Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"It's getting worse, you know." 

"I do."

"What does the Hunter Association plan to do about it?" 

The voice was deceptively calm. Netero could hear the underlying panic. Absentmindedly, he toyed with his mustache, thinking — a little bit of silence wouldn't kill the person on the other end. 

Apparently they disagreed, given that he could still hear their breath coming in quick, frustrated huffs. 

"I'll keep you updated," he said, somewhat gleefully. Maybe he was enjoying this too much. 

The other person sputtered out a "What do you mean?" that Netero cut off before they got to the last word. He ran his eyes over Swardani City, taking in the rush of people going about their day, blissfully unaware of what was happening. It made his heart swell with something odd, perhaps sadness about their increasingly likely fate. 

What he hadn't told his phone companion: he had a plan. Perhaps it was deceptive. No, it was definitely deceptive. Tough luck — the people who would participate would be incredibly capable and he had faith in that, he wouldn't put them in a situation they couldn't get out of. 

So maybe he was technically doing that. But Hunters were smart. They would figure it out, probably come after him angrily, hurling Hatsu at him. But they would, he thought, get the job done. And he would interfere if it came to it, but he himself was buying time while he figured out what to do. 

He made another phone call. He started drafting an email.

"Chairman Netero?" 

"Hello, Bisky."

The thump of something soft against Killua's head dragged him out of sleep. He caught it right after impact and held it to his chest, then grumbled and sleepily shoved a pillow back over his head. It was too bright, he thought. Also, he was too tired for this. 

"Killua." 

Pillow back over his head, pressed down even harder this time. 

"Killua!" 

The voice grew insistent until Killua gave up. He was too much of a light sleeper to have gone back to sleep, anyway. It was a lost cause.

"Alluka, what is it?"

"You promised to make me and Kalluto pancakes today!" Crap, he had. Eyes bleary, he rolled over to check the time — it was almost noon. He let out a pointed sigh instead of cursing. Bisky was going to be on his ass during training today. This was probably his fault for staying up playing that new game, Hunter x Hunter. It almost made him want to call Milluki to gloat about how fast he'd made it through the game, even though he doubted that he'd beat his brother at gaming. The guy never really did anything else. Even training came secondary to games. But that was also because the one who got the most training was him, and he didn't know how things were different now. He shuddered involuntarily, a phantom fear coming over him. 

Alluka had hopped onto the bed with him, waiting for a response. 

"Are you okay, Killua?" she said quietly. 

"I love Killua," Nanika said. 

"Killua loves Nanika, too," he mumbled. He apologized to Alluka, who shot him a glare that was 80% playful (above the 50% threshhold, he’d survive) and turned his attention to more important matters. Namely, breakfast.

"What kind of pancakes do you want?" Killua asked.

"Silly, double chocolate." His sister rolled her eyes. Kalluto popped their head into the room, a look of surprise blooming on their face when they realized their brother was awake. 

Killua threw the stuffed foxbear his sister had thrown at him at Kalluto, who — damn the assassin reflexes — caught it immediately. "Good afternoon, sleepyhead."

"I'm starting to regret the decision to make you both pancakes."

"I'll have blueberry, please," Kalluto chirped, steamrolling over Killua's long-suffering complaint. Killua swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched, relishing the cracking he heard from his back. Alluka and Kalluto trailed after him like ducklings and it made Killua feel warm. Lucky. Incredibly protective. That for all the times they were annoying and occasionally embarrassing — like when Alluka teased him whenever he "accidentally" ended up ogling someone — he wouldn't trade this, knowing they were safe, for anything. 

Bisky was sitting at the dining table when he walked into the kitchen, giving him a fond glare. 

"So I hear there will be pancakes for"—she made a show of checking the time—"lunch." 

"Not for you, old hag," he muttered, but there wasn't a bite to it. There was, however, a bite to the punch she gave him — how the hell had she traveled so fast? Alluka was trying and failing to cover a laugh behind him, and Kalluto wasn't even trying. They just patted Bisky on the arm.

"Thanks for that," Kalluto said. "Best way to start my morning."

"Brother, I thought you loved me—" 

"Oh, I do. I also love seeing you get owned by someone who looks half your age." 

"Bisky doesn't even look that you—I mean, yes, totally," he amended once Bisky glared at him again. He wasn't trying to get hit again. Next thing he knew, he could be flying out the window. 

"I haven’t even eaten breakfast yet, Bisky," Killua whined. Sure, he was 16, but it wasn't like he actually had a childhood. He had a right to whine, goddamnit, and a right to not be punched before breakfast. 

Bisky flashed him an innocent smile. Underneath it, though, lay the promise of another punch if Killua mentioned her age. He was the only one of the four of them who'd seen Bisky's true form, and the moment he'd seen it come out she threatened him with a very painful death. 

In short, he had skirted very close to death a couple times. It was worth it, though. Sometimes. He just liked making his younger siblings laugh. So he slipped on Bisky's frilliest, pinkest apron, with "Best Chef" in cursive embroidered on the front. Kalluto, wordlessly, brought him eggs and milk and blueberries while he retrieved the flour, cocoa powder, sugar, chocolate chips, salt, and baking powder. Alluka sat talking with Bisky about some new makeup thing she'd been seeing on the cover of lots of magazines. 

It was a good morning. Afternoon, whatever. Killua secretly loved making food for his siblings; he had never been forced to cook when he was at home, always had food brought to him, so when he'd escaped Kukuroo Mountain, cooking had been one of the first things he wanted to do. It made him feel like he had control. He'd spent so long breaking things — taking lives from other people — and cooking was a way to make instead of break. 

And it was something he could do on autopilot. He'd made pancakes enough times that his hands already knew the motions. Mix dry, mix wet, combine and stir in chocolate chips or blueberries, ladle a little bit of batter onto the buttered pan. Alluka was next to him before he'd even finished the first one, all talk of makeup forgotten. 

"Can I have the first one? Please?" 

"The first ones are always the worst—"

"I don't care, all I had this morning was fruit! I need real sugar."

"God, you're so dramatic," Kalluto droned affectionately.

