86) The end, a year later

Mira remained busy as ever, making sure than the inner workings of Varia flowed together like a well-oiled machine. Being the Boss's wife didn't exactly exempt her from doing paperwork, her most dreaded task, except now it wasn't thrown at her in such high concentrations anymore. The menial task had been handed off to grunts and their branch of cubicle workers so she could attend to more pressing matters—and currently, it was her husband's lack of whiskey that now called for her attention.

The couple made excellent drinking partners but if Xanxus had one rule, it was that whoever drinks the last drop buys the next one. She was welcome to his vast stores of liquor so long as she kept to the rule and out of the vintage whiskey he so loved. One night, Mira decided to break out his latest vintage, a fifty-year-old single malt. He had hidden it away on purpose—it was meant for him and him alone. He wasn't about to share that bottle but Mira welcomed herself to it nonetheless. She only wanted a few shots, that's all…but then two turned to five and that number doubled, tripled and next thing she knew, all but the glass was gone. She climbed into bed that night, reeking of whiskey and it took all of Xanxus's being not to pick her up and throw her out the nearest window. She'd probably survive it anyway, but that wasn't the point. Obviously, the man loved his booze more than his own wife.

That was a week ago. They hadn't spoken to each other since—Mira, because she really felt bad for what she'd done and Xanxus, because he made it a habit to keep his hands off her when he was feeling especially angry. Little Angelo, barely five, had no notion as to why his parents weren't on speaking terms. "Was it really that bad, Uncle Squalo?"

The boy latched himself to the swordsman, eyes wide with anticipation for an answer. Frowning, the white-haired assassin tried to find a response that wouldn't scar him for life and make him think differently about his parents. "If you knew your dad, you'd understand. See, your mom…" he struggled to find the right words that didn't include something along the lines of "yeah, she's a crazy alcoholic. But don't worry! She gets that from your old man.

Oddly enough, he was glad for Bel's backup. The prince was simply all too happy to offer an explanation. "Shishishi~ your mommy finished off daddy's favorite juice and he got mad! Oh yes, he was…he loves that juice. Shishishi~"

"Well, he can have some of mine," he said, shaking the grape juice box beneath the Prince's nose. "He must like grape, right? I know Mom doesn't so I must get it from him. And it's yummy. I think he'd like it too."

Yeah, if he gave it a chance. Squalo couldn't help but snort at the thought. That's one fat fucking chance. Thinking the same thing, Bel cackled, taking the remains of the juicebox and finishing it off. Then he tossed the carton up in the air, pinning it against the ceiling with one of his knives. Watching the whole spectacle was Angelo and he clapped when he heard that sturdy thunk. The boy was so easily impressed with the Prince that it was starting to give Squalo the creeps. Note to self: Find the kid better playmates.

The swordsman glared at Bel who seemed rather pleased with his performance. "VOIII, Prince Fuckface, who do you think's gonna clean that up?"

"The help~" he sang simply, twirling a knife expertly through his fingers. "Right, Angelo? Here." He handed the boy one of his weapons and pointed up at the empty carton pierced against the high ceiling above them. "Shishishi~ let's see you try to hit that!"

All too eager to impress, Angelo leapt from where he was sitting next to Squalo and looked up at his target. Squalo figured it'd be useless to stop them; the boy had developed a fondness for knives and Bel's fighting prowess. Plus, he was stubborn as hell, but he blamed his parents for that. He watched as Angelo assessed the distance, pulled out a length of wire as Bel taught him, threaded the knife and let it loose like a slingshot. The knife cut through the air gracefully, landing with the same sound as the Prince did earlier, but this one managed to knock down the previous knife. Waiting with an expectant hand, Angelo caught it without so much as a scratch and handed it back to his mentor.

"Shishishi~ you've done well, little squire!" he said as he patted his apprentice's head.

Angelo was grinning from ear to ear and even Squalo couldn't help but be caught in his infectious smile. However, their moment of pride would soon be cut short. At the sound of heels clicking on the marble floor, they looked towards the direction of the sound…

"Dammit, Bel!" Along came Mira, glowering at the grinning Prince and the swordsman. Naturally, Angelo escaped her wrath but it didn't bode well for his two older companions.

"VOII, don't go lumping me in with this little shit!" Squalo growled, glaring at Bel, their royal instigator. "He started it."

"Yeah, and you should've ended it," she retorted. Mira sighed, eyes traveling up to the juice box pierced on the ceiling. No doubt she'd seen her son put it up there because she rubbed his head in absent-minded admiration. "Nice shot, sweetheart. But really, why the ceiling?!"

