oh my god i forgot i had this fic again and now we're at 27k reads THANK YOU GUYS ILY FR <33
make sure you check the previous chapter really fast because I made one small change that may leave you confused (last sentence) WE DONT SETTLE FOR OK DRESSES FR
Also as a treat, i will be briefly taking requests for this fic should you have any. Make sure you elaborate on your idea fully so I can write it to the best of my ability :DD
(also, semi-long chapter bc it's been forever since an upload. 3k words <33)
(not editing bc im half asleep, sorry for any mistakes and whatnot)
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The occasion was sad, and yet it had been a celebration of death. It is a funeral, just as much as it is a grand madness of dancers and orchestra, whose music vibrated down the hall and bled into the street with every opening of those grandiose doors.
You cling to your chosen corner of the room and sip on the drink Secco had brought earlier. It was sour, though also, a tinge sweet, some bitter concoction that somehow had you coming back for more, drink after drink. You couldn't tell whether to like it or not.
'Ten minutes until we need you outside.' A voice in your ear chimed, and your eyes flick to a large circle of chairs far off in the distant reaches of the room.
Tiziano sits there, legs crossed, and raises his glass to you with a bow of his head. You shift your hand in a lazy reciprocation, and he seems to laugh, before he smiles and looks away.
"Understood." You mumble back into the receiver, holding your glass to your lips so it doesn't appear that you're talking-- though you may have already drawn enough suspicion just standing by yourself.
Perhaps it's what attracted the looming shadow swallowing you up, an eager guest, offensively good looking.
"How's it going, dollface?"
"Fine." You say back, and elect to swallow another sip of liquid torture than answer further.
Cioccolata laughed, and took a swing from his own glass. He was not someone you much had the energy to acknowledge, though with the way he presented himself tonight, perhaps there was space to indulge.
His green locks had been pulled back from his face and slicked into a neat cluster, he didn't reek of rot and blood didn't cling to his clothes. However, that was bound to change at some point tonight no doubt.
"Don't you look pretty in that dress of yours? Was that one I picked out?"
"It was one you payed for."
"Oh," He sighed whimsically, "I have such good taste."
You let out a short scoff and turned away, looking to the target across the room. There was a small grunt from beside you, and a head lowered to hover beside your face.
Ignorance is bliss. You pretend its not there, and finish the odd spell Secco had given you before dumping the glass onto a passing waiters tray. Pink Floyd hides in your shadow with your rifle in its hand, and it eagerly thumbs the trigger as it waits for the signal to turn the ball into a funeral as planned.
"I don't appreciate you ignoring me." Cioccolata snaps into your ear. "I have been very, very nice to you, but I can change that."
"Well, you've made me rather uncomfortable during a few interactions, so I think I'm well within my rights to be distant."
"My sweetest, I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?"
"I don't think so, I'd like to preserve my dignity."
"Would you forgive me if I got you some new shoes."
The slight pause you gave him was all that needed to be said. You bit your lip in thought, and slowly felt that dignity you were so prideful of slip between your fingers like sand.
A finger traces your jaw, dances around your chin, and a chest closes the space with your back. "What about two pairs?" Cioccolata teases, and you're starting to wear away. No, you can't be so shallow! "And if I throw in a purse?"
"Then, I'll forgive you."
You're that shallow.
Cioccolata lets out a slight squeal and hugs you tightly with a childish glee, and pecks your cheek. "Oh, wonderful! Now, let's get this job done, and I'll take you to go pick out something nice."
Pink Floyd shudders, and you force a grin onto your face. "Sure."
It's only a moment before you're alone in that damn corner again, and Cioccolata is lost in the crowd of similarly tall bastards.
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The cold of the bathroom counter bites at your worn legs, and yet it is the glare Doppio gives you that makes you shiver.
"I put too much faith into you, it seems."
You can't meet his gaze, someone so cheerful turned so uncharacteristically serious, his fingers drumming against the meat of his arm in temperament.
Cioccolata wraps up what's left of your injured leg, and looks at you. He's not happy, there's no devilish smile or lecherous lick of his lips when he meets your gaze, there's no uncomfortable kiss to ease the pain in your leg. He leaves without another word, and closes the door behind him with a click.
There's a burning against your skin, and you know its him, you know its the short, delightful man just a few feet away ripping up your pride, tearing apart your resolve like paper, demanding you lift your head and face him in silent command. And he does all that as he simply stares.
His tongue presses against his cheek, what is it he should do with you? Folded arms settle against a purple sweater, his chest deflating with a small sigh.
"You disappoint me."
"He's dead though! Mission completed, dude is dead! I don't know-" You shot into a spiral of pent up annoyances, shut down by the raise of Doppio's hand.
"He was dead, yes, and your job was done... And then you screwed up the whole fucking thing trying to defend Tiziano."