"I'll eat your pancakes, too," she huffed. Killua ruffled her hair and she yelped.

"Yeah, you can have the first one."

Arms were around his waist in an instant. "Thanks, big brother!" 

"You're so embarrassing," he muttered, the heat from the pan spreading up toward his face until he was red. He swore he heard Bisky laughing in the background and he made up his mind that he was going to go harder in sparring than ever before today. 

But still flushed, he flipped the first chocolate pancake (a little too lopsided and not brown enough, but it probably tasted fine) onto a plate and handed it to Alluka, doing the same with the first blueberry pancake and handing that one to Kalluto. 

"Hey, where's my plate?" Bisky grumbled, but the appearance of two pancakes on a plate, one chocolate and one blueberry, suddenly made her go quiet and dig into them. 

Hearing everyone eat, contented, felt like a hug. Some days, he wondered if he'd made the right decision — not because he wanted Kalluto and Alluka to still be near their family, gods no, but because he lived in constant fear that Illumi would find them. And what Kalluto and Alluka would face would be far, far worse than what he would. Alluka especially. It had been a few months since they'd gotten away, almost two years after he'd swept the Hunter Exam in the first round, and he was still so nervous that Illumi would find them, even if Bisky's house was in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and had a thousand protections on it. 

Kalluto and Alluka volunteered to do the dishes, and he accepted gratefully, grabbing a water bottle. 

Before he went to get changed, Bisky pulled him aside. She had a look in her eyes that Killua recognized as the "I'm about to tell you something serious, so no funny business" look. He'd only seen it on her once, and that was when he had run into her and some of his life story tumbled out, before she met his gaze and told him that he, Alluka, and Kalluto were coming to live with her. 

"Out with it, Bisky," he said impatiently. The sugar was starting to wake him up, as was the increasing heat of the sun. 

"I have something to tell you," she said. 

"Yeah, yeah, I figured."

"Me and the chairman have been developing this race. And the prize is the thing the winner wants most in the world."

What the winner wants most. No more being haunted by Illumi with pleas of "Come home, Kil," no more nightmares where eyes like black holes sucked him back into a business he didn't want to belong to and brought Alluka and Kalluto back to mistreatment. Brought Kalluto back to being a puppet and Alluka back to being — he was so angry, he couldn't even think the words. Fuck his family. Fuck them all. 

The water bottle he'd been holding broke in his hand. He hadn't even realized he'd been squeezing it that tightly. 

Bisky clapped a hand on his shoulder and he started, forgetting how strong his master was. "You should consider it."

But it wasn't even a question for him. The chance to keep his siblings safe? He'd do anything. 

Kite swept his hand across the entirety of the reserve, explaining something about how long it'd been preserved. Gon let his eyes trail after the hand, taking in the view. It was really pretty, and he told Kite so. The sun was setting, wrapping everything in orange shadows, and he and Kite were atop a crumbling stone structure with a picnic blanket and some food. He was most excited for the stars to come out; Kite had told them once they hiked here that the area was known for being one of the best places in the world to see the stars. It didn't take much convincing for Kite to take him on a night picnic. They were just waiting for night. 

He brightened, remembering something. 

"Kite! Didn't you say you came here with my dad?" 

Ging, Gon almost wanted to say, but somehow it still felt weird to call his dad by his first name. Or maybe he should start doing that — it wasn't like the man had earned the title of "Dad."

Yet, he amended. Yet. 

"Yeah, kid." He ruffled Gon's hair fondly. 

"I'm sixteen," he protested, but his heart wasn't in it.

"So?" Kite raised an eyebrow at him. Before Gon could ask him to tell the story of how he and Ging came to the ruins they were at, Kite launched into a story. 

"After I found Ging and we began training, we traveled everywhere. He had an uncanny sense for figuring out where the most desolate ruins were and the places most in need of preservation and restoration. But," and at that, Kite chuckled, "He always asked me to predict where we were going next."

"And did you?" Gon leaned forward, his heart beating fast. 

Kite nodded. 

"Which ones?" 

Then it clicked for Gon. He let his mouth fall open — Kite had figured out they were going here? He looked at the reserve once again, as if things would change since he first scanned his eyes over it. They had, a little — they felt more magical, or maybe he was using Gyo. Either way, he was amazed. Kite had told him time and time again about how smart Ging was, and knowing that Kite had been able to keep up with his dad made Gon want to do the same.

"He had the same reaction," Kite laughed. "I don't think he expected me to surpass him. I only did once, though. That time. I promised him that I would come back and check on these ruins every so often. Good thing you came along and reminded me, kid." 

Gon wished Kite was his real father, sometimes. Very rarely, because his dad was still cool. But his admiration for his dad had faded, just a little, as the years had dragged on and his dad seemed less and less inclined to meet Gon or leave clues for him. And in moments like this, when he remembered how Kite enjoyed having him around — despite how gruff he had been at first, talking about how Gon needed to be able to keep up — it made something ugly sit in his chest. 

It must've shown on Gon's face, because Kite gave him a look that to anyone else would've looked like sympathy. To Gon, it looked like understanding. His dad had abandoned his friends, too. 

"He still wants to see you, you know."

Gon laughed, but this one tasted bitter and rusty. "Are you sure? Maybe I'm just not a good enough Hunter yet. I need something to prove myself." 

If Gon had been listening more closely, he would have heard Kite’s quiet exhale before he spoke again. If he hadn’t been focused on the sun setting, he would’ve seen the way Kite’s face scrunched up ever so slightly with something like worry.

"Have you heard of The Amazing Race? I think your dad is auditioning." 

The forest was quiet save for the wind rustling the leaves above Kurapika and the grass surrounding him. The Lukso Province had always had an air of peace that he didn't — part of the reason he'd been so keen to leave, all those years ago. The memory felt like a blanket around his shoulders, in turns heavy and comforting. It mingled with his present, where he was lying on his back, staring up at the leaves. He tried to focus on the sound of his breath, elongating it so the inhales and exhales kept time with an eight count. Around him, painstakingly built, were thirty-six tombstones, carved out of rock from the side of the nearby mountain. They were unmarked save for a single quote, written in Kurta: "You are at rest now."

