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Yamamoto stared out the window at the rain, unsure of what it meant anymore. He used to know, probably still did somewhere in the back of his mind. He wondered if this went any further... if he'd still be fit to be the Rain Guardian, if the ring would still accept him. Could flames change--could people change? Probably not. Hopefully not. Hopefully he would find his tranquility once again and he would never have to go back to that place. It was awful there, awful how well he could fit in. Maybe that was what tranquility was all about--going with the flow with a smile.
There had just been something horrible about dragging Gokudera out of the water, up onto the beach and leaving a red trail in the sand. He'd called the medical unit as soon as he was finished killing those men in the car. They had been awful too, discarding Gokudera like he was garbage. After all, the hitman who'd killed their ally, that was who the men were after--the Rain Guardian was the target. That's who they wanted to take back; the Storm Guardian was the lucky one, they'd said. Yamamoto was about to enter into a world of pain. They would bend him until he broke; but, really, after the car had fallen into the sea, Yamamoto had already snapped.
Yamamoto had killed them; there was no hesitation. If he had to pick--and he did--between them and his famiglia, he could kill a hundred. A thousand. Maybe that's what Reborn had meant; he'd never gotten the chance to ask that man though. He didn't like to dwell on it so much, what being a natural-born hitman really meant. The thought of discovering the answer scared Yamamoto sometimes; sometimes it didn't so much. And that, in its own way, scared him.
His lips had found Gokudera's cold, bluish ones, hitting the man's chest while trying to avoid the gash in his side. It was like some sordid romance movie, the waves lapping at their feet and legs while Yamamoto balanced over his lover--lover, yeah right--passionately kissing him on the beach. Except Gokudera wasn't kissing him back, and soft moans gurgled with water instead of desire. Well. Maybe a desire to breathe.
The medical unit arrived, told him to step back, and Yamamoto had with a nod. Dripping wet in the sand, he watched them work, cutting away the clothing, putting the oxygen mask on--Yamamoto had gotten him to breathe, he should be proud--and gently lifting the Storm Guardian from the beach. He watched them drive away--another car would be around shortly for Yamamoto--and was, for the first time in his life, overcome with the desire to kill. To absolutely end lives.
And he had. Many of them, men who spoke a language he didn't understand but still screamed the same. He hadn't been caught--boss' orders, after all--but there would be repercussions. After all, Squalo was right; things didn't work the same way there. These were men who played chess on their days off and valued little without worth you could measure in money. There would be repercussions. Eventually.
If Gokudera had actually died, though, there wouldn't be any repercussions, simply because there wouldn't be anyone left to dole them out.
The man in the hospital bed stirred suddenly, eyes fluttering open from across the room. He'd been sleeping for the last few hours; he must be awfully tired. Yamamoto didn't move from his spot, clenched at the windowsill to keep from rushing over. His mouth formed into a smile, nearly choking on it. "How are you feeling?"
"Like shit," Gokudera croaked, not missing a beat.
Yamamoto laughed at that automatically, finally allowing himself to move. He went for the console of buttons, hitting the third one from the left. Gokudera just stared at him from the bed; it was hard to make out his eyes in the dark. Usually they were like a cat's and almost seemed to glow. In the silence, Yamamoto tried desperately to find them despite the dark. If he found those eyes, everything would be okay. The nurse came in, flipping on the lights. Yamamoto winced from his spot against the wall; crap, that was bright.
The nurse went about the room, checking over the Storm Guardian, asking him this and that. Gokudera grunted his answers, not looking at the silent man across the room. The woman made him drink water--he did it gladly, gratefully--while she inspected the machines and his stitches. Satisfied after a few minutes, the nurse took her clipboard and her leave, reminding Yamamoto to let the patient rest if he looked tired. Yamamoto nodded, smiled, closed the door after her.
