Chapter Text
“It could be beneficial if he took a break.”
Abbacchio blinked, eyes squinting as if it would help him read Giorno’s thoughts better. “A break? You mean a vacation?”
He mentally scoffed at the mere thought of Bruno Bucciarati taking a vacation. He’d known Bruno for years, and not once had he ever taken a break from Passione activities. The many “breaks” he’d seen Bruno give himself were only brief periods off, due to meetings or the occasional promise he would make to citizens. In those cases, he’d have one of the team members cover for him, promising that he’ll pay them back in whatever way they desired later. He’d never actually taken days for himself.
Yet Giorno didn’t become hesitant or nervous at the obvious disdain Abbacchio was giving him, simply pointing at a location on the map he laid out in front of them. “It’s a place in the suburbs, a small town, and near the seaside. I spoke with Fugo and we picked it out together, but I still wanted to get your opinion on it, you’re with Bucciarati the most, so I figured you’d know more than us about his interests.”
“His interests tell me that when you barge into his room and force him on a vacation, he’s not going to be thrilled. You haven’t even been in charge long enough to make team decisions; nobody made you king yet.” Abbacchio hissed out.
Which was an obvious lie. Giovanna had been in charge for 4 months, a decision he had no choice in the matter with as it was decided after Diavolo’s death by the remaining living members of their team. He had been in a coma for two months, waking up in agonizing pain from Golden Experience’s abilities and whatever other shit Giovanna let the doctors do to him during that window of time. All he remembered from that period was the multitude of injections, x-rays, and bloodwork he had to endure.
Narancia was in a similar boat as his; both of their bodies were battered and in pain from the procedures, but Narancia had woken up before he did. He’d never forget the way the kid ran into his patient room, crying, after being informed that Abbacchio was awake. Nor would he forget having to fight the urge to fling Narancia off of him as the teenager hugged him far too tightly, considering his injuries. The healing process was the hardest part, having to do physical therapy just to be able to be somewhat balanced on his feet again, and the phantom pains would never go away. Meanwhile, Narancia’s injuries were focused primarily on his muscles and brain.
Despite Bucciarati having similar wounds and symptoms to him, their leader seemed to always exceed expectations. Bucciarati did wake up far later than he or Narancia, but his recovery went smoothly. He didn’t need as much physical therapy, but his injuries were more permanent. He had a weakness in his muscles and some hearing loss, which was to be expected as Bucciarati had been deceased far longer than Abbacchio or Narancia. He also experienced fatigue; some of his days were better than others. That didn’t mean Giovanna had the right to decide things for Bucciarati without him having a say in it; he was still their leader for the longest time, and there were plenty of jobs in Passione he could do without being on the frontlines. Bucciarati had been kind enough to encourage Giorno to take the position as Don as well, stating that Giorno had already accomplished so much that it was clear he was a better fit for the job.
Giorno rubbed his temple with his thumb, sighing heavily as he looked attentively at his reluctant teammate. “Abbacchio, I don’t want to make decisions for him. The others and I just think this is best for now. I haven’t known Bucciarati as long as you, and I won’t pretend that we’re close enough for me to decide anything, but we’re worried. He’s gotten better, but this will allow more time for him to heal and also gauge his strengths and weaknesses. No matter his position here, Passione doesn’t allow time for the longevity of his healing process.”
Analyzing the situation and new words, Abbacchio still didn’t believe it, not fully at least. “Is this just a vacation? ‘Cause it doesn’t feel like that’s all you’re trying to say..”
“I want this to be a good experience for him, a resting period. From what I’ve been told, he’s been in Passione all his life. I think it’s time he retired from here. I won’t force him to if he’s not willing. The vacation is mandatory, but if he goes the two months and decides he still wants to come back, I won’t stop him. I’ll give him his title as Capo or whatever else he desires; he’s a grown man, and I won’t fight his battles, but think of this like a test.” Giorno whispered, fidgeting with the pen in between his fingers.