It was, Kurapika supposed, the closest he could ever get to relaxing. There was nothing left for him to give. There was also nothing left for him to do.

He imagined his soul detaching from his body, leaving the sins he couldn't scrub off no matter how long he spent in a shower, looking above at the hands that had been the demise of more people than he could count. He had left people undone in bed. Undone bleeding out in front of him. 

It would be easy to just stay there, lying down. He wouldn't have to do anything; he could let himself waste away in the middle of the forest. Another voice in his head cut in—that would be better than Kurapika deserved. He should die a grotesque death. Maybe nature would take pity on him; a storm would happen and electricity would catch on Kurapika's earring, spreading throughout his body. Or it would cause the trees to fall down and collapse on his body, crushing it. 

He took out his Judgment Chain and stared idly at it. If he used Chain Jail on himself, that would have the effect of killing him since it wouldn't have been used on the Phantom Troupe. It would be a tidy, albeit somewhat painful way to go.

Instead, he withdrew it. Killing himself was too easy for him. Too convenient. He closed his eyes and slept.

When he came to, the sky had darkened into a navy blue carpet spreading over him, the stars looking like pricks in the fabric. His view of the sky wasn't just obscured by the trees, but also by a stout figure standing over him. Instantly, he yelped and drew out his chains before they spoke.

"Kurapika?"

"Melody?" The chains retracted, and he blinked her into focus. "How did you find me?"

"I heard from Nostrade that you had requested a leave." She gave him a knowing look. "You would never do that unless you had finished your quest. From there, it was simply a matter of finding out where Lukso Province was."

"Ah." Melody offered him a hand; he took it and sat up. "Forgive me, I know the province doesn't have lots of amenities," he joked. The words felt stiff in his mouth. "Would you like to accompany me to town?"

He nodded, and a few minutes later he sat on the back of the Piko Melody had ridden earlier; the ride was silent, giving Kurapika a chance to feel a dull stab of guilt. He didn't know how long Melody had been waiting, though he had a feeling it had been a fair amount of time; her motions were jerky when she had extended him a hand, so her muscles had probably been in disuse for more than a few minutes. At once, the emptiness he'd felt filled with annoyance at himself; of course he had to go and make someone worry about him because of something that was his problem and his alone. He hated being a burden. 

"Kurapika, I can hear you thinking," Melody pointed out when they got to town. Given the hour, Kurapika would be shocked if anywhere was still open, but Melody had, as usual, planned ahead and booked a room at the nearby inn. 

"It's a two-bed," she said, gesturing him inside. The gesture — one of hope and generosity — took the breath out of his lungs. 

"Melody, you are too good to me," he murmured, shuffling into the room.

"I'm just doing what I would do for any friend."

"Thank you," he said. "But again, you didn't have to."

"Kurapika, just accept it," she grumbled back good-naturedly. Not having the energy to pursue what could've been the shadow of a fight, he just dipped her a nod in gratitude. 

Kurapika took off his tabard and sat on the bed in his white training clothes, scuffed and fraying at the edges, curling his knees up to his chin. Melody made them some tea with the teakettle in the corner. He was mildly surprised that the town had electricity, but he also hadn't been there since his childhood.

Everywhere he went, memories jumped on him. He normally didn't see them except in his nightmares, and to be surrounded with the subject matter of those was overwhelming. 

"Melody," he said, more to himself than to her. "What do I do now?" 

She held out a steaming mug of mint tea. He took it. He stared at the tea bag as if it would give him an answer, but it yielded none. 

"What do you want to do?" she countered softly.

Kurapika racked his brain for an answer. It gave him nothing, just a mentally crossed-out to-do list: Get revenge. Recover clan's eyes. Lay clan's eyes to rest. Nowhere in that were future options. If he was being completely honest, he had fully expected to die. 

"I don't know," he answered, woodenly. "I could just die or something. I could do it myself or wait for someone to do it to me. I've made enough enemies that it wouldn't be surprising. Or I could waste away."

"You could try meditation," Melody said, and it took a beat for him to realize she wasn't being insensitive, rather joking, a slight smile on her face. 

It brought a slight smile to his own, even if he didn't feel it. He wrapped his arms around his legs, setting the tea on the nightstand. Melody was still putting around the room, folding and unfolding clothes while he thought. When he was a kid, he had a bucket list of items he and Pairo wanted to do. But returning to that felt almost blasphemous, wrong; how could he do all of it without his best friend alongside him?  He just. He tried to stir up a feeling as intense as the rage that had carried him throughout the past five years. 

Melody knew this, he was sure, but it didn't show on her face. Another reason she was, truthfully, his only friend: she never pushed farther than she needed to. 

"I don't feel anything, Melody. I don't know who I am without this."

She hummed. "You don't have to know right away. You know that, right?"

"But I want to." The words came out of gritted teeth, and there was a spark of something in him again, at least. The lack of feeling inside of him was like an itch he couldn't scratch and the only thing he could think to do that would solve it was die. Then he wouldn't be bothered by the feeling at all, the sense of loss that sat heavy in his chest. 

"I'm tired of sitting still. All I know is that I've killed people, I've fucked people, I've been someone who destroys, and I want to get away from that. Whatever that takes."

Melody sighed. Thankfully, it wasn't one of pity. Kurapika picked up the tea again and let it warm his hands to remind him that he wasn't a floating entity, but a physical body. He inhaled, letting the mint tickle his nostrils. 

The room filled with silence until Melody finished tidying up. She seemed to be thinking and Kurapika let her, soothed in small part by the tune that she was humming underneath her breath. 

"I do know one thing." She held out her phone to Kurapika. It was a new model, one that allowed you to check your email. There was an email open on the phone from the Hunter Association. Kurapika scanned it.

"Neon wants to participate in it," Melody explained. "She thinks that it'll help her collect new items for her collection, ones no one has been able to acquire." 

And there it was again, a flash of some emotion, dark and thick and angry in his stomach. Neon had enough money to guarantee the retrieval of anything, so why she would want to participate in a race, he didn't understand. 

