Geffenia
By: Dyaoka
Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Pairing: 6927 with mentions of many other pairings.
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter. R for chapters two and above.
Warnings: AU, Yaoi.
Author's Notes are located at the bottom.

Chapter One

“Boy, take that crate out back. It’s taking up room in here,” Lancia barked, noting the way that Mukuro just seemed to be in a daze around the bar.

The boy, though more a young man of nineteen than a boy, blinked to clear his eyes, an odd combination of red and blue that mixed together the images of blood and sea water. He stretched, his joints popping and cracking like an old man’s as he did so. Mukuro yawned and pretended to wipe away the mist from his eyes; he turned to the senior bartender and smiled like an angel. “If I do, will I get a more vacation time?”

“You wish,” Lancia chuckled, less in humor and more of sarcasm, and motioned at an empty wooden crate that was used to hold bottles of alcohol.

Mukuro picked up the crate with no problems, the wooden handles smoothed over from many different hands touching and wearing away the splintering edges. Perhaps, he thought, it was a bit like life, how it whittles away at a person until they’ve become smooth handles as well, only to have the metal bolts rust and crack, leaving behind only a well used handle and a broken crate. “Stupid,” he muttered to himself, admonishing the thoughts, taking note on how his voice was an unsteady tone and his throat and lips drier than sandpaper.

He brushed past the counter Lancia was washing cups at and with a kick, the back door flew open into the wall behind it, letting loose a resounding crack as the metallic door hit the stone wall.

“Don’t kick the door!”

Lancia’s shout was disregarded as Mukuro stepped into the back alley that the doorway led to, letting the door swing shut on its own. Tossing the crate on top of the growing stack next to the wall, the odd eyed man heaved a sigh and brushed his hair away from his face. He looked around distastefully, from the slate colored walls to the uneven, pebbled pavement. There were water stains that dripped downward from the highest point of the walls where a single pipe ran out of the club’s sad colored building and disappeared around the corner.

There was nothing that Mukuro appreciated about the place.

Swiftly with the motions of something done a thousand times over, he fixed his worker’s uniform, straightening out the tie and the white collared shirt. He brushed any sign of dust off his pants, placed an impossible grin upon his face as he swung open the bar’s back door and stepped inside once again, the rush of cool air leaving a trail of kisses upon his brow and mussing up his hair till the strands that were loosened from its confines fell into his eyes once more. He pushed the longer strands over his shoulders, his hair falling in a straight cascade down to the middle of his back in a way that made girls jealous.

Mukuro walked behind the counter and started to mindlessly busy himself with placing the glass cups away in the correct cubicles next to the sink.

“Dry them before you put them away,” Lancia reprimanded, handing a dry towel over to Mukuro. “Honestly, boy, how many times have I told you?”

“Many times. These are dry though; you take so long to clean the rest of the cups that all the water just evaporated.” Mukuro’s grin was no less stellar and mischievous than a child’s. Lancia rolled his eyes and pointed at the rest of the cups which certainly were not dry.

“Get to work. It’s what you get paid for.”

Wordlessly picking up a wet cup, Mukuro started to wipe it clean with the towel, watching as the liquid became absorbed into the rough green fibers of the cloth between his fingers. Finishing drying one cup, he placed it into the cubicle and proceeded to pick up another one.

Mukuro continued to do his task in silence, listening to the sound of the water rushing out of the sink faucet, the clinking of the glass, and the low hum of Lancia’s voice as he sang softly to a tune that played in a full orchestral concert in his head; something that Mukuro was not privy to hearing in the vast club house.

They were the only two in the club that afternoon to clean the mess of cups and leftover drinks that customers had long left alone. The place was surprisingly large and hauntingly empty when there was no one; no one except the two bartenders. A whisper in the back of Mukuro’s mind murmured that if the entire world’s population died out except for the two of them, it would feel exactly like being in the club in the afternoon cleaning cups.

