Murphy's Law

[Levi DAmico]

This thread is back-dated to December 2nd 2015

Murphy's Law states that anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. This adage later received extensions and addendums, adding that when it does go wrong, it will go wrong at the most inopportune time; it will be your fault, and everyone will know it; if there is a possibility of several things going wrong, the one that does the most damage will be the one to do it first; matter will be damaged in direct proportion to its value; if you think something is infallible, it’s inevitable that it will go wrong; if everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something; in nature, nothing is ever right and therefore if everything is going right then something will have to go wrong; nature always sides with the hidden flaw, but the flaw never stays hidden for long; Mother nature is a *****, and not an obedient one at that; and possibly Levi’s own personal favourite: if you think things are bad now, wait until tomorrow.

The original Murphy's Law was actually quite different from the adage that has found itself indoctrinated into modern culture. The original law states that if there are two or more ways to do something, and one of those ways can result in catastrophe, then someone will end up doing that one. This is a principle of defensive design, conjured up by Edward A. Murphy Junior, who was one of the engineers famous for 1949’s rocket-sled experiments by the United States’ Air Force. Their responsibility was to test human acceleration tolerances, where one experiment involved a set of sixteen accelerometers mounted to different parts of the human body. There were two ways each sensor could be glued to its mount, and somebody methodically installed all sixteen the wrong way around. Murphy then made the original form of his pronouncement, which the test subject (Major John Paul Stapp) quoted at a news conference a few days later. Within months, Murphy's Law had spread to various cultures connected to aerospace engineering, and before too many years had passed, variants of the phrase had found their way into the popular imagination – the meaning changing as it went.

Today, the most popular variant is anything that can go wrong, will; which is sometimes referred to as Finagle's Law, or, Finagle's Law of Dynamic Negatives. The label, Finagle's Law, was popularised by the Science Fiction author, Larry Niven. Niven’s stories depicted a frontier culture of asteroid miners, the Belters, who professed a religion – and long-running joke – involving the worship of the dreaded God, Finagle, and his mad prophet, Murphy. Despite the book eventually commercialising the term Finagle’s Law, most people today are still more likely to acknowledge Murphy’s Law as being the decidedly negative ideology. If Murphy’s Law seems a little too depressing to think about, it’s good to remember that being negative is fairly optimistic in its own right. This is because Murphy's Law even applies to itself. If anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, then you can be wrong about being wrong, allowing things to go right.

The Italian might not have been able to adopt the traditional optimistic approach to life, but he could spare acknowledgement for the cyclical nature of pessimism – the double-negative. Granted, the only time Levi was any decent with numbers was when he was looking at business results, but it was pretty standard knowledge that two wrongs make a right (regardless of what those preachy bastards say). It was basic mathematics – removing numbers from a negative sum eliminates the negativity of the sum; particularly if you’ve got enough to take away. That’s how these kinds of things work. So even though Levi’s place of business, the Levitan Headquarters, had been recently blown back to the dark ages, the Italian was looking out to the future with his uncharacteristic rosy spectacles on. Though, to be frank here, he didn’t actually have a ******* choice in the matter.

When the Patriarca asked about what had happened, Levi had to relate it to an electrical fault or rogue terrorist movement or something equally absurd, because he sure as **** couldn’t blame it on another Family and start a war, and he certainly couldn’t say the truth: a group of vigilante super humans had raided his building in the effort to kill him on account of him being one of the undead. Nicoletti and his men had found it hard to believe that the almost complete devastation of the capo’s headquarters had been an accident or some unfortunate case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time; the same way no paranoid mind can ever believe in coincidences. Still, Levi must have done something right – maybe his stubbornness at sticking to one story and never deviating had convinced them – because after a few weeks, they’d stopped asking and started sending aid. Even Gino – who’d been a ghost lately – had sent in some support in the form of green dollar bills. Levi wouldn’t have accepted any other kind of offer, so, it really was the best solution. The only person who wouldn’t ******* let it go was Shiro, but, that was to be expected, wasn’t it. Once that dogfish had something between his teeth, it was unlikely he’d just drop it and fall to heel.