He would never understand how flesh collectors could mentally detach their possessions from the souls they had once belonged to. He could understand their distance if he thought about it long enough, but he didn't want to. It was the demand of flesh collectors themselves that had resulted in the Kurta's eyes being coveted and ripped out and treated like nothing. 

Melody looked alarmed. His heartbeat was probably breaking her ears and he didn't want her to pull out her flute, so he focused all his attention at staring at the floor to slow it. It helped, marginally. Then he realized something.

"Are you going to send in a video?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I already have some leads on the sonata, but for all its vagueness — I don't think the chairman would lie. So this could be a fast-track."

Her eyes darkened. "I wouldn't put it past him, though, to have made this race risky. And I have not come this far to die in the process of destroying that piece; I trust my leads and myself more than I trust whatever this might look like."

Kurapika nodded. "That makes sense. But," he said, "Why did you show it to me?"

"It's something to keep you here for a little bit," Melody said. It was a confession, more than anything, Melody's way of telling him she didn't want him to run himself into the ground. He had no idea what his "thing he wanted most" would be, but he had nothing to lose at this point. He didn’t even need to take a breath before he started recording.

Leorio paced the length of the lobby, a lukewarm coffee in his hands. He had no plans of drinking it — it would just make him more anxious, and he was doing his best to stay composed and calm. Two things he did not have a habit of doing, at least outside of his rounds at the clinic. He registered a few disgruntled looks thrown his way, probably because he was tall and his relentless pacing was blocking their view of the TV. Leorio decided that he would go outside; it would probably be better for all involved, including him. Fresh air could help. 

"Mr. Paladiknight?"

The doctor's calm voice pulled him back to the laminate white walls and fluorescent lighting. Behind him, there were a few relieved sighs. 

"You can come with me."

The walk to Pietro's door felt like it took hours. The nurse filled him in on Pietro's vitals; Leorio found himself slipping into doctor mode, detaching so he could focus. 

"He's in relatively stable condition. We drew some blood for some tests and gave him an MRI."

He didn't want to meet the doctor's eyes. He knew. He knew and he hadn't said anything. A lump appeared in his throat. He cleared his throat. 

"I don't want to dance around it. We think he could have lung cancer. It looks like it's still in the early stages, so it's good that you brought him here. We'll run some tests to make sure, though, and you should receive a call from us in the next few days." 

They stopped in front of the door. 

"You can go in whenever you're ready," the doctor said, looking at Leorio with a look in his eyes that said, "I understand and I'm so sorry," and the pity felt corrosive. He murmured a thank you and took a moment to breathe. To gather himself before he came in, because he knew Pietro, he knew that he wouldn't take well to pity — both of them were similar in that way. What does the patient need, he asked himself. What does your friend need?. 

He needed Leorio to get himself together. Not to be a spiraling mess, which Leorio would soon become if he kept prolonging it. He needed to be Pietro's jokey little brother, the gangly person who was optimistic against all odds, the warm person that everyone around him was used to. Pietro would see right through him, but that was better than lavishing worry when Pietro would just brush off the concerns with an "I'm fine." 

Leorio, though, was kicking himself. He'd known what the doctor would say before it came out of his mouth. 

He'd been too nervous to use the Nen ability he'd been developing that allowed him to scan a patient's body to see any abnormalities. He'd also avoided it out of respect for Pietro, knowing that his friend would be so upset he wouldn't talk to Leorio for days if he found out. 

Pietro had always been sickly, never one for too much physical exertion because too much sunlight could trigger a slew of migraines that lasted for days, sometimes weeks. His immune system was too friendly to viruses, like the common cold. But he had started to get tired earlier and earlier. His body was wracked with dry coughs and he got winded walking from the couch to his bedroom. He pushed food away more often than not, citing that he wasn't hungry. 

Leorio urged Pietro to go to his clinic, because it was low-commitment. He could get checked up, get an MRI, and leave. 

"I'm fine, Leorio. I don't need a doctor. Besides, I have you."

"And as your friend — and doctor-in-training — I'm telling you that you need to go get that checked out."

Pietro looked at him. It was then that Leorio saw fear in his eyes, an emotion that spread across his entire face. Leorio bit the inside of his cheek to keep from crying, or yelling out a "Fuck." Because he'd seen that expression before — on the face of patients who knew something was deathly wrong but didn't want to tell their loved ones about it. He'd helped pregnant women who had miscarried when their partners were at work and didn't know where else to go, and the neighborhood sliding-scale clinic was the first place they thought. He'd seen that look on kids who'd had sex with someone with an STI and had their face drawn tight. 

All the words died on his tongue. His mouth felt cottony and tasted rancid.

"Do you want to go get a coffee?" he asked instead of pushing. He didn't want to fight with Pietro, even if it was important, when his brother — his friend — looked at him like that. 

But when Pietro collapsed next to the dining table, Leorio drove him to the hospital, mind blank. Before he put Pietro in the backseat, he summoned his Nen and ran it over Pietro's body, hands shaking. There, he saw a black lump at the edge of Pietro's lung. 

He didn't let himself be afraid until after Pietro had been checked in.

Before he really felt ready, he pushed open the door to see Pietro sitting up in the hospital bed. His face was a little pale, but he looked so achingly normal that Leorio let himself be convinced for a moment that everything was fine. 

"So maybe I should've gotten that check-up after all," Pietro cracked. Leorio elbowed him, gently. 

"Maybe you should've listened to your doctor."

"Future doctor," Pietro corrected. Leorio saw the fond eyeroll and ruffled Pietro's hair; he huffed in protest. "You're the younger brother, that doesn't give you the right to do that."

"Talk to me when you're taller than me."

Instead of a verbal response, Pietro reached over and lifted the hospital bed until he could look down at the top of Leorio's head. 

"That's cheating," Leorio said. He stuck his tongue out because his brother was an idiot. And because Pietro apparently felt the same way about Leorio, he stuck his tongue out, too. 

The doctor popped his head back into the room. "Mr. Rossi? Can I come in?"

Pietro nodded. Leorio didn't know what to do with himself, so he stayed put next to Pietro. 

