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[fic] KHR/Boondock Saints - Sinners and Saints
Title: Sinners and Saints
Characters: Tsuna, Mukuro, Smecker, the McManus brothers
Summary: This time, the McManus brothers might have set their sights on the wrong mafia family.
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
cliche_bingo, prompt: "Crossover: TV shows and Movies." Full bingo card is available here. Crossing over the movie The Boondock Saints with KHR, and futzing with both their timelines kind of a lot. 4082 words.
~~~~~~~~~~
Sinners and Saints
"Fucking hell," Connor said, when Smecker had finished talking. "How bad can it really be?"
"Yeah." Murphy shrugged, careless. "So they're from Italy. So what?"
Smecker raked a hand through his hair. "So you don't understand, is what," he said, dropping that smooth, relaxed façade he liked so much and going straight into aggravated. "You took out a Vongola courier when you hit the Caravassi. You took out one of the fucking Vongola. Even the Russians don't fuck with the Vongola, do you get it?"
Connor blinked; Smecker wasn't just pissed--he was scared. For them. What the hell? "Okay, then," he said, soothing, and reached for his drink. "Tell us why that's such a bad thing, so we know what it is we're looking at, here."
"The oldest of the Families," Smecker said, after a moment. "One of the first of the Families. One of the most powerful of the Families." He stopped; Connor could practically see the argument he was having with himself. "They say," he said, when he finally went on, "that their bosses can do--unusual things."
"Unusual things," Murphy repeated. Connor didn't have to be looking at him to know that he was smirking. "What kind of unusual things?"
"Just--things. Weird things. Fuck it, never mind, that's not the point." Smecker raked his hands through his hair again, till it was rumpled and standing on end. "The point is, you killed one of the Vongola and now they can't go on ignoring you, you see? It was fine when the people you were killing were just the schmucky American mafia small fry, but now you've hit them, and they do not like being fucked with."
"They're still mafia too, though, aren't they?" Connor asked, after a moment. "Crooks and killers, just like the rest of them, right?"
"Yeah," Murphy added, topping off his drink. "Not our place to judge, really. That's up to the Almighty."
Smecker looked at them, mouth flat and angry. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he bit out, and stood, pulling his coat on. "God knows I tried."
"Yeah, yeah." Murphy toasted him. "You worry too much. It'll be fine. We're doing the Lord's work here."
Smecker scowled at him. "Your funeral," he said, and saw himself out.
---
"...and the Caravassi extend their deepest apologies for the incident in New York," Hayato finished. "Again."
"Translation: it's not our fault, please don't kill us," Irie said, mouth crooked. "Oh, and can we please resume negotiations, since it wasn't our fault? We'll take better care of your envoy this time, we promise."
The joke fell flat, but Hayato wasn't surprised. The Tenth didn't like losing his people, especially not the ones who weren't even supposed to be front-line fighters.
Tsuna shook his head, after a moment. "No more envoys," he said. "Not till we get this sorted out."
No surprises there; Hayato made a note of it next to the Caravassi item on his agenda. "Yeah, well, they promise that they have their full resources invested in hunting down these, er, Saints." Not that every other crime family in the States hadn't been doing the same for a while now, all of them without any success.
"I'm sure they do," Tsuna said, with a smile that didn't even gesture in the direction of his eyes. "Lucky for them, we have resources they don't."
"There is that," Irie agreed, and the three of them were silent for a moment, reflecting on it. Then he cleared his throat. "How's Rossi's wife doing?"
Tsuna's smile vanished like it had never been there. "Kyouko says she's still in shock. She and Hana and Haru are keeping her close by."
Yeah, Hayato thought, and Haru came home at the end of the day and pressed herself against him like she was afraid to ever let go. Were he a betting man, he'd lay money on Kyouko doing the same thing with Tsuna. "We'll find them," he said, out loud. "This won't happen again."
"No," Tsuna said, voice even and chilly with his Will, "it won't."
---
Everyone sat up and noticed when the guy came slinking into the bar, Smecker among them--and why not? The man was a knockout. He had long legs that were encased in leather pants that sat low on his hips and showed off the toned muscles of his stomach and the blades of his hip bones. He was Asian, probably, and his hair was long, drifting loose around fine features and a fey smile. He moved like silk, prowling through the crowd that parted before him, and claimed a seat at the bar, where he lounged on the stool like it was a throne.
He held court there, mouth curved like a scimitar as he flirted, accepting drinks or declining them and sending crestfallen suitors away. He didn't have any criteria that Smecker could make out, but looking like that, he probably didn't have to.
He was still watching the guy when he moved out onto the dance floor for a few turns. The guy had moves, like his bones were actually made of water, and he danced unselfconsciously, till his skin was shining with sweat and every guy in the place had to be popping wood, just like Smecker was.
What the hell? he decided, when the guy came back to the bar, trailed by half a dozen eager men. Smecker insinuated himself into that crowd by dint of a well-placed elbow and a foot in just the right spot to trip up one of the pretty boys, and was there when the guy hit the bar. "Buy you a drink?" he said.
The guy looked him up and down, eyes cool and assessing--there was something odd about them, but Smecker couldn't quite put his finger on it--and then smiled at him. "I suppose you can," he all but purred. "Whisky, if you would, neat."
