Lighter Than a Feather

This came out of me wondering how Hibari could have been convinced to identify himself with the mafia. Dino finally figures out a way to get through to him. Humor with Drama, I-2

Dino crossed his feet on his desk and stared out the window. "Hmm."

"Boss?" Romario looked in the door. "Anything you need?"

Dino waved a hand "No, no, just thinking."

Romario smiled behind his mustache. "Ah." He came in and sorted briefly through Dino’s papers, gathering the finished letters and notes to go out. "Tsuna-kun or Hibari?" he asked casually.

Dino laughed, rueful. "You know me too well."

"You don’t puzzle over our own family," Romario murmured. "You act."

Dino’s mouth quirked wryly. "Just like Hibari, hm?" He stretched, sighing. "He really would do well among us. It’s too bad he doesn’t know anything about our history, I think he’d actually approve."

Romario made sympathetic sounds.

"Of course, damned if I can get him to listen," Dino added, rather disgruntled. "Ignores me all the time in favor of his…" He stopped, eyes widening. "Books." For a moment he just sat, staring at nothing. Slowly he began to smile.

"Romario."

"Sir?"

"I think I’m going to want some memoirs. And some blank books."


Kyouya looked up, with a certain jaundiced expectation, as the door of his lounge was flung cheerily open and Cavallone breezed in. No one else intruded on him here. "Back again?"

Cavallone smiled in a way that made Kyouya shift, warily; that was Cavallone’s "I have a plan" smile, and Kyouya was somewhat annoyed to realize he recognized it at once.

"Well, you know, I was cleaning out the library and found some things I thought you might like." He waved a few slim books in one hand. "Seeing how much you seem to enjoy history."

Kyouya glanced down at the book currently open in his hands. "You take the baby’s ‘home tutor’ nonsense a little too seriously."

"You’ll like this. I promise. Just take a look." Cavallone laid the books down on the couch beside him, flashed another smile, and took himself back out.

Kyouya sniffed. The least the man could have done was offer him a decent fight, while he was here.

He picked up the book on top and paged through it, brow lifting. It seemed to be a personal journal. Cavallone had brought it, it had to be about the mafia. But it was in Japanese and the sentences he scanned sounded… familiar.

He turned back to the beginning, frowning, and read more slowly. An idea here, a sentence there, slipped through his mind easy and familiar as koi in their own pool.

"…as true men always have, we must look after our own honor and never leave it to an outsider…"

"…only law is the law of blood, we will never forget…"

"…our true strength has nothing to do with the foolish softness of rules made in cities far away…"

After an hour or two, Kyouya reached for the second book.


Two days later, Kyouya flung open the door to Cavallone’s ex-hospital office without bothering to knock and strolled over to drop the books on a table. "You know, you could have just said from the start that the mafia has proper traditions."

"How was I supposed to get you to hold still long enough?" Cavallone asked, dryly.

Kyouya didn’t bother answering that. "It’s a suitable kind of thing," he pronounced.

Cavallone downright grinned and Kyouya gave him a narrow look; he didn’t see any reason for Cavallone to look so pleased.

"Good."

Kyouya flicked his fingers at the covers. "I still say herding together is weak."

Cavallone’s grin quirked. "You’re the Cloud. No one will ask you to."

"All right, then." Kyouya crossed his arms. "So?"

Cavallone raised his brows. "So… what?"

"Are we going to fight or not?"

Cavallone leaned back and laughed.

End