"We're going to discharge you now, but as a precautionary measure, we'll send you home with some additional painkillers." He rattled off the doses and side effects, then put in Pietro's pharmacy information. "You're free to go whenever you're ready. We'll give you a call in a couple of days with more comprehensive test results." 

Leorio let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He decided to break his own rule of not using his Nen on Pietro without the other's explicit permission; he could focus on healing his friend while he slept. That would ease the pain more, along with the painkillers, and if Pietro felt better it was a function of the medicine and not of Leorio's (hopefully) improving power. 

"I don't want to talk about it," Pietro said. "Can we just go home?"

So they did. The call came about a week later, when Leorio was in clinic — he noticed the number and instantly excused himself, all but running outside to answer and thanking whatever gods existed that he wasn't in the middle of something urgent.

He felt his world blur at the edges when he heard the words "Stage 1 lung cancer, not treatable with surgery, it's in a place that's too dangerous to reach given Pietro's medical history" and walked back into the clinic dazed. His supervisor, Cheadle, saw his expression and read him like a book. She knew what was happening; he'd told her the next shift at the clinic, and she'd put a tentative hand on his shoulder. The touch was more comforting to him than the look the doctor outside of the hospital gave him. 

Now, Cheadle asked Leorio to come into her office. He obediently trotted after her. 

"Leorio," she told him, kindly but firmly. "You'll be useless to your patients if you stay the rest of your round."

He was too tired to protest, but couldn't resist asking her a question. His voice sounded small and tiny to his ears.

"Can I use my Nen to save him?"

She sighed. It was the kind of sigh Leorio hated hearing because it meant "maybe" more than "no" or "yes." 

"I don't know," she admitted. "That ability you've been working on isn't as strong as it could be; you mentioned that you've been doing palliative care on Pietro?" 

He nodded. 

"I can test things out with you after hours, if you have time for that," she said. She took another look at him, one that felt to Leorio more like a question than anything else. 

"But go be with him right now, Leorio. He still has time."

On his way home, he picked up all of Pietro's favorite foods, not caring if it made a too-big dent in his wallet. A meatball sub from that place with the artisanal bread down on Continental Street. Two extra-large acai berry smoothies, one for him and one for Pietro.  Leorio was pretty sure the smoothies had traces of Nen in them, given how good they were— he'd always meant to ask whether the owner was a Gourmet Hunter, but it slipped his mind every time. This time was no exception; he made jittery small talk with the person at the counter that sounded to his ears pathetic, but was strangely comforting anyway. 

He found Pietro passed out on the couch when he got back to the apartment they shared. A wave of protectiveness swept over Leorio, so fierce he had to suck in a breath. 

"I'll save you this time, Pietro," he said aloud. "I'll do what I couldn't for my parents." 

Even though he was technically younger than Pietro — and Pietro's younger brother, officially, when his parents took Leorio in — something about being friends with him made Leorio feel older. 

Maybe it was because Pietro was so sickly and that he had always been frail, closer to skeleton than man sometimes. Leorio would ward off bullies by making them befriend Pietro, or, if that failed, punching them behind the classrooms, first with angry yells and second with his fists. 

After putting everything in the fridge, he heaved a sigh and sat down on the carpet, only bothering to take off his backpack and set it next to him so he could grab his laptop. Leorio mechanically checked his email, because he was still a student and unfortunately school didn't stop for life-altering events.

Two of the three new emails he saw made him curse underneath his breath. One was a reminder that, when he graduated in a few weeks, he would have to start making payments on his loans. The other was the bill from the hospital, which had gone to him for some reason instead of Pietro.

The number almost made him throw up in his throat. They had sent him a quote for chemotherapy. He refreshed the page, again and again, hoping that it was some sick joke. He and Pietro were always pretty open about money, since they didn't have too much of it to go around. Both of them were in school thanks to a small part of their parents' meager savings, student loans, and scholarships. 

He didn’t have to be a math major to know with a glance that they didn't have enough. Even if they sold everything they had, it probably wouldn’t cover more than half the cost.

Leorio swore. This had to be illegal. He had half a mind to call the hospital administrators and yell that he was a Hunter, goddamnit, and no one should ever have to pay this amount of money to save their friend, let alone anyone they loved. It was only out of not wanting to wake up Pietro, who was now wheezing out snores on the couch, that he stopped himself. 

I won't let you die, Pietro, he vowed. I'll do anything. 

And apparently, the universe heard him. In some sick twisted way, maybe, but it heard him, and he'd take it — because when he clicked the last email, from the Hunter Association, it offered what he needed. A chance to get all the money he'd need for the payment, however long it took. 

"Hunters, are you up for a challenge? The Hunter Association is looking for Hunters willing to take part in a new competition, The Amazing Race. It'll be a month-long endeavor that will take you across the Known World and challenge you to develop your Nen further. And the best part is — the prize is the thing you want most in the world. You name it, we will get it. All you need to do is send an audition video, telling us what you want your prize to be, what your Hatsu is like, and a little bit about yourselves to this email..." 

At that, Leorio stopped reading. He almost shouted out of joy in the apartment, but stopped himself by remembering Pietro was sleeping and he'd be damned if he was going to wake his friend up. Instead, he ran out into the street, clambering down the fire escape clumsily until he reached the ground. "Pietro, I'm gonna save you!" he hollered. 

Swardani City could be such a pain in the ass to travel to. So many customs procedures that she never got used to, no matter how many times she traveled here. Shouldering her bag, making sure there weren't any unseemly stains on it, Bisky finally left the airport and took a taxi to the Hunter Association building. At least the airship food was good, she mused as she snacked on a leftover chocolate croissant. 

The deadline for Amazing Race audition videos had come and gone, but Bisky and Netero had agreed not to look at them until they could meet in person. Why, Bisky didn't know, because they had perfectly good video conferencing software.

It had been a tough call for her, because she was worried about leaving the Zoldyck clan that had come to stay with her to their own devices — partly because she didn't want them to ruin the house, partly because she was worried that the Nen wards she had put on said house would weaken with distance. 