His hand stayed on the knob for just a second--just a second--and he wanted to leave through it. The feeling passed. Turning, he started to apologize: "Sorry, I had promised I'd call her in when--"
"Where have you been?" Gokudera's hands were clenched into fists on the blanket, eyes fierce in the light. They were accusing--of what, Yamamoto could only hope--and furious--about what, Yamamoto thought he had a guess--and bore into the Rain Guardian's.
Sheepishly almost, Yamamoto shrugged and took a step towards the bed, hesitating. "Just taking care of some things." He wondered if he should apologize, if that was appropriate--if that was necessary now.
A glare. "What things?"
"Some things in Russia."
Gokudera frowned. He wasn't angry--Yamamoto was well acquainted Gokudera's anger, so he could tell--but more thoughtful about what the Rain Guardian had said. Finally, with a huff, Gokudera muttered, "Whatever, tell me about it later," and relaxed his shoulders. There might be some yelling tomorrow about responsibilities, but for now Yamamoto could safely say he was off the hook.
Yamamoto smiled slightly, taking another half-step towards the bed. He knew the Storm Guardian wouldn't be mad about it--not really--since it was something Gokudera would have likely done, had it been Tsuna in the car. (Maybe if it had been Yamamoto? Maybe not, who knew.) But the man was confused why it was Yamamoto who did it, that... thing Gokudera would have done. It was bugging him, even though Yamamoto knew Gokudera was smart enough to have the answer figured out by now.
Was it really so hard to believe that Yamamoto would kill for him, on his behalf? Was it difficult to comprehend that anger? The Rain Guardian hoped the man knew he was worth it, worth every drop of blood. Had he died, the swordsman would have bled the world dry.
Another half-step towards the bed. "Hayato, am I allowed to sleep with you tonight?"
Gokudera glanced up at him briefly, considering, judging. Yamamoto didn't flinch; he already knew the answer, he was just being polite. This was the only thing he was really that confident about at the moment. Then the Storm Guardian nodded to the lights: "Turn those off. These fluorescent bulbs kill." He'd been forgiven, for now.
The taller man did as he was told, thinking how the rain became just that much louder in the dark. It hit the window, the roof, the tree leaves outside. The sound was soothing, steady. But sometimes even the rain needed to be comforted itself.
Gokudera had scooted over on the bed, keeping his injured side away from the other man. Gingerly, Yamamoto removed his black shoes, tie, and jacket before slowly crawling into the bed. He let out a deep sigh--one that surprised them both, honestly--as he lay down on his side, holding on to the smaller man's arm and all but burying his face into Gokudera's neck. A hand with an IV in it came up to dark hair, stroking it.
Yamamoto smiled into the pale neck. Gokudera was so nice, worrying all the time. The famiglia and its members came first and foremost; here was a Right in every sense of the word. He'd been worried when Yamamoto had made his first kill, back in Russia, and given all of himself to the Rain Guardian, had paused their little game for that one night. Maybe Yamamoto could dream that it was a bit more romantic than that, maybe he couldn't. But the Storm Guardian was doing it again, now, and Yamamoto was grateful. He needed this. He would need it for the rest of his life. "I'd like to be with you when you wake up from now on, Hayato. If that's okay."
"Shut up," Gokudera growled softly, flicking the scarred chin. "You weren't here when I woke up the first time."
The neck was nuzzled. "'M sorry. Let me make it up to you."
"Hmph. And how will you be doing that?"
"I'll let you choose if we move into my place or yours? Haha."
The chin was flicked again. "I'll think about it," Gokudera grumbled, shifting around on the mattress to mask his embarrassment. It was alright if he didn't say anything back; Yamamoto thought he knew the answer anyway. He'd just have to wait patiently to hear it from those lips.
They listened to the rain, letting it do most of the talking. Sleep seemed very close; there was just one last thing on the agenda, something that had been bugging Yamamoto ever since his visit from Squalo. He stumbled on the question; it came out rough, uncertain. "Do I seem... different?"
Without hesitation: "No."
Yamamto smiled, his whole body relaxing for the first time in days. "Okay." And he believed it.