Glory hallelujah, he didn't drink the stupid frilly shit. Smecker signaled the bartender and didn't budge when the drinks came, not even when one of the other sharks tried to elbow his way in between them. "Haven't seen you here before," he said, over the two glasses.
"No, I'm just passing through," the guy said. "Business. You know how it is." He knocked his drink back.
Smecker could feel his own eyes glazing over as he watched the action of the guy's throat muscles as he swallowed. "Business, huh?"
"Business," the guy murmured, smiling. "And perhaps pleasure." He tipped his head to the side, and looked Smecker over again. "You look like you might know something about that."
"Maybe," Smecker allowed, and gestured at the door. "You wanna get out of here and find out?"
"I'd love to," the guy purred at him, and slid off his stool. "Shall we?"
"Let's," Smecker agreed, and sauntered out after him, giving thanks to all his saints and lucky stars, jaunty with the sure knowledge that every other man in the place was gnawing his own liver out in jealousy.
Yeah, this was definitely his lucky night.
---
Mukuro tucked the telephone under his chin and counted the rings. Despite the time difference, Sawada picked up after two. "Well?"
"I've always wanted my very own pet FBI agent," Mukuro told him, just for the sake of hearing Sawada's exasperated sigh.
He didn't get it. What he got instead was a startled intake of breath, and then a taut, "The Saints are backed by the FBI?"
Mukuro reached down and ran his fingers through Agent Smecker's hair. "Not as such. They have one deeply conflicted FBI agent who suspects, in his heart of hearts, that they're going a little too far, even though he is desperately tired of seeing criminals get off free. He's really quite delicious. I think I like him."
"Mukuro. Don't." Sawada sounded like he really meant it, too. Pity. He really was entirely too prudish sometimes.
"I couldn't if I wanted to," Mukuro told him. "He's the only one they let close, so I need him intact." Mostly. "These Saints seem to be cagey bastards." That was probably what had kept them alive for so long... well. Everyone's luck ran out eventually.
"I'm not surprised." On the other end of the line, Sawada drew another breath. "Okay. Here's what I want you to do."
Mukuro would have liked to have been surprised by Sawada's orders, but given the nature of the Vongola Tenth, he couldn't be, really. When he'd acknowledged his orders and ended the call, he looked down at Smecker. "Well," he said, and ran a finger along Smecker's jaw, "it seems we get to have a little bit more time together. Won't that be fun?"
Smecker's will strained against his grip, futilely.
---
"You have something for us?" Connor asked, when they'd gotten past the preliminaries.
Smecker took a drink and rolled it around his mouth, savoring it, before he answered. "Sort of," he said. "You remember that Vongola envoy?"
"Yeah, what about him?" Murphy said, after he and Connor had exchanged glances.
"The Vongola weren't happy. At all," Smecker told them.
"Are they on the move?" Connor raised his eyebrows, considering the speed. It was faster than he'd expected, but--
Smecker shook his head, no. "No," he said, with a smile that sat strangely on his face and didn't seem to be quite at home there. "They're already here."
"The fuck?" Connor said, but Smecker's expression was already changing.
That eerie little smile melted away, and his face went taut and afraid. "Run," he said, in an entirely different tone. "For God's sake, run."
"Oh," someone said, voice honey-smooth and unfamiliar, as Connor and Murphy rocketed out of their seats, "I think it's a little late for that."
Connor went for his gun as people started appearing out of motherfucking thin air, like fucking ghosts--what the hell was this?
"None of that, now," someone said, right in his ear, demonically cheerful about it, and twisted the gun right out of his hands. "We just want to have a little talk with you."
Yeah, fuck that. Connor went for his knife, heard Murphy grunt with pain and the solid, meaty sound of a blow connecting with flesh, and saw red.
---
Kyouya had his man down in a matter of seconds, and stood over him calmly. Yamamoto was playing with his, sword against knife. Kyouya couldn't see the point, himself; these so-called Saints weren't really that much better than amateurs. "Aren't you done yet?" he demanded, when he felt that Yamamoto had drawn things out quite enough.
Yamamoto's grin was blindingly herbivorous. "Sorry, sorry!" he sang, and blurred into motion, wringing the knife out of his opponent's hand and then reversing the arc of his cut to slam the hilt of his sword against the man's temple. "Didn't mean to keep you waiting."
"Of course you didn't," Mukuro said, from where he was leaning against the wall and not helping. Smecker's lips moved with his, silently, and Mukuro was eyeing the Saints, a distinctly hungry look on his face and his trident moving in tiny circles. "You know, I could--"
"Tsuna said no," Yamamoto said, firmly, kneeling over his opponent and cuffing his hands behind his back.
"It's a waste," Mukuro said. "If we had them on our side, we could--"
"No," Kyouya said, flat, and caught the pair of restraints Yamamoto tossed at him.
"Besides, that's what the Varia are for," Yamamoto added, as Kyouya kicked his Saint over and hauled his wrists behind his back. "Holy shit, this guy is a walking arsenal." He tossed another pair of knives aside, and was holding up an ankle piece.
"The good agent seems to think that they like their toys," Mukuro supplied.
"No kidding," Yamamoto said. "Damn." He moved over to Kyouya's opponent and began to repeat the process of patting him down. "Someone had better call Tsuna and let him know that we have them."
