Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Do you have the target?”

Killua adjusts his sights, the comfortable weight of his sniper rifle keeping him steady even on this rickety perch. Across the wide street, typing away at her desk with the blissfully ignorance of someone trying to finish their paperwork at the end of the day. Killua doesn’t know who she is, and frankly, tells himself he couldn’t care less. It’s not in his job description.

Assassin means quick, clean, and quiet. Killua may be the best in the business, but that doesn’t mean he has to know about the lives of the people he kills.

“Target locked,” he says over the comm.

His brother’s voice hums an affirmative. “No sign of your cockroach?”

“None so far.”

“And what about in the street entrances? You cannot afford another loss, Kil.”

“Don’t have to tell me that twice. Or twenty times,” Killua mutters. Illumi is a pain in the ass to have on comms. His oldest brother might be a great assassin, but when he plays spotter for Killua, he can’t stop backseat driving. If Illumi’s going to insist Killua stay in the family business, to the point that he takes spotter whenever possible, he can stay out of Killua’s business.

So far, it’s worked out okay that way. Killua has his life, a normal life with classes and video games and friends and a years-long crush on his best friend, and he has his family’s work. They do not cross paths.

It had been going well for years. He’d moved out of the mansion to attend high school, having finally proved to Father that he could be in a “normal” school and stay at the top of the game. It was there he met Gon Freecss, a cannonball of sunshine and chaos who wormed his way into Killua’s heart, the best friend he could have ever asked for, even if Killua doesn’t know what he did to deserve Gon. Five years later, their mess of a two-bedroom apartment is nothing like Aunt Mito’s house or the Zoldyck mansion, but it’s theirs. It’s Killua’s space to not be a Zoldyck, to not worry about being perfect at what his family wants. To be best friends with Gon even if that means spending too much brainpower stomping down on the urge to burst into his best friend’s room and kiss him senseless.

Gon, of course, doesn’t suspect a thing. He’s used to Killua’s odd hours at this point, and with his job at Kite’s clinic doing some bizarre combination of paperwork and site visits for whatever it is Kite does, it’s not like Gon keeps normal hours either. He’s also too damn oblivious to realize anything involving kissing or desires to kiss or anything else that makes Killua lie awake at night debating the merits of screaming into his pillows.

But the last year or so, the jobs Killua’s taken have run into…a pest. A cockroach. A spy almost as good at their job as Killua is at his, with the tendency to snatch Killua’s best finds right out from under him. Can’t kill anyone if they vanish into the system, or protective custody, or hell, maybe the cockroach kills them.

How they vanish isn’t the problem, it’s that they do. It pisses Killua the hell off that he’s lost five separate targets in the last nine months, and neither he nor his family can figure out how. It’s not uncommon to run into rivals in their game, but it is rare for anyone to get a leg up on a Zoldyck, least of all one so good that Killua hasn’t even seen them for himself. For every botched job he has, he has to complete another three for even a fraction of his reputation to return. He does them, and he does them damn well, but then this asshole cockroach gets under his feet again and screws everything back to hell.

Which is how he ends up with Illumi resuming his role as Killua’s handler and backseat driver, like he’s twelve again and off on assassin’s first contract. That pisses Killua off almost as much as the cockroach themself.

He checks his backup cameras just in case anything’s crawled in while he was scoped. Nothing at all. “I’m clear. You see anything, Illumi? Since you’re the one with the security cams and all.” And has nothing better to do than be a pain in the ass, but Killua doesn’t say that out loud.

“There is nothing on my scans.” Killua is about to make fun of how easily Illumi is mixing up “checked the cameras” with “intensive scanning” when his brother makes a noise almost like a hum of recognition. It’s the sort of noise Illumi made when Killua was about to eat the unpoisoned fruit, or step on the sturdy boards while training, instantly signaling that something is not going according to plan. Come to think of it, maybe that was more of the point of the training beyond mere poison resistance or surviving four story falls: the ability to notice even the smallest details, even from someone familiar.

Killua snaps his attention back to the scope. The woman is still in her office, still typing away. “What is it?” Killua bites off.

“Oh, well. Perhaps there is something.”

If Killua keeps grinding his teeth, he’ll probably have nothing but stubs by the time he’s thirty. If he lives that long without either killing his brother or having a heart attack from one of Gon’s stupid ideas.

Killua’s just as stupid and infinitely more selfish, though, because he keeps finding himself wanting more from Gon. The sort of more that is a massive distraction when trying to line up a kill shot and his spotter is not doing his damn job of spotting problems before they become issues.

“Illumi. What did you see.”

“Hear, little brother. You must use all your senses.”

Sniper rifles are heavy, and Killua is increasingly considering the value of abandoning his position to bludgeon his brother to death. “What did you hear, then?”

“The sound of clampers attempting to scale the alley side of the building.”

Killua swears. That’s outside of his view and his cameras, supposedly under Illumi’s watch. That’s the point of having a backup and a spotter—someone to keep an eye on things he shouldn’t have to worry about. If he’d been on his own, like he should be, Killua would have spent the extra time to set up additional surveillance. Being even partially blind is horrible, especially at times like these. Killua is the best because he knows what he might miss. Relying on Illumi is a terrible blindspot, even in the best circumstances.

“Hook me into the audio while you figure out where the fuck this cockroach is,” Killua says. Illumi murmurs something in acknowledgment and Killua’s headphones crackle with static, making him wince. Whatever frequency Illumi has been on, it’s next to impossible to hear anything. He fiddles with his receiver, trying to clear up the noise.

He’s almost got it when the comms clear abruptly, Illumi’s voice returning. “Kil. Take out the target now.”

“It’s not the right time—”

“Your cockroach is taking the chance, so we must take ours. Shoot her.”

“On your head,” Killua mutters, and cuts the comms to focus in on the window. He steadies, aims—

And almost fires at an empty office, vacant except for a gently spinning office chair and a piece of paper with an enormous smiley face taped to the computer screen. Better luck next time! it says.

Killua swears again and slams his headset on the floor hard enough to make it crack.

If he hadn’t promised Father he’d stop by the mansion after the job—the failed attempt at his fucking job—Killua would have followed through on earlier plans to clobber his brother with the business end of his rifle and gone straight home. Gon has a way of making even the worst days palatable, just by being himself. He also seems to be having trouble at work lately, but what complaints are left to commiserating over a handle of cheap whiskey. Hopefully he’ll still be awake by the time Killua gets back.

Instead, he spends the forty five minutes it takes to fly to Kukuroo Mountain and the Zoldyck helipad filling out paperwork and wishing he could be with his best friend instead of within punching distance of Illumi’s blank face.

The Zoldyck mansion and grounds around Kukuroo Mountain used to be one of Killua’s favorite places growing up, full of mystery and danger even with all of the training he went through. Now, it’s okay sometimes—Mother is still overprotective, Father still expects Killua to become a carbon copy of himself, and Grandpa Zeno always looks like he’s trying to test Killua on something. Milluki’s always working on some super secret hacking project, and Kalluto’s been loaned to a colleague indefinitely. But Alluka’s not even at the main mansion anymore, so what little joy Killua had left in the house he grew up in is also gone. Some bullshit about Mother and Father wanting to keep her projects “safe,” but more likely it’s to keep her apart from Killua. Her and Nanika both.

And there’s Illumi, who should stay on the other side of the moon as long as he stays out of Killua’s business. Something he is deliberately failing to do.

The corridor to Father’s office gapes and yawns, the stretches of rich wood paneling between wrought iron lamps seeming to elongate with every step Killua takes. He’s dreading this conversation more than almost any other. Not helping are the prim steps of Illumi, just behind him and far enough to the side to reverberate in slightly disjointed echoes down the tiled hallway.

By the time the door arrives, Killua is half-jittery with the need to do something, anything to get out of this house, with its massive empty halls and the butlers bowing in expressionless deference from the threshold. Instead, he squares his shoulders and steps into the room, trying not to crumple the report in his hands.

“Welcome home, Kil,” Father says. He’s shucked his bespoke suit jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, blue eyes unreadable from behind the mahogany desk lit by a pair of soft lamps. People always say Killua takes after him, his height and his white hair and his blue eyes if not his bulk. How Silva ever managed to build a reputation as an assassin is less to do with stealth and more to do with brutal efficiency. But Father’s presence is grounded and weighty where Killua’s is electric and sharp, perhaps from age but just as likely from experience, even if Killua’s completed almost double the amount of contracts as when Silva was his age. There’s a reason Killua is heir to the Zoldyck dynasty, not because he wants to be but because he’s damn good at it.

It’s unusual to see Father out of his work clothes while in the office, even long after the end of the day. Propriety is vital in this business, he’d explained once, when Killua was too small to really know what the word meant. Mom, a slim black-haired shadow perched in her high backed chair at Father’s right hand, remains in her best work kimono, thick glasses glimmering in the red light.

Grandpa nods, his normal grin gone. He has a thin notebook flipped open in his hands even if he's not looking at it. “I hear there were complications again.”

Killua tries not to whip his head back to glare at Illumi. “I have my report here,” he says. “I had hoped to go over it myself, not have it fed through some incompetent third party.”

Illumi plucks the papers from his fist and gives them to Mom. “I believe, as your observer, I am neither a third party nor incompetent,” he says.

“Your screw ups cost me my job tonight, brother,” Killua snarls.

“Perhaps you should have checked your own tools rather than relying on what you perceived to be lacking in the first place.”

“I did set them up, you took them from me!”

“Boys,” Mom says, her voice dripping with misplaced emotions. “Don’t fight, not here. Kil, your report is flawless, but it does support what Illu reported already.”

“It’s not my fault.”

Grandpa Zeno at least looks a little sympathetic when he says, “Fault doesn’t matter, kid. Results do. And yours don’t look good.”

Killua does not growl or pace. He doesn’t allow his family the satisfaction of seeing his frustration manifest here. Instead, he pulls his hands out of his pockets and unrolls his copy of the paperwork. “I have the best record in this house, except for yours, Grandpa,” Killua says. “My only failed assignments have all occurred within the last eight months, and even taking those into account, I am succeeding well above Kalluto or Illumi’s expected averages. And all of them are related to that fucking cockroach.”

Father props his chin up on his fist. “Yet compared to your standards, you lack, Kil. That is unacceptable.”

“I still believe this is to do with his current living situation,” Illumi says softly, black eyes not showing a hint of emotion, not even satisfaction or success he’s obviously luxuriating in. “He has taken fewer and fewer contracts in the past few years. Perhaps it is time for the heir to come home.”

That is not negotiable. Killua is not leaving his apartment, his home, his friends. He’s worked too hard to keep that part of his life safe, locked away from his family and the blood on his hands. But he swallows the fear right back where it came from. “That’s besides the point. What I need to know is how my missions keep getting leaked.”

Father glances at Mom, who shrugs melodramatically. “There have been no words on leaks, Kil.”

Killua rolls his eyes. “I don’t screw up. Not like this. You know there’s something going on, or you wouldn’t have me under surveillance again. Either Milluki’s losing his touch or you’re getting lazy, Illumi.”

A brief flash of a grin passes across Zeno’s face, more for Killua’s benefit than anyone else in the room. “Told you he’d find them,” he mutters loud enough to echo. Father glares deadpan, the same look Illumi gives but with the strength and age to back it up. Unfortunately, when it’s targeted at Grandpa, it does about as much good as an water gun in a hurricane.

“Kil, no one else in the family is suffering from these losses,” Father says. “We suspect it’s coming from your end.”

Killua’s hackles rise defensively. “It definitely isn’t. I run sweeps every day, before and after missions, and whenever Gon’s in class. I made the protocols that allow me to stay out of this place, and you all approved them. Hell, you use them in all our safehouses now. Including Alluka’s systems—”

“Then the protocols need to be updated, darling,” Mom says. “As do those for field surveillance. Illumi, you will oversee Kil’s efforts at both of these.”

“Of course, Mother.”

“What? No! This was Illumi’s fault in the first place.” Working with Illumi out of the field is even worse than the backseat assassining that happens on the job. No way is this going to end without Killua tearing his hair out.

“Don’t argue, kid,” Zeno says. “Silva wanted to keep you at home until the AI is fixed. Consider this a compromise.”

“There’s a problem with Nanika?” Killua asks. “I thought Alluka finished it last year. What has she said?”

“It’s nothing Milluki can’t fix,” Father says.

Mom looks more upset about this than Father, but she wants him back under the Zoldyck thumb almost as much as Illumi. Father’s always emphasized, if Killua can maintain his success and his secrecy, he can “expand his horizons” or whatever he says to excuse Killua’s flights of whimsy. Not that they are whimsical at all. Killua simply wanted to have a little corner of life for his own. Father seemed alright with even that, just so long as Killua never tested his leash.

At least, until now. The risk of losing what little independence he has looms large in Killua’s mind, and he shudders at the thought. He can’t lose all the time he’s put into stupid classes and stupid university credits just to lose them now. More importantly, he can’t lose his friendships. It’s bad enough he doesn’t get to see Alluka. Losing Gon…

Killua straightens, pulling his shoulders back and meeting Father eye for eye. “Fine,” he says. “If I get an extra visitation day.”

“Done. And you’ll install the new modifications in your apartment,” Father says.

“In the complex’s public spaces, not in my apartment,” Killua says.

“Today.”

“Tomorrow. I have to wait for Gon to go to class, since coming all the way out here means I’m not getting home til after dinner.”

His best friend’s name makes a flicker of emotion pass across Illumi’s face, sour and unamused. Killua marks a point in his favor, a tiny spot of hope in this mess.

“Agreed,” Father says.

Killua lets out a breath slowly, not letting his relief show on his face. “Great. So can we get to sorting out the leak now? Since I’m here, and not going to class tomorrow.”

Kikyo shakes her head, tapping her long nails on her husband’s desk. “We will take care of that, I think,” she says.

“If it’s centered on my contracts and no one else’s, I should be involved.”

“We have it under control,” Father says.

He’d said the same thing before all but exiling Alluka from the family, like she was an annoying problem to be solved rather than Killua’s sister. He’d said it again when the AI—when Nanika was moved to the main mansion once its immediate success didn’t take hold. It takes every single spotless job to earn even a fraction of time with Alluka, and losing that… It’s not a comforting thought. “Obviously not as much as you think, or I wouldn’t be missing another contract,” Killua says.

