Silent Soldier| Children! La Squadra x fem!reader

двенадцать | Enemy of My Enemy

They all sat around a lantern, quiet, and wondered how a war that stemmed from a game of chess managed to lead to this.

(Y/n) let her lap flood with sleepy children, Risotto sitting on one thigh to lean against her chest, with Formaggio mirroring him on the opposite leg. Doppio cared for Melone with the same gentleness one might have with porcelain, holding him tightly in his arms as he slept.

And though he was occupied with a sleeping, sick child, he couldn't tear his gaze away from Bucciarati, the rouge on the other side of the lamp, with his misfit buddy, Abbacchio. The two were kind enough to allow Doppio and his company into their bunker-- Or maybe they were just afraid of (Y/n). It could've been either one, and Doppio couldn't care less which.

"Bruno, it's been a while." 

"I don't want to hear shit from you. Not after what you did." 

"C'mon, it's been a month."

"A month since you left me to die out here, in a land I couldn't navigate with tools I couldn't use. It's thanks to Leone here that I managed to live." Bucciarati scoffed, vaguely throwing his hand in the direction of Abbacchio. "But I guess I wasn't the only one who's had to rely on the enemy in order to survive."

"I didn't have a choice. My own people turned against me." Doppio snapped.

"So did mine."

The atmosphere grew tense, a phantom of resentment building between the two as the silence returned, and hung emptily in the air. It was quiet enough to be able to hear the quiet itself, that low thrum of the earths breath, the empty hum of still wind. A dropped pin could've been heard even from the other side of the bunker.

And, strangely enough, one was, everyone's attention turned to the source of that metallic plink. A boy, perhaps as young as Pesci, peeked around the corner of a degrading concrete pillar. His little body was stuffed into a thick orange jacket, and wild raven hair was strewn this way and that, as lavender eyes spied on the silent soldier and her children.

"Narancia," Bruno huffed upon spotting the boy, "Please, go lay back down."

"Mister Bruno, who're they?" His voice, soft and delicate, though also scratchy and hoarse, made way to the ears of those by the light of the oil lamp. 

(Y/n) lit up at the sight of the child, waving sporadically as she grinned.

'Hello!'

Rather shy, he waved back, coming more and more out from behind the wall as he became comfortable with both her presence, and that of the other kids. Again, Bruno ordered the kid to go back to where he had been before, though it was all too late now. Doppio and (Y/n) had already become points of interest.

"What's your name?" He stared into Doppio expectantly, stumbling out from behind the pillar in heavy boots. 

"Me? Oh, my name's Doppio;" He then pointed at the woman on his left. "And this would be (Y/n). It's nice to meet you, Narancia."

"Nice to meet you too, Mister Doppio and Miss (Y/n)." 

For a moment, his attention flings towards Risotto, who was now awake, and leaning against (Y/n)s chest. "What's your name?" He asked.

"..Risotto."

"Hi, Risotto! I'm Narancia! Wanna be friends?" The boy beamed excitedly.

"No thanks."

Doppio took the liberty to discreetly flick the back of his head, earning a whine from Risotto as a result. Like any child who was aware they were a favorite would, he looked up at (Y/n) expectedly, with the same puppy eyes he always used in hopes of Doppio getting a cold look. The soldier just looked down at him, and shook her head.

It seemed she's managed to pick up a bit of Italian from being surrounded by them for so long. That, or Doppio taught her some when he wasn't around.

Pouting, he shifted to look back at Narancia, who had tears flooding into his eyes. "Fine. We can be half-friends."

Like all of the evil and troubling things in the world had vanished in that moment, Narancia lit up brighter than the sun, and ran over to take Risotto by the hand, leading him into some dark area around the corner. "Oh, good! I almost got sad there for a second! C'mon, I'll introduce you to everyone else!"

Illuso popped up from wherever he sat, running after the pair while saying something along the liens of 'Wait for me!', Formaggio following after him.

Doppio was quiet for a moment, having gotten so invested in what the children were doing, he didn't pick up that Leone and (Y/n) had been talking-- In sign language, of course.

They were going back and forth, letting a smile ghost across their face as they communicated about various things, (Y/n) seeming particularly excited. 

"A question, Doppio." Bucciarati said. "Do you know any Russian sign language?"

"Not even the slightest bit of it. She has to dumb it down so we understand it."

"Well, if you're going to end up living with her for as long as I'm assuming, then you're going to need to know some. You won't survive otherwise."

And so, that was what led to an hours worth of learning Russian sign language, the children gradually leaving the room to join the others on the opposite side of the bunker, Ghiaccio the last to leave with Melone hobbling beside him.

After at least learning the basics, probably less than, Doppio did a quick test run and looked toward Leone and (Y/n), studying their hands.

'...And then he crushed my throat. But you can't speak for a different reason, right?'

'Yes. Bear attack. It's complicated, but I can't speak without destroying something. It hurts.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. I only wish I could talk to those boys, and tell them that everything will be ok.'

Now, Doppio only caught half of what was actually signed, filling in the rest with the help of Bucciarati before realizing that the children had all left. 

Naturally concerned, he hopped up from where he sat and scurried over to the corner that all the kids had disappeared behind, mainly worried about poor Melone.

They seemed fine enough, around a mini fire roasting little fish, talking amongst themselves about various things. There were some new faces; a blonde boy with a slight stutter sat next to Narancia, what looked to be a teenager sitting between Formaggio and Risotto with a gun on his hip, a little pink-haired girl gossiping gingerly with Prosciutto as though they were old friends... And a black-haired runt sitting in the corner alone, with only Melone to accompany him, the two speaking in coughed mumbles.

Well, it seemed as though they were getting along fine, so he might as well leave them be. 

Though, as he turned to leave them to their devices, something peculiar caught his eye.

Between narrow walls, in almost a hidden area, there was a man with a pillar of silver hair and a body corseted by a medical apron, worked silently at a desk, scribbling something incoherent onto a scrap sheet of paper. 

His eyes widened as he realized he matched the description Prosciutto had given him a while back, the description of a man that could possibly save melone and then some.

Jean Pierre Polnareff.