"He had people coming after him, I got rid of all of them!"
"And you got shot in your leg, and almost died just as well hadn't it been for Secco."
"I don't see why it's such a big deal, you have an entire other team of people with guns, hell, you help run an organization full of people with guns-!"
He snapped his fingers, and you shut up. "You're important not for the fact that any one of us necessarily cares about you, but because your father would take your place should you disappear."
A sort of understanding came to calm your anger, and while it did not suppress that fire, it brought down the heat. You pick and prod at the gemstones stitched to your dress in a glittering assembly with a pouted lip, and waited for the moment you were dismissed so you could go whine about this whole interaction on the phone with Ivy.
"I'll let your family know you won't be visiting tomorrow." Doppio sighed, cleaning up the medical mess of bandages and wraps. "I'll send Carne in your place for a wellness check however, so you may know they're alright."
Your head snapped up from where it had bent, and you faced him with overstated shock. "No! What? Why can't I go see them?" This statement only earned you a glare.
"Because I need you here. Especially with this injury of yours." Doppio said. "Now, I'll have Squalo help you to your room. Rest for an hour, then get back to work."
Squalo? He'd only serve enough help to break your other leg. Misery would deliver itself to your front door if you relied on him for anything at all.
Pink Floyd fluttered around in the room, pacing and squeaking to itself, stomping its heels on the ground in hopes it would maybe break. When Doppio finally left, it rushed to close the door after him, just so it could scream and thrash around.
It violently waved its arms around and kicked whatever was in sight, fighting the shower curtain, flipping off itself in the mirror to practice for when it next saw the pink-haired-prick. And during every moment of this, it howled and screeched, a banshee haunting the bathroom.
You on the other hand, silently swallowed your discontent, and scooted off the counter onto your good foot, and hobbled to your room.
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Doppio was left ignored at your door.
"(Y/n)? Are you alright?"
It's only been half an hour, and yet your services are needed already. The outside world of the Italian summer looked almost fake through your window, having stared at it so long it no longer appeared real.
Each flowing leaf, something fabricated to keep it from seeming like a painted picture positioned at your window. Your nails mindlessly picked at the pills forming on the blanket you laid stiffly on top of, harvested then flicked away.
"How's your leg? Do you want me to ask Cioccolata for some pain killers?" He meekly asked, awkwardly shifting in his position at the door.
He edged his feet near the entrance of the room, only to shuffle them back like he was testing the boundaries of some forbidden zone.
"I'm fine," You answered back plainly, though with a sharp, forceful tone.
Doppio thumbed the edge of the plate in his hands. "I brought you some pastries, I thought they might-- You seem like you like sweets, so I was hoping that, umm..."
"No thanks."
"Are, are you sure? Because they're really good, I made them myself, and, I wanted to, to see if they were good to you, too, and.."
You flicked another pill off your blanket. "No, thank you, Mister Doppio. I'm fine."
"Mister? I thought we were past that?" He said with some degree of uncertainty. "Did-- Have I done something wrong?"
The skin of your skin was chewed between your teeth, as you contemplated, thinking and thinking. There was no way he didn't know.
"You gave me only an hour to rest. I'd like to use that hour fully before you come give me a task to do, sir."
"Huh? When did I do that? With an injury like yours you need way more than an hour."
"You told me earlier, sir. Chewed me out for screwing up, which I understand, because I did fuck up the mission."
"No, you did great! I mean, you haven't done too many of these, but seeing as how cleanly you did it before making a simple mistake, which, really, everyone does doing these things-- I don't know why I would..."
You could nearly hear him shrink in on himself, dejected, looking down onto his homemade goods with sad eyes. He hugged the plate to his chest with an unfortunate impression, hands gripping the ceramic with such painful rejection the cookies trembled along the blue glaze.
"Did, did I say anything else?"
"Well, you mentioned no one here necessarily gives a shit about me, and that I'm only any good as your maid."
"That's not true, though." He muttered.
"I'm just telling you what you said. Now, if you'll let me enjoy my hour in peace...?"
Doppio pressed his lips together in a thin line. "You can have the day off, actually. Sorry I bothered you."
A series of thuds hit your garbage on his way out, and your room smelled of cookies.
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Tiziano and Squalo eat their dinner on the couch, Carne enjoying his on the single seat in the corner. Cioccolata is prodding at his food with a disappointed look, and Secco appears to be waiting for something.
The kitchen stinks of something delicious, savory and filling. A cookbook is spread upon the counter and a mess of ingredients are strewn around every available surface.
A small apron is thrown to its hanger on the wall, and Doppio turns to face the mad doctor and his assistant as he cleans his mess and washes his hands. "Is something wrong with the food?"
"No, nothing." Cioccolata mumbles.