Killua, though, had learned a lot in the time she had trained him, and with enough reassurance she felt somewhat safe enough to go. To be fair, his fate was also in her and Netero's hands; she'd caught him recording his audition video a few weeks ago at 3 a.m. when he left his door slightly open and snuck away with Zetsu to a place where she couldn't hear him. It felt disingenuous, even though he already had an advantage by virtue of being essentially her son. 

She shook her head. "Son" was never a word she thought she would be hearing in relation to her, but. Killua felt like that. Alluka and Kalluto were her kids, too, and she felt a duty to them and their sparkle. 

Hopefully she'd find some diamonds in the rough among the people who'd auditioned. The thought made her excited enough to let out a little squeal as she took the stairs up to the top floor. 

When she swung open the door to the conference room, Netero was already sitting at the table, computer hooked up to the screen and a steaming coffee placed in front of the seat across from him. The smell of donuts filled the air. 

He turned to her and winked. 

"Let's take a look at these submissions, shall we?" 

Chapter Text

Bisky's eyes were drying out by the time the sun had set, and they had only gotten through ten of the hundred submissions they'd received. Sometimes she forgot how many Hunters there were, let alone how many of them were adrenaline junkies with half a mind set to take on any challenge, no matter how near-death it was. 

There were two phases to the auditioning — first, she and Netero had to pick people they thought could hold their own in the race. Then, they had to pair them up with another Hunter, which could prove to be more of a pain in the ass than deciding who was strong enough to get through in the situations the race called for. She frowned, checked her notepad. Nine names were crossed out. The only name that wasn't? Ging Freeccs.

"He can be...tough to work with," Netero allowed, "But he's strong. He's smart. He's exactly the type of person who would live for this challenge."

Bisky agreed, but privately she would rather not interact with the man more than she had to. He rubbed her the wrong way. Not that he was creepy, he just felt off. She had never been able to put her thumb on it, even in the few interactions they had. Maybe it was that he was notoriously shy and jumpy, which made him detached. 

"Do you have an idea of who could partner with him?" she asked. "He seems like the type who wouldn't play nice." 

Netero tapped his pen on his notepad. Bisky watched the last rays of light fade before he gave her an answer.

"What about my Vice Chairman?" 

Now Bisky thought she would throw up in her mouth. Ging was shy, sure. But Pariston was slimy, and she knew exactly why she felt off around him. But she knew they were friends and both powerful. Netero wouldn't pick someone weak as a Vice Chairman. 

She knew he'd sent in a video — he'd made a show of telling Netero, apparently, gliding into his office and glibly announcing it. In his mind's eye, she imagined him walking in with a slew of doves following behind him. 

"I know you don't like him." He laughed at Bisky's expression.

"That's an understatement. But I understand what you're doing. I just—" she shuddered. "Don't want to think about what he and Ging would ask for if they won. Well, Ging I'm less worried about. Pariston..."

"Have some faith in everyone else!" Netero wasn't put off at all. He actually thought other Hunters could put up with the challenge that particular team would pose, in terms of strength and probably speed. It was strangely endearing, in a "look at Grandpa's folly" way. Less endearing if she thought too hard about it and asked herself whether Netero was being too reckless with other people's lives.

"Let's watch a couple more videos before we call it a night?" she asked, not wanting to end off on Ging and Pariston. Let there be something to give me hope, she prayed silently to whatever gods were listening.

And whoever they were, they granted her wish. Not with the next video, which featured a Hunter fresh out of the exam and was a little too green that it made Netero grimace and Bisky wince. 

But the last one of the night delivered. It delivered in ways beyond belief. 

"Hi, I'm Gon Freecss!" A black-haired boy with a grin that almost split his face wide open popped up on the screen. "I'm 16, and I'm from Whale Island." He shoved a wrinkled, faded picture in front of the camera, which shook a little. Someone's chuckle could be heard in the background. 

"This is my home! It's Whale Island. It's really small, but it's one of the best places in the world. The fish you can catch there are some of the most nutritious in the world."

"You're supposed to talk about your Nen and why you want to be in the race," the person holding the camera prompted Gon. He started and nodded, determined. 

"I became a Hunter because I wanted to find my dad." He had a stubborn set to his mouth that suggested he had pursued this doggedly for years. "He left the island at 12 and I did, too. I became a Hunter at 12, just like him. And I've been all over the world, but I haven't been able to find him." 

Netero, next to her, frowned — she could feel the slight shift in his aura. It was disconcerting, how she had to strain her ears for any trace of bitterness in his voice at the abandonment and struggled to find it. 

"So I want to join the race to see if I can find him. Maybe he'll be here too! Kite is his friend and he says that my dad would do something exactly like this. He always liked challenges. That's what I want." His eyes were the slightest bit glassy. 

Then the teen, without warning, slipped into Ten. His aura flared, so large and defiant — and somehow, surprisingly in control for the amount of aura he was exuding — and suddenly he looked like someone much older. He drew his arm back. Bisky watched with eyes wide as a focused, determined look settled over Gon's face. With a chant of "Jajanken," he thrust a golden punch to his side. If the loud thump they heard was a tree falling in the distance, Bisky wouldn't be surprised. 

"That's rock," he said, not even needing to catch his breath. "I can do paper and scissors, but. I don't know if that's too much?" Then he shook his head and drew his shoulders up. He looked excited by the challenge, so mesmerized that Bisky saw Netero lean closer to the screen. 

Gon demonstrated paper by emitting a set of golden orbs somewhere in the distance and scissors by slicing through a piece of the rock ledge nearby. When a sizable part of the rock ledge crumbled and the orbs resulted in some fierce burning of wood, Gon smiled at the camera, sheepish.

"That's what I have for right now. It's not completely full power, but it's all of what I'm running on right now. Uh, do you think they need anything else?" 

That was addressed to the person filming him, who apparently shook their head no, because Gon then faced the camera, gave it a thumbs up, and thanked them for watching. "I hope you pick me! But it's okay if you don't. I'll find my dad someday," and with that, the screen faded to black. 

Bisky let out the biggest squeal she had in a while. Before she realized it, she'd stood up from her chair, pointing at the kid. "He's in. He's in, he's such a diamond in the rough, this race will be so good for him!"