“Here’s the last one.”

Mukuro looked up briefly to find Lancia placing the cup on the counter top next to where he was drying. With a half smile, the older man ruffled Mukuro’s hair, ignoring the complaint that followed after.

Lancia yawned loudly, stretching his arms overhead and Mukuro couldn’t help but watch, seeing the powerful muscles underneath the bartending uniform flex and move, sensing exactly where there seemed to be a crick was in the other man’s neck. Lancia was tanned and muscular, but not overly so, and Mukuro was secretly envious. The only thing Mukuro had on Lancia was height; the senior bartender was strong, dark, and handsome, but sadly, he was on the shorter side of the spectrum. Even being several years older, Lancia only reached Mukuro’s chin.

Catching the younger man’s gaze, Lancia growled: “What?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll grow taller one day,” Mukuro commented, redirecting his eyes back to the glass cups he was drying. “You don’t start shrinking till you’re fifty.”

“Brat,” was the response from the other bartender. Mukuro made no comeback and continued with drying the cups, finishing as slow as a snail under the watchful eyes of his coworker. Placing the last cup into its correct place in the cubicle, Mukuro gave a small, unconscious nod at the finished job.

Lancia yawned again and then patted Mukuro on the shoulder. “Take a break before you have to get to work,” he said with a half smile, though in the dim light, it seemed more a scowl than a smile. “I’m going to nap for twenty minutes before the bouncers show up.”

“You’re not going to eat? It’s going to be a long night again, you know,” Mukuro remarked offhandedly. “This is your only chance to eat dinner.”

Lancia didn’t bother to hide the grimace when Mukuro mentioned the night ahead of them. “I need sleep more than I need food right now,” he replied and waved a hand at the younger man as if to shoo a stray animal away. “Go get your dinner and then come back. Don’t be late again or I’ll dock your paycheck.”

“You don’t hand out the paychecks,” Mukuro stated as he walked away from the counters that he became so familiar with from working there nearly every night of the past year. Across the club's dance floor, behind a musty, navy curtain that blocked the dimmed hallway, was the entrance to the employee lockers. He turned to the left side where an old, yellowed, cheap piece of paper that held a messy scrawl of ‘MEN’ was taped to the door. It was time to replace the sign, he thought; the tape was starting to peel and the words were bleeding into the paper, making it seem more like an inkblot than letters.

The male locker room had a slightly sour smell to it, reminding Mukuro of something unpleasant, and it was wholly unimpressive that he never bothered with locking his locker. The only things that were being stored in the tiny space were his old sweater and a microwavable dinner he threw together back in his apartment. He didn’t own anything impressive or expensive and even if he did, Mukuro knew better than to bring it to work. Showing off was for fools.

Opening his locker, he pulled out the small, plastic container that held his dinner and plucked away the chopsticks that were held to the side using Velcro.

Turning around to face the microwave hidden behind a mess of trash and jerseys (he had no idea why there were so many jerseys and rumor had it that if anyone tried to take out the trash in front of the microwave, the mess would reappear again the very next day), Mukuro tried to open the microwave door only to realize that it was jammed shut.

“Well,” Mukuro muttered to no one in particular. “Isn’t that just wonderful?”

With only a cold dinner in hand, Mukuro sighed and proceeded eating, clearing a seat on a messy table. Food was food after all, whether it was hot or cold. He only got through half the items in the small container when he was interrupted by the sound of loud footsteps echoing down the employees only corridor.

“Mukuro!” The door to the locker room banged open and in sauntered a shorter girl with magenta dyed hair, her cheer seeming to upset all the dust in the room. Mukuro held his dinner closer to his chest, watching the dust settle into the air. “Why are you all alone in here?”

“Because I’m eating,” he replied, chewing on his cold, hard rice. He took a bite of the sausage he mixed into the dinner and grimaced; it too was hard and cold and wasn’t very delicious. “You’re here early.”