“He can find a job there easily, the education system there allows him to take courses on anything he would like, and he could even go back to being a fisherman. Even if he decides not to work, I’ll give him a proper dismissal and cover every cost. He won’t have to work again. I owe him that much after everything. I hoped you’d stay with him; the same would go to you if you choose it. I figured you wouldn’t want to be apart from him. Please just know I’m not doing this to spite him or you; I want both of you to be happy and safe. I just wanted your opinion..”
Abbacchio hated it. Moreover, hated how Giovanna had a point. He cared about Bucciarati and his well-being. If Giovanna kept his word and didn’t force him into an early retirement, then he’d begrudgingly work with the plan. Even when he visited Bucciarati in the hospital rooms, he could see how he’d fight the pain to force a smile or wave Abbacchio off whenever he asked the man if he felt ill or needed help with anything. Sometimes, sending Abbacchio away on “errands” just to get him out of his hair. He’d follow Bucciarati to the ends of the earth no matter what the man chose to do with his life.
“Fine, we’ll have it your way, but if we do this, you’re telling him.” Abbacchio huffed.
Giorno brightened up slightly at that, his shoulders feeling less tense and nodding in agreement with a small smile. “Of course, I’ll prepare everything. He’ll enjoy it.”
He was not enjoying it.
The entire car ride had been deafeningly silent, as Bucciarati stared out the window half the time and read a book for the other half of it. Ignoring any attempt at small talk, after Mista, of course, had to mention that Abbacchio agreed to the notion of Bucciarati needing a break, implying he was worse for wear.
Bucciarati did attempt to reason with Giovanna and weasel out of the impending vacation to no avail, as even Mista had to come into the meeting and beg Bucciarati to give it a chance. Their former boss did handle it with grace, finally succumbing to defeat with a straight face, but Abbacchio could see the mask slowly slipping during the time there from annoyance.
Abbacchio disliked the idea as well, but he did enjoy spending time alone with Bucciarati, and this could be beneficial for both of their healing journeys. Although he feels absolutely sick at the prospect of even needing a break, caused by their injuries.
Even after they arrived and unpacked their belongings, things still seemed to be tense as they got used to the new surroundings. Bucciarati normally shared a house with Narancia and Fugo that he rented out, but the other teammates visited often, sometimes staying the night, so the house was big enough to accommodate that. In comparison, the one they were currently in was smaller.
It would take some getting used to, but it would be temporary if Bucciarati didn’t enjoy it here, and it was cozy enough for now. Besides, it was only their first day, and they had been here for less than 30 minutes.
“Maybe it won’t be so bad? Giovanna managed to pick someplace that was livable.” Abbacchio started with a strained laugh. Hoping to lift the mood just a tiny amount to get on Bucciarati’s good side.
Immediately, he can feel blue eyes staring at him from the remark. Nearly feeling as if they were piercing into his existence as Abbacchio set aside their bags of clothing, not knowing if he should respond to Bucciarati’s obvious disapproval or if even the slight compliment to Giovanna gave away that he was reaching for literally anything to say in the moment. Although it was clear that any mood the room did have died as soon as the words exited his mouth.
“It is decent enough, I hope you don’t mind sleeping on the couch then.”
—
He was going to die. Genuinely going to die or end up wringing Bucciarati’s neck in a burst of anger.
The two were back on speaking terms, it seemed like, but there was still unspoken tension and a weird energy in the air, given that neither knew what to do or say in the new location they found themselves at.
In the past, it would’ve been normal for Bucciarati to wake up early in the morning before Abbacchio and handle whatever business he needed to or check on the rest of their team. Since Bucciarati had woken up the months after Diavolo’s defeat, he could no longer work off his internal clock as he used to. Most days, he would sleep till noon or take long naps in the evening that bordered on hibernation. He loved Bucciarati, but dear god, if he hadn’t been testing Abbacchio’s limits the past two days.
Groaning, Abbacchio placed his pillow over his head. Trying to block out any noises coming from the living room, which was currently failing miserably. If anything, it made the sounds louder somehow.