"Make yourself useful," Kyouya told Mukuro, and got a teeth-baring smile in return for it as Mukuro reached for his phone.
Kyouya folded his arms, bored already; really, he'd hoped for more than this from these Saints.
---
Fucking déjà vu, that's what it was, Murphy decided, twisting his hands against the restraints that had him bound to the heavy chair he was sitting in, in between hissing at his brother to wake the fuck up already. The chair was solid wood, and he was strapped in too tightly to get the purchase it would take to set it rocking, but maybe, if he could just get his thumb dislocated, he might be able to do something.
This was what he thought about to distract himself from the part of him that was panicking, running around in circles and scrabbling against the cold, hard fact that their luck had finally run out for real.
"It's not going to do you any good," Smecker said, flat and toneless, from where he was sitting on the other side of Connor. "They're not going to let you go, even if you can get out of here."
"Shut the fuck up," Murphy spat, straining against the restraints on his good hand--was it getting looser? Surely it was. "You sold us out. I'm not talking to you."
"You shouldn't blame him. He didn't have any choice in the matter."
Murphy looked up--fuck, he hadn't even heard the guy come in. He was young, whoever he was, not much older than his mid-twenties. He carried himself with--what was the word? Gravitas, yeah, that was it, despite the wild shock of his hair, which was at distinct odds with the sober, expensive lines of his suit. "There's always a choice."
The guy's mouth quirked, rueful. "Mukuro doesn't always accept that, I'm afraid. He has ways of compelling people to do what he wants, whether they like it or not. Believe me, your Agent Smecker had no choice in bringing you to us."
Murphy gave that all the consideration it was due. "Fuck that."
"I thought that might be what you would say." The guy pulled up a chair and sat opposite the three of them, and eyed Murphy's continued surreptitious efforts to work his hand free. "I don't think you're going to get loose," he said, almost apologetic about it. "Those restraints are made with Lightning. We really didn't want you to get free, I'm afraid. We know all too well what kind of damage you're capable of."
Lightning? The fuck? Whatever. "Yeah, damage. Just wait till I get out of here," Murphy promised him. "I'll show you damage that'll blow you away."
The guy absorbed that, and blew out a puff of breath. "I think it's a very good thing that I came in to talk to you by myself," he said, with a little smile. "I can't imagine that my Guardians would have liked hearing you say that."
"Your guardians?" Murphy repeated, thrown for a moment. "What, how old are you?"
"No, his Guardians," Smecker said, hollow. "Don't you know who you're talking to? That's Tsunayoshi Sawada."
"Who?" Murphy asked.
"I'm the Tenth Boss of the Vongola Family," Sawada said, with a little shrug, as if to say, What can you do?
Fortunately, Connor picked that moment to come back around.
---
The first thing the two of them did was check on each other, Tsuna noted, watching them crane their necks and look each other over as best as they could, exchanging rapid-fire Russian, by the sound of it. Definitely brothers, as Mukuro had indicated, and polyglots, which he hadn't.
He was jealous, really. Reborn's Dying Will language lessons were effective, sure, but the cost was high enough that Tsuna hesitated to indulge in them unless he had to.
When the exchange had ended, Tsuna looked from one brother to the other. "Done for the moment?" he asked, and got two mulish glares in response. He let them pass, and gave thanks that he'd managed to persuade Hayato to leave this to him. Hayato was touchier about the Vongola's pride than Tsuna could really make himself be. "Ah, very good. You would be Connor, then, and you Murphy?"
They maintained their silence; he could guess, now, some of what the exchange had been.
Tsuna sighed, and looked at them, watching them silently. Murphy couldn't stop moving, trying his restraints, working against them. Connor was nearly motionless, and watched him with all the intensity of a hawk. And Smecker simply waited, shoulders slumped and hopeless.
Tsuna let the minutes tick by, and broke the silence when he judged it had been long enough. "There's something I'd like to ask you," he said. "Will you tell me why you killed Marco Rossi?"
And then he waited some more.
Murphy broke first. "Who the fuck is Marco Rossi?"
He wasn't surprised by that, really, but it was... angering. "A husband," Tsuna said, as evenly as he could manage. "A father. He had two little girls, and a devoted wife, and two very proud parents. He was a member of my Family, and my envoy to the Caravassi. You killed him two weeks ago. I, and his family, would like to know--why did you kill him?"
This time it was Connor who spoke, finally, and his face was stony. "You said it yourself. He was doing business with the Caravassi."
"I said he was my envoy to the Caravassi," Tsuna corrected him. "I did not say that he was doing business with them."
"The Caravassi and the Vongola have been doing business with each other since the seventies," Smecker said, as if from a great distance away. "Money laundering. Drugs. Smuggling."
"Things change, Agent Smecker. Families change." Tsuna spread his hands. "The things that the Vongola used to do are not the things that they will continue to do. Rossi was my envoy to the Caravassi. His job was to explain why the Vongola are no longer going to trade guns and drugs with them. It's entirely likely that the Caravassi and the Vongola will have very little to say to each other, at least until the Caravassi find a form of business to do that the Vongola can, in good conscience, agree to."
"Good conscience," Murphy said, and spat. "That's pretty rich, don't you think?"
