genius and not fair to the rest of humanity," the Cavallone Heir retorts without missing a beat. "My little brother has only just graduated middle school!"

"Your hitman is coming," Xanxus replies absently, pressing his thumb into the ball of her foot. "Do we have anatomy books?"

"I've got our physical education textbook from first year on my shelf," Xanna replies; "there's a section on bones and musculature."

"Fetch it."

"Let go of my foot then."

"No."

Xanna rolls her eyes. "Fine then, Mr Show-Off." She can in fact move things with her Flames even when she can't see them, so long as she knows where they are and can visualise what she wants. Electromagnetic fields are fun like that and Xanxus is intensely proud of her achievements with them.

The door to the hall opens to admit a toddler in a suit with Flames far too big for his body just as Xanna is floating the desired textbook across the room. She manages to set it down gently on the couch next to Xanxus's thigh despite the distraction. "Your book, your Highness."

Xanxus ignores the sarcasm and flicks through the pages, grabbing her foot with his right hand when she tries to take it back. "Stay."

"Not a dog," Xanna reminds him dryly.

Her Sky grins toothily without looking up, patting her foot patronisingly. "My pretty little pixie."

Xanna wishes very much that Xanxus had not sat in on some of her training sessions with the Varia Lightning Officer and heard the man calling her 'sprite'. Why he and his boss had refused to call her anything else was still a mystery but Xanxus thought it was hilarious and is still buying her fairy-themed stuff over a year on. Not that Xanna minds wearing things that are pastel, floral, gauzy or sparkly, but body glitter is not exactly professional and it is hard to get people to take you seriously at formal events when your Sky makes you wear a flower crown.

"Crow," she retorts. Xanxus's fondness for black, black and more black has only become more acute as he ages; right now he's wearing black eyeliner, nail polish and lipstick along with a black tank top and leggings, making him look a lot like the vengeance-driven comic-book character her nickname for him alludes to.

"At least you've managed to make some useful allies, Cripple-Cesco."

Xanna twitches at the casually ableist insult that she'd thought she'd managed to properly stamp out of the stupider people at school in the five months since her friend's maiming. "The last person who called Francesco that mysteriously fell down two flights of stairs," she says to nobody in particular.

"Broke both legs and his spine in three places," Xanxus agrees, his fingers tightening on her ankle. The idiot had actually only broken one of his legs falling down the stairs; the other leg Xanxus had very deliberately stomped on when he arrived at the bottom. On the fibula to be specific, as it is more fragile and without it standing up is not possible as it provides joint stability. A broken tibia is not nearly so restricting in terms of locomotion.

"Guys, please," Cesco mumbles, a hand over his eyes.

"You are not crippled," Xanna says matter-of-factly. "You ran up here on your crappy prosthetic foot."

"I only ran for about five minutes," their friend mumbles, "then I got a lift." Well that makes a bit more sense; it's a long, long way to Cesco's house from here.

"Still ran," Xanna repeats. "You're only crippled if you allow yourself to be limited by your circumstances, which you are not doing. We are building you a better foot at your instigation."

"Could weaponise it," Xanxus adds. "Be easy." He lets go of her foot as his hand snakes back to the drawing board over Francesco's lap, his eyes still on the textbook on his left.

"I don't know how to fight," Cesco mutters, hands now twisting in his lap.

"Learn to kick things," Xanna suggests. "That way you don't need to worry about weapons and your current prosthetic might be crappy but it's still solid. Besides, you dance very well so fighting shouldn't take you much to learn."

"I'm not that great," Cesco says quietly.

"Cesco, you did ballet through elementary and middle school; you have excellent balance and can probably kick like a mule," Xanna tells him dryly. She's seen him playing football and he's terrifying.

"Ballet?" Xanxus's head shoots up, his expression utterly delighted.

"Xanna I told you that in strict confidence!" their friend wails, both hands whipping up to cover his face.

The miniature hitman climbs up onto the coffee table next to her. "Ballet is useful for instilling flexibility and poise, Lame-Cesco, both of which are very important in a mafia boss."

Xanna lets the 'lame' slide; it's factual, currently somewhat accurate and the man has at least dropped 'cripple'. It won't last long once they get the new foot made.

"Xanna?"

"Hm?" Xanna doesn't look up from her book as Xanxus sprawls across the bed and rests his head on her lower back.

"Why did you stop dating?"

Xanna ponders the question from her recently-fifteen-year-old Sky; to be honest she hadn't noticed. When did she last… oh, almost a year ago. "I lost interest," she says honestly. "I'm more than halfway to nineteen, I finished puberty a while back and my hormones have settled down; I don't really have much of a sex drive anymore and there's nobody around who's really interesting enough that I want to make an effort for them."

Her Sky started taking a much more marked interest in her romantic escapades after boyfriend number three, who tried to pressure her into having sex with him and then got confrontational with her when she dumped him due to having no intention of doing so. Didone and Daniela helped her get away from him the first time, but the second confrontation happened while she was hanging out with Xanxus. Who set the guy on fire for accusing her of a load of really awful things, including that she was 'cheating on him'.