“You are the only unaccounted-for element in this search,” Illumi says. “Perhaps you should not be involved at all.”

“I—”

Grandpa nods somberly. “We’ve been discussing this privately for some time now, Kil. If you are the target of this subterfuge, you should not be involved in the search. It would only draw more attention. And your performance during this time has been an issue as well.”

Killua’s eyes narrow. If they’re talking about a break, he’d take it gladly. He’s never had one, not while applying for university, not when Gon came down with some terrible upper respiratory infection, not even the first time one of Professor Krueger’s hell tests descended upon his grades. But if they’re talking locking him out of his own problems, just because he’s not following their plans…

“Are you seriously accusing me of leaking my own contracts?” Killua asks incredulously. He can’t stand his family most of the time, but they’re his family. Even Illumi. He can’t betray them to someone else. The very thought is anathema.

But no one responds. It’s worse than if someone said to his face they thought he was a traitor, because at least that way Killua would know who to punch. Instead, Father says, “Kil, you know the suspension protocols. No contact with the family, no access to the grounds, no further contracts. No access to family resources. Use the time to triple check your protocols and install any updates in the apartment complex.”

Killua balls his hands into fists. “You can’t suspend me now,” he says. “You need my help with this!”

“Check ins are once every twenty four hours with Illu,” Mom adds as though she doesn’t hear him. “Do not miss them, or all visitation rights will be revoked.”

“And if we cannot determine the cause, or decide it is too dangerous, you will return home and your visitation privileges to the secondary compound will be permanently revoked,” Father says. “It is too much of a risk to leave my heir in harm’s way, especially at a time like this.”

Illumi doesn’t smile. Illumi never smiles. But his blank black eyes seem to glimmer all the same. “You know how to reach me, Kil,” he says.

It takes every hard-won fiber of control in Killua’s body to keep himself from breaking the door on the way out.

Chapter Text

At least Father doesn’t prevent the butlers from driving Killua back to where he’s parked his car on campus. Gotoh and Amane are mercifully silent, not commenting even when Killua starts taking apart Milluki’s listening devices scattered around the backseat. In thanks, Killua only turns the earsplitting reverb on Milluki’s end of the audio.

It’s stupid and childish, but Killua’s not feeling particularly kind at this moment.

The car pulls to a stop before Killua can finish feeding obnoxious late night talk radio from campus through Milluki’s audio. He leaves the wires scattered across the seat, hopefully so whichever family member sits there next ends up with a wire up their ass. Not likely, given the Zoldyck butlers’ efficiency, but it’s a nice image.

“Master Killua?” Gotoh says.

Killua closes his eyes and counts to three. It’s not Gotoh’s fault his family is a bunch of shitheads who won’t listen to reason. Killua counts himself among them, unfortunately, but he’s always had a hard head. And he has Gon to balance out the shittiness. “Yeah?”

Gotoh pushes his glasses up his nose. “Your brother asks that you keep the family phone on at all times, if he has any additional news on the leaks. But other than your check ins, you are not to use it yourself.”

Killua scowls. “I know, Gotoh. Father might be treating me like a kid, but this isn’t my first time under house arrest.”

Amane pokes her head over the top of the car. “I think it is, Master Killua,” he says. “That’s why we’re both here, to make sure you don’t do anything…”

“Asinine?”

“Foolish,” Gotoh corrects.

Killua sighs. “This isn’t my first time,” he repeats slowly so it can get through their brains. “I’ve done this twice already, remember? High school and moving into my apartment. I know what I need to do if I don’t want to lose everything.”

At least Amane looks mollified. Gotoh pushes his glasses up his nose again. “If I remember correctly, your observation period was tripled upon moving to the apartment following a breach in protocol.”

“Because Gon set the fire alarm off trying to bake his aunt cookies and we had to uninstall every one of them before they stopped going off.” The cookies had been burnt to bricks, but at least the icing had been saved. Gon had smeared it all over Killua’s face, and it had taken half a moment too long to retaliate because his best friend’s grin had been as bright as a sun and Killua couldn’t breathe.

(The side effect of locating and removing all the surveillance bugs had been not wholly unintentional.)

Killua shakes the memory out of his head. Distractions. He can’t afford distractions, not now. “I don’t want this to last longer than it needs to, trust me. I want to help.”

“We know, and we want to help, too,” Amane says. Gotoh gives her one of his Looks, glasses flashing in sedan’s headlights, and she shuts her mouth with a clack and a blush.

At least someone in this family believes him. Even if it’s not his family.

“Master Illumi wants your family phone left on, but so do we,” Gotoh says. “We will do our best to help smooth this transition. And if we determine what caused this, we will let you know immediately.”

“Before the rest of the family?”

If Killua didn’t know any better, he’d say that Gotoh is smirking. But even a hint of a smile is wiped from his professionally blank face. “Immediately, Master Killua. As long as you’re on your best behavior.”

Gotoh is the best. Killua grins. “When am I ever not?”

Amane coughs. It sounds suspiciously like someone saying bullshit. But Gotoh doesn’t even flick an eyebrow at her, so it might just be Killua’s imagination.

“You will hear from one of us, Master Killua. Don’t spend all of your money on chocorobos in a single day, you have rent due on Thursday.”

“That was once!”

“Six times, not including your first year of university,” Amane says as she ducks into the car, and Killua feels his ears burn.

Gotoh waits until Killua is in his car, key in the ignition and engine started, before pulling away into the night. So Killua has to wait until the butlers are gone before blasting the radio and thumping his head against the steering wheel.

He misses and hits the horn instead. It blares across the empty campus lot for a solid minute before Killua has any desire to move. That and the campus officer knocking on his window to see if he’s too drunk to drive home. Killua only wishes he were.

Gon’s door is shut and lights off by the time Killua sneaks back into the apartment, so he doesn’t bother making himself a much-needed mug of hot chocolate and trying to explain to his best friend without devolving into uncreative swearing how he’s been put on temporary leave. Instead, Killua practically falls into his own bed, mind still racing with possibilities of how to deal with everything and what exactly Father is playing at, cutting Killua out of the investigation when he’s the most crucial part of it. Hell, what Gotoh and the butlers are playing at, going behind the Zoldyck leadership’s backs.

He doesn’t notice he’s fallen asleep until an all-too-familiar voice cracks through his sleepy haze, jolting him out of restless dreams he can’t quite place. “Killua? It’s time to get up.”

Killua groans and buries his face in his pillow. “Go away Gon,” he says, not having to fake how exhausted he sounds.

A Gon-sized body thumps into Killua’s bed, jostling the first layer of blankets off of Killua’s protective mountain. “You’ve got class this afternoon, and I know you haven’t done your homework yet.”

“I did it last night.” While stuck on a helicopter with the last person he will ever, ever willingly do a job with ever again. Even the cockroach is better than Illumi, because at least Killua will have them out of his life sooner rather than later and probably in the most violent way possible. Illumi’s his brother. Killua can’t just throw him out of a ten story window.

“Suuuure,” Gon drawls, pulling the word out as long as he can until Killua throws a pillow in the general direction of his voice. Despite Killua’s finely honed assassination skills, his best friend is able to dodge the attack with ease, laughter entirely too bright and chipper for whatever time it is.

Killua rolls over to glare at his best friend. It’s hard because Gon—being an absolute asshole—has opened the curtains and his grin is blindingly bright against freckled brown skin, brown eyes dancing with the same brilliant joy. Or maybe it’s just the sun. “I did it last night because I got put on leave for a week.”

Gon’s expression falls, making it marginally easier to look at him. “I’m sorry, Killua. What happened?”

He waves it off. “Just my brother being a dick. And I’m not going to class this week.”

“You have to go to class, Killua.”

“I’m sick,” Killua says, and coughs twice. Making it anything other than incredibly fake is useless against Gon, who always knows when Killua’s lying, even if he doesn’t mention it or know what Killua’s lying about. It’s like he can smell it or something.

Usually, the obnoxious lie would make Gon snort, or at least grin. But he just keeps giving Killua a look scarily similar to his aunt’s when she’s found a bunch of unsorted laundry laying on the floor. He says, “Bisky will know you’re skipping.”

The old hag is the last person Killua wants to see, even if his geography midterm is coming up. He has bigger issues. “She doesn’t take attendance. And besides, you’re going, I won’t miss anything.”

Gon huffs, displeased. “I’m not taking notes for you again.”

“I’ll make dinner every night this week.” The least he could do, since he’s not leaving the apartment except to sweep the garage for bugs again. Damn, he just did his end-of-month sweep over the weekend. Gon doesn’t look convinced, however, so Killua throws a trump card. “And I’ll help you do Knuckle’s problem set, if you pick up my homework.”

Gon gnaws on his bottom lip for a moment, and Killua knows he’s won. “Actual food this time, not a week of cakes.”

“Cakes are totally food. I’ll even make carrot cake. That’s good enough, right?”

“It is not!”

“Kidding, Gon. Chicken and fish and vegetables, all that healthy crap you and your aunt taught me how to make.”

Gon’s phone buzzes, and he makes a face at it like it’s his aunt telling him to get his ass to class. Which, knowing Mito Freecss, it very well could be. “Fine,” he says like he really doesn’t want to. “But you have to go to lecture for the rest of the semester, for all your classes.”

“No promises.”

“Yes promises. Pinky swear!”

Killua stares at his best friend’s pinky finger, jutted out at him like they’re kids and not two men in their twenties. Not helping is Gon’s face, which says, You know I am serious, pinky swears are always serious.

Killua’s expression probably says some variation on For fuck’s sake, why do I care about you so much. Not that Gon can read that for what it is. He links their pinkies and lets Gon shake them three times, chanting his promises. Killua doesn’t need to say what he’s feeling. The comfortable weight of Gon’s hand in his is enough.

Then it’s gone, leaving Killua cold despite the multitude of blankets. But Gon’s not gone, still staring at Killua with a small smile on his face and a focused look in his eyes. Killua can’t help but turn a little pink. He knows what he looks like in the mornings, as Gon has helpfully pointed out so many times: messy white hair even more of a knot-filled disaster, eyes sunken into pale skin from being out too late and up too early (anytime before noon is too early, dammit). He hadn’t even bothered to put on a shirt last night, preferring to bundle up in blankets.

And Gon’s just staring at him, zoned out with thoughts Killua can’t begin to imagine. He leans over and flicks his best friend square between the eyebrows. “Oi, earth to Gon.”

“Killua, I…I need to go to class,” he says and stands joltingly, like he’s a puppet with half of his strings suddenly cut. Killua lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I’ll see you tonight?”

Right. Gon also has work, volunteering with Kite’s offices on the other side of town. Kite’s always been nice enough, letting Killua hang out in the reception area even after he once got bored waiting for Gon and rewired the computer monitors. That had been the first year of undergrad, and Killua got chewed out almost as badly as if it had been one of Mito’s lectures. But the redheaded lawyer likes Gon, so they can’t be all bad. “Double chocolate cake and cinnamon buns for dinner,” Killua promises.

He catches Gon’s pillow attack easily and grins widely when his best friend sticks his tongue out as he leaves.

Instead of doing what he wants and ignoring everything his parents want, Killua spends the day debugging the apartment complex from top to bottom again and calling as many contacts as he can without tripping any Zoldyck wires. None of the ground-level informants have any information Killua doesn’t already have, and in some cases are more annoying than useful. Besides, people like Ikalgo or Palm who have long ago blurred the line between colleague and friend are too far away to offer any assistance beyond offering to keep their ears to the ground.

Gon’s in an absurdly good mood when he comes home, and remains in it through the rest of the night, despite Killua’s best efforts to convince him that dinner should be chocolate covered strawberries and some squash cake he saw on a baking show (“We’ll both have fruits and vegetables, see?” “Killua, you promised food. We’re having fish and broccoli.”). Even though Killua’s frustration aches with the pressure to boil over and rant, he can’t bring himself to dampen Gon’s happiness.

At least someone’s having good luck at work. When Gon asks if everything’s alright, Killua shrugs it off. He has the rest of the week to figure this out.

He runs out of bugs to debug and contacts to contact shortly after noon the third day of his house arrest. Not saying much, since he successfully warded off the alarm’s attempts to wake him that morning. Killua vaguely remembers the feeling of sturdy fingers in his hair, brushing bangs out of his face, but it feels too much like any number of his dreams that he dismisses it as yet another baseless fantasy. If Gon had tried to wake him up, he’d have gone for the pillows again, or shoved an ice pack down Killua’s back.

And Illumi is still refusing to answer any questions. Considering how much time he usually spends trying to convince Killua to come back to the Zoldyck mansion, or leave Gon, or spend more time training and less time studying… Well, that last one’s always tempting, especially with the business accounting class this semester. But if Killua’s getting a degree, he’s doing it right. Illu’s always been too focused on the family to realize that doing something right doesn’t always mean doing it only as a job. He focuses too much on the family, when he should be considering what affects the family. The family isn’t just an unmoving core of skilled murderers, but communication, understanding. Affection, even.

Maybe that’s why Father and Gramps both supported Killua as the next Zoldyck leader, and why Illumi didn’t protest. Even if Killua never wants it. But trying to tell anyone else that…

As it is, it’s a pain in Killua’s ass, and there’s nothing he can do from this end of the phone, stalking back and forth across his living room and staying just barely out of sightlines from the window. “Illumi, if you’re not going to tell me what’s going on, fine. But it’s been long enough. If you don’t tell me, Father will, or Mom.”

His brother turns over his options, audibly thinking through the possibilities. It's hard to tell what Illumi thinks sometimes, but Killua's had a lot of practice. Illu's worried.“We want to make sure we have all the information first. I’m sure you understand that.”

Killua grinds his teeth. “I don’t. So explain.”

“I can’t. If you come home, perhaps—”

“No. That isn’t part of the deal.” Let me out, let me out, let me do something—

“Then you are to remain at your current location until further notice.” Illumi lets just a bit of bitterness creep into his voice, and Killua wants to believe his brother is trying to be apologetic.

