Ghiaccio awoke to blindness and a sore throat. It felt like the time he had strep but worse. His throat was dry and it was difficult to swallow. He shifted and found he was in a bed. He noticed a beeping—a heart monitor. He must be in a hospital. He'd taken a pretty good beating. Something pulled at his arm and when he touched it, he discovered a tube there. He tried not to think about that too much since IV drips bothered him. He sat up and began to feel around him searching for his glasses. Then memory returned to him. His glasses had been broken during the fight. The fight with Mista and Giorno.

Giorno.

Killed Melone.

He took a deep breath and laid back down on the pillows as he processed that realization. It had only been a day. A long day's journey into the night. A night he hadn't slept through. Once he heard Melone's scream, only rage and adrenaline fueled him. Ghiaccio was relentless in his pursuit. Not just for his squad's honor, but justice for his partner. He finally understood what Gelato must have felt right before he killed himself.

He hadn't had a chance to say what he'd always meant to say.

Not even a goodbye.

He covered his eyes as they began to well with tears. Now that he finally had a moment to himself, Ghiaccio let the emotion flow freely. He hadn't been able to properly express his grief before; he was required to finish the job. No excuses. No distractions. But Melone was always in the back of his mind whether he wanted him there or not.

He heard a door open and footsteps on the tile floor. Ghiaccio remained motionless.

"Di molto."

Those two words. Those two stupid, and nonsensical words. An utterance of felicitations. Words that both infuriated and endeared the speaker to Ghiaccio in equal measure. They teased and loved in a way that reflected the chaotic nature of their utterer. He hated those syllables but also wanted nothing more than to hear them softly whispered to him in the darkness—the pinnacle expression of a sweet nothing.

"You're awake." He heard Melone's voice next to him now. Ghiaccio sat up and removed his hands from his face.  He squinted but could only make out a purple humanoid blur. He couldn't muster sound and merely mouthed his partner's name as his vision blurred worse with the growing heat behind them. Ghiaccio reached out his hand and felt the warmth of his partner's hand connect with his.

"Hi Ghia," came the soft reply.

Suddenly something thin and solid was pressed into his hand. They were black. His spare glasses. He opened them and put them on his face. The hospital room came into view along with Melone's subdued smile. Ghiaccio didn't understand. He'd heard the scream over the phone, but here he sat seemingly unharmed. Ghiaccio yanked Melone into an embrace and burrowed his face into his neck.

"It's nice to see you too," Melone said and put a hand on his back. Ghiaccio pulled away from him very slowly, hands still resting on his shoulders. He couldn't tear his eyes away from his partner's face, still consolidating what he knew to be true with the reality sitting in front of him.

"How are you feeling?" Melone watched him carefully.

Ghiaccio opened his mouth but nothing came out except air. He tried to whisper but only a sigh was heard. He put a hand to his throat; it was heavily bandaged and tender to the touch.

"Your vocal cords got damaged during the fight," Melone explained. "That's what the doctor said anyway." Ghiaccio's mind raced in speculation and fear. What if he had been silenced permanently? Melone must have seen the concern on his face because he added, "I'll get the doctor."

Melone stood up and Ghiaccio grabbed him by the hand.  Melone stopped. "What is it?"
Ghiaccio ran a single finger horizontally across his throat and pointed at Melone then raised a brow.

"I didn't die, but it was close. Someone saw me get bitten by a snake and they rushed me here and gave me an antidote. They said any later and I would have died." Melone's eyes met his. Ghiaccio furrowed his brow. Snake, what snake? Seeing his confusion Melone continued, "We can talk when I get back. Okay?" He squeezed his hand once and then let go. Then he turned and left the room.

Ghiaccio flopped his head back against the pillow in exasperation. At least we're both okay. We'll have to report to Risotto when I'm discharged. He wondered if his capo had succeeded in capturing Trish or discovering the Boss's identity. Maybe Melone knew? He'd have to try to ask him when he got back.
A woman in a white coat returned with Melone in tow. There were many questions that followed and examinations done to determine his physical state. When she seemed satisfied she stood up straight and addressed him.

"Your vocal cords have sustained a lot of trauma. You're lucky that they're in the state they are. Thankfully only one appears to be paralyzed, so you shouldn't have issues with breathing. However, it is in the closed position and the other is swollen, making it impossible for you to talk right now."

"But he will get his voice back, right?" Melone asked.

"I won't sugar coat it. The damage is extensive. There's a good chance you may never speak again..." She looked back to Ghiaccio again and noticed his worried expression. She continued, "But nothing is certain. With treatment and therapy, it's possible you could get your voice back."

Her words of hope fell hollowly on his ears. Ghiaccio's stomach dropped. Never speak again? He looked at Melone who looked back at him.

I can never speak to him again.