"So you're not really bothered about sex, despite never having had any."

"Define 'had sex'." Xanna smiles over her shoulder as her Sky stiffens.

"Who?" He demands, levering himself up with a hand on her thigh.

"Answer my question first," she demands lightly. "How do you define sex, Xanxus? Is it any kind of sexual contact, orgasms, intercourse, what?"

"Sex is somebody else touching your genitals," Xanxus says bluntly. "Rape is somebody doing so without your consent." That's a pretty broad definition really.

"In which case, yes I have had sex," Xanna replies. "Several times." If he'd specified intercourse then her answer would have been 'no, never' and if he'd said orgasms then the answer would have been 'twice'.

"With. Whom?" Xanxus demands through gritted teeth.

"I consented, so why are you upset?"

"You're mine."

"Xanxus, when I pledged myself to you I specified no sexual favours. You agreed," Xanna reminds him firmly. "You are all I have but you do not get veto over who I am intimate with. That is my choice and mine alone."

Xanxus growls and throws himself back down on top of her. Xanna goes back to her reading.

"So you don't like sex," he grumbles eventually into her shirt.

"It's okay," Xanna concedes, "but I do not feel that my life is in any way lacking without it. How about you?" If this is a conversation then he should reciprocate.

"Not had sex yet."

"Interested?"

"Yes." A pause. "Very."

"You've probably got a much higher sex drive than me then," Xanna says bluntly. "I was never massively interested unless I was already making out with somebody." She was already somewhat aware of him being more into sex than her, seeing as they share a bed and wet dreams are a thing. That had been acutely embarrassing for Xanxus the first few times but these days he usually wakes up and takes himself off to the bathroom rather than making a mess of the sheets.

"You don't get dreams." Clearly Xanxus's thoughts are wandering in the same direction as hers.

"Not like that, no." She doesn't really masturbate either; touching herself doesn't do much for her so she no longer bothers.

"What would make you interested?"

Xanna ponders the question. "Clarify that, please."

"What would it take to make you interested in sex?"

"The right person and the right circumstances," Xanna replies instantly.

"What circumstances?" Xanxus really has a bee in his bonnet about this, doesn't he?

"Xanxus, I would like to be a mother someday," she tells him quietly; this is a private ambition she's never shared before. "But I want to have the father of my children at my side helping me raise them, which means being married. If I ever find somebody I can love who loves me, is willing to commit to me completely and marry me, despite my being your Guardian and all that involves, then I will happily have sex with them to maintain our relationship and conceive our children."

"Sex as relationship maintenance?" Xanxus is clearly bemused.

"Sex is intimate, it connects people," Xanna says softly. "Spouses need to be connected in order for a marriage to work, and exclusive sex with somebody you love strengthens the relationship."

"We have a relationship."

"We do, but I'm your Guardian and pledged to you; that makes me subordinate. Marriage is a covenant between people who recognise and accept each-other as equals." She is not going to have sex with Xanxus and be his kept woman. She wants to be married to somebody who looks at her as his equal, respects her strength and asks her things rather than ordering her about. Anything less than that is just not enough.

"I don't think Enrico is ever going to accept a woman as his equal," Xanxus mutters snidely.

"In which case he's never going to have a proper marriage, even if he does manage to find a woman prepared to put up with him," Xanna replies, letting him change the subject. Whatever that was about, Xanxus now knows exactly where she stands.

"And neither is Massimo."

"Massimo likes men."

"Oh." A long and thoughtful pause. "Likes Andrea?" Andrea Esposito is Massimo's Sun Guardian.

"Pretty sure they're married in every way except the official one." It's not yet legal in Italy for two people of the same gender to be married.

"Oh." Another very long pause. "Federico?"

"Federico is more in love with the idea of being in love than with anybody in particular," Xanna says dryly, "but he does actually respect women so he might eventually find somebody willing to put up with him." Federico is also a bit in the closet since she's mostly sure he's attracted to pretty men as much as he is to women, hence his enduring discomfort with Xanxus's fondness for makeup. The fact they're related likely makes it worse, along with the massive age difference; it's sexist but Federico is probably less hung up about the ages of pretty girls who catch his eye than the pretty boys.

"How do you notice this shit?"

Xanna rolls her eyes, not that her Sky can see them. "I pay attention and I know when people lie, even the little slippery lies that are almost true but not quite. Love is a little bit like truth and Massimo loves Andrea more than anybody else, Enrico doesn't really love anybody as much as he loves himself and Federico loves indiscriminately." Love is love, be it carnal or familial or platonic it all looks the same to her.

"Dad?"

"Loves all you boys the same and nobody else as much as he does you, not even your grandma although she comes a close second."

"Me?" This is a test.

"You love your father, grandmother and me the most, your brothers second and our friends third." Despite probably liking his friends more than he does his brothers; love is not rational.

"I do." He believes her.

"I wouldn't lie."

"I know that," Xanxus pats the back of her knee, "but you might be mistaken."