"You tell me," Tsuna said, and let some of his anger slip free of his grip. "You're the ones who kill in God's name, aren't you?"
Smecker was the one who flinched; Tsuna had thought so, given the things Mukuro had said of him. The two brothers simply stared at him, defiant and silent.
This wasn't working.
Tsuna reined his anger in again, and took a breath. "This is a terrible world," he said, after a moment's deliberation. "I acknowledge that. I never actually wanted to be a part of it to begin with, but I didn't have much choice, really, in the end. What I do have a choice in is how my Family is run. And I have chosen not to let it be run in the old way." He stopped, trying to gauge how they were receiving that, and couldn't read anything from their stony expressions. "It takes time to reform a world. I ask you for that time."
"Or else?" Connor asked, just an edge of mockery to it.
"I will not let you kill any more members of my Family," Tsuna said, and let his Will flow into his voice as he did. All three of them rocked back in their seats, looking stunned--and why not, if they'd never felt such a thing before? "I do not care to let you kill the men of other Families, either. It is tempting to wash the world clean with blood, but every wicked man you cut down will be replaced by three more. Change must come from within this world, if it is to be the kind of change that will work."
"A lot of pretty words," Connor managed. "Talk is cheap."
"This is true." Tsuna regarded them, but why not? They were both too stubborn to listen to anything else. "See for yourself whether I mean the things I say."
---
The air in the room turned even more oppressive. "The fuck," Connor said, as Sawada rose from his seat and drew on a pair of fucking mittens, and then his head and his hands caught fire. "What the fucking fuck?"
Murphy was swearing, too, and Smecker was just staring. "I'll be damned," he said, as Sawada advanced on them, blazing and apparently ignoring it. "It is true."
Sawada turned a look on him that came right off the serene gaze of a marble saint. "Yes," he agreed, holding up a gloved hand, flame dancing around his fingers. "This is the Vongola Flame." He looked at Smecker. "Mukuro has left his mark on you," he said, softly. "I am sorry for that." He gestured. "May I?"
"Please," Smecker said--fuck, he practically groaned it.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Murphy yelped, as Sawada laid one of his hands--which were currently on motherfucking fire--on Smecker's chest. Sawada and Smecker ignored them both. Smecker arched in his chair, and more than anything else, he looked relieved.
"Thank you," he whispered, when Sawada released him, and he sounded practically normal about it--more normal than he had since before the Caravassi thing, anyway.
"There's nothing to thank me for," Sawada said. "We were the ones who wronged you. If there had been any other way, I would have preferred to take it. But my Family was at stake." He turned away from Smecker, and looked at them. "Now," he said, quietly, and stepped closer. "See that I mean what I say."
He laid his hands on their foreheads like he was giving a benediction, and though the touch was gentle, the weight was an entirely different matter. Connor cried out at it, and heard his brother do the same, as Sawada's flame or whatever the hell it was pressed down on him. He could feel the fucking sincerity of it, and the determination to see an old Family rise above its roots, and the fierce, overwhelming love Sawada felt for his Family and its members, and his grief for the one who was dead now.
"I am not a righteous man," Sawada said, softly; the words vibrated through his will, till Connor's bones rattled with the force of them. "But I believe that my Family can be better than it is. Will you let me see whether I can make that happen? Can you bend your wills far enough to let me try?"
He released them, and stepped back. Connor gasped for breath, sagging against the chair and his own bonds, relieved for the support of them. The flames on Sawada's hands and head disappeared, and he tucked away the--for God's sake, they really were mittens. Connor latched on to the incongruity of that, trying to reorient himself and find his way back to reality.
Sawada was waiting.
"Connor?" Murphy asked, voice raspy, and there was a whole wealth of communication wrapped up in that, along with the implicit You choose.
"What if you can't do it?" Connor asked Sawada, after a moment.
"I will," Sawada said, confident. "Or I'll make a start of it, and whichever of my children follows after me will continue it."
"And what if it swallows you up?" Connor pressed.
"Then you would be within your rights to include us in your hunt," Sawada said, voice steady. "But that will not happen. I will not let it. I would rather see the Vongola destroyed, first."
"And what if we say no?" Connor asked, finally, staring at him, hard as he could manage.
Sawada met the stare, eyes steady and unflinching. "Then I would do what I had to, in order to protect my Family and its future... though I would regret it, very much."
"I see," Connor said, slow, weighing that against their mission and Sawada's will and the look in Murphy's eyes, and the relief in Smecker's voice when Sawada had touched him. "We will hunt you down, if you go bad," he promised, finally.
"I would not expect any less," Sawada said, gravely. "I take it that we have an accord?"
"Yeah," Connor said, slowly, and hoped he might be forgiven for it. "Yeah, I guess we do."
- strong -
And comments are a thing of love and joy forever!
Characters: Tsuna, Mukuro, Smecker, the McManus brothers
Summary: This time, the McManus brothers might have set their sights on the wrong mafia family.
Notes: For
cliche_bingo, prompt: "Crossover: TV shows and Movies." Full bingo card is available here. Crossing over the movie The Boondock Saints with KHR, and futzing with both their timelines kind of a lot. 4082 words.Sinners and Saints
"Fucking hell," Connor said, when Smecker had finished talking. "How bad can it really be?"