“So what can I do?” Killua asks, still too wired to sit. “I can’t look at sensitive data here, but I can look for patterns. Go over my own notes. I’ll take my visitation day, go see Alluka—that’s a family property, under surveillance. We’ll figure something out.”

Illumi says something to someone on his end of the line, murmur too quiet to make out over the gentle buzz of the phone encryption. “Maybe. But Kil—” There is absolutely bitterness in Illumi’s voice now, combined with uncharacteristic frustration. It makes Killua twitch. “—visiting the secondary complex is out of the question.”

The phone creaks a little in Killua’s hand with how tight his grip goes. “That’s not your call to make.”

“You know it is. Even if it was not, Father and Mother agree, as does Grandfather. Perhaps we can find a compromise, however.”

It’s hard to not get excited. A “compromise” was what got him the apartment with Gon, but another one had been how Alluka had ended up under round-the-clock protection to the point that she might as well be in prison. But maybe— “What do you want?”

“You remain where you are and stop attempting to hack Milluki’s work. And in exchange…Grandfather insists you be allowed to contact the secondary residence by phone, for the purpose of solving this issue.” Illumi sighs. It sounds like Father gave him a card to read off of, like he’d deliberately screw it up otherwise. Or he’s that annoyed with the final decision. “It will also mitigate any of your ongoing distractions worrying over the nanika program.”

He could talk to Alluka. Under observation, with their family recording every word, but that’s been true for years, since Alluka started coding all of their family’s security protocols and even Father had turned paranoid. But he could talk to her, right now, even if the extra visits wouldn’t happen and he’d be stuck here…

“It would be easier if she could move here with me,” he says.

“You know better than to ask, Kil.”

It was still worth a shot. One day, he'll get a better answer. Until then, he'd have to keep the hope safe. “But I can still talk to Alluka, right?”

“You have five minutes, starting now.”

There’s a rough crackle in the phone, the sound of Illumi switching connections or Milluki breaking in. It doesn’t matter. Killua doesn’t care whatever his older brothers are doing, because the static breaks and he hears—

“Brother!”

“Hey, Alluka,” Killua says, trying to sound casual but unwilling to hold his grin back. “It’s been forever.”

“Milluki, can you underline that a few times in the transcription? And put it in big red font?”

It might be the phone’s static, but Killua swears someone coughs obnoxiously. His grin widens. “Don’t make it too hard for him. He might actually have to stop playing video games for a minute.”

“Maybe if he makes it green?”

“Mmm no, might have to use smaller words. Mil, I know forever has too many syllables, but what about too fucking long?”

“Language, Brother.”

“Ah right, he could mix up ‘too’ with ‘to’ or ‘two.’”

“I will kill you with a controller, Kil,” a voice vibrates furiously out of the receiver, pitched up to make it hurt. “It will be long, and painful.”

“Only in a video game,” Killua says in a sing-song. “And even then, maybe 50/50.”

“You say that to my face— ”

The crackling cuts out abruptly, and Alluka giggles. “We’re clear, Brother. Thanks for distracting him.”

“You could’ve blocked him without me pissing him off, I just did that for fun.”

She laughs, loud and gleeful. “I know! It was great."

Killua loves his sister so, so much. Not many people would want him to deliberately piss off someone else. Gon, maybe, but he’s more likely to stand back and let it happen, throwing in the occasional deliberately oblivious comment to stoke the fires again. “How long do we have?” Killua asks.

“90 seconds, I think. Maybe 120, if Milluki really was playing games.” She pauses, fiddling with something on her end that cleans up the sound. Milluki might be the one gifted at internet stalking, but he can’t even come close to Alluka’s skills with hacking and software. It’s why the family keeps her so carefully protected. Or so carefully locked away. That, and they can’t stand she’s not the boy they want her to be. “What’s wrong?”

Killua drops himself onto the couch, right in Gon’s usual spot. “I wanted to say hi?”

“If you wanted that, you would have come by, not wasted your visit on a phone call,” she says, not exactly accusatory.

“Not stuck at home, I can’t.” He quickly fills her in on the most relevant details, seconds ticking by in the back of his head. “Do you know what’s wrong with the AI?”

“Nanika was fully self-aware when our parents took her, Brother. She might not want to work with them.” Alluka sighs. “I told her it would be okay, but if she’s hurt…”

Killua taps a sharp nail against the side of the couch, trying to not rip out the fabric again. “Do you need to reprogram something?”

He gets the feeling that his sister is eyeballing him through the phone, an expression uncomfortably close to his own reaction to stupid ideas. “I told you, she’s self-aware. She programs herself now. If there’s a problem with the code now… I don’t know, it shouldn’t happen.”

“Have you asked our parents?”

“They still don’t talk to me, not even about the systems I built. They think Milluki is good enough. At least it gives me time for school.” She taps the side of her phone, her nails making the receiver click. “It’s not Nanika. I promise.”

If they didn’t have at most two minutes to talk, Killua would have buried his face in a pillow and screamed until he passed out. It’s not surprising that his parents and Illumi are wrong, but what if Alluka is? She’s so smart, smarter than Killua, but this… “Then who do you think the cockroach is?”

“I wish I could tell you, Brother. And it doesn’t make sense that Silva and Kikyo won’t let you help. It’s not fair that they’re locking you up.”

“It’s never been fair to you.”

“But you love them, and they love you. You can’t hide away what you love.”

Killua’s heart jumps into his throat, painful enough that he almost forgets to breathe. He thought this wouldn’t hurt so much anymore. “I love you, Alluka. And I as soon as they let me out, I’ll convince them to relax the restrictions. If Milluki’s doing your job, they shouldn’t need to protect you like this.”

She laughs, and as hollow as it could have been, it’s still full of life and joy. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

“And Nanika too?”

That’s so much harder to promise. The AI is locked away, and if it’s hidden in the house, even Killua’s not sure he could find it. “Alluka, I don’t know if…”

A warning tone echoes down the line, nearly drowning out Alluka’s grumble of protest. “Nanika too. Next time. And Brother? Try your mob friends again, maybe they’ll know something. They’re out in the world.”

Out in the world more than me, she means. Killua hates his family sometimes. Hates knowing he’s supposed to lead them someday. Like he’ll ever do that.

“I’ll try,” he says instead. “Thanks, Alluka. Love you.”

Milluki’s crackling starts to leak into the phone call over Alluka’s voice, like little needles poking into Killua’s ear as she says, “I love you too. And Brother, when you’re done squashing your cockroach, introduce me to Gon!”

“Alluka—” Killua squawks.

Illumi cuts in, voice blank but furious in its emptiness. “You have violated protocol, Kil. You know the repercussions. This call is over.” Before anyone gets so much as a goodbye, all sound to the phone is severed, leaving him with nothing but white noise and the occasional beep of a dead phone line.

Well. That could have gone worse. Still a dead end, but at least he got to talk to Alluka for once. It’s going to be awhile before Illumi lets them talk again, but if this cockroach situation is dealt with, maybe…

So Killua sticks his tongue out at the family phone and lets loose an evocative description of where his brothers can shove their collective stupidity. If he doesn’t turn off the phone, Milluki will still be recording, and Illumi will have to listen at some point, since he listens to everything Killua records. The longer, the better—and the longer it is, the less he has to worry about how his sister seems determined to meet his best friend. The two of them together would probably manage to embarrass him to the point of explosion within five minutes flat.

The door opens somewhere around the tirade about creative uses for beauty supplies, and Killua glares at Gon’s cheerful smile. “I didn’t think you could fit that down someone’s throat,” he says.

“You can, just need to twist a little,” Killua says absently, and gestures.  

Gon nods, like he’s taking it seriously. Probably because Killua was being truthful. Gon always seems to know when Killua’s telling the truth. Which is just unfair, most of the time. Now, it’s just another thing that gets buried under the pile of shit that keeps building, and all of Killua’s plans for shoveling it require a snowplow.

Shitty thoughts are interrupted by a hand on his shoulder, firmly tugging his attention back down to worried brown eyes. “Hey, Killua? Are you okay?” Gon asks.

The true answer to that question is no. But he’d heard Alluka’s voice, even if it hadn’t helped either of them, and if Alluka thinks it will be alright, Killua will make sure it is. He’ll squash that fucking cockroach, prove to Illumi and Father that this isn’t his fault, and keep Alluka safe.

And Gon’s hand is warm, fingers tight where they dig into his shirt, keeping him grounded even through the problems whizzing through his mind.

So Killua grins at his best friend, and says as honestly as he can, “Yeah. I’m okay.”

It might even be true, because Gon looks like he believes it.

Chapter Text

Things are definitely not okay.

It’s been five days since Killua spoke with Alluka, and more than a week since he was put under house arrest. But Illumi refuses to so much as pick up the phone during the daily check-ins, forcing Killua to leave clipped one-sentence messages in lieu of another string of curses. No news should be good news, but the radio silence is grating on Killua worse than the thought of the cockroach plotting his downfall.

Gon had been home when Bisky sent an email about failing her midterm last week, since he wasn't there to take it. It just means he’s failing the class. She’s just his advisor for his minor. It’s just a degree. It doesn’t matter to his family, so why should it matter to him?

(Gon disappeared for half an hour and returned with a chocolate cake almost too big for him to carry. Neither of them talk about it, instead arguing for twenty minutes over which movie to watch. Killua lets him win that argument. Something’s been eating at Gon for the last few days, and if he’s not going to bring it up, neither will Killua.)

Getting in touch with the Nostrades is a risk. The mob family is not as well-known as it used to be, but is also much more dangerous than ever, largely thanks to their shadow boss. Kurapika has been helpful in the past, however, and he’s always been good about knowing when to be subtle. But he also has his own agendas, and revealing any weaknesses within the Zoldycks could be disastrous. Killua’s never been burned by these arrangements before, but there’s always a chance. And that’s not even getting into how Killua has to sneak out of his own apartment just to get to the right coffee shop to make the phone call, bypassing half a dozen cameras Milluki could be hacked into and any number of hiding spots Illumi could be lurking.

Maybe Illumi is right, that living with Gon has made Killua soft. But Gon’s also helped him learn that trust is much harder to hold onto than paranoia, and Kurapika’s more than earned Killua’s trust. More importantly, he’s earned Alluka’s, and that speaks volumes.

Plus, Killua gets his first fresh mocha latte in a week and a half, and fuck but it tastes good.

Killua sits in the usual table in the blindspot of the cafe’s cameras, careful to keep a cap pulled low over his eyes just in case anyone spots him as he dials the right number into the burner phone. The white noise from the espresso machine and too-loud music keeps most other people in here on their headphones, and no one should be able to listen in on the conversation with Kurapika.

Unfortunately, he knows as little as Killua.

“I wasn’t aware of any issues with the Zoldycks,” he says, voice grainy from the three levels of filters on both sides of the phone. “Your work is still highly recommended and is thought of as impeccable as always. And whatever rumors there might be about other projects remain as baseless as ever.”

“At least Father’s kept it in the family,” Killua mutters. If Kurapika hasn’t gotten wind of anything, there’s very little chance anyone has. His reach of contacts is terrifyingly vast and as varied as Killua’s own—he’d once called Mito Freecss’s home number to laugh at Killua when he and Gon were caught climbing the outside of their high school, which was entirely Gon’s fault anyways (and he paid for it with yet another broken bone when he’d slipped off the roof). Kurapika is good.

And, as far as Killua can tell, has been entirely trustworthy. Maybe it’s old debts they both owe each other, maybe it’s because at heart the shadow boss is a decent person. Maybe the Zoldycks are too neutral in mob politics to worry about. Or maybe, as ridiculous as it seems, Kurapika likes Killua as a friend.

That’d be almost unimaginable, really.

“Have you heard anything else about that...agency?” he asks.

“Your cockroach?”

Killua gnashes his teeth together. “Yes, the fucking cockroach. They’re as much a risk to you as to me, if they ever get bored dicking me around.”

The phone coughs impolitely, just a hint of a chuckle hidden beneath the static. “Professionally, I cannot speak more on it. But since this is a personal call, I can tell you that I do not know who they are, but I have my suspicions.”

The first lead he’s had in weeks, and of course it’s from Kurapika. “And?” he demands.

“You say they’re new to your area, but I suspect it is either a new branch or a rebranding of an older group. The effect it’s had on your movement in particular suggests they know too much to be entirely new. They lack numbers but seem to primarily run rescue and subterfuge operations, not all coinciding with missing persons or attempted assassinations. And Killua.” The pause is ice cold, and Killua has to stop a shudder before it starts. “They might not be aware it is you they are screwing with, but they are aiming to gain something out of this from the Zoldycks. Either they are being paid explicitly for your contracts, which implies someone is leaking your information without anyone else catching on, or they know more about the rumors of your sibling’s project than anyone should. Or…”

“Or they want in on our turf.” Killua’s not sure which option he likes less. A leak is containable, once it’s caught. It implies something direct—someone Killua’s pissed off, maybe, or is out to get rich off of Alluka’s work. The only surprise to that is it’s someone who’s subtle and patient enough to stay out of his sight. Assuming they didn’t manage to beat Alluka’s programming and hack the AI. But someone wanting to edge the Zoldycks out of competition by targeting their best assassin? It’s just business. “Any ideas who that might be?”

Kurapika sighs. “If I did, I would tell you. The loss of the Zoldycks would lead to a power vacuum while scum fight for what you leave behind, and that is a terrible idea for any of us. Your most prudent option is to see if your absence for the rest of the week goes noticed. You would normally have accepted a new contract by now, given the failure of the last.”

“Don’t remind me.” He sighs. If anything comes up that can help, Kurapika will tell him or send one of his advisors. There isn’t anything else to do except go back to pouring over his terribly short and incredibly opaque list of possible cockroaches. “Stay safe, alright? There aren’t enough people I trust.”

He’s rewarded with a small laugh. “Same to you, Killua. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, in or out of the business. We both have few enough friends.”

Killua ignores how his cheeks warm by sipping at his latte. “Got it.”

“Although perhaps, if you would like advice for asking your roommate out, you may want to consult with Melody. I’ve been told I have the ‘romantic instincts of a soup fork.’”

There’s no way to respond to that except by spluttering. “I don’t need help—I mean, I don’t like... How do you even know?”