M.M. grinned widely, her face nearly cracking in two. “I have to set up the DJ station, of course.”

Shoveling what he could of the food into his mouth, Mukuro closed the lid to his dinner and opened his locker once again, this time to put away the plastic container and the pair of chopsticks into the space. “I wasn’t quite aware that you ever needed to set that place up,” he commented, letting the small door of his locker swing shut. “Why are you in the men’s locker room anyway?”

“Well, I don’t really need to set up,” M.M. ignored his question, grin still on her face. “Hey, guess what?”

“You got a new boyfriend,” Mukuro answered without looking at her, taking a few moments to straighten out his uniform. Brushing past the shorter girl, he was once again in the musty halls that led to the main dance floor of the club. M.M. kept up with his long strides, an impish expression plastered upon her face the whole way.

“I did, but that’s not it.”

“You’re pregnant.”

“Mukuro, you’re very rude, but that’s not it either!”

Jumping in front of him, M.M. pulled out a crumpled piece of paper that looked like it was torn from a small, pocket notebook and held it out in a triumphant sort of way, as if it was a scroll with the Emperor’s decree upon it. “This!”

Mukuro put up a patient smile and replied; “Commendable. You finally got your high school diploma.”

M.M. made sure to put an effort into punching Mukuro in the side and Mukuro let her, walking back out into the bar area where Lancia had cleared a portion of the table to rest his head on. “You’re so mean. This is a printout of a ticket to my next concert; it’s for you.”

Mukuro pocketed the piece of paper without glancing at it, giving M.M. a pat on the head as he walked past her and out the club’s back entrance. It was nearly time for the club to open judging by the looks of the sky, it being so golden that the skies were blindingly eye stinging to look at. Rolling his shoulders and stretching, Mukuro let loose a yawn, feeling drowsier than ever. He didn’t feel quite up to bartending just yet and brought down a crate, setting it upside down on the pavement, and sat on it.

There wasn’t much to do and even if he went inside, his time would only be idled away by M.M. trying to make conversation with him. Perhaps he could take a short nap as per Lancia’s example, though the back alley behind a club was hardly a safe place to be sleeping.

“You seem bored.”

Looking up from his seat, Mukuro met the eyes of a towering man with the strangest sideburns he had ever seen. The dark double breasted suit he wore was uncommon and was ridiculously out of place and out of time, him looking to be out of a novel about Italy and its Mafioso. A tiny green chameleon sat on the brim of his hat, its bulging eyes settled on Mukuro and not a moment did it stray from watching the young bartender.

“I’m sorry sir, but this area is off limits to nonemployees,” Mukuro spoke with practiced ease from many times catching fights or couples getting too frisky in areas that they shouldn’t be. He trained a friendly smile upon his face, but the stranger was undaunted.

“What do you think, Leon?” The man pat the chameleon perched on his hat and grinned crookedly, a sort of a twist at the corner of his mouth to reveal gleaming white teeth. “I think he’ll do.”

“Sir?” Mukuro stood up, prepared to escort the stranger away from the back alley.

“You’re just the one I’m looking for.” Grabbing Mukuro by his elbow, the stranger pulled him along in a grip stronger than steel as they walked at a furious pace down the busy street.

“What the hell are you doing?” Mukuro tried to pry his arm away from the taller man, but found himself unable to do so. People on the streets were staring and whispering, the noise becoming a soundless buzz in the late afternoon atmosphere. “Let me go!”

The stranger just gave him a glare: “That is not the way you speak to someone that is just about to give you something good.”

“Thank you, but I must decline.” Mukuro pulled, hard, but the stranger settled an uncomfortably cold hand onto the back of his neck and pinched, like he was a misbehaving child that needed redirection. “I have to get to work!”

“This will be quick.”

