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Summary: Ugetsu isn't immune to homesickness, and there was a time when Spade wasn't a dick.
Warnings: Relative fluff.
“It’s an old story – the god who was the first emperor and the ancestor of men met Konohana-no-Sakuya, the cherry-blossom goddess, on a beach and they fell in love. Her father tried to convince him to marry her older sister, the stone goddess with her offer of longevity, instead, but he only had eyes for the cherry goddess. This decided the fate of all men – that their lives would be brilliant and colorful, but as short and ephemeral as the cherry blossoms in spring.”
There wasn’t exactly an absence of cherry trees in Italy; once there actually was a main base established that was something less makeshift than previous tunnels, boltholes, and back rooms, there were even several cherry trees in an orchard of the gardens. Of course, the fruit-bearing trees didn’t exactly display much in the way of colorful flowers.
The difference was enough that not many really noticed that Ugetsu’s routine of taking tea in the garden in the morning would move to the orchard for a few weeks every year in spring; he never said anything to draw attention to it.
It might’ve passed through everyone’s memory as nothing more than a small and forgettable idiosyncratic detail if some stories about home hadn’t come up after a few drinks while they’d been holed up somewhere else that winter.
He’d been out in the orchard since a bit before dawn; they’d been burning candles at both ends lately enough that he’d dozed off into a catnap under the tree, tea on the tray next to him going cold. It didn’t take much to jar him out of it, and the feel of something brushing past his hands and settling on his clothes was enough to do it.
There was still a slow moment as he blinked, white and delicate pink petals covering the ground as if they’d been there for days beforehand, more of them falling onto his shoulders and in his lap; at first he was fairly sure he hadn’t actually woken up and was dreaming somehow, that it’d be the landscape of Japan when he looked up –
But it was the orchard yard, the wall of one of the keep’s wings ringing it, the flower garden off that way in splashes of brighter colors; he was definitely in the Vongola’s home base…
With every one of the fruit trees in the orchard replaced with a sakura tree in full bloom, the petals blanketing the ground like deep-woods leaves in fall.
It didn’t take much to guess where the display had come from; he settled back against the tree, watching the flowers in silence for a while, before finally giving a quiet, “Thank you”.
“I think the words here would be, ‘Memento mori’ – ‘Remember, you will die’, with the image of the Danse Macabre.” It wasn’t really a sudden appearance; Spade had been there the whole time, leaning on the other side of the tree, with little more than a vague ‘not worth looking here’ to cover his presence; Ugetsu didn’t even bother turning to look, anyway – the illusionist would’ve been the only one who could’ve done it. “We’re more morbid about it; too many plagues.”
That just netted Spade a small chuckle from the other side of the tree. “It doesn’t seem that bad. There’s still things that don’t make sense to me, here, but you seem to have your own sense of appreciating life while you have it.” Ugetsu picked up his tea with a small sigh; it really had gone completely cold on him. “And I think there’s still something poetic about the idea of Death leading a revel with everyone finally acting as equals.”
“Too bad we have such trouble acting as equals in life.”
“I think that may be a human problem in general; we’ve been struggling through that one ourselves.”
There was silence for a moment, with just the falling cherry petals to cover it.
“Have you ever thought of going back, to do the same sort of work for your homeland?” Spade paused, frowning, only briefly. “Not that we aren’t glad to have you, but it seems unfair for you to be fighting our battles instead of trying to get a hand in the changes there.”
It was a silence of a different cast, just enough for Spade to be considering apologizing and finding a way to change the subject, before Ugetsu answered.
“I do miss it, sometimes – I had a much more peaceful life, there. ” He leaned his head back against the tree to look up at the branches. “I made a promise, and Primo needed my help more than anyone in Japan. I can’t say that I never had second thoughts, when I’d first come here, but… I think, anymore, it feels like my true family is here, and I can do more here, with the Vongola, than I could’ve done there.” He gave another small sigh, setting the tea aside and giving up on it, before shifting just enough to look around the tree at the illusionist. “And I can’t think of anyone there that would’ve thought enough to ask me something like that.”