"I am not perfect and I do make mistakes," Xanna agrees. Just because somebody loves you, it doesn't mean they won't hurt you terribly if it suits them. Just because somebody is telling you the truth, doesn't mean that what those words mean to them is the same thing that they mean when you say them. Love is not safe and neither is truth, but they are far better than the alternatives.

Xanna is showering after a training session when Xanxus breaks the lock on the bathroom door and pins her to the tiles by her throat. "Did you know?" He hisses.

"What's wrong?" Is somebody dead? Has Xanxus found out something his father has done that he finds unpalatable?

"I'm not Don Vongola's son!" Oh. That.

"You knew!" The hand around her neck tightens; Xanna calls on her Flames to Harden the tissues around her trachea, veins and arteries so she doesn't choke or pass out.

"I suspected!" She gasps. "No proof!" Her Sky lets go of her and she slides down the wall into a sitting position. The shower is still running, she has bubbles in her hair and Xanxus's upper half is soaking wet, rivulets streaming down his body and soaking into his trousers.

"Suspected what exactly?" Xanxus demands flatly, reaching across and turning off the water. Xanna glares up at him.

"You look nothing like Don Vongola; he had light brown hair before he went grey and you told me your mother was blonde, so they couldn't have had a black-haired child together as genetics don't work like that. Never mind how much taller than him you are. You look more like Enrico and Federico around the face and they apparently take after their mother. I thought you might be one of theirs, or maybe their mother had a brother or a nephew and you were his kid." She has had a lot of time to think about this after all.

"He calls me his son all the time and you never called him out for lying!"

"Xanxus, when he calls you his son he is telling the truth," Xanna says quietly, "because he truly considers you to be such, but notice that he has never once called you his heir, or at least not in my hearing." She sighs. "Words mean different things to different people."

Xanxus drops to the floor, jams a fist in his mouth and screams, tears welling up. Xanna scrambles out of the shower on her knees and hugs him tightly; his free arm wraps around her waist and drags her closer still. "Sorry," she whispers into his neck. "I didn't want to say anything when I didn't know for sure. You might still be Vongola even if you aren't the Don's youngest. I don't know. I don't think anybody knows for sure unless they've done a proper paternity test, which they probably haven't since the Don claimed you."

"I'm fucking nobody!" Xanxus snarls miserably into her hair. "He lied to me all this time! He knows I want to be Tenth and everybody else wants me to as well and he never said! I've got no right to fucking nothing!"

"You are still my Sky," Xanna says fiercely. "I pledged to you not caring whose son you were; all that matters to me is that you are you. I am yours, I will always be yours and I am not about to start letting Don Vongola change that after defying him for this long."

"What? How long?" Xanxus drags himself back so he can look her in the eyes; he's got tear-tracks on his cheeks and there's a muscle jumping in his jaw.

"Xanxus, Don Vongola has been nothing but disapproving of me since you brought me here," Xanna says tiredly. "He thought I was trying to take advantage of you from day one. He only stopped thinking that when I went Active protecting you, at which point he decided I was simply a bad influence and needed to be taught better. Hence all those god-awful tutors. He is still firmly of the opinion that I am a bad influence and that is unlikely to ever change."

"That explains a lot," Xanxus mumbles. "Like why he tried to send you to school in the first place. You knew even then?"

"I knew even then," Xanna admits heavily. "I didn't want to ruin your relationship with him though, so I didn't say anything."

"You really loved me that much when I was a bratty kid?" Xanxus does have a remarkable knack for emotional subtext when he's actually paying attention.

"I've always loved you this much, brat," Xanna says tiredly, "and I always will. Despite you trying to strangle me in the shower over things beyond my control."

"Sorry." Xanxus hangs his head. "You said," he hesitates, "you think I might still be Vongola?"

"All we know for sure is that Timoteo Vongola is not your father," Xanna says quietly. "Enrico, Massimo and Federico are all old enough to have sired you and I know nothing about their mother's family, who she was descended from or anything. There are five generations of Vongola Dons who lived and married in this area, almost all of whom had more than one child, so you could very easily still be Vongola to some degree or other. A blood test would determine how closely you are related to Enrico, Massimo and Federico and then we could investigate from there based on the results. It would be tricky, but it should be possible to pin down whether you actually are Vongola."

"Okay." Xanxus takes a short, sharp breath. "So maybe I'm Vongola. I'm still angry with the Don though."

"That is your prerogative," Xanna concedes. "He may not have outright lied but he has been wilfully deceiving you and the entire Vongola Alliance for most of a decade."

"I hate him," Xanxus admits bitterly, still staring at his knees. "Why lie? It's pointless!"

"I really don't know why he lies all the time," Xanna replies sadly, "just that he does. I've never been curious about why." Lying is a weakness –a vulnerability– but she has never been inherently interested in exploiting Don Vongola's flaws. It's Xanxus's wellbeing that had always been her priority.

Xanxus finally, reluctantly lets go of her and rises to his feet. "I'm going to change and work on my guns," he mutters, leaving the room and quietly closing the door behind him. Xanna stands up, stares at the busted lock for a few seconds then turns on the shower again. She needs to at least finish rinsing her hair before she can do anything about this.