The boy shrugged, his long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks in a look of repentance. "I'm sorry. I promise I won't do it again." Squalo resisted the urge to laugh. Yeah right. He was a little hell raiser, but in his mother's presence, he was a docile as a newborn pup. As soon as she turned around, he'd be up to his usual mischief again, knowing that any misdemeanor could easily be forgiven with a few batted eyelashes.

"Damn straight, you won't. Bel." Mira turned to the other household troublemaker.

"Shishishi~ what does the peasant lady want?"

As she jerked a thumb upwards, Angelo shied away, finding safety beside Squalo while his mother chewed out the Prince. "Who the hell do you think is going to clean that up?"

"Why, the help, of course."

"Help, my ass. You scared away the new staff we hired last week!"

But reproach could never touch the mop-haired brat. Interestingly enough, that never stopped Mira from talking to him as if he were her own child. Sometimes Squalo wondered if she forgot that this was an elite assassin, not a little boy. But all the same, Bel stood there, taking her reproach as if it were the most amusing thing in the world. "Correction: They ran away. Shishishi~ although some didn't run fast enough…or make it very far."

The swordsman rolled his eyes. He really had to get Angelo away from the tiara-wearing psycho. Heaven forbid the kid followed that example as well. Next thing we know, there would be no more underlings for Varia. They'd have killed them all for target practice!

Shaking her head, Mira waved a dismissive hand. "You know what, forget it. How about you hire the staff next time? Squalo, help him."

"VOIII!" His sudden outburst made Angelo jump a bit. Even though the Prince had already disappeared with a complacent nod in agreement, he certainly wasn't on board with that plan. "And why the fuck should I do that?! I wasn't the one sticking juice boxes up on the ceiling!"

"OKAY, I GOT THAT!" she yelled back, one finger plugging at eardrum. With her free hand, she patted him, a gesture that was meant to appease but failed to do so. "Just do it, okay? Just this once. I'll treat you to something when I see the new grunts."

The swordsman folded his arms across his chest defiantly. "I'm not doing it."

"Listen, I've gotta run. Bye, sweetheart," she said, bending down to plant a kiss on Angelo's cheek.

"Bye, Mom. Be safe!"

She walked away from them, heels clicking as she raised a hand to wave at them.

"I never said yes!" Squalo called after her.

"Thank you!"

The shark snarled, flicking her off even though she was already so far away from them. "FUCK YOU!" He completely forgot himself in that moment and he looked down at Angelo, only to find the boy giggling behind hands cupped over his mouth.

"You and mom are funny."

You've got a weird sense of humor, kid. "Don't…repeat that. Just don't do it." I don't think Xanxus is gonna take that too well. Sure, the man was as unconventional as fathers go, but he still wouldn't have his son talking to his mother that way. In promoting his own brand of discipline, the Boss only needed to glare and all words would be snuffed out of the boy. They made decent parents, surprisingly, despite their jobs. They just might be able to raise this one right.

"Now move along, Angelo," he said, urging him south of the long hallway. Mira already hired a tutor for her son, even at such a young age. "You've got lessons."

Angelo wrinkled his nose, pouting. "But Mr. DeMilo's so boring. When's Mom coming back? Where is she going?"

Come to think of it, Mira never mentioned that part. What did she have to take care of this time? "Errands," he answered simply. "Don't be a pain in the butt. Now go and learn something."

Begrudgingly, the boy obeyed. He entered the drawing room where his lessons were usually held without another complaint. Mira would've been proud. But Squalo couldn't help but shake the nagging feeling in his gut. When he could no longer hear her footfalls, it gnawed at him, making its presence all the more evident. She was no errand girl and Xanxus preferred to keep her in the mansion, save for a select few missions. It must have been something personal then. A check-up with Shamal? It was possible; he knew she hadn't been in the best condition lately. But she would've told me. She always told him everything, whether he wanted to hear them or not. And he would always be there, whether she wanted him or not.

Annoyed with himself, he decided not to delve into the matter further. She'll be back, he thought. She always comes back.

Dark, heavy curtains covered the tall windows in his room, letting only slivers of sunlight in through the exposed areas. Xanxus sat in the bleakness of it all, sloshing vodka around in his glass. Lazy lidded eyes watched as the ice clinked in a circle, the only sound that filled the room. Usually there would be one other person in there sharing a drink with him—but that was before she decided to be uncharacteristically greedy. It's been a week since they sat there together, a week since they shared their bed.

Hadn't he always been clear about what he wanted? But no…she just had to go and do what he specifically told her not to. Stubborn as he was, he decided not to talk to her until she replaced what she had finished. In response, she withheld sex. Mira had been sleeping in one of the guest room and now he was sober and celibate—for an entire week.