"Yeah." Murphy shrugged, careless. "So they're from Italy. So what?"
Smecker raked a hand through his hair. "So you don't understand, is what," he said, dropping that smooth, relaxed façade he liked so much and going straight into aggravated. "You took out a Vongola courier when you hit the Caravassi. You took out one of the fucking Vongola. Even the Russians don't fuck with the Vongola, do you get it?"
Connor blinked; Smecker wasn't just pissed--he was scared. For them. What the hell? "Okay, then," he said, soothing, and reached for his drink. "Tell us why that's such a bad thing, so we know what it is we're looking at, here."
"The oldest of the Families," Smecker said, after a moment. "One of the first of the Families. One of the most powerful of the Families." He stopped; Connor could practically see the argument he was having with himself. "They say," he said, when he finally went on, "that their bosses can do--unusual things."
"Unusual things," Murphy repeated. Connor didn't have to be looking at him to know that he was smirking. "What kind of unusual things?"
"Just--things. Weird things. Fuck it, never mind, that's not the point." Smecker raked his hands through his hair again, till it was rumpled and standing on end. "The point is, you killed one of the Vongola and now they can't go on ignoring you, you see? It was fine when the people you were killing were just the schmucky American mafia small fry, but now you've hit them, and they do not like being fucked with."
"They're still mafia too, though, aren't they?" Connor asked, after a moment. "Crooks and killers, just like the rest of them, right?"
"Yeah," Murphy added, topping off his drink. "Not our place to judge, really. That's up to the Almighty."
Smecker looked at them, mouth flat and angry. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he bit out, and stood, pulling his coat on. "God knows I tried."
"Yeah, yeah." Murphy toasted him. "You worry too much. It'll be fine. We're doing the Lord's work here."
Smecker scowled at him. "Your funeral," he said, and saw himself out.
---
"...and the Caravassi extend their deepest apologies for the incident in New York," Hayato finished. "Again."
"Translation: it's not our fault, please don't kill us," Irie said, mouth crooked. "Oh, and can we please resume negotiations, since it wasn't our fault? We'll take better care of your envoy this time, we promise."
The joke fell flat, but Hayato wasn't surprised. The Tenth didn't like losing his people, especially not the ones who weren't even supposed to be front-line fighters.
Tsuna shook his head, after a moment. "No more envoys," he said. "Not till we get this sorted out."
No surprises there; Hayato made a note of it next to the Caravassi item on his agenda. "Yeah, well, they promise that they have their full resources invested in hunting down these, er, Saints." Not that every other crime family in the States hadn't been doing the same for a while now, all of them without any success.
"I'm sure they do," Tsuna said, with a smile that didn't even gesture in the direction of his eyes. "Lucky for them, we have resources they don't."
"There is that," Irie agreed, and the three of them were silent for a moment, reflecting on it. Then he cleared his throat. "How's Rossi's wife doing?"
Tsuna's smile vanished like it had never been there. "Kyouko says she's still in shock. She and Hana and Haru are keeping her close by."
Yeah, Hayato thought, and Haru came home at the end of the day and pressed herself against him like she was afraid to ever let go. Were he a betting man, he'd lay money on Kyouko doing the same thing with Tsuna. "We'll find them," he said, out loud. "This won't happen again."
"No," Tsuna said, voice even and chilly with his Will, "it won't."
---
Everyone sat up and noticed when the guy came slinking into the bar, Smecker among them--and why not? The man was a knockout. He had long legs that were encased in leather pants that sat low on his hips and showed off the toned muscles of his stomach and the blades of his hip bones. He was Asian, probably, and his hair was long, drifting loose around fine features and a fey smile. He moved like silk, prowling through the crowd that parted before him, and claimed a seat at the bar, where he lounged on the stool like it was a throne.
He held court there, mouth curved like a scimitar as he flirted, accepting drinks or declining them and sending crestfallen suitors away. He didn't have any criteria that Smecker could make out, but looking like that, he probably didn't have to.
He was still watching the guy when he moved out onto the dance floor for a few turns. The guy had moves, like his bones were actually made of water, and he danced unselfconsciously, till his skin was shining with sweat and every guy in the place had to be popping wood, just like Smecker was.
What the hell? he decided, when the guy came back to the bar, trailed by half a dozen eager men. Smecker insinuated himself into that crowd by dint of a well-placed elbow and a foot in just the right spot to trip up one of the pretty boys, and was there when the guy hit the bar. "Buy you a drink?" he said.
The guy looked him up and down, eyes cool and assessing--there was something odd about them, but Smecker couldn't quite put his finger on it--and then smiled at him. "I suppose you can," he all but purred. "Whisky, if you would, neat."
Glory hallelujah, he didn't drink the stupid frilly shit. Smecker signaled the bartender and didn't budge when the drinks came, not even when one of the other sharks tried to elbow his way in between them. "Haven't seen you here before," he said, over the two glasses.
"No, I'm just passing through," the guy said. "Business. You know how it is." He knocked his drink back.
Smecker could feel his own eyes glazing over as he watched the action of the guy's throat muscles as he swallowed. "Business, huh?"
"Business," the guy murmured, smiling. "And perhaps pleasure." He tipped his head to the side, and looked Smecker over again. "You look like you might know something about that."