Shirosame might have meant White Shark in Japanese, and although Levi often joked and called him Jaws or Squalo Bianco in reference to the Great White Shark, the Italian never really compared the swordsman to that particular breed of menace. To him, Shiro was more of a Mako Shark – quicker, smaller, more ruthless, and always with his mouth open. While the Mako was smaller than its cousin, growing at a maximum of 10 feet and 800lbs, it is the fastest shark in the world with a top hunting speed of 70kph. The Mako is found all over the globe and is very diverse in its choice of habitat; some live in warm waters, others in cooler temperatures, and some live close to the shores as others prefer the depths of the ocean. The Great White might have made a name for itself in being a top sea predator, famed for its indiscriminate and violent attacks on man thanks to Spielberg’s 1975 classic, but the Mako is still one to watch. While they don’t generally eat people or particularly large animals, they do aggressively attack anything that comes into their territory. Shiro and the Mako were certainly proof of the rule that great things come in small packages, but if Shiro didn’t shut the **** up sometime today then Levi would definitely put an air tank in Shiro’s mouth and shoot it.

[Levi DAmico]

After enduring weeks of refurbishment on an entirely new building to accommodate the Italian’s needs – both supernatural and criminal – he really didn’t need Shiro’s rambling going on in his ear now that the dust had finally settled. There was always something the ****** needed to say or needed to ask though, like he was overcompensating for the fact that he hadn’t been there to help in the first place. The Japanese man might have put his pride aside a lot of the time to facilitate the Italian, but somehow, the idea of not being able to get involved in a real fight had struck at the very core of him. Shiro was constantly pacing the office now, patrolling his territory or so it seemed, like a guard dog on crack. Levi wanted the ****** to sit down and relax because all that pacing was making him dizzy as well as wearing a hole in the new hardwood, but the shark just wouldn’t relent. It was like Shiro was on a mission of vengeance, like someone had come in and attacked his home and his business. Obviously that didn’t sit well with the Italian either, and after vaguely listening to the man prattle on about new security measures and new soldiers and maybe even a whole new division devoted to locating and picking off threats, Levi had just had enough.

“Will you ******* shut it!”

In the wake of Levi’s roaring order, silence did fall upon the room, but it wasn’t a peaceful silence. Obsidian eyes turned a tumultuous gaze on the Vampiro, stepping an inch into being a very serious threat. Levi hadn’t seen that look in Shiro’s eyes for a very long time – least of all directed at him – but he wouldn’t rattle; his frustration was burning white-hot and it wasn’t about to be doused by some schoolyard insolence. Each man watched the other for what felt like eons. No one budged and no one said a thing. The air was so thick with malice that it had pasted them into place. Levi expected Shiro to cave like he always did in these situations. The man might go on a rampage for a little while, call Levi all the names under the sun, but it always ended the same; Shiro always submitted because Shiro knew his place. However, the shark’s pride was so wrung out and raw that he felt like if he admitted defeat here too, he might as well break, he might as well not be here at all. Umber eyes watched the shark standing firmly opposite his desk, watched as those dark eyes held steady in their furious stare, and then it became painfully obvious: Shiro was not backing down. Some primal part of Levi’s brain felt satisfied with that, though. The line of heat that was drawing them both taut snapped when the Italian grinned and then started smirking.

“What in the **** is so funny?” Shiro growled.

“You.”

“Excuse me?”

“You. You’re funny.”

“Yeah, I heard that. But why?”

“You’re just funny.”

Shiro’s eyes looked immediately threatening again. “**** you.”

“You don’t see what you’re doing, and it’s funny.”

“Explain.”

Levi forced himself back into his throne-like leather chair, fingers laced together, and sighing with the effort. “Well, you go on and on about how we need to make sure the ship’s watertight, and here you are trying to blow a hole in the hull.”