This is fucking ridiculous, he thought, putting the glass down on his desk without smashing it, for once. He wasn't even sure what to be mad at anymore—the imposed celibacy or the unintentional sobriety that came with it. Oh, but he would have his revenge. She had no right—no fucking right—to deny him his needs. Being an alcoholic was one thing…but a sexually frustrated alcoholic? Obviously his wife was asking for trouble. Nonetheless, he intended to teach her a lesson. Just as soon as she gets back.

Sitting by a window, Xanxus raised his eyes briefly to watch her car leave the Varia gates. Much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, he missed her. The feel of her, inside and out…he never left her alone for too long and he'd yet to get tired of her. Perhaps, in some unknown realm in his mind, he wanted another child. He knew she did too and she'd never been opposed to trying. Since they got married, the thought of condoms and birth control never again crossed their minds. Like any good Italian family, they would breed like rabbits with the intention of having as many kids as they could.

But then it happened—the miscarriage. Maybe that was why she drank herself into a stupor. A week ago, he found her passed out in the empty tub, blood pooling between her legs. Weakly, she whispered for him to call for Shamal. The Boss had Squalo get that perverted doctor to look at his wife. While the swordsman stood guard at their door, he watched the man like a cobra ready to strike, just in case he planned to touch her the wrong way. Perhaps it was his presence or the gravity of the situation, but Shamal quickly came up with a diagnosis.

"She's been poisoned," he said as he injected her with something, one of his self-developed medicines to help her get better quickly. "Someone wanted her to lose that baby."

Xanxus remembered glancing at her sleeping face, noting the distraught lines that didn't belong there. The sight of her, unconscious and hurt, pissed him off beyond compare. He felt rage bubbling like lava in his veins; there was a sorry fucker out there who would harm his wife and kill his child. Whoever it was, they deserved to die. He would see to it personally.

As the Doctor began packing his things, he left him with a word of advice. "Find a new staff. Someone might be slipping it into her food or drinks, I don't know. But keep a close watch on those who get close to her."

No one mentioned the incident afterwards. Squalo kept quiet and carried on and Xanxus never told her the Doctor's theory. As it turns out, only Shamal had known she was pregnant; she was going to surprise everyone when she got to her second trimester. That worked out like shit. Nonetheless, he took it upon himself to eliminate any hidden threats. Knowing Mira wouldn't just dispose of workers, he gave Bel permission to use them however he saw fit. Obviously the Prince had a field day, purging Varia headquarters of the scum who ran from his knives. Only cowards would think to sneak poison into food. For a while, he thought their system had been cleansed thoroughly. Mira would be able to recover and who knows, she might get pregnant again.

And so he continued to sit in the dark, waiting for his wife to come back. Just as he'd left it, his drink remained untouched.

It was an understatement to say she was pleased with herself. But damn, she did a good job this time! Sitting on the passenger seat was her prize, hidden in a brown bag—a newly-acquired vintage to replace the one she drained mercilessly. She'd fought tooth and nail for it at an auction against a portly man, but in the end, she won. Okay, so she pulled some strings, made some phone calls and perhaps uttered a few threats of her own. Nevertheless, she came out the victor and now she driving home with her prize. Surely, Xanxus would be satisfied now?

She wanted to win back his favor now more than ever. It wasn't her style, playing the lapdog, but she felt it was necessary. They were going to have a child, but her body had been too weak to sustain it. It's my fault, she thought, remembering her emptiness. Mira believed her baby's blood was on her hands and she could never wash it away.

Still, it wasn't too late to mend things with her husband. The vintage would be a peace offering. Then they can go from there and start again. They could have another child. Oh, how she wanted another baby. Her little Angelo wasn't so little anymore and she was certain he'd make a wonderful big brother.

A girl would be nice, she thought and the idea itself made her smile. She could paint one of the rooms a pink sunset hue, with doves and cloud-lounging cherubs on the ceiling to keep her daughter company. As visions of teddy bears and tiny ballet slippers filled her head, the daydream was interrupted when her phone rang. Mira reached for her phone and frowned at the number registered on the screen. Apparently Vongola Headquarters was calling…but through an extension? The lower branches rarely ever contacted her; for one, they didn't have her number and she wasn't exactly the type to just give it out. She picked up, not knowing what to expect, and heard a bone-chilling voice rasp on the other line. "Help…me…"

Over and over, the plea was repeated. It sounded like a dying man, heaving as he breathed his last. "Who is this?" she demanded.