"And," she turned to Netero, "He's looking for his dad. His dad who we've just confirmed as one of the participants. It's a great story."

"Are you filming this," Netero said with some amusement. 

"I've thought about it," Bisky said. She had thought about it, toying with the idea even though it was...dangerous. For a number of reasons. But she shook her head. She didn't want to risk lives more than they needed to, even though she knew whoever went along with it could hold their own. 

"It's a good story for us," she amended. 

Netero nodded. "I agree. Not just with the story, but that this race could be a good challenge for him." He stroked his beard. "He seems a bit unpolished, but definitely has a lot of raw power. It'll be interesting to see what his instincts are like."

Bisky thought back to the video, to earnest brown eyes that probably just looked like a normal teen's to anyone who caught a glimpse of them. But she had seen something primal and animalistic flash in them when he drew his fist back and surrounded himself with aura, something that made her involuntarily shiver when she jumped back to it. He had slipped so easily back into being a normal teen after launching into a demonstration that wasn't even full strength that Bisky was amazed.

"I think he'll be just fine,” she said to herself.

The next day went much smoother, or at least was more conclusive. It didn't take long for them to start seeing competent, interesting characters. They green-lighted a broad-shouldered, grinning Emitter hoisting a pipe over his shoulder. Bisky tried not to focus on the curve of his torso and mostly succeeded. Then a slender, soft-spoken man whose Nen surprised them — Bisky gasped when three hands came hurtling toward the camera and murmured in approval when she saw him turn a small earring into an imprint on his palm. 

"Don't get any ideas," Netero said. She elbowed him. "Keep going, oldie." 

The next person, Bisky noted with approval, was also very built. Unlike Morel, he had his shirt off, so if Bisky's tongue found its way to her lips more than once, it was simply by coincidence. He and Morel were a little more buff than she typically preferred, but she didn't mind. And his Nen was interesting — while it wasn't immediately strong, it would keep opponents on their toes. It was all about partnership. He seemed quick to anger, rough and blunt, until a dog nuzzled his calf. And then another. And then another, after, until the video ended with him feeding a small herd of dogs that had gathered around him. 

"Very cute," Netero nodded. 

Bisky agreed, more so for the man than the dogs surrounding him. The next person was definitely her type: slim, cheekbones for days, eyes that could pierce her soul. The bespectacled Nen user reminded her of a letter opener — incisive, simple, analytic. He could open portals with his Nen, which she and Netero both agreed could be useful. 

Netero was particularly moved by two applicants from later in the day, both brothers. The first had eyes like obsidian that made shivers run down Bisky's spine, though not in a good way — more like being dowsed in cold water. She squinted at the video a couple times throughout, trying to find what was giving her that impression. Maybe it was the eyes. It could've also been because he was part of the Zoldyck family.

He said he wanted to join because he was curious. For him, the prize was getting more information on his current target, who he refused to share in the video. Stranger still was that he mentioned that his target was not someone he wanted to kill. All of it gave Bisky the distinct feeling that something was very wrong, and while Netero seemed to agree — she had seen the recoil out of the corner of his eye when Illumi refused to share his target — he also believed that Illumi would be invaluable in the race. 

"He is deadly," Netero said, matter-of-fact. "It's a good thing."

"Well, we're not trying to have the racers kill each other—"

"They could. Collateral damage."

"But you don't want them to."

"No," Netero allowed. "But while Illumi is lethal, we are facing something unprecedented. His aura reserves are much larger than most of these other candidates." 

"I still don't like it," she muttered. 

"Should we table discussion for Illumi, then?"

Bisky paused to think. 

"Let's wait to see if there's someone that we can place him with." Her way of agreeing with him without overtly admitting he was right. She still felt unsettled when they moved onto the next candidate, who, to Netero's surprise, was also from the Zoldyck family. It was someone she recognized: that silver hair, the drawn look, the fierce determination under a veneer of nonchalance. 

"Killua," she whispered in tandem with the Killua on screen. Netero glanced over at her; she waved him away, was riveted watching Killua. Face red and voice quiet, he thrust a photo of him, Kalluto, and Alluka — a candid photo Bisky had taken that apparently was his phone background — to the camera. "I need to be able to protect them. That's why I want to race." 

Wordlessly, he showed a Hatsu Bisky was familiar with — the yo-yos, first, then the blue lightning rippling through the air that made the lights flicker. So that was why the lights went off a few weeks ago, she realized. Then he dipped his head down, and when he looked at the camera his expression was deadly and blank. He was standing in front of it, body wrapped in electricity, and then so quickly that had she blinked she would've missed it, he was gone. 

"That's Godspeed," he said a moment later. Bisky hadn't even noticed him returning to his position; Killua hadn't even taken a breath. "I've been practicing."

"He needs to be paired with Gon," she said as soon as the video finished. "It can only be Gon."

If Netero had asked her why she felt that way, she wasn't sure she would be able to explain. Maybe it was the similarity of their backgrounds, staying with guardians who weren't their parents and wishing things were different. Wishing their parents were different. It was an impulse — she got the sense that not only would they be good friends, the two boys with guarded eyes, but that they were two sides of the same coin. 

She had an image of Gon and Killua laughing, together, with all of their defenses dropped. It made her entire heart ache for them. 

Netero quirked an eyebrow at her. "You're making decisions now?" 

"Do you disagree?" 

Netero let out a full-bellied laugh. "Oh, I agree completely. I just wanted to see the look on your face." 

Bisky thrust her fist into his face, fully expecting him to block it. He did, but she was still satisfied that it took him a nanosecond longer to respond than he usually would have. 

"You're getting slow in your old age." 

"Test me. I'll spar with you." 

"Tempting, but I don't want your creaky bones to collapse as soon as you activate your Nen." 

Netero's only response was to grin and flare out his Ten. Bisky thought about fully sparring with him, then winced at the thought of the work Cookie would have to do — and how difficult it would be to call on Cookie — if she was to give the old man the challenge he would've wanted. 