Spade caught the almost playful jab at how usually awkward and distant he was with Ugetsu - as much as he respected the swordsman and had never had a reason to think of him as anything but reliable and trustworthy, the foreigner had always been partly an unknown quantity, with a great deal lost in translation; Spade was often left at a loss what to make of him, without a good idea what the man was actually thinking, and even in an ally that didn’t sit very well with a Mist user’s habits. As much as something as simple as catching Ugetsu being homesick, and hearing bits and pieces – the story about the cherry-goddess, little traditions – helped, it all still felt like getting small and distant pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite connect.
So the best answer he could come up with was a breeze through the branches, causing a renewed shower from the delicate flowers; it was, probably, a bit more of a sudden rain of petals than would be entirely natural, but, well, he’d never actually been around a Japanese sakura tree anyway, and that’d be the excuse he’d stick by. Ugetsu wasn’t commenting anyway, more busy laughing at the gesture now that he was thoroughly covered in cherry petals.
A whistle from the door into the gardens snapped both of them out of it and drew their attention, with a small amount of confusion – it was still unusually early for most of them to be up and about.
And definitely weirdly early to get swiftly descended on by everyone else, Giotto leading juggling baskets from the kitchen with a wide grin, Knuckle recruited into helping carry food. Lampo and G had apparently raided the wine cellars, and half the rest of the alcohol in the larder, from the looks of it; somewhere in back they had a dour shadow that had both of the men in the orchard wondering just what Primo had bribed Alaude with to get him out there at all. Elena was only two steps behind their leader, a few old blankets stacked up in her arms, and entirely too happily smug – that right there was enough to fill in the entire story for Spade, since she’d known enough of what he’d been thinking to guess what he was going to do, and had probably been planning since the night before as much as he had.
Well, Ugetsu had described it as a celebration, and it was about the only thing Spade had missed.
Warnings: Relative fluff.
“It’s an old story – the god who was the first emperor and the ancestor of men met Konohana-no-Sakuya, the cherry-blossom goddess, on a beach and they fell in love. Her father tried to convince him to marry her older sister, the stone goddess with her offer of longevity, instead, but he only had eyes for the cherry goddess. This decided the fate of all men – that their lives would be brilliant and colorful, but as short and ephemeral as the cherry blossoms in spring.”
There wasn’t exactly an absence of cherry trees in Italy; once there actually was a main base established that was something less makeshift than previous tunnels, boltholes, and back rooms, there were even several cherry trees in an orchard of the gardens. Of course, the fruit-bearing trees didn’t exactly display much in the way of colorful flowers.
The difference was enough that not many really noticed that Ugetsu’s routine of taking tea in the garden in the morning would move to the orchard for a few weeks every year in spring; he never said anything to draw attention to it.
It might’ve passed through everyone’s memory as nothing more than a small and forgettable idiosyncratic detail if some stories about home hadn’t come up after a few drinks while they’d been holed up somewhere else that winter.
He’d been out in the orchard since a bit before dawn; they’d been burning candles at both ends lately enough that he’d dozed off into a catnap under the tree, tea on the tray next to him going cold. It didn’t take much to jar him out of it, and the feel of something brushing past his hands and settling on his clothes was enough to do it.
There was still a slow moment as he blinked, white and delicate pink petals covering the ground as if they’d been there for days beforehand, more of them falling onto his shoulders and in his lap; at first he was fairly sure he hadn’t actually woken up and was dreaming somehow, that it’d be the landscape of Japan when he looked up –
But it was the orchard yard, the wall of one of the keep’s wings ringing it, the flower garden off that way in splashes of brighter colors; he was definitely in the Vongola’s home base…
With every one of the fruit trees in the orchard replaced with a sakura tree in full bloom, the petals blanketing the ground like deep-woods leaves in fall.