Kurapika’s grin is audible through the phone. “I have my ways,” he says.

“And I have ways of shoving my foot up your ass.”

“I have never met this person and I could likely give you a fairly accurate representation of his personality, based on how often you bring him up in our personal conversations.” A gentle hum of speech, and Killua swears he hears Kurapika laugh. “Melody suggests you ask him out, if you aren’t working.”

Had anyone else said this, in or out of the business, Killua would have begun plotting ways to hide a body, probably his own. But since it’s Kurapika (and, from the musical giggling in the background, Melody as well), Killua merely feels like his skin explodes with embarrassment. “Fix your own damn love life before you poke in on mine!”

The giggling in the background intensifies as Kurapika’s audible grin grows. “I believe I am doing fine on that front. Someday, I will introduce you two. I’m sure you’ll get along.”

If Kurapika’s on-again, off-again paramour is anything like him, Killua might have a chance of being friendly, should he survive the encounter. But the only time Kurapika mentions any parts of the other person’s personality is to complain about it, or when Melody brings them up, so anything Killua knows has to be taken with several grains of salt. If not, he’d think the person is an over-committed occasionally lecherous genius fool who cares too much for their own good. “Just. Call me if you get any leads.”

“Of course.” Kurapika hangs up without any farewell, as he usually does, leaving Killua to his latte and his worries.

Killua lets Amane catch him at the grocery store on his way back to the apartment. A good cover story is based in truth, and the fridge is almost empty of anything Gon likes eating. She tries to glare at him to make him leave, but also pays for his groceries (after adding a bag of spinach and a half-dozen bananas). It’s nice that the butlers are at least trying to do their jobs.

Illumi still doesn’t pick up for the check-in, so Killua just reads his shopping list and hangs up.

Gon announces his return from work by slamming the door shut, stomping over to the couch, and flopping down face-first into Killua’s favorite pillow. Killua doesn’t have to strain over the sound of sizzling chicken to hear the groan.

He bites back a laugh. The number of times Gon’s been openly frustrated about anything not related directly to competitions or games is few enough to count on one hand, and it is almost always hilarious. Their ongoing laser tag war, now spanning half a decade and more than a dozen different battlefields, has been a persistent sore spot, not least because Killua has no qualms in using every iota of skill he has earned as an assassin to sneak up on and bury his best friend. But that’s only resulted in frequent nagging for another rematch (and losing, and rematch again), not wallowing in abject misery. Gon doesn’t do angst. He’s tried, sure, but he’s lasted at most a few hours before trying to see the best side of the issue, or by going at it headfirst until it stops being a problem. Gon’s reliable that way.

Anger’s a different story. Killua can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Gon truly furious, and all of them have stuck with him, like watching lightning burn a tree right before his eyes. It’s powerful and dark, a side of his best friend that should be terrifying but is instead thrilling. But Gon doesn’t look angry. He looks like he might punch the couch in half, but he’s not angry. So Killua has no qualms poking him a little. Plus dinner’s done, and Killua’s too hungry to wait.

“Oi, dumbass. What did you do this time that you don’t even want food?” he asks, hoping the unfortunate smell of vegetables will bring over his best friend without Killua actually having to do anything.

Gon doesn’t move from the couch. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Then why are you pouting?” He flicks a pea at his best friend, grinning as it hits the splash of freckles right in the middle of his nose.

Gon pops the legume into his mouth and sticks his lower lip out. “I’m not pouting.”

“You definitely are.”

This time, Gon catches three peas with his mouth, all lobbed one right after another. “I’m just frustrated.”

“Is Bisky bothering you about me again? I emailed her this morning, she said it would be okay.” She didn’t, she’d responded with another lecture-length message about serial class skipping and massive disappointment that had hurt more than it should. But Gon doesn’t need to know about that.

“‘snot Bisky, it’s my job.” Gon flops over, glaring at the ceiling. “I hate this.”

Melodrama is not a good look on him. Or at least it’s a less good one. Killua sighs. If Gon brought up his job, he absolutely wants to talk about it, but if Killua brings it up too early, he’ll just pretend like nothing’s wrong. “Gon, you’ll feel better if you eat something. I can’t keep throwing your dinner at you once I get to the chicken.”

That gets him off the couch and slouching to the table, poking at the pile of food Killua’s made. “You’ve gotten a lot better at this, Killua,” he says.

Killua’s cheeks warm, but he grins anyways. Cooking’s not something he’ll ever be good at, but he can feed himself and Gon and maybe Alluka someday. “Well, your mom’s a good teacher. And someone has to make sure you eat when you’re moping, or I’m calling her and she’ll make you.”

“I’m not moping!” Gon says.

“So you’re fine if I eat the rest of—”

Gon shoves half his chicken into his mouth at once, like eating proves he’s in a good mood. Instead, he chokes. Killua absolutely fails to hold back a laugh, and Gon glares at him, eyes watering as he fights to swallow. “mnah,” he manages. “’f I were, I would’ve stayed on the couch. Kite just wants me to hold off on my project for a bit.”

That’s not what Killua expected. “Kite did? Why?”

“They said I finished what they wanted me to do, so need me on something else until they say otherwise.” Gon’s frown deepens, burying lines deep into his forehead until he finally explodes. “I don’t want to do another project!”

Killua blinks. “Finishing projects is a good thing, though.”

“But it’s not done, Killua! It’s what I told Kite. They think since I finished the part I was working on, I’m done. But I’m not, the person I’m—” Gon clams up abruptly, his silence absolutely at odds with the frantic look in his eyes. A look that means secrets.

Killua knows secrets, and he knows Gon. Gon doesn’t do secrets, not unless there’s a reason—a prank, usually, but more often for someone else. And the only someone Killua can think of in this situation is Gon’s boss. “Kite’s a lawyer, right?” Killua says, ignoring how much he wants to know all Gon's secrets right now. “What are they having you do, if you’re volunteering? You’re not going to law school or something?”

Gon shudders. “No! I don’t want to do that. I’m just helping out, helping find…people, I guess? For Kite’s cases. I owe them a lot. Even if it means working early tomorrow.”

“You like working early, dumbass.” Waking up early, making Killua wake up early because how else are they going to see each other if Killua sleeps til noon...

“Not when it’s on something Kite won’t even tell me about until I’m there. They’re right, they can’t talk about it outside the office, but I’m…” Gon sighs and drops his head. “I’m sorry, Killua. I want to finish my job, and then I can tell you about it. It pisses me off I can’t finish without Kite’s help, and they won’t help unless I help out tomorrow.”

“I know you can’t tell me about the cases, they’re confidential. And if Kite’s trusting you with that, they must know how important it is.”

“Kite said that they wanted the best for this next job,” Gon mutters.

“And you’re the best.” Gon stares at him, and Killua’s ears warm as he realizes what he said. “At this. Whatever Kite needed. Gon, they hired you because you’re good at what you do. And that means they know you’ll finish whatever you think needs doing—even if it’s after this other thing.”

“Yeah.” A smile slowly blooms on his best friend’s face. “Yeah! They’ll show up eventually, they have to.”

“And you’ll get them. You’re my best friend, I should know you never give up.”

“You’re right. Thanks, Killua.” The smile Gon gives him is all-consuming in its brightness, and Killua wants to kiss him so badly it hurts.

Instead, he shrugs. “Anything to get you to stop pouting. It’s a bad look on you.”

Gon actually pouts for a moment, but is unable to resist falling back into a sunny grin. “So, Killua! I told you about my work, so you can tell me about yours!”

Killua stabs his chicken hard enough that the fork goes all the way through the meat and embeds itself in the plastic plate. “It’s okay. You don’t have to ask about it.”

“You can tell me whatever will help you feel better.” Gon props his chin up on his palm, radiating attentive care. “You’ve looked pissed ever since you got sent home last week. And you’ve been listening to me now, so I owe you. I want to know what happened, Killua!”

Killua can feel his willpower cracking as badly as the plate he’s trying to casually remove his fork from. “It’s not that important.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But maybe it’ll help to talk. And I want to help.” Gon gives him a hopeful smile, and Killua knows he’s lost. “Please?”

Telling Gon everything is impossible, and not just because if he knew, the butlers would try to shoot him on sight. But as soon as Killua opens his mouth, the floodgates burst, and a week’s worth of frustration spills over. Being confined to the apartment. No one able to help him, and even if they can, they won’t. That there’s something wrong with his sister and he can’t even talk to her for reasons he can’t tell Gon. That fucking cockroach getting in his way no matter which way he turns.

It’s enough that the rant lasts all the way through the rest of dinner and even past clean-up, Gon handling most of the heavy lifting as Killua storms up and down the small area in front of the couch, gesticulating angrily at the cushions. By this point, he’s simply listing all of the hypothetical terrible personal qualities the cockroach must have, ranging from a need to overcompensate for abandonment issues to a particularly whimsical description of their understandably atrocious fashion sense. None of which Killua knows for certain, but there must be at least some of that in this miserable human being.

“I know I asked, but you should stop thinking about them, Killua,” Gon says finally, the last of the dishes clattering loudly against the drying rack when Gon puts them down too hard. “It’s only making you angrier.”

Killua can’t stop pacing, flapping his hands to try to make up for how he can’t actually tell his best friend the reason he’s effectively suspended is because a spy didn’t just put Killua’s job on ice, that cockroach made it seem to the Zoldycks like it’s Killua’s own fault. Which it absolutely is not. “You don’t get it, Gon. This obnoxious shit can’t even keep their hands to themselves with the contract work! They keep stopping mine from going through, and I don’t even know which agency they’re in so I can go screw them right back.”

“I do get it, but there’s nothing you can do until you get back to work.”

“That’s the whole point! Because the asshole got me suspended, and even now I can’t do anything until I prove it wasn’t my fault in the first place—”

“Killua. You really, really need to stop thinking about it. We can watch a movie, or go to that concert next week, or even shopping I guess.”

“You think I haven’t tried? I need to find their weak spot, figure out who they are, and crush them like the bug they are—”

“Killua.”

“—and what if they never leave? What if I’m stuck with this cockroach underfoot for the rest of my life, and my boss is going to never let me back into the field unsupervised, and I’ll have to go back to live with my parents and I won’t see you again—”

“Killua!”

The exasperated sound of his name is all Killua gets before two very familiar sud-soaked hands grab his cheeks and force him to stop in his tracks. It shouldn’t be so effective, but Gon’s eyes blaze hot enough to cut through even the dense cloud of frustration floating in Killua’s head.

It’s still damn annoying. “What?” Killua snaps.

Gon scowls, then blinks, a too-familiar flash in his eyes. It’s a sign Killua should start looking for the nearest fire, or maybe just some conveniently flammable objects, because Gon has a terrible idea and Killua’s going to go along with it because he is a fucking idiot.

But it’s the only warning before he’s being pulled down, and Gon smashes their lips together.

It lasts maybe three seconds, or three heartbeats, but it feels like three years and Killua cannot process anything in the moment except that Gon’s eyes are screwed shut and Killua would really have liked to see them. But that’s not how kissing works, right? Killua’s kissed other people before, some people for work and some people for fun. Most of the time his eyes are closed, because he doesn’t care to see what the other person looks like. But he needs to see what Gon looks like, even if his face is so close the freckles on his cheeks blur together.

Just as he’s registering how warm Gon’s lips are, and some part of his brain is kicking and screaming that maybe Killua should stop thinking and start kissing him back, the pressure is gone and his best friend pulls away, leaving Killua so flushed he can feel the heat burning off his skin.

Gon kissed him. He kissed Gon.

Who else has Gon kissed, that he knows how to do this? He must have, right? They’ve both been on dates, even if half of Killua’s were covers for jobs or utter bullshit to make up a reason for him being out all night. But Gon’s never seemed very interested on anything more than having fun, and he’s never had a relationship last longer than a date or two. He’s never offered even that to Killua. And Killua hasn’t asked either—maybe from pride, maybe because it would hurt too much to hear him say no. Maybe because he’s scared what would happen if Gon says yes.

But Gon kissed him for a reason. So maybe he wants more?

Does he want that with Killua?

“Stop thinking about them,” Gon says. His eyes are deep and glimmering, made huge by the darkening of his skin.

Gon’s always been good at following through on what he says, because Killua can’t think about anything at all. So he says the first thing that comes to his mind, not recognizing how intense it makes him sound until the words are in the air. “What should I think about then?”

The crook to Gon’s grin is not quite new. Killua’s simply never noticed it wholly directed at him before. “Me,” he says.

Killua traces his best friend’s cheeks, appreciating how for all Gon’s confidence, he still bites his lip as he stares up at Killua. It’s fucking adorable, and Killua wants. “You, huh?” he says.

Gon tilts his head to the side, just enough to press those warm lips to Killua’s scarred palms. “You need a distraction, and this seems like a good idea. If you want to try. And it’ll keep you from thinking about work for a little.”

Work is probably the furthest thing from Killua’s mind at this point, which is instead zeroed in on how the freckles on Gon’s nose wrinkle as he smiles. “How are you going to do that?” Killua asks.

“I can think of a few ways.” His hands wander, down Killua’s sides and further, and Killua tries to restrain a shiver and fails miserably. Gon’s eyes dance as he says, “It’s working, right?”

Killua could drown in how well it’s working, a flood he thought he’d dammed up behind a stream of this is just a distraction and Gon doesn’t do relationships and your job will get him killed and he’s your best friend this will ruin everything and louder and more insistently than the rest, he won’t stay with you if you tell him the truth. Those are problems for later, though, when his head’s not fuzzy with teeth-bitten grins and sparkling brown eyes and Gon.

“You’re so selfish,” Killua says to both of them, and drags his best friend up into a kiss.

Chapter Text

On the one hand, Killua cannot afford to be distracted. It’s impossible to entirely forget about the dipshit of a cockroach he’s been warring with, about something going wrong with Alluka, about the unsubtle warnings from Illumi that if Killua doesn’t take care of this soon there may be grave consequences. Distractions like Gon, as Illumi has drilled into him, are at best blinding and at worst fatal.