"Why aren't you eating?"
"I like (Y/n)s cooking better."
Doppio huffs, and wipes his hands dry on a towel. "Well, I'm sorry I'm no classy cook, but this is the best I can do with her injured."
Secco whines, and picks at the meal in front of him with a repulsed look. It only takes a moment for him to fall behind the counter and sink below ground, escaping the contents of his dish and its maker.
The plate goes cold, as does its meal, and for the second time today the trash can eats up Doppios efforts with a cavernous mouth.
The kitchen is cleaned to the standards you ask and everything has been wiped down, the sky is turning into a deep serene blue and each member of the elite squad is trickling into their room to rest.
He's left alone in the kitchen with his thoughts.
Sad. It's another relationship screwed up. Tiziano and Squalo already give him funny looks, and Carne goes quiet whenever Doppio comes around-- and now because of his episode, you'll end up treating him differently too.
It's not much like he can help whatever condition haunts him-- going into a blank state with a version of himself he can't help but resent take over. He hears voices in his ear command him, string him along.
Without the guidance and direction of another he is lost and uncoordinated, so this guardian out of sight is a sort of sanctuary in that sense, but it's only until he takes it too far, and makes Doppio another enemy.
Something hard stumbles around the floor above him, uneven beats against the hardwood, and it leads, thump, thump, thump, to the stairs.
Crutches hit the stairs with uncertain weight, a hand awkwardly balancing itself against the railing. You descend uncomfortably, wincing each time the support of the crutch digs into the pit of your arm, eyes widening when your foot slips.
He watches you, concerned, and quiet as he waits for you to voice a need for help. Nothing comes, not even when you hit the ground with a yelp, glasses smashing into your face, injured leg slamming into the floor.
Doppio rushes from where he observed idly and helps you to your feet, returning your crutch to your arm and brushing off your sweatpants. There's a quiet thanks that leaves your grit teeth, and you hiss with each step it takes for you to meet the couch.
"Are you ok?" He says. "What are you still doing up?"
"I'm fine, just came down for a bite. Was working on some files you gave me a while back."
"I said you could have the day off though?"
"Oh. I didn't think you were serious."
Doppio bites his cheek, and takes a seat a respectable distance away. His knees automatically coil to his chest, and his hands disappear inside his sleeves as they fidget with the knitting. "(Y/n), I want to tell you something."
You give a skeptical look. "Go ahead."
"I'm sorry about what it was I did earlier, I mean-- I don't remember what I did? But it made you upset, so I'm sorry that-"
"Doppio, it's fine. I needed to be disciplined and I understand it."
"No, it's not really fine. I want to explain to you something that I hope you don't look at me differently for." He said. "The doctors give me different answers every time, DID, schizophrenia-- but I have a mental condition that makes me seem a little mean sometimes, and then I get episodes where I can freak out, or feel like someone else is in control."
He pauses to take a shaky breath, and flicks his gaze to you to find a reaction. Your face hasn't changed. "It's just-- I think one of those things happened earlier after you came back hurt, I don't remember what I said or if I was even in control, and I just want you to know that I didn't really mean it, what I said."
"Doppio." You look at him with an unmoved expression, tapping the space on the couch beside you. "Come here, please."
He looks at you with a questioning gaze, though leaves his curled up position on his chair to shuffle over to you. As he sits, you taking his awkward, fumbling hands into yours, and look into his embarrassed face kindly.
"I do not care."
Glossy hazel eyes drop to avoid your critical gaze, and a tiny sniffle breaks his silence. "..oh."
"I mean, I don't care about your condition. It doesn't change how I see you, at all, but it does help me understand you."
"So, you won't think of me, like, someone crazy or anything, will you?" His head raises, however slightly, to meet you with something hopeful in his face.
"No, of course not. This only helps prepare me for anything that happens."
Doppio leans into your extended arms gratefully, worming closer to you on the couch until he was practically sitting on your lap, enjoying the feeling of being held onto and rocked gently.
Since his divorce, no one's held him with such care and mindfulness, told him his difference isn't what makes him different.
It takes mere seconds for every bit of him to crumble in your arms, and your stuck on the couch with a sobbing man cradled between your muscled arms, pinning you to the cushions.
And you stay like that for a while. A long while. Letting him clutch you tightly, afraid you might disappear should he let go even a bit. You tell him, everything's alright, hushing him as you pet his hair, putting his head to rest on your shoulder.
Your glasses are set on the side table nearby, and you comfortably rest your head on top of his as he calms, gradually.
"Are we ok now?" You whisper gently.
Doppio hiccups. "...Yeah. I'm ok."
"Would you like to rest with me? I'm worried about you going to sleep by yourself after this."
"Can I?"
You smile. "Of course you can. It can be our little sleep over."