Mukuro found himself being redirected from the main street and into an alley that was adjacent to the club’s, the strange man still an ever looming presence that pressed him forward. They went down a path that he’d never noticed before, squeezing their way between broken fences and overflowing garbage dumps with weeds peeking out from below long neglected pavement. He had never knew that the alley would lead to another street, this one deserted and quiet with the dying sun in full view above the roofs of the lonely shops.

“You’ll be late for work if you just stand around.” The stranger loosened his grip on young man, just gently guiding Mukuro by the elbow towards a run down looking building with no sign or name hanging upon its windows and doors. All that was there was dust and a heavy velvet curtain stained with a smoky smell of tobacco and the off-sweet scent of red wine. Opening the creaky glass door and brushing the curtain to the side, the tall man didn’t hesitate to walk into the shady shop and motioned for Mukuro to follow.

Curiosity piqued, Mukuro followed.

The inside of the shop was a complete wreck, an exact reflection of how it was on the outside. Aghast and slightly irritated, Mukuro took a step back, which warranted for the stranger to pause and look at him with those gleaming black eyes he had.

“No leaving just yet,” he grinned viciously. Steering Mukuro into a large, overstuffed chair, the stranger took a seat on an even larger and grander looking chair across from him. Folding his fingers together in a business type fashion, the stranger introduced himself. “My name is Reborn. This is my shop.”

“I gathered that,” Mukuro answered wryly. “Now that I have seen your shop, I believe that I should be getting back to work. It’s a lovely shop by the way.”

“I just told you to sit back down.” Reborn glared and Mukuro shot the taller man an unfriendly look. “I don’t like brats.”

“You brought me here.”

“For a reason,” growled Reborn, but Mukuro was unfazed and not intimidated by the other one bit. “This, here, is the reason.”

A small piece of paper that fit right into Mukuro’s palm was placed before him, the only definitive thing that the odd eyed man could make out was something akin to a pictogram of the sky drawn in dark red ink. After several moments of staring at the paper, he looked over to Reborn to find the man smiling and holding his chameleon, petting it like one would to a pet cat or dog.

“All I need is a drop of blood.”

Rising from his seat, Mukuro threw the piece of paper down and was half way across the room before he felt something very hard and very metallic being shoved into his back. “You kids can’t recognize a blessing if it satisfied all your desires. You see, I’m in a hurry right now and if you don’t want this, then I’ll let you go.”

“That gun you have is telling a different story,” Mukuro groused and hesitantly held out a hand. “You can have that drop of blood.”

Reborn was grinning from ear to ear and withdrew a knife and the piece of paper that Mukuro threw to the floor earlier. “You can turn around and watch. It’s sort of interesting.”

Doing as he was told, realizing that Reborn wasn’t a man that suggested anything at all, but commanded through perceived implications. Mukuro turned around slowly, scowl and glare etched onto his face like a displeased child, hand still stretched out. Watching as Reborn barely scraped the knife against his thumb, the sharp stinging sensation of the edge breaking skin told him that Reborn had indeed cut him. Blood slowly started to ooze from the wound and overflowed, dripping off his digit and letting gravity take its toll, flying downward at a quick velocity. Reborn caught the blood with the paper.

Three drops of blood fell and Reborn’s grin only got wider.

Fire burst from the paper, charring and eating and crumbling all that there was until nothing was left, leaving Mukuro to wonder.

“It is done. You may leave now.”

Glancing suspiciously at Reborn, Mukuro didn’t need to be told twice to get out and immediately rushed out the door, not bothering with the fact that the stinging wound on his thumb had disappeared.

He raced back the way he came, pass the narrow passageways and the broken fences; the sky was no longer golden but bleeding red as his thumb had just a moment before. It was the color of his eye, of the off-sweet scent of red wine, and the sunset just made Mukuro lightheaded and dizzy. He pushed past crowds of people as he nearly tripped over his own feet when he burst out of the tiny alley way. Running as fast as he could back to the club, he realized that there was still five minutes till the opening.

