Genre: Smut, Romance, and a hint of Fluff
Ships?: Tony Stark/Zexion
Characters: Tony Zexion
Rating: R
Spoilers: Nope
Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts, Ironman, or any related characters. This was written out of enjoyment of the series, and no profit is being made.
Music: One Minute Man by Missy Elliot
Notes:
L'Unione Fa La Forza
"You are going to get killed, fratello!"
Mario only laughs and gestures grandly with his hands, sweeping them outwards as he strides out of his cheerful brother's office. "Well, at least I will not died bored!" he drawls, grinning widely even as the scar along his left eye throbs slightly. "Now, good night to you, Gio." His brother's farewell sinks into his back as he enters the dark hallways of the Auditore home. Despite the silence which falls over it, noise still thrums outside in the great city of New York: distant voices, the hum of cars, the rumble of subway cars. New York, like most cities Mario has found himself in, is almost a person in itself, the people merely blood. It is no Venice, with its running water voice, but it shares its bright lights, its many people celebrating for the sake of celebrating. It is enough like home for him to feel comfortable.
Not too comfortable not to spot a huddled figure in the blackness, and for a moment, Mario tenses, narrowing his now-one good eye to make out features. When he spots a familiar head of dark hair, he relaxes, grinning once again. Ah, their lost chickling, found once more! With a few long strides, he is kneeling besides his second and lost brother's son, a hand coming to rest on the boy's shoulder. Instantly, Jacopo jerks straight, eyes wide and wild, mind clearly still sunken slightly in sleep. "Eh, nipote," Mario teases in a whisper, shaking the boy's shoulder lightly, "did your papa not give you your own room since you came back with family? Mios dio, this place is big enough, si?"
Jacopo only stares at him for a moment; maybe he remembers his own padre, maybe he can't and the idea is foreign, but soon enough, something seems to click in those dark eyes of his. They just as soon dart to the side, avoiding Mario's own sharp, one eye gaze even as he's pulling the boy up to his feet. "Nah," he mutters, obviously embarrassed in that strange accent of his, hints of Italian and something bizarrely New York just beneath the surface. "I got a room. Got my own room an' everything." The crack of his voice, the paranoid glance over his shoulder into the deceiving dark abyss the hallway pretends to be- Jacopo is good at lying for some things, but he is still just a child with his heart on his sleeve.
Mario only offers his and a smile. "Then you will tell me all about this new room of yours, nipote. Venire; I will show you this city like you have never seen it before." That is why, fifteen minutes later, they are striding through the scattered lights of Little Italy, hands linked while Jacopo's sneakers flap against the ground in contrast to Mario's boot snaps; the child and the Mafioso. Out of the corner of his good eye, Mario can see Jacopo looking about eagerly, wide awake for this strange midnight excursion. Unlike what he had thought mere minutes ago, he realizes that the boy... "You do not seem like one afraid of il buio, nipote."
"I'm not." For a moment, Jacopo speeds up, desperate to match his uncle's long stride with a jog. "I mean, I don't think so. Sometimes, I just have... dreams."
"Nightmares?"
"...Yeah." The corners of his mouth tighten. "It's like..." A pause, and those dark eyes look back up at him. "You wouldn't laugh, would you, zio?"
"If it is important, I would never laugh," Mario says, calming the young boy's tense worry. "What is it like?"
"Well..." Jacopo hesitates for a moment before forging on. "Sometimes, I think I'm.. older, y'know, and... Sometimes I can't remember, but I always know I lost something really important- the most important thing in the whole world. Except, I didn't really lose it, but it was stolen, too-" He kicks a can across the pavement in frustration. "Something! And I..." The anger fades from his voice, and he's all the more a child, small and scared and confused. "I'm angry but I can't control it. Just feel like some kinda... I dunno, a toy or something. An' no matter what I did... I'd never see that someone again."
Someone? A change from something, for sure. Mario thinks back to when they picked up Jacopo from St. Mary's and recalls the girl his nephew had talked to at the gates, torn between family and a friend. A sly grin twists across his face. Ah ha! Perhaps his nipote is a bit homesick... Especially if he has a young girl waiting there. "And you never had these dreams in Mary's?"
Just a shrug in reply. "I think so, but they weren't as bad and I could always wake up and there'd be other people 'round me. Mostly, 'tho, I just went and saw Jenny, snuck past the nuns and everything. She always made the dreams go away. I think it was 'cuz she glowed."
Mario almost stops, suddenly curious. Did...? No, does...? "How do you mean she glowed, Jackie?"
"It was like she was made of light or something." The memory is apparently a fond one, if the small smile on his face is any indication. "Like, I could still tell she had a face and stuff, but it was all light."
"Blue light? White light?"
"Kinda.. mixed. Like that pretty window mamma has in the living room with all the different colors. Jenny was like those colors on the floor, all sorts of different ones. Paler, too, and more mixed."
Huh. This is differently interesting. Him, he has never cared for the sight the Auditore family is blessed with, partially because Mario knows his is not the best, not like his brother's. He does not know if this is right, what Jacopo could see, or if it is something else... But he is of Auditore blood. The chances are high.
Besides... Ha! You never know. There might yet be a color for someone a young bambino would like to make his moglie some day. Back to the matter at hand, however. Mario's palm smacks right in the center of young Jacopo's back encouragingly, almost sending him flat against the pavement of the small park of Little Italy. "Do not worry, nipote! Di mai preoccuparsi." Mario kneels before him, both hands on both shoulders. "We have all been there, lost in the dark and not knowing our actions were ours or another's. You are never alone; you have your family with you, and we will never leave you, si?And there is a strength of your own within you." One hand draws back, a fist formed so that Mario may beat his own chest, right over his heart. "You are a strong boy, Jacopo. This darkness will never take you, not easily at worst and never at your best. Bury your feet in the ground and refuse to let it take you away. And do you know what two things you say when the darkness is before you, snarling and raving?"
Jacopo's eyes shine in the faint light of the streets, desperate and determined like a soldier's. "Che cosa?"
"Niente è allineare tutto è consentito." The words are heavy and reassuring in Mario's own mouth - the hilt of a sword that has seen him through every battle of his life, the sheets of every safe haven's bed, the arms of his family wrapping around him and lending their strength to his. "It has been passed down through our family since we have been able to speak; it is our motto. Speak that, and know our hands are with yours even if not in body. That is for you to say to yourself, to remind you."
"What's the other thing?"
Mario's grin is positively devilish. "Vaffanculo a Lei, la sua moglie, e' la sua madre." A grin of his own spreads wide across Jacopo's face. "Say that to the darkness, and to anyone who would try and take that person who is special to you."
"What would I do then?"
"Fight, of course." Mario smacks Jacopo's shoulder again. "Always fight for your loved ones, Jacopo. Now, let's return to your home." He stands up and takes his nephew's hand once more. Together, they stroll along the streets of Little Italy, bound by blood and familial love. As they walk, Mario thinks of the gift Jacopo may have, and how Giovanni will have his hands full with his four other children, all possible future Mafiosi. He is no teacher, but perhaps he will teach Jacopo a few things about La vista dell'Aquila. As he thinks, another thing occurs to Mario...
"Nipote?"
"Si, zio?"
"Never tell your madre or your padre- in fact, tell no living soul of that second phrase I taught you, alright? I like my skin over my bones, not flapping in the breeze over your mamma's balcony."