“What?” Shiro said, mystified, moving to lean over Levi’s desk as if he could scowl the answers out of him. “In English this time. No metaphors.”

“What do you think will happen if ya threaten me, Jaws? Do you think you’re gonna win? Do you think you can kill me?”

Shiro’s frown was heavy. “Don’t be stupid. I just want to smack that ******* grin off your face. I wasn’t even thinking about killing you.”

“Sure you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh whatever,” Shiro grumbled, straightening and turning away. “I don’t even need to try and kill you when you’re doing a fine job of that yourself.”

“Here we go.”

“Don’t start that **** with me, Levi. You’re reckless and you know it.”

“So… by reckless, you mean… not psychic, right?”

Shiro wrapped his arms so tightly across his chest that he squeezed out an indignant huff.

“I can anticipate a lot of ****, I know, and sometimes that might seem like some sorta psychic power to you dumbfucks, but I actually don’t have a ******* crystal ball,” Levi said. “Can’t see the future, Shiro. Sorry about ******* up your day. You know the tooth fairy’s a fake too, right?”

“You are such an asshole.”

Levi smirked again. “At least that’s true.”

Letting out a small snort, Shiro moved across the room and did the unexpected – he actually sat down. With arms still folded and nose up in the air, he looked rather prince-like as he sat there, legs crossed at the ankles and arse barely making a dent in the Venetian leather sofa. Obsidian eyes scrutinised the room; Levi’s new personal office space. It was a lot larger than what Levi had called an office before. In fact, the entire building had given Levitan Headquarters a sizeable improvement. There was more space between the few pieces of furniture that were allowed in Levi’s office; the sofa, the desk and accompanying throne, the bookshelves, the liquor cabinet and the filing cabinets all seemed like tiny islands in a sea of hardwood flooring. Shiro knew of, but didn’t necessarily understand, Levi’s taste for modern furniture and wide open spaces. It was Zen-like, which was a surprise considering how Levi’s go-to emotion was generally rage, but maybe he needed it after spending his entire life stressing out. The Italian liked simple colours and textures, and wanted as little junk in the room as possible – everything had a place and nothing unnecessary and impractical was ever tolerated. Shiro had a sneaking suspicion that the Newton’s Cradle on the Italian’s desk must have been clutter, so knowing that it was allowed to stay made the Japanese man swell with pride. It was almost as though it signified that Shiro was allowed to stay too, and he couldn’t deny how good it felt to be acknowledged and accepted by the intolerant, aggressive Italian.

[Levi DAmico]

While obsidian eyes had made a journey around the room, they soon found their way back to the object of their affection, and of course, the object of Shiro’s unceasing frustration. Shiro noticed that Levi had been staring at him this whole time, giving him a look that was as indecipherable as ever. It was the kind of look that Shiro figured meant that Levi didn’t quite understand something that had just happened and was trying to figure out which of his favourite responses – yell, brood or destroy – was the most appropriate. Maybe it was the strange look of contentment on Shiro’s face that piqued the Italian’s curiosity – the kind that Levi said always made him look like a cat – or maybe it was something else entirely. Shiro wouldn’t know because Levi would never tell him; the man gave little to nothing away, even to those he trusted. Eventually Levi just sneered, shook his head and looked away, leaving Shiro to wonder which of his favourite responses – yell, brood, complain or accept – would be most appropriate here too.

“Well, I guess it’s not all bad,” Shiro managed quite calmly after a few moments of consideration.

The lighter tone of voice and the inconspicuous comment made Levi look back at him with a curious frown. “Yeah? How d’you figure?”

“You managed to build a bigger office space out of the ashes. There’s a lot more room here for the business to expand, and we already have more hands on deck than before.”

“I guess. Price was a ***** though.”

“I know.”

The Italian was still frowning, staring at the liquor cabinet, and Shiro figured that Levi had chosen brooding after all.