“Mukuro, that was a short break,” M.M. said when he stepped in through the back door. “You’re usually out there till Lancia’s just about ready to pop a blood vessel.”

“Short?” Mukuro asked incredulously. “How long was I out there for?”

“A minute?” M.M. provided helpfully, looking at her watch and shrugging. “I don’t know. You were just in here a moment ago anyway.” She frowned. “Why do you look like you ran through a dumpster?”

Restraining the urge to roll his eyes, Mukuro sidestepped the short, magenta haired girl and made his way back into the locker rooms. He grabbed his sweater and his half eaten dinner before stopping in his tracks, breath hitched in his throat and legs straining from the sprint back to the club.

“Why am I leaving for?” Mukuro whispered to himself, staring at the items in his hands. There was no reason to leave. There was nothing waiting for him back at his apartment and there was definitely nothing for him to do once he got back. Why did he just get the oddest urge to leave and go back home?

Shaking his head and shoving his sweater and dinner container back into his locker, Mukuro once again straightened out his appearance and tried to calm his breathing.

He wasn’t just abducted by some random gun-wielding, chameleon-petting stranger called Reborn. He wasn’t just cut on the thumb by a knife. There was no way that he could have eaten his dinner, walked outside, go all the way to wherever the hell that shop was behind all the myriad of alleyways, spend a time sitting there having his blood taken, and run back to the club before the club was even opened. There was no way. All that must have taken half an hour.

Looking at his thumb, Mukuro realized that there wasn’t a wound there. The skin was unbroken and intact. No scar and no blood remained.

“Mukuro?” M.M. poked her head in through the door, eyes wide. “Are you feeling okay?”

Still staring at his thumb, Mukuro uttered: “I’m going crazy.”

M.M. laughed, her voice rich and melodic and full of humor, that it nearly made Mukuro cringe. “Listen, darling, we all are.”

“I am not your darling,” Mukuro snapped and curled his hands into fists. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Mukuro closed his eyes and opened them after a few moments, forcing himself to relax and unwind the tension that had bunched at his shoulders. “My, I’m acting rather odd today. I hope this doesn’t continue for a long while; customer’s will be so disappointed.”

The short girl just waved it off, grin still on her face. “Hurry up and get yourself together. Club’s opening up now and Lancia’s going to be after your head in a few if you don’t.” Leaving with a flirtatious wink, she closed the door and was gone.

Mukuro could only envy the energy that she had.

Looking around at the sour smelling room, he smiled with a small twitch of his lips and gathered himself as best as he could by gently slapping his cheeks with the palm of his hands. “Time to get to work.” Putting on his best smile, he stepped outside the locker room and quickly headed down to the main dance floor of the club where the bar was located. Lancia was already up from his nap, standing diligently at the counter, giving Mukuro a rare nod of approval when the younger man showed up to take his spot also behind the counter.

“I guess I won’t be docking your pay this time,” Lancia said with a smirk and Mukuro shrugged his shoulders easily, letting himself forget about the odd hallucination he had and patted the senior bartender on the back.

“Pity you won’t be getting those extra bottles of milk.”

Lancia scowled. “Brat.”

Loud, upbeat music was started up by M.M. in the DJ gallery, her cue to everyone within hearing range that opening time was upon them and that the clubbers were now allowed to go in. Another thing that Mukuro realized that came with the start of M.M.’s music was the last ember of the dying sun disappearing behind the tall city buildings. The sky was still streaked in red, but navy blue had began to lace with the colors, creating a pallet of violet and other interesting hues.

The night wore on, the club busier than ever with Mukuro and Lancia making small talk with most of the customers that dropped by the bar. The women were flirtatious, the men were friendly, nonetheless, Mukuro weathered through the night till it was closing and only then did he sigh in relief and let himself slide into an empty bar stool. Lancia took a seat next to him, looking just as bushed.

“I’m leaving now!” M.M.’s cheery voice rang through the nearly empty club house. Left behind were a few security guards, a night janitor, and the two bartenders. None of the crowd had been left behind, having been escorted out of the place by security guards.