"Maybe," Smecker allowed, and gestured at the door. "You wanna get out of here and find out?"
"I'd love to," the guy purred at him, and slid off his stool. "Shall we?"
"Let's," Smecker agreed, and sauntered out after him, giving thanks to all his saints and lucky stars, jaunty with the sure knowledge that every other man in the place was gnawing his own liver out in jealousy.
Yeah, this was definitely his lucky night.
---
Mukuro tucked the telephone under his chin and counted the rings. Despite the time difference, Sawada picked up after two. "Well?"
"I've always wanted my very own pet FBI agent," Mukuro told him, just for the sake of hearing Sawada's exasperated sigh.
He didn't get it. What he got instead was a startled intake of breath, and then a taut, "The Saints are backed by the FBI?"
Mukuro reached down and ran his fingers through Agent Smecker's hair. "Not as such. They have one deeply conflicted FBI agent who suspects, in his heart of hearts, that they're going a little too far, even though he is desperately tired of seeing criminals get off free. He's really quite delicious. I think I like him."
"Mukuro. Don't." Sawada sounded like he really meant it, too. Pity. He really was entirely too prudish sometimes.
"I couldn't if I wanted to," Mukuro told him. "He's the only one they let close, so I need him intact." Mostly. "These Saints seem to be cagey bastards." That was probably what had kept them alive for so long... well. Everyone's luck ran out eventually.
"I'm not surprised." On the other end of the line, Sawada drew another breath. "Okay. Here's what I want you to do."
Mukuro would have liked to have been surprised by Sawada's orders, but given the nature of the Vongola Tenth, he couldn't be, really. When he'd acknowledged his orders and ended the call, he looked down at Smecker. "Well," he said, and ran a finger along Smecker's jaw, "it seems we get to have a little bit more time together. Won't that be fun?"
Smecker's will strained against his grip, futilely.
---
"You have something for us?" Connor asked, when they'd gotten past the preliminaries.
Smecker took a drink and rolled it around his mouth, savoring it, before he answered. "Sort of," he said. "You remember that Vongola envoy?"
"Yeah, what about him?" Murphy said, after he and Connor had exchanged glances.
"The Vongola weren't happy. At all," Smecker told them.
"Are they on the move?" Connor raised his eyebrows, considering the speed. It was faster than he'd expected, but--
Smecker shook his head, no. "No," he said, with a smile that sat strangely on his face and didn't seem to be quite at home there. "They're already here."
"The fuck?" Connor said, but Smecker's expression was already changing.
That eerie little smile melted away, and his face went taut and afraid. "Run," he said, in an entirely different tone. "For God's sake, run."
"Oh," someone said, voice honey-smooth and unfamiliar, as Connor and Murphy rocketed out of their seats, "I think it's a little late for that."
Connor went for his gun as people started appearing out of motherfucking thin air, like fucking ghosts--what the hell was this?
"None of that, now," someone said, right in his ear, demonically cheerful about it, and twisted the gun right out of his hands. "We just want to have a little talk with you."
Yeah, fuck that. Connor went for his knife, heard Murphy grunt with pain and the solid, meaty sound of a blow connecting with flesh, and saw red.
---
Kyouya had his man down in a matter of seconds, and stood over him calmly. Yamamoto was playing with his, sword against knife. Kyouya couldn't see the point, himself; these so-called Saints weren't really that much better than amateurs. "Aren't you done yet?" he demanded, when he felt that Yamamoto had drawn things out quite enough.
Yamamoto's grin was blindingly herbivorous. "Sorry, sorry!" he sang, and blurred into motion, wringing the knife out of his opponent's hand and then reversing the arc of his cut to slam the hilt of his sword against the man's temple. "Didn't mean to keep you waiting."
"Of course you didn't," Mukuro said, from where he was leaning against the wall and not helping. Smecker's lips moved with his, silently, and Mukuro was eyeing the Saints, a distinctly hungry look on his face and his trident moving in tiny circles. "You know, I could--"
"Tsuna said no," Yamamoto said, firmly, kneeling over his opponent and cuffing his hands behind his back.
"It's a waste," Mukuro said. "If we had them on our side, we could--"
"No," Kyouya said, flat, and caught the pair of restraints Yamamoto tossed at him.
"Besides, that's what the Varia are for," Yamamoto added, as Kyouya kicked his Saint over and hauled his wrists behind his back. "Holy shit, this guy is a walking arsenal." He tossed another pair of knives aside, and was holding up an ankle piece.
"The good agent seems to think that they like their toys," Mukuro supplied.
"No kidding," Yamamoto said. "Damn." He moved over to Kyouya's opponent and began to repeat the process of patting him down. "Someone had better call Tsuna and let him know that we have them."
"Make yourself useful," Kyouya told Mukuro, and got a teeth-baring smile in return for it as Mukuro reached for his phone.
Kyouya folded his arms, bored already; really, he'd hoped for more than this from these Saints.
---
Fucking déjà vu, that's what it was, Murphy decided, twisting his hands against the restraints that had him bound to the heavy chair he was sitting in, in between hissing at his brother to wake the fuck up already. The chair was solid wood, and he was strapped in too tightly to get the purchase it would take to set it rocking, but maybe, if he could just get his thumb dislocated, he might be able to do something.