On the other hand, he and Gon manage to knock over their couch and at least one lamp while struggling to gain the upper hand, and neither of them can stop laughing when the bedside table crashes to the ground after they hit the bed too hard. But then Gon does something with his tongue that wipes all rational thought, and after the last week, Killua could really care less about distractions.

It’s usually disorienting to wake up in someone else’s bed. The lack of disorientation from this particular bed is almost disorienting in itself—Killua’s slept in it more times than he can count, on nights when the Zoldycks don’t need him for a job and Gon’s not working too late. Gon’s slept in his, too, but while Killua’s is bigger, Gon’s is comfier. Not that they were really thinking about that last night so much as whose was closer.

Maybe it’s not disorienting because it’s not someone else’s bed as much as it’s Gon’s bed, his best friend’s arm sprawled across his torso and steady breathing in his ear. Any other bed, Killua would have no issue in sneaking out of. But this one, he never wants to leave.

Last night was fun, even if half the time was more about the competition than getting each other off. Or maybe it was fun because of that. Killua knows Gon better than himself most days, and pushing each other’s buttons has been as much a part of their friendship as movie nights or complaining about math homework. It shouldn’t be surprising that sleeping together is just more of the same.

Nothing’s changed, not really. They’re still best friends, and Killua’s still hiding secrets that would destroy this little bubble of normalcy. Gon's still got his own work troubles, and Killua knows he's going to have to check in with Illumi and get nothing helpful at all.

Killua can still kill Gon seventeen different ways without ever having to leave the bed.

Instead, he finds his hand running patterns across Gon’s arm, looping across the freckles to trace well-defined muscles, slowly cataloging the blemishes he normally doesn’t see scattered across soft brown skin. It makes him feel weird, that Gon has so many scars that Killua knows nothing about. Not that he has any right to, with the lies carved into his own skin, but he wants to.

They can’t do this… whatever this is. Killua can’t do this. It’s just a distraction. But he’s already too attached, too selfish, too happy —

The arm across his waist tightens, and a messy head of spikes snuggles into Killua’s shoulder. “Yer thinkin too loud, K’lua,” Gon mumbles.

A soft smile spreads across Killua’s face before he recognizes what it is. At least Gon can’t see it. “Don’t you have to get to work?” he says.

He feels more than sees the grin on Gon’s lips, pressed against Killua’s skin like a brand. “I felt like sleeping in, I guess.”

“Lazy.” Killua thumbs across a newish scar on Gon’s right arm, almost completely circling his biceps and triceps and cutting across the deltoids. It’s a clean cut if oddly shaped, by a knife as sharp as any Killua has ever seen. When had this happened? He’s seen Gon juggle chef’s knives while filleting freshly caught fish, but no kitchen knife cuts in a circle.

His best friend shivers and pulls back, brown eyes hesitant with something Killua can’t place. “Now you’re the one thinking too hard,” Killua says.

“I…” Gon sits up, unspooling from the blanket he’d curled into overnight. He catches Killua’s hands in his, thumbs dragging over the telltale callouses on pale palms. “We need to talk, Killua.”

Panic worms out of Killua’s stomach faster than he can put it back. They didn’t really try to talk last night, more concerned with trying to figure out the best ways to make each other feel good. It makes sense that they just need to establish some baselines, lay some ground rules. They’re still friends, nothing’s changed here. This was a fun distraction. That’s how Gon’s always felt about sex, never anything to do with desire or emotions, just a way to take an edge of for someone else or to feel good for a little while. Feelings don’t matter to that at all.

And Gon’s just sitting there, staring at an old scar on Killua, Lichtenburg lines spread across his chest like tree roots from a training session that had gone poorly. Gon’s never asked about it, and Killua’s never offered to explain. Of course, Gon’s never asked about any of Killua’s scars.

“You can’t say something like that and then forget to talk,” Killua says. It comes off harsher than he intended, and Gon jolts as though he’s had his hand shoved into a socket. At least he finally meets Killua’s eyes, an illegible question scrawled across his face.

But rather than talking, he leans in and kisses Killua. His lips are soft, a gentle echo of previous touches. It’s not something he’s ever really associated with Gon, that careful tenderness that makes him feel like he’s worth something, like he’s wanted. Like he doesn’t have enough blood on his hands to drown the whole city in.

The idea that Gon might want this just as much as Killua flickers hopefully in his chest, and he can’t bring himself to snuff it out.

But this is still not talking. “Gon…” His voice comes out lower and softer than he thought himself capable of, and the shell shocked look in Gon’s eyes only deepens. He clears his throat, trying to loosen the emotions stuck in it. “If we need to talk, you should start talking.”

“Okay. Right.” His best friend finally gets his bearings, pulling his legs under him to sit cross-legged. “I wanted to talk to you yesterday, but you were so frustrated about your coworker, and I didn’t want to make you more frustrated.”

“So you thought us sleeping together would help?”

“That was your idea, Killua. I just wanted you to stop thinking about work, and I wanted to kiss you. Besides, it worked, right?”

“I think it worked pretty well,” Killua says, and flushes when Gon grins at him lopsidedly.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while,” Gon says. “I want you to know, because it’s important to me, and you’re my best friend, so you’re important to me. I didn’t mean to keep it a secret, not from you, but I didn’t know how to say it. And I thought I could last night but it didn’t come up again. Killua, I—”

Gon’s phone goes off, ringtone miserably and horribly chipper. Gon jumps off the bed, scrambling to pick the thing up where it had fallen to the floor somewhere in the ruins of his bedside table. Muscles ripple under smooth brown skin broken by errant freckles and a long thin gash between his shoulder blades from a fishing accident, and a myriad of tiny red marks shaped like sharp teeth and fingernails.

Killua does not mind the view in the least. And he doesn’t even have to pretend he’s not looking.

Not that Gon notices. “What?” he snaps into the phone. His shoulders pin straight back, annoyance making the pulse in his neck jump. “Yes, I’m late, sorry. I know today is important, but it's not my assignment—” The phone creaks with how hard he’s holding it. “I know, Kite. I’m sorry. I’ll be there soon.”

He hangs up and tries to slam the phone into his pockets, but as he’s lacking any pants with pockets to put the phone in, he ends up dropping the phone back into the debris. It clatters against the bits of wood and lamp, bouncing close enough to the bed that Killua can reach it easily. Gon stares at it as though betrayed by its inability to stay in his nonexistent pockets.

“Dammit,” he says.

Killua can’t help it. He laughs, louder than he has in ages. After a moment of trying to glare, like it’s his best friend’s fault he isn’t wearing pants (and if Killua were capable of thinking in the midst of rolling around the sheets barely able to breathe, he would gladly accept all of the blame for that), Gon joins in. They laugh until their sides hurt, Killua sprawled back out on the bed and Gon given up the fight against gravity and tucked into a giggling ball next to him.

“Sorry, Killua,” he says when they finally catch their breath. “Kite wants me in as soon as possible. It’s the best…They want to get this project started, and they can’t do it without me. It’s important.”

Killua laces their fingers together, wiping the last tears of laughter off of his best friend’s cheeks with both their hands. “And Kite does need the best, for whatever it is they need.”

Gon’s sigh is more felt than heard. “I don’t want to go,” he says. “I still need to tell you…To explain what I’m…”

Killua swallows his heart. Nothing’s changed. Nothing is going to change. “It’s okay, Gon. I know.”

All of the color drains out of Gon’s face. “You do?”

Killua nods. “Yeah, I get it. We’re friends, we can be adults about this.”

“About…this?” he asks, voice strangled.

Killua can feel his ears burning. “About sex , Gon! It was just a—a distraction, right? You don’t want to do this again, that’s fine, we can move on with our lives. We’re still friends. We’ll always be friends. But last night was…” Everything Killua had ever dreamed and not even close to enough, an absolute mess in the best way possible. But even thinking that is embarrassing enough.

“It was really nice,” he says, and stares at their hands.

Gon boggles at him as though Killua said the oceans are on fire and it seems like the perfect time for a swim. “I do want it, Killua! I mean, besides the sex, although that was a lot of fun and I wouldn’t mind doing that some more if you want.”

“I thought you don’t care about sex,” Killua says.

“I don’t, but you do, so I can sometimes, if you want. It’s better with you than anyone else.” Before Killua can really process that, Gon steamrolls ahead. “But it’d be nice to go on a date, or to hold your hand, or watch that stupid movie you keep talking about, and I really, really like kissing you, so if I could do that some more, that would be nice.”

“As best friends?” Killua says, because he has no idea what else to do.

Gon squeezes their entwined hands. “Best friends, and more. If you want.”

Wait.

What.

Because if Gon is saying what Killua thinks he is…

“What did you want to tell me?” he asks, heart in his throat.

“That I…” The pause seems to drag out for an eternity, caught between Killua’s heartbeats. It’s agonizing, worse than a superheated blade dragged across his skin, and Killua can do nothing but hold his breath and hope.

Gon smiles sheepishly, a little nervous as he meets Killua’s eyes. “I wanted to tell you that I love you.”

Killua’s heart stops. Or maybe it’s just beating so fast it feels like it has, a hyperactive hummingbird on overdrive and way too much caffeine. It doesn’t really matter. What does is the startled laughter Gon lets out as Killua drags him down, pulled in for a kiss that’s as messy as it is giddy.

That stupid ringtone slices through the fog in Killua’s head with the subtlety of a collapsing building. He breaks the kiss to lean over and grab the offending phone. “He’s on his fucking way,"  Killua says, and doesn’t bother to listen to the confused shouting before hanging up.

Gon drops his forehead against Killua’s chest, laughter choked. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“You asshole,” Killua says fondly, and ruffles Gon’s spiky hair. “You know, I have something to tell you, too.”

Gon’s smile lights up his eyes until they burn like molten gold. It hurts to look, but Killua can’t bring himself to break away. “What is it? You can tell me anything, Killua.”

That I’ve lied to you. That I’m still lying to you. But I don’t want to lie anymore, not to you. “When you get home. Not like I’m going anywhere.”

“Tell me!”

Killua laughs and shoves his best friend off the bed. “Go to work, you idiot. One of us has to keep their job.”

“Fiiiiiiiiine.” Gon dresses at superspeed, pausing only to type out a text to someone. Probably Kite, or someone else from his job, whoever Killua snapped at. Killua is about to drift off back to sleep when Gon presses a brief goodbye kiss to his forehead, then to his lips. Killua blinks up at his best friend, unable to stop the soft smile spreading across his face.

Gon must see something he likes when he pulls back, because he grins. “Tell me now?”

Stubborn, selfish idiot. “We’ll talk tonight, I promise,” Killua says.

Gon nods. “Thank you, Killua. I love you.” And then he’s gone, his words ringing in Killua’s ears and his grin an afterimage against the backs of Killua’s eyelids.

Fuck. Killua is so screwed . 

Once he’s cleaned up the mess in Gon's room and crawled back into his own bed, Killua has every intention on staying there forever, or at least until Gon comes home. But in the meantime, he has to figure out how to explain in straightforward terms that he’s been hiding who he is from his best friend since they met.

Hey, Gon! Remember that super funny joke I told you when we met that I could kill you with my eyes closed and wrists tied to my ankles? Turns out that’s not a joke. Would you like to know how I’d do it?

Gon, I’m an infamous assassin wanted by fourteen separate countries including the one we live in, and I am the heir to a long line of similarly talented murderers who hate that you're my best friend and more important to me than they are. Sorry I never told you, I’m scared shitless I’ll lose the only purely good thing in my life. Which is you. In case you were confused about that.

By the way, I’ve been crushing on you since you crashed your jeep our last year of high school saving that stupid litter of kittens and breaking the hell out of your arm for the second time in two years, just to get them to the rescue shelter in time. Your aunt was pissed I didn’t stop you, but I was too distracted by the brightness of your smile to think rationally. I don’t think that’s really changed.

The worst part is, Gon will probably want to know everything. Sure, the lying part is going to have to take precedence, and apologies, and if Killua’s lucky some kissing and minimal punching. When Gon’s angry he sometimes defaults to punching. From past experience, Killua knows it hurts. But Gon’s going to want to know about the ways Killua kills, or tools that make it possible, or even want to go with him. Because Gon is nothing if not an adrenaline junkie. Killua is one too—it’s impossible to be friends with Gon and not be—but being in the assassination business is a key part of how Killua gets his own fix.

The rest comes from being with Gon, whose idea of a relaxing weekend is to find the tallest, sheerest rock wall and scamper up it like an ibex. Killua hasn’t found a good excuse to say no to any of his best friend’s adventures, and the idea that they can compete for victory kisses now is even more an excuse to go along with such stupid reckless plans.

Killua can handle that. Probably. It’ll take some time, and hopefully he’ll be back in the game by then and that cockroach of a spy poisoned and squashed. But admitting the last part, how he’s not just hidden his job but his feelings…

Maybe a letter will be easier.

He’s weighing the pros and cons of getting out of bed to find a notepad versus just typing something on his phone when his family cell goes off. Protocol is to pick it up as soon as he hears it, but considering his suspension, Killua seriously considers just letting it go to voicemail. After the conversation with Alluka, Illumi hasn’t even said anything during the check-in, like the silent treatment is at all a productive method of being angry. No one from the family is supposed to contact him.

But someone is. Someone with the phone number that no one but Father and Mom know. Whatever it is, it must be important.

It’s that breach of protocol that has Killua pick up the phone halfway through its last ring. “Yeah?” he says, rather than assuming it’s Illumi and tell him to fuck right off to the deepest part of an ice cap.

"Master Killua," a voice says, grainy through the filter. "This is Canary."

He sits straight up in bed. He hasn’t spoken to Canary in months, not since the last time he visited his sister. She’s been assigned to Alluka for years, while Amane floats as Gotoh’s attache more often than not. Once, he’d considered Canary a friend, one of very few he allowed himself, before meeting Gon and making a life that doesn’t include his family. And while he appreciates hearing from her again, there is no way a family butler would have this number without Kikyo or Silva giving it to her. And if that was the case, it would be someone in charge like Gotoh or Tsubone.

Unless Canary stole it. And for that to happen, she would need to have a reason.

Gotoh’s words from a few days ago hit him like a dead fish. Immediately, Master Killua. What if Gotoh can’t get to him in case of an emergency? What if the most immediate possibilities for danger are those closest to the source?