“Do you think we’ll ever know for certain what happened?” he asked.

Shiro’s question changed the character of Levi’s frown like the wind can change a warm day into a stormy one. Umber eyes narrowed and caught Shiro in a state of regret. Things had finally started to relax and become civil again, and now Shiro had thrown that lever and restarted the machine of war. The Japanese man never knew how to let something go, but at least he was aware of that and might even have been pretty tired of it himself considering the pout on his face. Instead of being furious at the shark, though, Levi was just feeling pretty ******* exhausted. He wanted to tell that long-haired ******** to let it go, give up asking, and just stop, but they both knew that it was never going to happen and even if it did, Levi would just be wondering why the **** it was so quiet.

For all Levi’s intelligence and wisdom, there were a lot of things that he didn’t understand, things that just made him angry to think about because there never seemed to be an answer or an end. Levi wondered why his father was both there and yet not there; he wondered what Gino was up to when he was seemingly try to kill Levi and save him consecutively; if Nicoletti was really as dumb as he seemed when he’d managed to screw over a D’Amico; if CC was someone who could be trusted when she was so much like him; and if Lorelai was actually serious about her feelings for him, and was truly loyal. The Italian decided to ignore those things, or tried to at any rate, and expected time to clear the mess up without him picking away at them.

One confusion that had yet to ever clear itself up, even though it had been five calendar years since they’d met, was Shiro. The man gave Levi the kind of unswerving, unflinching loyalty that Levi had always thought his due, but had found that it was disconcerting to actually have it. In a way, it shook the Italian’s faith. He’d always convinced himself that people were shitty, that there was no way anyone could convince him otherwise, but then Shiro just kept showing up, sticking around and conceding to Levi’s brilliance. He was always doing the kind of things that made Levi think that perhaps the stupidity and shitty nature of mankind was not wholly inherent and inevitable.

Over the past few years, and it had been a battle of nerves and patience, Levi had come to trust Shiro, and their arguments had mellowed in intensity to the point where a death threat was as passive as a flick on the snout. Shiro still managed to baffle Levi, because he was apparently willing to put up with the worst the man could throw at him (often literally when the Italian had had a few drinks), and very rarely questioned those decisions or wavered in undertaking them. It seemed an odd thing for a man, so pride-filled, to behave that why. Levi couldn’t figure out why Shiro was the way he was, he just couldn’t figure the man out. Shiro was also the only one who would throw himself into battle at Levi’s side or command, not caring whether he was coming out the other side or not. The shark wasn’t actively suicidal in the conventional sense, but he sure didn’t care much about his own life. This whole deal with Shiro made Levi confused and wary and oddly self-satisfied, but he didn’t really want to give it too much thought. Some things were just better not to get carried away with, and Levi had the type of mind that could get carried away on any current.

It was far easier to focus on the simple fact of Shiro himself, as he whirled into battle with his teeth bared and his hair flying out behind him, not giving a single **** who his opponents were because he was always so certain of his victory. It was the same whether Shiro was in actual, physical combat or just taking part in verbal quarrels. Levi could admit that watching Shiro beat people into submission was strangely satisfying – partly because Shiro always attributed his victories to the Italian, but there was also some other, less apparent reason. The shark never cowered from anything or anyone, not even when facing Levi himself. Sometimes Levi had the distinct impression that Shiro might find death at Levi’s hands quite fitting if not entirely expected, but the Italian didn’t want to think about that either. It was easier to think about what Shiro could do rather than why. Asking why made things… uncomfortable.

[Levi DAmico]

Since Levi’s focus had been so sternly fixed on the liquor cabinet for the past five minutes, Shiro took the silent stare as an unspoken command. Quiet, purposeful feet carried the Japanese man across the floor to the cabinet, the movement causing umber eyes to jerk from their place and refocus immediately on the dark figure. Like a sentry wolf spying a rabbit hopping across his path, Levi remained very still and watched the other man carefully. The task should have been typical, performed with the same autonomous tedium that ladies use to pick tea leaves under the fire of the Indian sun. Yet, something was different about the shark’s movements in this instance. Instead of filling one glass with Whisky and delivering it to Levi’s desk, Shiro had produced two. Apparently the situation called for him to drink as well – this was a rare event indeed.