This was what he thought about to distract himself from the part of him that was panicking, running around in circles and scrabbling against the cold, hard fact that their luck had finally run out for real.
"It's not going to do you any good," Smecker said, flat and toneless, from where he was sitting on the other side of Connor. "They're not going to let you go, even if you can get out of here."
"Shut the fuck up," Murphy spat, straining against the restraints on his good hand--was it getting looser? Surely it was. "You sold us out. I'm not talking to you."
"You shouldn't blame him. He didn't have any choice in the matter."
Murphy looked up--fuck, he hadn't even heard the guy come in. He was young, whoever he was, not much older than his mid-twenties. He carried himself with--what was the word? Gravitas, yeah, that was it, despite the wild shock of his hair, which was at distinct odds with the sober, expensive lines of his suit. "There's always a choice."
The guy's mouth quirked, rueful. "Mukuro doesn't always accept that, I'm afraid. He has ways of compelling people to do what he wants, whether they like it or not. Believe me, your Agent Smecker had no choice in bringing you to us."
Murphy gave that all the consideration it was due. "Fuck that."
"I thought that might be what you would say." The guy pulled up a chair and sat opposite the three of them, and eyed Murphy's continued surreptitious efforts to work his hand free. "I don't think you're going to get loose," he said, almost apologetic about it. "Those restraints are made with Lightning. We really didn't want you to get free, I'm afraid. We know all too well what kind of damage you're capable of."
Lightning? The fuck? Whatever. "Yeah, damage. Just wait till I get out of here," Murphy promised him. "I'll show you damage that'll blow you away."
The guy absorbed that, and blew out a puff of breath. "I think it's a very good thing that I came in to talk to you by myself," he said, with a little smile. "I can't imagine that my Guardians would have liked hearing you say that."
"Your guardians?" Murphy repeated, thrown for a moment. "What, how old are you?"
"No, his Guardians," Smecker said, hollow. "Don't you know who you're talking to? That's Tsunayoshi Sawada."
"Who?" Murphy asked.
"I'm the Tenth Boss of the Vongola Family," Sawada said, with a little shrug, as if to say, What can you do?
Fortunately, Connor picked that moment to come back around.
---
The first thing the two of them did was check on each other, Tsuna noted, watching them crane their necks and look each other over as best as they could, exchanging rapid-fire Russian, by the sound of it. Definitely brothers, as Mukuro had indicated, and polyglots, which he hadn't.
He was jealous, really. Reborn's Dying Will language lessons were effective, sure, but the cost was high enough that Tsuna hesitated to indulge in them unless he had to.
When the exchange had ended, Tsuna looked from one brother to the other. "Done for the moment?" he asked, and got two mulish glares in response. He let them pass, and gave thanks that he'd managed to persuade Hayato to leave this to him. Hayato was touchier about the Vongola's pride than Tsuna could really make himself be. "Ah, very good. You would be Connor, then, and you Murphy?"
They maintained their silence; he could guess, now, some of what the exchange had been.
Tsuna sighed, and looked at them, watching them silently. Murphy couldn't stop moving, trying his restraints, working against them. Connor was nearly motionless, and watched him with all the intensity of a hawk. And Smecker simply waited, shoulders slumped and hopeless.
Tsuna let the minutes tick by, and broke the silence when he judged it had been long enough. "There's something I'd like to ask you," he said. "Will you tell me why you killed Marco Rossi?"
And then he waited some more.
Murphy broke first. "Who the fuck is Marco Rossi?"
He wasn't surprised by that, really, but it was... angering. "A husband," Tsuna said, as evenly as he could manage. "A father. He had two little girls, and a devoted wife, and two very proud parents. He was a member of my Family, and my envoy to the Caravassi. You killed him two weeks ago. I, and his family, would like to know--why did you kill him?"
This time it was Connor who spoke, finally, and his face was stony. "You said it yourself. He was doing business with the Caravassi."
"I said he was my envoy to the Caravassi," Tsuna corrected him. "I did not say that he was doing business with them."
"The Caravassi and the Vongola have been doing business with each other since the seventies," Smecker said, as if from a great distance away. "Money laundering. Drugs. Smuggling."
"Things change, Agent Smecker. Families change." Tsuna spread his hands. "The things that the Vongola used to do are not the things that they will continue to do. Rossi was my envoy to the Caravassi. His job was to explain why the Vongola are no longer going to trade guns and drugs with them. It's entirely likely that the Caravassi and the Vongola will have very little to say to each other, at least until the Caravassi find a form of business to do that the Vongola can, in good conscience, agree to."
"Good conscience," Murphy said, and spat. "That's pretty rich, don't you think?"
"You tell me," Tsuna said, and let some of his anger slip free of his grip. "You're the ones who kill in God's name, aren't you?"
Smecker was the one who flinched; Tsuna had thought so, given the things Mukuro had said of him. The two brothers simply stared at him, defiant and silent.
This wasn't working.
Tsuna reined his anger in again, and took a breath. "This is a terrible world," he said, after a moment's deliberation. "I acknowledge that. I never actually wanted to be a part of it to begin with, but I didn't have much choice, really, in the end. What I do have a choice in is how my Family is run. And I have chosen not to let it be run in the old way." He stopped, trying to gauge how they were receiving that, and couldn't read anything from their stony expressions. "It takes time to reform a world. I ask you for that time."