“What’s up?” he says, voice steady and uncaring and the absolute opposite of how he’s feeling.

Thankfully, Canary has never been one to mince words. "We’ve had word of a potential breach in security,"  she says.

Twenty different possibilities run through his head, each one worse than the next. He lets them flow through, discarding all of them as ridiculous and pointless. Mostly, though, he feels vindicated. He cannot wait to rub this into Illumi and Father’s faces. “How bad is it? You should tell Milluki, he’ll probably flip his shit.”

Ages ago, that might have made Canary crack one of her rare smiles. But she doesn’t even sound amused. "Amane and I believe the warning itself comes from the inside of the main compound. We plan on informing the head of house immediately after this call, but this concerns where Mistress Alluka is staying."

Ice drips down the back of Killua’s skull. “Is she okay?”

"For now, but Killua—” Canary pauses, and in the silence, Killua can feel his brain flip a switch, locking away the riot of emotions about Gon, and whatever he’s going to tell him, and the three words that have been running through Killua’s head on repeat for hours now. It’s safer this way, for Killua and for his heart. “With the security discussions going on under your brother's watch, it is highly unlikely the family will respond in time when the attack comes. Amane is on her way, and we know you're a few hours away, but..."  She swallows audibly, and that might be the most terrifying thing Killua has ever heard. "Hurry."

“I’ll be there as fast as I can,” Killua says, and hangs up.

Killua’s been forbidden from the family grounds, locked in his own home, and doubly barred from Alluka’s complex, but he does not give a single fuck. He’ll storm Yorknew Tower if he needs to. No one touches his sister.

Chapter Text

Killua leaves a note on the kitchen table— family problems, do not call me, be back tomorrow, we’ll talk then I promise, do not fucking call me Gon Freecss —and, unable to find the spare keys, hotwires Gon’s motorcycle. He’ll refill the tank as an apology. It’s more important that he get to Alluka as quickly and discreetly as possible, and as much as Killua loves his car, it’s also registered to every Zoldyck database. Even if it weren’t, the sight of the car within an hour of the compound would set off every alarm in Kukuroo Mountain, and Killua would be permanently locked away.

He helped test the systems. He knows how tight they are. But he also knows their weaknesses, or enough of them to sneak through. A well-used motorcycle, a dark helmet to hide his telltale white hair, and Gon’s second favorite leather jacket might not be the most nondescript way to speed through almost three hours of highways, but it’s not what his family expects. And that’s all that matters.

The compound is deliberately kept at a distance from the mansion—Father pretended it was to keep Alluka’s work safe, but Killua knows better. They don’t want to see her. At best, he’ll have about twenty minutes to get in, find Alluka, and get out before the rest of the Zoldyck security descends on him. At worst, the intruder will already be in and out, and Killua will be permanently locked into the Zoldyck estate, vanishing without another word from Gon’s life without a chance to tell him any of the truths he deserves.

It’s a long drive through the cloudy gray day with nothing but those pleasant thoughts to keep him company.

The compound Alluka’s living in is a fair distance outside of the main family complex, but not so far that Killua can’t be sloppy. Unlike the obvious wealth of the Zoldyck mansion, the compound is a modest log cabin hidden up a long drive in the woods.

Killua doesn’t take the driveway, obviously. That would be disastrous. Instead, he parks Gon’s bike a mile outside of the gates near the dingy-looking motel inhabited entirely by transient truck drivers and the occasional group of backpackers. He bought this place under the table when Alluka was first moved to this complex, just in case something happened or he wanted to visit, but has never actually been here himself. One of his greatest regrets is he’s only been out this way a few times, and always under family supervision.

Alluka doesn’t deserve to be locked up, she never has. But Killua’s never had a way to get her free without trapping himself forever. Someday, he’ll figure it out.

Another regret is how utterly arcane cheap truck motel expenses are. While Gon does his student forms, Killua pours over self-owned business models and wishes he could force any of the butlers to do this for him. Father and Illumi had been so proud when he’d decided to major in business, unaware that all of the dummy companies and practice models weren’t so fake after all.

At least this way, it’s a safe enough place to store Gon’s bike, tucked behind the iron and concrete stairs leading up to the second floor. Someone might steal it, sure, but no one would recognize it. Unlike practically everything else Gon owns, it’s relatively innocuous, the black metal mostly obscuring the dark green and orange highlights.

…no one had better steal it.

It’s marginally more complicated to get back to the complex. To do so, Killua has to scale the wall without being electrocuted (less an issue for him physically and more because that would set off a dozen separate alarms), weave through the overgrown and almost certainly poisonous shrubbery, and scramble between the hidden barbed wire and invisible lasers scattered in seemingly-random patterns. Every part of Zoldyck property is designed to make it next to impossible to enter through any route but the official one. This compound isn’t one of Killua’s designs—he’d offered more than a dozen different variations on it over the years, but Father and Illumi don’t want him close to Alluka unless under heavy supervision—but he sees Illumi and Mom’s fingerprints all over. He’s been waltzing through their traps since he was five.

Normally, it would take half an hour to get through, even with Killua’s proficiency. This time takes less than ten between hopping the nondescript fence and wriggling through a locked vent, bypassing the entire first floor and dropping into an unmarked storage room below ground. Then again, the last time he’d been timed, Alluka had been running the perimeter via her AI—now, whatever protection is left is fully automated. It makes the hair on the back of Killua’s neck stand straight up.

Killua’s feet don’t make a sound as he tiptoes through the corridors. He hasn’t visited in years, before he’d moved to the apartment and started university. Before he’d started living a mostly normal life. The blank white walls and slick wooden floors seem more vacant and hostile than he remembers. At least the camera locations haven’t changed since the last time he was here. He resists the urge to flip them off as he passes by—staying out of sight is the utmost priority here. Get in, make sure Alluka’s alright, get out.

A black suited woman with long black hair stands guard outside an innocuous door, the same sort of door at the end of every other hallway in this deliberately expressionless building. Killua doesn’t bother hiding himself as he walks up behind her. “Hey, Amane.”

The butler jumps almost high enough to hit her head on the ceiling, and Killua nearly cracks a smile. “Master Killua! We weren’t expecting…Alluka didn’t mention—”

“Is Alluka safe?” he asks, cutting her off.

She nods curtly. “Canary is in the room with her, and no one has come past me. This is the only way in.”

“Yeah, I know.” Only way in or out, for intruders, visitors, and occupants alike. And if you went in the wrong way, you never came out again.

Killua squares his shoulders. “Let me in.”

Amane’s purses her lips, indecision flashing across her face. Killua wishes he could do this any other way--she’s not nearly high enough on the Zoldyck food chain to be making these sorts of calls. And she knows he’s not supposed to be here at all. Then again, the butlers have always had a strange code of honor when it comes to protecting the family, and they certainly care more for Alluka than any of her blood.

Including Killua, it seems.

He buries that thought back with the everything about Gon, hoping the swirl of emotions will keep it from resurfacing any time soon. “Amane, this will only take a minute. Just let me see if she’s okay.”

“I…” She pulls out a comm unit from her pocket. “Let me check. Canary?”

The tiny radio crackles, buffered by the security systems embedded in the walls. Blank walls belie Milluki’s tech, better than the most impenetrable firewalls. Nothing gets in or out. The reminder is unpleasant. Killua ignores it. “Canary?”

It’s hard to make out what Canary says, voice a grainy mess of static. “ Ev--ythin --lright? ”

She nods, even though Canary can’t see. “Mistress Alluka has a visitor.”

There’s a long pause, and Killua’s not sure if it’s because of the static cutting off Canary or because she’s waiting for something. It almost sounds like she’s talking to someone—maybe to Alluka? If she’s talking to Alluka, then Alluka’s okay, and if Alluka’s okay, Killua can—

Canary says, as best Killua can tell, “ Send them in .”

Amane tucks the unit back into its place and fishes out a keycard, removing her glove. “Five minutes.”

“I know the drill.” Enough time for a hug, a few words, a wish for more time. Not nearly enough time. But it’s all he gets, especially as the mechanics in the door whir and hum. It slides open, and Killua almost sprints past Amane in his rush to get in.

Alluka’s room hasn’t changed, not nearly as much as it should have. There’s still the mountains of stuffed animals, the table absolutely buried under books and notepads of all shapes and sizes. Her bed is less a mattress and more a pool-sized hole in the ground full of pillows and lace. The walls have the same childish paintings she’d decorated it with when she was six or seven, unicorns and fairies and rainbows that she still loves, even today. But the entire wall next to the door is covered in a set of screens, the servers humming in a white noise from beneath the table. Alluka’s laser interface and keyboard are turned off, although the monitors still show a mix of code, cat videos, and a whole screen of black and red bells winking on and off.

All of the things look the same. Alluka herself looks older, more refined than ever, black hair cropped short and stylish skirts not out of place on any college campus in Yorknew. Her blue eyes dance at the sight of her brother, clapping her hands together and bouncing on her toes. “Brother! Nanika said you’d be coming, but I didn’t believe her. And look who else is here!”

From his left, Canary gasps, “Killua, look out—”

A firm hand grabs Killua by the shoulders and slams him into the wall of monitors, a gun pressed up against the bottom of his chin before he can pull his own emergency pistol out of its holster. Canary groans from where she’s been dumped in a pile of plushies, Alluka rushing over to check if she’s alright. Canary’s comm is tossed carelessly on the floor, bits of wiring stringing out of the back where it usually is locked into the pendant at her throat. Killua curses himself furiously for being so distracted, for being so focused on his sister that he forgot to check his surroundings.

And then he curses himself, and the world, and whatever gods are listening, because he gets a good look at the man incapacitating him, uncharacteristically tidy black hair swept out of its gravity-defying spikes and familiar brown eyes that are getting wider and wider by the second. Even the gloved hand is almost too much, not least because he’d had it tracing his skin just this morning, and it still burns just as hot.

“Killua?” Gon whispers. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing? Since when do you use guns?”

“Since when do you?”

“Mine’s not pointing at my best friend!”

“Oh. Sorry, Killua.” The sidearm vanishes from Killua’s neck, along with Gon’s hand. He wishes he had more presence of mind to glare, to be angry, to do anything . But Killua’s mind is completely blank and he can do nothing but stare.

Satisfied Canary is mostly conscious and shaking off the effects of whatever stun gun Gon had used ( Gon used a stun gun, Gon is using real guns ) Alluka walks nimbly across the carpet, hands tucked behind her back and a curious grin on her face. She’s always been one for smiles and grins, even in the worst situations. The last time Killua had seen her cry had been the first day he’d saved up his chocolate money to buy her a dress for her birthday, more than a decade ago. He’s still not sure if she cried out of joy or that no one had ever gotten her a dress before.

And now she’s smiling at him, blue eyes dancing under her dark bangs. “This is Gon, right? You’ve told me so much about him.”

“I…”

“You told her about me?” Gon asks, because of course that’s the issue at hand here.

“Yes I told her, you asshole, she’s my sister and you’re my best fr—” Killua cuts off the automatic response, and Gon flinches as though slapped. Killua takes a deep breath. Not now. “How the fuck did you get in here?”

“Used the back windows on the first floor and took the tertiary ventilation shafts, the really big ones to keep this room airy without windows. Took me forever until the automated systems went down.” Gon frowns. “This room really sucks, you know?”

“I know,” both Zoldycks say in various degrees of frustration and wistfulness. Alluka wags her eyebrows at her brother, and he does his best to signal for her to shut up. Killua says through his teeth, “Gon. There isn’t supposed to be any way in here, vents or otherwise. They’re locked. I should know.”

“They’re not. And why would you—”

“To keep me out, that’s why. And that’s why I know you can’t get through those vents.”

Gon’s mouth opens in a little "o" of understanding before promptly snapping closed. “Well, I’m here now. And I had a little help.” His wry grin is almost authentic, if not for the wariness in his eyes. “Your sister’s really nice, but I think she knew I was coming, or at least has as good senses as you do. She almost knocked me out as soon as I got her. She has a really strong left hook.”

Killua has never been prouder of his little sister than when he notices the blossoming bruise on Gon’s chin.

But his head is still kicking back into gear, still readjusting to how Gon is here, in one of the most secure places Killua knows, dressed in hypertactile gloves and soft treadless shoes Killua recognizes because he’s bought more than one set for himself. “Gon. Why are you here.”

“I—” For the first time that Killua can remember, he watches lies pass across his best friend’s eyes. How many times has that happened that Killua just hasn’t noticed, or wasn’t even looking in the first place. Why is it that he trusts that the next words out of his mouth are the truth. “After my last mission was a success, saving some office lady who’d turned state’s evidence, my agency was hired to destroy the most valuable thing at this location, per orders. Who I guess is your sister. And from your family.”

“And Kite only wants the best,” Killua says distantly.

“I guess.” Gon bites his lip, glancing between the Zoldyck siblings and Canary. “We were told whatever it is, it’s too dangerous to not be destroyed. That’s what I came here to do.”

A wordless snarl wrenches out of Alluka’s throat, a protective and desperate noise, and Killua almost doesn’t convince himself to step between his sister and his best friend. But he does, and his sister merely clenches her fingers into his shoulder for a moment instead of throwing herself at Gon’s throat. It’s better this way. And there are other problems at hand.

“You’re the cockroach,” Killua says. “You’re the one that screwed everything up.”

"I didn't know--" Gon’s lips flatten, cutting himself off from whatever it is he first wanted to say. Instead, he says in a voice just over a whisper, “I didn’t know she was a girl. I didn’t know she was your sister.”

Killua asks, “Would you have stopped if you knew?”

Gon doesn’t answer, and Killua’s not sure if he wants to hear it. But the very fact that Gon… that Kite’s agency was hired to do this, was given enough information to not only accomplish it, but do so without anyone noticing until it was almost too late, makes Killua’s blood run cold. And Gon had help.

What if it had been someone who would have killed Alluka rather than trying to convince her to leave?

What if it had been someone more like Killua, who doesn’t care enough to know a target’s name if it’s not important to the job?