There was no way she couldn't have anticipated the stranger's response; it was a name she hadn't heard in a long time. A name she thought she buried, along with the rest of the Montecarlo Family. "Help me….Emilia…"

Mira slammed on her brakes, stopping in the middle of the highway. Seeing as there were no other vehicles present, she turned the car around and headed towards Vongola Headquarters instead. Someone was playing a nasty joke and she meant to set them straight. Oh yes, someone would give her answers—she didn't care who it was—whether they wanted to or not…

She floored the gas, the Maserati blazing down the road at an impossible speed. Italian cars were made for this shit. She may have passed by a cop car or two, but they knew her. Hell, she already bought the police in the immediate area and they wouldn't dare set their sirens on her. Mira's one-track mind was already dead set on finding the mystery caller hiding in the Vongola mansion…

…so determined, she was, that when a truck appeared after her last sharp turn, she flinched at the sunburst brightness of his headlights. Her car, the truck driving on her lane, even the road—they all ceased to exist. By the time her foot found the brake, it was too late. The Maserati rammed headfirst into the truck's grille, dissolving into the mammoth, gas-hauling vehicle. It resembled an accordion of crushed metal and glass as it rained debris everywhere. The impact jarred the respective drivers in their seats, tearing appendages away from their ragdoll bodies.

As the crash came to a screeching halt, the truck's cargo was punctured, leaking gas. It flowed a serpentine way towards the burning, overturned Maserati like a moth drawn to a flame. The explosion that followed was heard by a police cruiser, a newbie—he hadn't been bought yet. He was tailing Mira with the intention of giving her a speeding ticket; now he had to report the tragedy instead. The cop fumbled with his radio and spoke in a shaky voice. "S-sir? Please, anyone, come in…I-I've just witnessed an accident…"

In the distant future, a white-haired man crossed a wide expanse of pearly tiled floors as he headed towards the elevator at the end of the hallway. Beside him was a silver-haired youth, her face devoid of expression. Her older companion glanced down at her, his hand wrist-deep in a bag of marshmallows. He could never read her expression, seeing as how it barely existed on her features. Those red eyes of hers seemed to be dead unless one addressed her directly…even then, you'd be lucky if she bothered to raise an eyebrow at you. Her face was an impenetrable force and so he made a game out of it. A guessing game.

"Hungry?" he asked cheerfully, holding the bag out to her.

As if an imaginary thread had been snapped, the girl blinked in attention and fixed her crimson gaze on his offering. "No, thank you." The girl was painfully polite that it was annoying. Her presence made for a stuffy atmosphere and he would've disposed of her a long ago had she not proved her worth. She was useful—strong, too—and for that, he would happily suffer the banality of her character.

The elevator ride was deathly quiet, one would think they were attending someone's funeral. On the contrary, he was about to show her a live body rather than a dead one. As soon as the heavy metal doors slid open, they stepped into the cold basement of the building, moving purposefully past massive storage units and carriers. They kept all sorts of things down there—antiques, firearms, poachers' goods and just about anything of value. The building, their beloved headquarters, practically sat on a fortune. But these were "collectors' items" after all, and certainly not for sale. Each one was labeled and catalogued and left to collect dust for eternity…all except one.

He took her all the way to the deepest part of the basement. Soon, the number of storage units and lights overhead began to dwindle until they stood in the darkest part of the compound. It would've have been pitch black where they were…except they received a bit of illumination from the glass dome bolted to the floor. Somehow it reminded him of an igloo; there was only one entrance, an automatic sliding door that granted them passage as they approached. But igloos didn't have large bundles of wires and tubes attached to them and this one did. They were bound by the hundreds, as thick as a man's thigh, with blue light pulsing through them like a beating heart. It was an intricate network of give and take, reaping and return…and at the heart of it all was its source: a fluid-filled glass tank containing a sleeping woman.

Slowly, the red-eyed girl walked up to the slumbering specimen and placed a hand against the cold glass. Her face betrayed no emotion as she looked at the woman, naked save for a mask that helped her breathe. The white-haired man walked up beside her and tapped at the tank with a knuckle. "They tell me that's amniotic fluid in there…you know, the kind babies swim in when they're in their mom's tummy?" He laughed and popped a marshmallow into his mouth. "So what do you think?"

"It's all true then," she said, her gaze never leaving the woman's face. For a moment, her older companion wondered if she'd start crying. "I've heard about that scar. So it really is her…"

The man grinned, obviously pleased with himself. "The one and only."

"And she's alive?"

Silly girl, he wanted to say, but he made himself smile instead. "Of course. We sustain her, just as she sustains us. Quid pro quo. It's a good arrangement, isn't it?"

The girl nodded in agreement. "Can I see her more often now?"

He chuckled and patted her on the head like a little dog. "Only if you keep doing your job right." She had yet to fail him so far. When that time comes, he wouldn't blink at her execution. He'd already given her a gift, after all. The sweetest reunion between mother and child…and I made it happen.

Whew. Finally got to the end.

A million thanks for the reviews! And a million apologies for taking forever to finish this!

:D