It was apparent that Bucciarati needed a task to do at all times, or at least most of the time. The man had been meticulously cleaning every nook and cranny of their tiny cottage since they arrived. At first, Abbacchio didn’t think much of it; there were spots of dust or specks of dirt here and there upon inspection. It wasn’t much, but it was something that would be expected when renting a place that hadn’t had careful tenants or had seen a lot of use in recent years.
During the first day here, he had helped Bucciarati clean as he’d wanted something to do and wouldn’t subject his partner to hours of cleaning by himself, but now Bucciarati had been nonstop with it, despite how there most definitely wasn’t anywhere in this place he hadn’t already deep-cleaned anymore.
He couldn’t even try to go back to sleep at this point, hearing the loud revving of the vacuum and feeling the telltale thumping as he knew Bucciarati was cleaning under the couch right against the wall of the bedroom for the fifth time in a single hour. Grumbling, as he had to force himself to get out of bed far too early in the morning for his liking.
Bucciarati didn’t seem to notice Abbacchio wake up and begin watching his routine. If he did, then he didn’t make it known as he kneeled to the floor. Using Sticky Fingers to help him lift the couch and vacuum any imaginary particles left over.
“Bucciarati! Bucciarati!” But it was to no avail as he watched him be unbothered and unconcerned by Abbacchio’s growing frustration and presence. Muttering a curse under his breath as the corner of his eye caught the outlet the vacuum was plugged into. Immediately pulling it out and feeling relieved at the noise ceasing for what felt like the first time in forever.
“Bruno, what are you doing?”
“Cleaning.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve cleaned enough that we won’t see bacteria here for years.”
The jokes still don’t help, as Bucciarati still doesn’t laugh like usual or look him in the eyes. Simply staring at the spot he was just focused on. Fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt, seemingly more antsy than when he was cleaning.
Abbacchio sighed, sitting on the couch after Sticky Fingers had placed it back down and patted the cushion next to him, watching as Bucciarati hesitated slightly before taking a seat near him. “Look, I don’t know what’s going through that head of yours, and I won’t ever know unless you tell me. It’s just temporary-“
“I’m not that deluded, Leone. I know this isn’t just a vacation.” Bucciarati whispered out, still not looking in Abbacchio’s vicinity, and his fingers absentmindedly stroked the arms of the couch in circles.
Abbacchio didn’t know what to say to that. The decision was made for him; Bucciarati never really got a say in it, but for now, it was a vacation and nothing more. “It doesn’t need to be more than that if you don’t want it to be, Giovanna promised, and if he doesn’t honor it, he won’t live long enough to be considered Don.”
Bucciarati did give a tiny smile at that, finally glancing at Abbacchio.
“I know it’s not the best reason to get a break, but you should still enjoy it while you can and relax. You used to complain all the time about how we never got enough free time.”
“I don’t know how to relax. I haven’t relaxed properly since I was 12.”
“I’ll teach you. We’ll do whatever you want, go to restaurants, movies, nearby events, and you can teach me how to fish if you want.”
“Truly? If anything, dragging you with me to the sea will be the reason you leave me here alone.”
“Nah. Never.”
In honesty, if Abbacchio’s parents had made him fish as a child, he probably would’ve faked an injury or forced himself to vomit so he didn’t have to go. But this was Bucciarati, who was struggling to come to terms that his body was different than before and needed comfort. He’d complained years ago that none of the members wanted to catch fish or spend much time on his hobbies, and back then, Abbacchio had been less inclined and interested, but if Bucciarati wanted to do it now, then he’d force himself if it made the man somewhat content with their new situation.
Bucciarati leaned against Abbacchio. Resting a head on his shoulder and causing Abbacchio to tense slightly at the small affection he was no longer used to feeling from their months apart. “You’ll have to make the first step. I’m beginning to regret waking up so early. I’m getting a migraine.”
Abbacchio snorted, trying to fight a laugh. Brushing a strand of hair away from Bucciarati’s eyes. “I’m guessing you haven’t eaten either. Maybe we can go out for breakfast? Take a tour of the city?”
“It’s a date.”