"It's a miracle you're even sitting here. A bit more to the left and it would have severed your spine. You're incredibly lucky to be alive," the doctor stated. Ghiaccio sighed. He was certainly glad to be alive, gladder still to see Melone again. He really thought it was over when Giorno had delivered his final blow.

Ghiaccio swung his legs over the bed and began to get up but the doctor stopped him. "No, you're not leaving. We're going to keep you for observation. You've been unconscious for almost a week. I want to be certain there isn't any brain damage."

A week? A fucking week? That was way too long to be off the job. He had bills to pay, a goddamn car that needed servicing, and now these medical bills. They were going to be fucking astronomical. He shook his head and yanked the IV from his arm. He winced at the pinch but turned and pushed off the bed. Then, he promptly collapsed into Melone's arms.

He felt so fucking weak.

"Glacé, quit acting tough. You can stay for a few more days. I'll come visit you." Melone assured him, smiling. Ghiaccio grimaced and let Melone guide him back to the bed. Only when he was securely in bed, did the doctor leave and a nurse come in.

Melone excused himself while the nurse put the IV back in Ghiaccio's arm. Once she had finished, Melone walked in with a pencil and a pad of paper in hand. He flopped onto the end of the bed as the nurse scowled at him. She looked like she was about to say something when Ghiaccio glared at her. She quickly retreated from the room.

The paper and pencil were deposited into his lap as Melone crisscrossed his legs beneath him. "This way we can talk and I can understand you."

Ghiaccio took the pad in his hands and began to write. He turned the pad around to show Melone with a stern look on his face.

What the fuck happened?

"You fought against Mista and Giorno. They won," Melone said evenly.

I know that. I mean with you.

"Oh, well it seems Giorno made a snake and sent it after me. He's the complete opposite of Babyface. He can create life." There was awe in Melone's voice. Babyface also created life but it was artificial, clinical and meticulous in nature. Melone's stand was a force of destruction, breaking down matter in its entropic need to grow. Ghiaccio had seen Giorno's stand in action first hand. The spontaneity of life that flowed through him in the creation of grass during their fight was truly astounding.

Melone continued, "Bit me after I got off the train. Collapsed there in the station." Melone stuck out his tongue and Ghiaccio could see two little holes close together on the side of his tongue.

Shit. Must have fucking hurt, he wrote.

"Honestly I didn't feel much pain. The venom burned a bit but it paralyzed me so quickly that there wasn't much time before I lost consciousness."

Good. I'm glad for that at least, he thought. Ghiaccio watched him before writing his next words: Small blessings, I guess.

Melone smiled. Ghiaccio sighed and continued writing.

What about Risotto?

Melone swallowed and bit his lip as he stared at the paper then looked up at Ghiaccio. He shook his head slowly. Ghiaccio put the pad down on his lap. The previous tension drained from his face. A sense of hopelessness overcame him.

They were gone. Just like that.

Within two days, his entire team—the people he worked with every day, the people that looked out for him and fought by his side—they were gone. Formaggio, Illuso, Prosciutto, and Pesci. Now Risotto too. It had all started with Gelato and Sorbet, the first attack against them all. The people he cared about the most were taken from him again.

He always lost everyone in his life.

"It's just us now." He glanced up to look at Melone's unmasked eyes. He still had Melone. He'd been blessed to at least have him still. Disturbingly lucky.

Ghiaccio had smashed the console of his car upon hearing his friend's demise over the phone. The tantrum was the only way he knew how to mourn, to direct the negativity into energy that could be controlled.
Melone interrupted his thoughts."Our fight is done. The boss is dead and Giorno took control of Passione. It's over."

Giorno? In charge of the mafia? Ghiaccio had missed so much, like the world just steam rolled over him. He put the pencil to paper.

What now? The words left Melone quiet. He looked down and then back up at Ghiaccio again.

"I don't know..."

But we'll figure it out together.

Right?

Ghiaccio stared at his helpless words on the paper for a moment, wondering if he should erase them. He spun his pencil around and began to erase but stopped. He rewrote the last word again, then second guessed himself. His pencil point moved down to scratch it out, but hovered over the words instead. He lowered it then lifted it again. He repeated the process two more times when Melone leaned in trying to read what he'd written when Ghiaccio, in frustration, tore the paper from the pad, crumpled it up and tossed it across the room.

He sighed and slammed the pencil on the bed, then held his head in his hands.  Melone watched him cautiously, then stood up to get the paper on the floor. Ghiaccio could only hiss feebly in dissent. Melone picked up the paper and uncrumpled it to read the words.

He looked up at Ghiaccio who slowly lowered his hands.

"Of course we'll figure it out, Ghiaccio. Together," Melone said soberly. He walked back over to the bed and sat down again. "It's you and me. Always has been."

Ghiaccio took a deep breath and picked up his pencil again.

Will you leave?

"You're all I have." He'd never seen such a grim look in Melone's eyes before. "If you go, I go."