Just because things are rare doesn’t make them treasured. One out of every 1,000,000 people are affected by Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease – an ailment of the brain that claims its victim’s life in less than a year – and that certainly doesn’t make the other 999,999 people green with envy. Shiro drinking would probably end in a similarly fatal manner. The Italian wasn’t the only one whose filter dissolved in alcohol after all, and just when you think Shiro had called you all the names he could think of, you suddenly found that he had been holding back. It was only when Shiro was a bit tipsy – and he became intoxicated rather swiftly – that his true opinions ever came to the surface, and not all of them were glowing reviews of Levi’s awesomeness like they should have been.

“You don’t even like Whisky,” the Italian murmured when one of the filled tumblers was set down in front of him.

“That is clearly not the point,” Shiro murmured back, this small smirk twisting his features to some uncanny look as he returned to his place on the Venetian couch.

Levi expected the shark to say something else after a while, like he needed the liquor to burn down the walls he’d built around his thoughts, but silence reigned as the two drank in their individual seats of power. It occurred to Levi after a while that maybe Shiro had been quiet because he’d expected Levi to say something, perhaps complain that the other man was overstepping his mark, inviting himself to drink the emergency stash he had no rights to, instigating a fight. Of course those thoughts had been on his mind, but, Levi had chosen a different path in the end. Maybe the Italian was too predictable and that was why he’d been caught with his trousers down by those vigilantes in the first place. Hell, Gino was playing him like a fiddle – each string plucked was a new design of carefully controlled chaos – and surely Gino had only managed successfully thus far because he could predict every move the Italian might make. Things had to change and change quickly, even if Gino might predict that too.

“I shouldn’t even be here right now,” Shiro spoke suddenly, capturing two umber eyes in a tense stare. “I couldn’t be here that day either for the same reason. I didn’t think anything bad would happen, and even though I still wanted to be here, I stayed away because I had to.”

The Italian listened, even made the effort of showing that he was listening, but Shiro was the one staring off into the distance this time. Those obsidian eyes looked a little misty, pained, and the Italian wasn’t sure what he should do about that. Most of all he wanted to say something, maybe change the subject or ask Shiro to do something else, anything that would take the weight out of the air. The last thing he wanted to do was see Shiro cry – hysterical women were no fun to deal with. Instead, Levi found a lump in his throat that plugged any insults he could summon, and his body shocked into stillness to halt any attempts at throwing the glass of Whisky at the shark’s head to make this whole thing stop. No desperate acts could put a halt to what was coming and Levi couldn’t even express his frustration with a well-deserved huff. Some higher power had obviously taken possession of his body and would make him see this damn thing through. However, that higher power probably didn’t factor in that Levi’s compliant behavior would make Shiro suspicious, and two dark eyes honed in on the Italian like he’d just caught him bedding his mother.

“You’re not even going to ask where I’ve been for the last few weeks? Or maybe you didn’t even notice.”

The lump in Levi’s throat dislodged enough to let that angry sigh out after all, which soon turned out to be to his detriment. Shiro didn’t say a word, but understanding crossed his face all the same. Levi watched the resentment pool in his eyes before his head dropped, melting an obsidian gaze into the amber warmth of the Whisky in his glass. Maybe it would have been different if Levi could be honest with himself and be honest with the world. If just for one moment in his life Levi could break away from his rage and pride, to look into those dark eyes and tell Shiro he was useful, he was needed, and he was cared about. But Levi couldn’t say anything, even if the man before him started to sob like a preschooler, he wouldn’t say anything. He wouldn’t demand Shiro stopped crying because he didn’t look like the strong, ruthless predator he thought he was when there were tears running down his cheeks; he wouldn’t ask him to stop because it was actually painful to see a close friend – the only one he’d ever known – upset. No matter how much Levi felt it, he just wasn’t the kind of guy that opened up and bared his soul. It was dangerous enough with Lorelai – he couldn’t do it twice, he couldn’t have any further weaknesses for his enemies to exploit.

