Yamamoto Haruhi

Gokudera kept his steps soft as he walked the gilded halls of the Compound. He knew one of the children was around there somewhere; he could feel it in his bones. This sure was some way for the Tenth Vongola’s right-hand man to be spending an afternoon…tiptoeing around his friends’ children. Gokudera smiled when he saw the doorway to the parlour in plain sight, where he could finally relax once again.

Suddenly, his ears perked up at the sound of a soft giggle from behind the large suit of armor. Having not been paying too close attention to his surroundings (just enough to know he wasn’t in life-threatening danger), he looked down at the armor’s legs and spotted a kid’s blue-and-crème dress between the spaces.

“Oh, I wonder where those rotten little brats are,” Gokudera sighed aloud. Actually, it was extra-loud; so that he could be sure the kid behind the armor could hear. A second giggle arose from the armor and Gokudera snaked his head to look behind it.

“You found me, Goku-oji!” Haruhi laughed. Gokudera remained as composed as possible as the girl promptly grasped his leg in childish excitement. “Now we get to go find the others!”

“…and what makes you think I’m going to do that?”

“…’cause we’re playing!”

“A Mafioso does not play.”

“Daddy and Mommy play with me.”

“They’re your parents; that’s different.”

“Hiiii…”

Gokudera grumbled to himself and kept on walking, despite the girl still latched firmly onto his leg. She would get tired and let go eventually. Lambo always did when he got stuck babysitting that pathetic excuse for a Thunder Guardian, so the Rain brat would most likely follow suit.

Ha. Gokudera obviously did not know his own godchild very well. Haruhi kept on clinging, even when he went down the stairs. It was just a good thing the brat was so light, or the Storm knew he would have never made it to the kitchen.

“Hey, if I get you some food, will you leave me alone?” Gokudera asked sourly. The girl’s eyes lit up.

“Really? Awesome Goku-oji!” Haruhi let go and ran for a chair at the unnecessarily large table, large enough to fit every Guardian and immediate family.

Gokudera glanced through the cupboards and frowned at the lack of prepared food. Since a good enough portion of the Cosa Nostra enjoyed cooking, Tsuna never bothered to employ cooks. This left very little around for midday snacks and treats and even less still for children.

“Here,” Gokudera said, placing a plate in front of Haruhi. It contained a few of the sushi rolls Takeshi had made the night before, which the man knew the kid ate.

“Cool!” Haruhi giggled. She hopped down from the chair and went into a drawer where she knew her Tsuna-oji kept the chopsticks.

“Hey Goku-oji?”

“What?”

The ends of the chopsticks separated and the eating commenced.

“Why do you always have to live so far away?”

“…because this is where I work.”

“Daddy works here too, but we live in Japan!”

“Well, that’s your dad. He loves baseball too much to live anywhere else.”

“Hahi?”

Of all the traits she had to inherit from her mother, it had to be that stupid “hahi” thing.

“Japan just works better for your dad. Besides, don’t you have friends there?”

“Yeah. Then there’s all my cousins and jii-chan and sometimes, if I’m good, Daddy takes me to a baseball game!”

“See… that’s what I’m talking about,” Gokudera said, sitting down across from Haruhi. “I’m not very good with baseball and don’t know a lot, so Japan isn’t very good for me, but great for your dad.”

“Then how did you live in Japan before?”

“It was very hard.” Total lie.

“Oh.” Haruhi sat contemplating for a moment as she chewed on her last sushi roll. “Hiii! I have an idea! I’ll teach you about baseball! Daddy says I’m really good and I made sure to bring my bat and ball and I know Daddy packed his glove!”

“Now I don’t think that’s…”

“No! It’ll be fun! Just wait right here while I go get my stuff!” With that, Haruhi bolted from her chair and ran out into the hall at full speed.

“Shit,” Gokudera cursed, smacking his forehead with his palm. He placed Haruhi’s plate in the sink, threw away the chopsticks and walked out of the kitchen, opting for Plan B.

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A/N: jii-chan = Gramps = Yama Sr.