“You try to hurt Nanika, I’ll destroy you,” Alluka mutters in Gon’s direction, and Killua feels a burst of ferocious pride. Better to be glad his sister is well-trained in all sorts of violence than being not ready to associate his own murderous, apathetic job and the cockroach that shares it with Gon. Even when he’s standing right there.

Killua turns to Canary. “We need to get Alluka out of here. It’s not secure.”

His sister fists her hands in her sleeves. “Really?”

He gives her as genuine and reassuring a smile as he can, and brushes her hair back from her face as gently as he can. “Really really. It’s time to go.” He glances at Gon, who is pretending to not pay attention by checking the safety on his gun.

Alluka’s face lights up like fireworks and she almost kicks over her desk in a scramble to find a keychain full of mobile drives in a rainbow of colors and a zoo’s worth of animals. Killua swallows the bile starting to make its way up his throat as he turns back to Gon. “How do we get out?”

Gon starts to speak, but cuts himself off. “What about…?”

Canary. And Amane, although Killua’s not sure if Gon knows about the extra security. And probably Gotoh and Tsubome, if two of the youngest butlers are the only ones here, the two seniors had to have a hand in this somehow. Probably distracting the rest of the family’s security so Killua could get in without notice, and simultaneously making it easier than ever for Gon to get in. This all feels horribly like Killua’s fault.

“Canary, if you were knocked unconscious, would you remember any of this?” he asks.

Her eyes dart to the door where Amane is waiting, and she flashes Killua a quick grin. “I’d better still remember Amane, Master Killua.”

“She’ll be more than happy to remind you,” Alluka chirps, and Killua is treated to the impossibly rare treat of Canary looking stunned. Metaphorically. At least until Gon takes the opportunity to literally stun her, knocking her out cold with a blow to the head.

“That’s how you give people brain damage!” Alluka protests.

“That is kind of the point,” Gon mutters, and Killua has to bite back a laugh because this is not funny. He’s friends with Canary, screw whatever his family wants, and he does want to make sure she’s okay. But this way, it won’t look like it’s her fault.

If anything, it will look like it’s Killua’s, especially with Amane’s presence. But Killua can live with that.

He loosens his gun in its holster with one hand and reaches for Alluka with the other as he turns to the cockroach he once thought was his best friend in the whole world. “Where are we going?”

“Safehouse,” Gon says, and pulls open a hidden panel in the wall. “This way.”

Chapter Text

Gon leads them both back through vents Killua distinctly remembers not being so wide, out through a second story window Killua had sealed himself less than a year ago. It had been an attempt to convince his parents he was serious about his job, a bargain to make sure Alluka still got the things she needed to live and not just sit on a computer at the bottom of a mansion in the middle of nowhere. Not that it had worked, but at least he’d gotten to see his sister a little more often than Illumi liked, and Alluka could still go places with Canary or Amane. At least, that’s what Father had said. Killua hadn’t been allowed to ask, and he never pushed it.

Killua’s not sure what makes him angrier: that Gon—that the cockroach had simply waltzed right through security that Killua had trouble beating, or that he had left Alluka here willingly when he could have gotten her out if he’d just tried a little harder. He doesn’t have any idea what he would have done afterwards, but he could have worked something out.

It’s never been normal that his family treats Alluka like a computer, like a boy, not like the brilliant talented woman she is. It’s wrong that they think she is anyone but who she's grown up to be, and they lock her away because of it. But before Killua had left home, he hadn’t known anything else, a family so full of lies that they refuse to see truth for what it is. And once he was gone, he didn’t know how to fix it.

That the cockroach of a spy figured it out before he could, that the only reason he found a way to get Alluka out, is because of someone who hates his family enough to ruin Killua’s life—

“Out this way,” Gon murmurs, lifting a dense mixture of leaves and repurposed barbed wire. “Once you’re at the road, take the second left and keep to the trees. I’m right behind you.”

“So you can shoot me in the back?”

“That’s not what the gun’s for and you know it, Killua.”

“Then why did you point it at me, asshole?”

“Dammit, Killua, I—”

“Brother, we don’t have time.”

Killua growls. “If I go first, whoever you’re supposed to be meeting will see me and assume you’re dead or compromised. And I do not want to let Alluka lead the way. You’re going first, Gon.”

Gon looks like he’s going to argue—what points, exactly, Killua’s not sure, but he’s willing to fight over them—but a glance between the Zoldyck siblings and his expression closes off into careful blankness. He secures his gun in a holster on the side of his thigh and climbs up out of the passage back into the forest, reaching a hand back to help Alluka out.

He offers the same to Killua, but there’s no way in hell it’s being taken. It’s bad enough Killua has to follow him to a place in who knows where, full of people who were trying to kill his sister. No way is he accepting any more help than he already has.

They follow Gon as he picks his way back through the compound, stepping nimbly around traps as though he knows they’re there. Which would make sense, after all: the only way to find some of them, especially the subterranean ones, is to have already memorized their locations. When Gon pauses, then walks back around a tree rather than step directly over an unmarked pressure sensor, Killua knows he must have been given a map or a layout for the entire area.

Someone gave him a map. That means someone who knows the area inside and out and backwards, who has access to that sort of information, gave it to him. Which means…

Father’s right. There’s a traitor. Someone’s betraying the family. And it’s going to point directly at Killua.

This is a fucking mess.

Killua has to toss Alluka over the electrified fence, since neither he or Gon have the right tools to get a third person with minimal experience through the alarms. She lands nimbly, knees bent to take the bulk of the shock, and doesn’t even need the hand Gon offers to help stabilize her. Killua ignores the same courtesy extended to him, glaring until Gon shakes his head and heads down the street.

It makes sense that Gon lead them back towards town. More people makes it easier to get lost in a crowd, or between buildings, or to have an excuse for sneaking around at odd hours. It’s not even that late in the day, the sun only just starting to go down. With the timing Gon was originally using, he’d have been at the town square before dinner, safely hiding with the other people on their way home.

Except instead of heading into town, he leads them through the brambles towards a very familiar driveway. One with trucks parked around the lot and a motorcycle with orange and green highlights tucked away behind the stairs. The sign over the building is only just flickering into neon light, cheerfully declaring that this is a motel and there are vacancies.

“This is your safehouse?” Killua asks, disbelieving.

Gon shrugs. “Just the secondary drop point. Kite’s big on having backup plans.”

“Then you’re worse than I thought you were. That’s a Zoldyck-owned property.”

“No, it’s owned by a person named Salima Maru. We chose it because this is the only place in a ten mile radius that isn’t owned by the Zoldycks.”

Killua gnashes his teeth. “It is. I should know. I own it. ”

Gon shakes his head. “Kite checked it out, Maru’s not rich, it’s the only thing she owns besides a car, an apartment rental—”

“—in town, and a dog. She has a two-year degree in business, where she got decent but not great grades. She doesn’t like coming to the hotel because her dog’s sick a lot, so she sends her cousin.” Killua crosses his arms over his chest, using his height advantage to stare Gon down. “It’s my motel. ”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Killua!”

“Your fucking motorcycle is parked right there ,” Killua snaps, jabbing his finger at the offending vehicle.

Gon doesn’t even look. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but whatever it is doesn’t make it past his lips. Instead, a truck barges its way into the lot, headlights flaring too bright to make out any identifying marks. The woman who pokes her head out, though—her long hair is almost neon pink under the too-bright light, and Killua swears he’s seen that roundish wool cap before. “Hey kid! Doing okay?” she calls around a wad of chewing gum.

For a split second, Gon’s shoulders slump, all of his strength and stubbornness vanishing. It makes him look so, so small. But he steps in front of Killua, a wide grin on his face and his hands up, gun held loosely, and it’s like the moment never happened. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

“You’re off schedule.” She glances back at the Zoldycks, and Killua isn’t surprised at all to see her level the barrel of a shotgun at his face. He meets her stare for stare, knowing she can see the sleek handgun he has pointed right back at her even behind the kind of ridiculous sized bubble she’s blowing.

And then Gon’s between them, gloved hand covering Killua’s. “Cut it out!”

The woman cocks her shotgun, and Killua does his best to step protectively in front of his sister.

Gon’s own gun is up and pointed at her faster than a blink. The grip he has on Killua tightens as blunt fingernails dig through his gloves and right into pale flesh, and it’s only pure frustrated stubbornness that keeps Killua from gasping in pain. “They’re with me, Spinner,” he says, expression flat.

She frowns, glancing between them, and her gun lowers a fraction. “Gon, if they have something on you—”

“They don’t.”

“You wouldn’t tell us if they did,” she says. “And don’t argue, kid. You’re worse than your dad.”

Despite that, he still keeps pressing, like it'll prove a point. “She’s Alluka. She’s what the employer wanted us to remove. And that’s Killua. He’s my.” The sentence stops dead, and the abrupt silence hits Killua low in his stomach. He tries not to feel sick. “He came to protect her. They’re family.”

Spinner’s frown deepens. “I didn’t know they were after a girl. Does Kite?”

“I don’t know. I—”

“Not sure if your boss usually trains their people to be so slow, but our family’s alarms have been going off for ages at this point, and there are only so many places to go,” Killua drawls. He refuses to lower his own weapon, not when Alluka’s right there behind him and the impending arrival of the Zoldycks is making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “So either kill us, or get the hell out of here.”

“She is not killing you, Killua,” Gon snarls.

“Why, so you can?”

Gon throws his hands up. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know, maybe because—”

“Brother!” Alluka hisses at the same time as the woman in the truck says, “Freecss, chill.”

Killua glares at Gon, who glares right back before turning and walking stiffly over to the truck. “You coming?” Spinner asks. The passenger door slams violently, startling a flock of birds out of the motel’s rafters.

“We’ll follow. I’ve got a ride,” Killua says, tossing his sister the helmet. It’s more true than the actual reason, which is that he doesn’t want Alluka to be anywhere near close quarters with that…with Gon. Better that he take the motorcycle now than risk the family thinking anyone else was involved.

(More accurate would be that Killua doesn’t want to be anywhere near close quarters with Gon, but the thought is drowned out in the roar of the motorcycle’s engine as they whip out of the motel and drive to who knows where.)

It’s the better part of an hour before Spinner pulls off the back roads they’d been on, ditching the truck for a sleek dark green sports car parked outside a little shopping mall. It’s dark enough that no one notices Killua and Alluka buying cans of soda and half a dozen candy bars out of the vending machine while Kite’s lackeys move gear between the cars.

“Where are we going?” Alluka asks quietly.

“Somewhere safe,” Spinner calls around an armful of curiously shaped duffel bags. Killua tries not to jump—the woman’s hearing has to be as good as his, if not better.

Alluka glances at him, and he nods. “We don’t really have another choice,” he says. Alluka frowns like she wants to argue, but puts the helmet back on.

Gon doesn’t say anything. It’s impossible he doesn’t hear the words, but he doesn’t so much as blink in the Zoldycks’ direction.

That’s fine. Killua doesn’t want to deal with him anyways.

The rest of the drive is a confusing mess of sudden turns and doubling back across empty lots. Killua has a pretty good idea about where they are, but even his mental compass gets a little scrambled by the seventeenth hairpin turn down yet another dim back alley. It’s almost dusk, and the few people on the road seem in as much of a hurry to get wherever they’re going as Spinner’s car does.

Spinner pulls off, not at another shopping mall, but in front of a benign-looking brick house. The neighborhood isn’t great, but there are enough houses with lights on and the occasional sound of laughing kids or barking dogs to make the area seem alive. The house itself looks like it’s falling apart around the edges, roof peeling and metal mailbox rusting. It’s almost convincing as a cheap family home, if not for the nearly-inaudible buzzing of an invisible electric fence, and the sturdy doors and windows that bely bulletproof frames. It’s a good cover. Much better than the Zoldyck approach, which is less to hide and more to proclaim as loudly as possible that, yes, this is a home for murderers, take it if you can. Killua can count on one hand the number of uninvited people who’ve made it past the gate in one piece, so there’s benefit to the inhospitable front. And back. And inside.

Spinner steps out of the car, her shotgun carried openly in her arms as she walks up to the front door. That says more about the neighborhood than any dilapidated houses or cracked sidewalks. Killua stays as close to his sister as he can, gun ready in his hand.

“You should put the gun down,” Gon says quietly, and Killua nearly punches him in the face. He would have, if Gon’s reflexes weren’t so good. As it is, Gon ends up on his ass in the dirt, glaring up at Killua like it’s his fault.

Calm down. It’s embarrassing that he didn’t even notice Gon creeping up until it was almost too late. This is not ideal in any situation, but now, surrounded by who knows how many enemies, in a place he doesn’t know, with no one he knows but his sister and the cockroach —

“Listen to the kid, Zoldyck,” Spinner says idly over her shoulder. “This isn’t a good neighborhood. I don’t want you getting shot or something.”

Killua makes a show of shoving his gun into his sister’s hands, raising empty palms to Spinner to show he’s unarmed. She rolls her eyes around another bright pink bubble, but turns her back on the Zoldycks again to speak to the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Killua notices his sister check the safety on the gun and casually hold it so she can get a shot off immediately.

He doesn’t offer Gon a hand up, and Gon ignores him entirely as he stalks up the sidewalk past Spinner and to the door. She visibly sighs and prods him through. Only then does he glance back, eyes flicking over Killua and Alluka and back to Spinner. But he vanishes into the darkened doorway before Killua can figure out what that means.

Nothing. It means nothing. Nothing at all.

Spinner’s bubble pops as she strolls into the house, shotgun on her shoulder and for all appearances not caring if Killua shoots her in the back. It is suddenly very, very cold, and the street very, very quiet.

Alluka squeezes his hand, her fingers like blocks of ice, and follows the spies. So Killua follows her, ready for anything.

Even, as it turns out, a softly-lit living room, a few people lounging on comfortable cushions that wouldn’t look out of place in Mito Freecss’s home with a massive platter of take-out sprawled across a low table. The colorful rug neatly covers a trapdoor set in the linoleum floor, and a small painting of a pair of swans masks what’s either a safe or another hidden passage without actually looking like a hidden passage. The whole effect is homey enough it sets Killua’s teeth on edge, like he’s actually stumbled into someone’s home and not a place where he’s already counted four cameras and a half-dozen guns all pointed at him from places just out of sight. It’s not a bad setup, just not what Killua expects. A man with an afro looks up as Spinner brushes by him, a question in his eyes and half a burger in his mouth.