But what if through neglect, he lost Shiro? The man was already a large part of his life – try as he might to never admit that and refused to show it. Levi trusted that Shiro was intelligent enough to make the right decisions, and since the shark was capable of being proactive as well as reactive, Levi almost expected Shiro to never fail and even bring new ideas to the table. There might have been a lot of things that kept Levi in wonderment about his consigliero, but he knew Shiro well enough to appreciate that a mission was only half complete when Shiro had accomplished an objective. It was only after Shiro would successfully make it back to Levi’s office and give a full report that a mission was completed in earnest. Shiro’s rate of success was pretty flawless in all honesty, even if Levi made a show to be less than appreciative when things didn’t go exactly to plan. It was Shiro’s unswerving loyalty to the cause, to Levi, that allowed the Italian to delegate the important **** to Shiro. Plus, the Japanese man had expertise in matters that Levi didn’t and certain liberties afforded to him on account of being the heir to the Yamaguchi-gumi. Levi couldn’t afford to lose Shiro, but he wasn’t going to pander to his whining either. This wasn’t about friendship and personal feelings, this was business and there is no room for crybabies in the boardroom.

[Levi DAmico]

“It’s good you weren’t here that day,” the Italian said sharply. “You’d probably be dead if you were.”

“Seriously?”

Once again, that glare on the younger man’s features meant business and once again Levi smirked to himself. There was no way to explain why his comment was true without delving into knowledge that couldn’t be shared, so, Shiro would just have to accept the affront against his masculinity and battle prowess. Normal people might find Levi’s comment to be endearing, a show that he gave a **** about them not being dead – which was rare in itself considering Levi gave no shits about anyone in general. Shiro, on the other hand, was about as close to normal as jellyfish are relative to dolphins and he didn’t hear endearment, he heard insult. Shiro continued to glare at the Italian, like that gaze alone was enough to burn a hole through the man’s head and have him apologise or take it back to avoid bursting into flames altogether. It certainly worked before on people who had, perhaps, more of a frightening reputation than Levi, but Shiro had forgotten about the dragon’s fireproof hide. Levi didn’t need to say anything; the smirk on his face gave Shiro everything he needed to know that Levi was too stubborn to bend.

“Asshole,” he muttered.

“*****,” Levi muttered back.

Shiro arched a brow as umber eyes narrowed, and just like that it was war.

“Jackass.”

“Dumbass.”

“Narcissist.”

“Princess.”

“Psychopath.”

“Cry baby.”

And Shiro faltered. “Oh grow up,” he groused.

“Make me, *****,” Levi fired back immediately, this grin on his face as sharp as glass.

It never took Shiro too long to realise that this childish little game would go on for as long as it took for Levi to win and for Shiro to just give up because he was tired of it. After all, it would be a cold day in hell when Levi lost a verbal sparring match with anyone, let alone the shark. In the meantime, Shiro had tightened his grip on the tumbler, and Levi was torn between preparing to dodge and preparing to dodge then counter-attack as he tightened the grip on his own. It very rarely turned from verbal to physical by Shiro’s instigation, but the man was clearly feeling the need to prove himself. This whole ordeal was an attack on Shiro’s capabilities after all; a voracious caterpillar eating away at his ego, stripping him down to the bare bones of his securities. Despite Levi doing his best to push Shiro away, or maybe into a fight, Shiro remembered the metaphor about blowing a hole in the hull. If he wanted nothing more than Levi’s safety and the success of the business, and was actually complaining about the fact that he couldn’t have helped, then attacking Levi was probably not the best idea. When Shiro finally relinquished his tight grip on the glass, however, it was still too tense to say for sure that the options to dodge and/or counter-attack were entirely closed, especially when Shiro was quick to make a declaration.