It didn’t take much to guess where the display had come from; he settled back against the tree, watching the flowers in silence for a while, before finally giving a quiet, “Thank you”.
“I think the words here would be, ‘Memento mori’ – ‘Remember, you will die’, with the image of the Danse Macabre.” It wasn’t really a sudden appearance; Spade had been there the whole time, leaning on the other side of the tree, with little more than a vague ‘not worth looking here’ to cover his presence; Ugetsu didn’t even bother turning to look, anyway – the illusionist would’ve been the only one who could’ve done it. “We’re more morbid about it; too many plagues.”
That just netted Spade a small chuckle from the other side of the tree. “It doesn’t seem that bad. There’s still things that don’t make sense to me, here, but you seem to have your own sense of appreciating life while you have it.” Ugetsu picked up his tea with a small sigh; it really had gone completely cold on him. “And I think there’s still something poetic about the idea of Death leading a revel with everyone finally acting as equals.”
“Too bad we have such trouble acting as equals in life.”
“I think that may be a human problem in general; we’ve been struggling through that one ourselves.”
There was silence for a moment, with just the falling cherry petals to cover it.
“Have you ever thought of going back, to do the same sort of work for your homeland?” Spade paused, frowning, only briefly. “Not that we aren’t glad to have you, but it seems unfair for you to be fighting our battles instead of trying to get a hand in the changes there.”
It was a silence of a different cast, just enough for Spade to be considering apologizing and finding a way to change the subject, before Ugetsu answered.
“I do miss it, sometimes – I had a much more peaceful life, there. ” He leaned his head back against the tree to look up at the branches. “I made a promise, and Primo needed my help more than anyone in Japan. I can’t say that I never had second thoughts, when I’d first come here, but… I think, anymore, it feels like my true family is here, and I can do more here, with the Vongola, than I could’ve done there.” He gave another small sigh, setting the tea aside and giving up on it, before shifting just enough to look around the tree at the illusionist. “And I can’t think of anyone there that would’ve thought enough to ask me something like that.”
Spade caught the almost playful jab at how usually awkward and distant he was with Ugetsu - as much as he respected the swordsman and had never had a reason to think of him as anything but reliable and trustworthy, the foreigner had always been partly an unknown quantity, with a great deal lost in translation; Spade was often left at a loss what to make of him, without a good idea what the man was actually thinking, and even in an ally that didn’t sit very well with a Mist user’s habits. As much as something as simple as catching Ugetsu being homesick, and hearing bits and pieces – the story about the cherry-goddess, little traditions – helped, it all still felt like getting small and distant pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite connect.
So the best answer he could come up with was a breeze through the branches, causing a renewed shower from the delicate flowers; it was, probably, a bit more of a sudden rain of petals than would be entirely natural, but, well, he’d never actually been around a Japanese sakura tree anyway, and that’d be the excuse he’d stick by. Ugetsu wasn’t commenting anyway, more busy laughing at the gesture now that he was thoroughly covered in cherry petals.
A whistle from the door into the gardens snapped both of them out of it and drew their attention, with a small amount of confusion – it was still unusually early for most of them to be up and about.
And definitely weirdly early to get swiftly descended on by everyone else, Giotto leading juggling baskets from the kitchen with a wide grin, Knuckle recruited into helping carry food. Lampo and G had apparently raided the wine cellars, and half the rest of the alcohol in the larder, from the looks of it; somewhere in back they had a dour shadow that had both of the men in the orchard wondering just what Primo had bribed Alaude with to get him out there at all. Elena was only two steps behind their leader, a few old blankets stacked up in her arms, and entirely too happily smug – that right there was enough to fill in the entire story for Spade, since she’d known enough of what he’d been thinking to guess what he was going to do, and had probably been planning since the night before as much as he had.
Well, Ugetsu had described it as a celebration, and it was about the only thing Spade had missed.