The cockroach himself nowhere to be seen. Maybe he fell down the trapdoor and got squashed.

“Gon’s putting his gear away,” Spinner says, helping herself to a basket of fries, and Killua can’t help but bristle. He doesn’t care about…about him. “Kite can’t make it here before dawn, so you two should get some rest. There’s a few rooms downstairs that should meet your own safety precautions for the night. It’ll be safe.”

“What, on your word?” Killua says incredulously.

“Like you said before, you don’t have another option.” She stares him down, eerily level-eyed beneath her oversized hat. “And it’s not my word. It’s Gon’s.”

Killua doesn’t know what to say to that, stomach churning uncomfortably with a dozen conflicting worries. So he accepts a sandwich while Alluka wolfs down another two, and simply says nothing at all.

It turns out that the swans hide a keypad, not a trapdoor. The bookshelf next to it slides open, and a tiny woman with silvery hair and a wide-eyed face lead the Zoldyck siblings into the actual safehouse. The homey appearance cracks here, with less need to pretend that this is a home, but there are still little things that Killua’s never seen in any of the Zoldyck compounds or mob bases before—more pictures of birds, mostly, and none of these hiding anything. But the biggest difference is that few of the rooms are occupied, and their doors are open. Spinner pauses to talk to a bedraggled man even taller than Killua, his laughably tiny glasses askew in his sleepy eyes. He glares at Killua and mutters something about the time, before glowering back to bed without closing the door.

“Your room’s here,” Spinner says, nodding to a small room with two beds. It’s nothing great, but nothing terrible either. Killua’s just too wired to sleep.

Judging by the yawn cracking Alluka’s jaw, his sister’s going to have no problems dropping unconscious as soon as she’s laying down. But she says, “Miss Spinner, do you have a server room? I need to check on Na—on a project. Time-sensitive.”

Killua frowns. “Alluka, that’s probably not safe.”

“I’m safe, she’s not,” she says.

“You don’t need to look at it now, right?” Killua asks. “You have the data, it’s not going anywhere.”

She ignores him. “I’ll update your firewalls or check your software for traps, and you can put your IT people in the room with me. I just… Please, she’s important.”

Spinner glances between the two siblings, and knocks on the door next to her. A spiky-haired asshole pokes his head out. His stare bores right through Killua before sliding back to the women.

“Is Alluka alright?” Gon—the cockroach asks. Like he’s actually concerned about the well-being of Killua’s sister, when he tried to kidnap her or worse only hours before. No matter that the kidnapping quickly turned into a rescue, or that the entire time since they left the Zoldyck complex Gon’s been nothing but…well, Gon .

Determined, stubborn, selfish, and open-hearted. Terrifyingly so, on all counts.

But he’s not anything close to the person Killua thought he was best friends with, even if he’s wearing the same face he did this morning. He can’t be. This is not a person to be spending any time with. Not now. Possibly not ever again. And that realization hits the last strings in Killua’s heart like a brick through a window.

“I’m fine, Gon,” Alluka says quietly.

“She needs to use the tech room,” Spinner says. “And I need you to keep an eye on your friend.”

“He’s not—”

“I won’t—”

“No arguing,” she says, voice broking no argument. “I am not letting two Zoldycks run around this house unwatched, no matter how many cameras we have. And since Kite’s not here, I don’t have the authority to do what needs doing. So you —” she points at Alluka “—are going to check on your project with me and Podungo, and you two —” she glares at Gon and Killua “—will stay in that room and play nice. And don’t give me shit about being a prisoner, Zoldyck, both of us know you could leave anytime you want.”

The plans of the safehouse, the neighborhood, and possible routes back to the Zoldyck mansion spring to Killua’s mind unbidden, and he only reluctantly puts them aside. He wants to run, he wants to leave. But he can’t. If he’s being honest, he has no idea where he would go. Not without clearing the air with Father, which means damning Alluka. Again. And this time, there won’t be any future for either of them.

“Do you want to stay, Alluka?” he asks.

She nods, beads clacking in her hair. “I’ll go with Spinner. You can come with us…?”

Spinner looks less than pleased at this possibility, but she doesn’t say anything. Gon is just blank. And Killua…needs to trust his sister.

Well. He has other things he needs to do. But this is first, and clearest. She can handle checking in on the AI, and probably cover their asses from whatever Milluki will try to pull, and dismantle this cockroach nest if she needs to.

“You don’t need me looking over your shoulder,” he says.

She doesn’t say thank you, but the hug he gets is better than any words. “Be careful,” she says.

“Be an asshole,” he says to her, and she giggles. She follows Spinner down the hall, glancing back only to give Gon a look that spells trouble. He doesn’t notice, watching Killua warily from the door before stepping into the softly lit bedroom.

Killua tries to close the door as gently as he can, so he only slams it a little, the thick frame shaking. The doorknob creaks warningly in his hand before letting go. Inside the little room, the air crackles with intent, enough that Killua can taste it--like sunlight on desert sand, or burnt rubber in the middle of summer.

“What do you want?” the cockroach asks, voice colorless and blank. “Or are you going to say I’m going to shoot you?”

Killua doesn’t bother to announce his attack, nor does he care about making it quick or clean. He socks Gon clear across the face, satisfied at the sound of knuckles hitting skin. Gon manages to twist his head at the last moment, turning the bonebreaking punch into a glancing blow, but he can’t stop himself from bouncing back off the wall with a crunch and a thud. The bookshelf rattles warningly.

Killua expects Gon to say something. But this isn’t the Gon he knows, not really. His brown eyes narrow dangerously, and Killua has to bring up an arm to deflect a blow launched at his collarbone. It’s a strike intended to disable, to break, to hurt , and Gon has the strength and the ability to do so.

Guess Killua’s not the only one feeling angry.

Not that it matters. Killua’s wanted to kick this cockroach’s ass for months now, and just because it’s his lying best friend doesn’t make him any less hated. If anything, it makes Killua hate his enemy even more, because it’s Gon. He’s trusted Gon with so much. And this whole fucking time it’d been… what? A game? A con?

Even blocked, the weight of the blow forces Killua back a step, and Gon presses in, a second punch aimed at his kidneys. Killua twists violently and takes it across his ribs—something cracks, but not enough to worry about now. He drops low and kicks out, shin cracking against the inside of Gon’s knee. The other man drops heavily to the floor, only barely managing to roll away before Killua’s knee lands directly in his stomach. But he grabs at Killua’s leg and abruptly yanks up, trying to knock them both off balance.

Killua snarls and lashes out, clipping Gon’s knee again as he spins back to a crouch. If it aggravates the injury—and it should— Gon doesn’t seem to notice, planting himself firmly before throwing another punch at Killua’s face. Killua dodges the first, but doesn’t see the second until Gon’s knuckles are driving into his jaw with the force of a small bus. His vision flashes white. Sheer instinct makes him kick up, barely clipping a chin as Gon flings himself out of the way. But the dodge is not entirely under control, and Gon crashes headlong into the cheap bookshelf. Books tumble to the floor, landing on Killua’s head and making his already-aching teeth rattle in his head.

The brief distraction allows Gon to scramble out of his reach, lurching back to his feet with his guard up just as Killua does the same. Not that there’s anywhere to go in this room, each of them equidistant between the barricaded window and the door. Killua doesn’t know the layout of this safehouse as well as Gon, but he suspects trying to make a break for it will only lead to him being trapped even further.  

Without further attempts at violence and neither of them able to find an opening to throw their opponent through a wall, the silence in the room becomes unbearable. Killua is the first to shatter it. “You lied to me!” he says through gritted teeth.

“So did you!” Gon growls. “Since high school, Killua!”

“You knew it was my family’s job!”

“You didn’t like talking about it, so I didn’t ask! All I knew is that your family is a bunch of assholes.”

Killua bristles. “They are not.”

“They are! They don’t even let you see your sister! I hated them before, but now…” Gon’s nostrils flare dangerously as he takes a deep breath. “You could have told me anything and I—”

“You’d what?” Killua snaps, cutting Gon off before he makes promises he can’t keep. “Stop me from killing people? It’s not like I have any other options.”

“You always have a choice.”

Killua’s breath ricochets in his chest like shrapnel. “No, I don’t. Not like you. Not like you’d understand.”

“Of course I understand!” Gon stomps a foot to the ground hard enough to make the room shudder. “Dammit, Killua, I’m your best friend, why couldn’t you have talked to me about this for two seconds? Did you think I wouldn’t listen?”

“You were my best friend, and I can’t even believe in that right now. Because I might be lying since we met, but you—” Everything suddenly clicks into place. Gon’s hesitance before leaving the apartment this morning, how important his job was supposed to be, his distraction over what they were doing. That wouldn’t be bad, but— “You said you love me!”

Gon freezes, fists still clenched and eyes wide. “Killua I—I do, I meant…”

“You meant what? That you told me that you love me to cover up for all of this?” Gon looks like he’s been physically slapped, and Killua feels a rush of perverse joy. Good. Let him feel as betrayed as Killua does. “Has anything you’ve ever told me been true? Was all of this just to keep me from doing my job? Did you fuck me last night so I couldn’t make it to my sister in time?”

“No! That has nothing to do with this! Kite didn’t…I didn’t know it was you—” Gon protests, but Killua cuts him off.

“That’s a load of bullshit. I might’ve lied about my job, but at least I haven’t lied about us.”

A tremor passes across the room, starting in Gon’s shoulders and ending in Killua’s fists. “That’s not true,” Gon says. “I would never lie about that.”

It’s funny. Killua is so angry, so fucking pissed, that it’s almost a clarity. At some point, his best friend turned into the worst possible person, and he didn’t even bother to let Killua know. He knows exactly what to say to make it hurt. He’s known Gon for years, or thought he did. All it takes is him opening his mouth and saying, with all the venom he possesses, “I hate you, Gon.”

Gon throws himself at Killua, a cannonball in human form. Killua can’t dodge, doesn’t have the space or the time even with his reflexes, and he hits the floor hard enough to knock all the air from his lungs. Gon, shorter but more heavily built, puts all his weight on Killua’s wrists, trapping them against the floor. Killua can get out of this hold, all too easily. He just needs to—

“You’re lying.”

“Fuck you,” Killua snarls.

The pressure on his wrists grows enough to break a normal person’s bones. But Killua’s not normal, and neither is Gon, no matter what they’ve pretended. “Tell me the truth, then. Say you hate me.”

Killua could laugh. Even now, Gon’s making demands like he’s the one in charge, like Killua will simply play along with whatever ridiculous ideas he has. “You heard me the first time,” he says, black humor dripping from every syllable. He’s almost nose to nose with Gon, close enough to breathe across his lips in a whisper, “Or are you really that selfish?”

Killua’s not sure who makes the first move, but the kiss is forceful and angry, neither of them willing to give up or back down. There’s a taste of metal between them, blood from cuts on Gon’s mouth or the sharpness of Gon’s teeth grazing across his lips. With his hands trapped, Killua can’t claw at Gon’s hair like he wants to, but he presses as close as he can, hooking a leg around Gon’s uninjured knee and yanking so their chests are pressed flush together. Every heartbeat hammers in a cacophony not heard but felt, echoing in their chests hard enough to reverberate against their mouths. The pressure of Gon’s body covering his makes Killua’s ribcage groan, a lance of pain from the cracked bones searing his mind even as Gon pulls back just enough to ease the pressure. But he refuses to lose because of something as minor as broken bones, not when he’s pissed and Gon is making noises that make Killua want to do nothing but make those noises happen again. He bites at Gon’s lips, making his former friend gasp and pull back, fury blowing his pupils so wide his irises are only a thin strip of golden brown as he wipes a thin streak of blood off his lips.

It’s all the opening Killua needs. He arches up, flipping Gon over his head to land hard against the floor. Gon’s legs smack against the side of the bed with a satisfying crack, and the rest of his breath leaves his lungs in a pained gasp.

Before he can recover, Killua pounces on top of him, smirk plastered on his face in a mask as he captures Gon’s wrists and pins him, the reverse of the position they’d just been in. But Killua makes up for Gon’s earlier mistake by trapping his legs too, preventing any escape.

Not that Gon doesn’t try, straining against Killua with all of his strength and nearly knocking foreheads. “Tell me the truth, Killua!”

It should be so, so fucking easy. Killua hates the lies, hates that now he can finally tell Gon who he is but it’s only because Gon is the last person he ever wants to see. He’s hated this arrogant asshole of a spy from the moment he started stealing Killua’s lifeline, hates him for destroying what little normalcy he’s fought tooth and nail to create, hates him for forcing Killua to return to being a Zoldyck . And he hates Gon for lying almost as much as he hates himself for doing the exact same thing.

Killua is so tired of lies.

So when he opens his mouth, the only thing that comes out is the truth.

It’s just not the truth he expects.

“I love you,” Killua says.

Gon stops moving.

Or maybe the world does. Killua’s not entirely sure. There’s no way to organize the emotions roaring through Killua’s veins, everything jumbled up and cracking into a million pieces.

Gon still doesn’t move when Killua leans back, releasing his hold on his (former? still?) best friend. He has to move, to go anywhere, to do something that means not admitting anything more painful. If there is anything more painful. The truth hurts more than any wound, shredding the back of his throat like he’s coughed up shards of glass.

“Killua—”

The unbearable stillness begins to break, and Killua uses the opportunity to shove himself away from Gon, away from the mess they’ve made of this room, away from the horrible truths charging the air with static and broken promises. He needs to go before Gon can finish processing whatever is running through his thoughts, because Killua has no idea what he’ll do.

He is through the door and slams it shut, the lock clicking into place with the sound of a falling guillotine. And then nothing but earsplitting silence. Killua waits for a minute, listening for any sign of movement. Gon could get through if he wants. That cockroach is more than skilled enough. But there’s no telltale scrapes of lockpicks, or even of fists pounding against the heavy wood. Gon’s not trying to come after him.

So for a moment, Killua lets himself slump down against the wall and hopes the walls are thick enough that no one can hear him crying.