“Duck,” Shiro growled.

The sudden appearance of the word didn’t give Levi time to consider just what in the **** was happening, but he did see the tight, twisting movement of the other man who’d decided to play pitcher just before the glass came hurtling toward him like an explosive baseball. Apparently Shiro wasn’t calling him a duck in response to being called a ***** so much as giving Levi a warning to duck. How generous. Maybe it was the booze or maybe it was the game they’d been playing that slowed Levi’s reactions and convinced him that Shiro was harmless, or maybe it was none of those things and Levi really was just losing his edge; whatever it was, it didn’t make a lick of difference to the way the Italian responded. Preternatural speed guided his arm into position, blocking the glass from impacting his face. Levi didn’t feel a thing as the tumbler made contact with the underside of his forearm, immediately bursting into various sized fragments of painful diamonds. Some of the smaller splinters became impregnated into the fibers of Levi’s jacket, but the majority of the pieces scattered across his desk, across the paperwork, over the floor and even in the Italian’s tumbler. The twinkling sound, like wind chimes in a distant courtyard, became the prelude to the next attack as umber eyes narrowed and watched the shark sat smug and ready to defend himself.

“What the actual ****, Shiro?” Levi ground out through gritted teeth.

Really it was a wonder to the both of them why he was still seated, why he hadn’t flown across the room out of instinct and throttled the ******. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a good enough reason to, and it wasn’t like anyone would interrupt them. Hearing something smash in the Italian’s office was something of a regular occurrence; not even Caro and Barzetti came running anymore.

“Well, I was thinking that I must be so bloody nice to you that you’ve forgotten how capable I am of not being nice,” Shiro warned.

The Italian arched a brow. Shiro sounded pretty ******* serious; that voice of his still deceptively sweet and sticky like a honeycomb, but now with the added bonus of being plastered with bees. There was no way Levi was getting through this without taking a few stings, all the Italian had to decide was how many stings he’d like to have. It wasn’t purely in his nature to walk by an open buffet without picking up a few morsels for himself after all – metaphorically speaking that is, buffets were pretty substandard to him even when he was hungry for food. Levi was an opportunist, not to mention something of a psychopath, and he enjoyed the chance of putting people in line, beneath him, when he felt like he could. Sure, Levi would get a few scratches, a few sensitively placed jabs out of Shiro for his efforts, but he’d give as good as he ever got in return, if not better – because Levi was better than everyone else, wasn’t he.

“So throwing an empty glass at me somehow makes you immune to explosions?” Levi questioned, though clearly wasn’t waiting around for a rebuttal. “Great logic, Shiro. I’ll file that one away in the thick-as-**** locker for later.”

“How did they get in to place the ******* bomb in the first place, Levi?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t here.”

“But if you were, if I was, we might have stopped them.”

“Or, we might have gotten blown up too.”

Shiro didn’t seem to like that piece of obviousness being thrust toward him, turning his nose up like he’d been given a gift of socks again for Christmas. Levi was getting more than a little frustrated with the shark, to the point where the burn in the pit of his stomach was making him feel sick. But maybe it wasn’t that he was pissed at Shiro at all and was just annoyed at the fact that Shiro was right. Every time Shiro complained about his own failings, he was inadvertently pointing out that Levi had been incapable of looking after this **** himself. This was his business after all, his reputation and his whole life. Levi was ultimately responsible for rearing Levitan Empire as well as letting it burn, and he had, he’d let the place go up in flames and for a dozen or so of his men to lose their lives. In the end, he had taken care of the threat, enacting his vengeance on those that had stood against him, but could he really be sure that this was all over? Could he really be sure that he would ever be satisfied with having lost so much in the first place?