“Drive safely!” Lancia called out after her, but M.M. was already out of hearing range, out the door like a bolt of lightning. Turning to the odd eyed man next to him, Lancia questioned: “How are you getting home?”

“Walking,” Mukuro replied and let loose a jaw cracking yawn. He eyed all the left over drinks and the cups that needed to be washed and blanched. The amount the crowd had drunk was even more than the previous night and he was not looking forward to work tomorrow afternoon.

“I’ll drive you,” Lancia said, mirroring the younger man’s yawn. “Come on, it’s safer.”

Not about to turn down the ride, Mukuro hopped off the bar stool and grinned. “Sure, but let me drive.”

Rolling his eyes, Lancia snapped; “Go get your things, boy.”

Sauntering out of the dance floor, Mukuro made his way into the opposite side of the building and into the locker room, snatching up his sweater and dinner, bounding out of the place to catch up with Lancia before the senior bartender left. When he was back at the bar, Lancia was waiting, car keys in hand. Gesturing for him to follow, Lancia walked out the door, bidding the rest of the employees remaining a good night.

His car was parked next to the sidewalk, one of the wheels bumping the curb. The car looked old, smelling of car exhaust and lemons, its outer layer of green paint peeling. Gray seats, probably once of leather, was so worn that they were nearly threadbare and the stuffing was coming out from most ends; it always made Mukuro think as to what could have happened to the seats to put them in such a condition. Unlocking the doors, Lancia took the driver’s seat and Mukuro got into the passenger side, eyes pinned to the driver’s end with a look of longing.

“No,” Lancia said, bursting Mukuro’s thoughts. “You are not driving.”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” Mukuro lied with a cheerful smile on his face. “I was wondering if you could reach the pedals.”

“Shut it,” Lancia warned, placing the keys into the ignition and starting up the engine. The car came to life, the very sound of those vehicles from old storybooks that goes ‘putt-putt-putt’ all the way it went, down the street and past many traffic lights, making Mukuro feel out of time watching the darkened streets and the lamp lights fly past. It took hardly five minutes to get to the apartment complex Mukuro lived at, Lancia stopping across the street to let the younger man out.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” Lancia was smiling rather wryly though it was hardly visible in the dark. “Don’t you dare skip out or I’ll fire you.”

“You say that all the time,” Mukuro replied, getting out of the car, his nose stinging slightly from the chilly nocturnal air. “I wonder when you’ll actually keep your word?”

“Don’t test me.”

Closing the door to the car, Mukuro grinned and waved good bye, watching as the senior bartender nod in return and drive off, the putt-putt-putting of the engine never stopping at all. Mukuro hoped that with the money Lancia was earning was to get a new car because the one he was driving was going to stop one day and then Mukuro would be without a ride during the late nights at the club.

Stars couldn’t be seen from where Mukuro stood, the city lights too bright for anything from the skies to rival and all he did was stand and stare up. Nothing twinkled in the velvet ebony folds.

Chuckling slightly to himself at the absurdity of perhaps catching sight of a star or two, Mukuro shoved his free hand that wasn’t carrying his dinner container into his pocket and stepped off the curb of the sidewalk.

If the city lights were bright, then the headlights of a speeding convertible was a comet-like haze that dimmed even the sun at the peak of its hours and Mukuro felt himself flying before hearing the loud snaps and cracks of bone against gravel. The car stopped for just a moment, the driver’s side of the window rolling downward, and then it was gone, speeding down the street like the devil it was.

Mukuro watched, eyes seemingly unable to close and his whole body numb, the pain having yet to settle.

“Fucking bastard,” he muttered, managing to drag himself onto the sidewalk before passing out.

To Be Continued...

Ehehehe. Well, this was what I've been working on during my entire vacation. I-I wonder if this is any good. :( Review and tell me what you think?