"Or else?" Connor asked, just an edge of mockery to it.
"I will not let you kill any more members of my Family," Tsuna said, and let his Will flow into his voice as he did. All three of them rocked back in their seats, looking stunned--and why not, if they'd never felt such a thing before? "I do not care to let you kill the men of other Families, either. It is tempting to wash the world clean with blood, but every wicked man you cut down will be replaced by three more. Change must come from within this world, if it is to be the kind of change that will work."
"A lot of pretty words," Connor managed. "Talk is cheap."
"This is true." Tsuna regarded them, but why not? They were both too stubborn to listen to anything else. "See for yourself whether I mean the things I say."
---
The air in the room turned even more oppressive. "The fuck," Connor said, as Sawada rose from his seat and drew on a pair of fucking mittens, and then his head and his hands caught fire. "What the fucking fuck?"
Murphy was swearing, too, and Smecker was just staring. "I'll be damned," he said, as Sawada advanced on them, blazing and apparently ignoring it. "It is true."
Sawada turned a look on him that came right off the serene gaze of a marble saint. "Yes," he agreed, holding up a gloved hand, flame dancing around his fingers. "This is the Vongola Flame." He looked at Smecker. "Mukuro has left his mark on you," he said, softly. "I am sorry for that." He gestured. "May I?"
"Please," Smecker said--fuck, he practically groaned it.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Murphy yelped, as Sawada laid one of his hands--which were currently on motherfucking fire--on Smecker's chest. Sawada and Smecker ignored them both. Smecker arched in his chair, and more than anything else, he looked relieved.
"Thank you," he whispered, when Sawada released him, and he sounded practically normal about it--more normal than he had since before the Caravassi thing, anyway.
"There's nothing to thank me for," Sawada said. "We were the ones who wronged you. If there had been any other way, I would have preferred to take it. But my Family was at stake." He turned away from Smecker, and looked at them. "Now," he said, quietly, and stepped closer. "See that I mean what I say."
He laid his hands on their foreheads like he was giving a benediction, and though the touch was gentle, the weight was an entirely different matter. Connor cried out at it, and heard his brother do the same, as Sawada's flame or whatever the hell it was pressed down on him. He could feel the fucking sincerity of it, and the determination to see an old Family rise above its roots, and the fierce, overwhelming love Sawada felt for his Family and its members, and his grief for the one who was dead now.
"I am not a righteous man," Sawada said, softly; the words vibrated through his will, till Connor's bones rattled with the force of them. "But I believe that my Family can be better than it is. Will you let me see whether I can make that happen? Can you bend your wills far enough to let me try?"
He released them, and stepped back. Connor gasped for breath, sagging against the chair and his own bonds, relieved for the support of them. The flames on Sawada's hands and head disappeared, and he tucked away the--for God's sake, they really were mittens. Connor latched on to the incongruity of that, trying to reorient himself and find his way back to reality.
Sawada was waiting.
"Connor?" Murphy asked, voice raspy, and there was a whole wealth of communication wrapped up in that, along with the implicit You choose.
"What if you can't do it?" Connor asked Sawada, after a moment.
"I will," Sawada said, confident. "Or I'll make a start of it, and whichever of my children follows after me will continue it."
"And what if it swallows you up?" Connor pressed.
"Then you would be within your rights to include us in your hunt," Sawada said, voice steady. "But that will not happen. I will not let it. I would rather see the Vongola destroyed, first."
"And what if we say no?" Connor asked, finally, staring at him, hard as he could manage.
Sawada met the stare, eyes steady and unflinching. "Then I would do what I had to, in order to protect my Family and its future... though I would regret it, very much."
"I see," Connor said, slow, weighing that against their mission and Sawada's will and the look in Murphy's eyes, and the relief in Smecker's voice when Sawada had touched him. "We will hunt you down, if you go bad," he promised, finally.
"I would not expect any less," Sawada said, gravely. "I take it that we have an accord?"
"Yeah," Connor said, slowly, and hoped he might be forgiven for it. "Yeah, I guess we do."
- strong -
And comments are a thing of love and joy forever!
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Randomly, I love that Shoichi is there. ♥ It's good to see him as part of the happy mafia family for real.
He was Asian, probably, and his hair was long, drifting loose around fine features and a fey smile.
Wouldn't Mukuro be Italian? He was a child of the Estraneo, his name aside... Anyway, I love all the descriptions of how smoothly he moves through the bar. The images are gorgeous. I'm surprised he didn't go all out and wear those thigh-high boots from that one TYL spread. XD
"I've always wanted my very own pet FBI agent," Mukuro told him, just for the sake of hearing Sawada's exasperated sigh.
HA. Oh, Mukuro. I bet he did.
The whole situation is painful and amazing - "Then you would be within your rights to include us in your hunt," Sawada said, voice steady. Gah, that's perfect. So is Connor, still uncertain and hoping for forgiveness. And you made the dying will flame work in the Boondock Saints context, with the way the mysticism is at the fore so that Tsuna seems like he might be as chosen as Connor and Murphy.
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And Tsuna I'm so happy to see fics in which he is the BOSS, and cares about his family and is still kind.
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