She sighed and it was as good as a verbal surrender, so she picked up the mouse they were using to move to the next video. 

Killua was the last applicant of the day they accepted with only twenty left for tomorrow, and Bisky laid awake staring at the ceiling, mostly excited by the prospect of pairing, having the pairs meet, and seeing the entire cohort turn into a necklace of polished gems. There was a part of her, though, that was nervous for all of them. Being able to hold their own in a video or in the past was one thing; being able to do that on this race would be the difference between life and death. 

She almost hadn't told Killua about the race, in a moment of weakness. She knew he was strong and that this race would make him stronger, whether or not he won. But she had been watching Kalluto and Alluka talk quietly before breakfast that one day, while Killua was still sleeping, and worry had settled in her stomach, because the two kids loved their big brother. He was—though he refused to see it, because he could be a stubborn ass—their sun. 

She didn't want them to lose that. 

But it wasn't her choice to make, she knew. And she trusted Killua to work through the options; before, when they first met, she saw how scared he had been. How his first impulse was always to run. That had come to a halt a few months ago, when she called him out at the end of training. 

"If you can't stand your ground even when you think the odds are high, you have to leave Kalluto and Alluka. There's a time when running puts them at more risk than staying and defending yourselves."

The look on his face was something she never wanted to see again. It was almost worse than the one he wore when she found him, where his entire body looked like it belonged to a ghost and his soul was shoved into a tiny, almost imperceptible part of his chest. This time, it looked like all of his soul had been sucked out of him, and instead of numbness all that was left was despair. 

So he grit his teeth and got better. And when he pulled out a needle in his head during training, Bisky understood. It was another reason she didn't want Illumi to participate; she knew how dangerous he could be even though he would be invaluable, frankly, to the race. 

Still. Killua trusted her, a hard-won trust, and he knew that she trusted him. He would have considered all possibilities when auditioning, and this was one of them. 

Bisky slept uneasily that night, texting Netero about bringing her extra coffee the next day. She called out Cookie before coming into the office, and Netero delivered with two large iced lattes that Bisky all but inhaled, to his amusement. 

"Not a good night, I take it?"

"I've had better." 

"Ready?" His fingers danced on top of the mouse. The excitement she felt last night, before the fear, came rushing back. She gave him a firm nod.

The first person they saw gave her the same impression that Illumi did, the same chills down her spine, though they were also for...other reasons. While he explained his Hatsu — Bungee Gum, something that had the properties of both rubber and gum — and talked about wanting to race — he mentioned wanting a challenge? — Bisky was distracted. 

He was exactly her type. His red, slicked-up hair had a slight wave at the end, and his torso curved at the waist before flaring out to muscled thighs pressing against his white pants. His voice was draped in silk, a devious undercurrent running through it, and he had cheekbones that could slice her open, broad hands that she would love to feel against her body. 

"Bisky."

And his eyes looked like trouble. Good trouble. 

"Bisky."

She blinked a couple times and remembered that Netero was there. She flashed him what she hoped was a winning smile. 

"Netero."

"I take it you like this candidate?"

"He's...compelling." 

"Interesting choice of words." He raised an eyebrow and tipped his head toward the screen. "Who do you think could partner with him?"

He reminded her of Illumi. She couldn't put her thumb on it; maybe it was the way the smile fit right on the other side of devious, or that none of his smiles actually reached his eyes. If Killua reminded her of Gon — or vice versa — these two were the creepier equivalent. 

"Illumi," she said, in place of fully explaining. 

Netero nodded, quick and fast. "I agree."

Now Bisky was curious. "Why?"

"Transmuter and Manipulator. It's an interesting combo, not as volatile as Transmuter and Enhancer—" Killua and Gon, Bisky's mind supplied. "—but definitely more conniving. Which isn't always a bad thing. I think Hisoka will stop Illumi from getting too ruthless with his kills."

"Interesting. I see that." 

They moved on. There weren't any notable candidates for a while, until a pink-haired girl named Machi with a permanent scowl on her face and arms knit tight appeared on their screen. Frown still fixed, she explained that she was searching for a long-last friend — there, her frown seemed to waver, almost imperceptibly. It was a tell; she was soft underneath the facade, and it filled Bisky with warmth even when the girl yanked another body into view, threads extending from her fingers into their arms and legs as they did a dance. It fit, strangely enough, when the girl sewed up the person's wounds. They scrambled away screaming as the screen cut to black. 

"A lot of people are looking for someone," Netero commented off-handedly. 

"You're talking to Hunters," Bisky remarked. "Isn't everyone looking for something? That's the code, right. Hunters must always be on the hunt."

"True." He shrugged. "I just think it's fascinating that they're all choosing to audition for this race instead of just dedicating their energy to looking."

"Some of them probably think that the person they're in search of is gonna audition."

Netero and Bisky decided to accept Machi, meaning they had three spots left on the team. The next was taken up by a Specialist in a purple blazer with a blunt blonde bob. She explained her Nen ability — the ability to read people's purest memories just by touching them and to know where an object had immediately been — so matter-of-factly that, for whatever reason, they both had no choice but to believe her. 

"Strange," Bisky remarked. "People are putting a lot of trust in us." 

Videos like these could get people killed, and yet. They had gotten 100 of them, from people who fell somewhere on the spectrum of "lightly" to "severely" deranged.

"I put a lot of trust in them. And you," Netero added. "I wouldn't have asked you to do this had I thought you would share everything."

"I was confused when I got your message. I'm not one of the Zodiacs, nor am I necessarily a combat Hunter."

"Exactly," Netero said. "You're someone no one would expect to help me with this. And that means you'll be free of additional harassment and the like. Plus, not everyone has their strong suit in combat." 

He gestured to the blonde woman, who was still talking on-screen. "You're also a teacher and a skilled Nen user. That means you know how to evaluate people."

"Oh, keep going. I'm enjoying this a lot," Bisky said. She fanned herself and blinked her eyes up at Netero, who rolled his. 

Instead of entertaining her, Netero flicked to the next video. Bisky tried to hide her pout, it was always gratifying to hear praise from a man that she, like many others, looked up to. She caught herself falling asleep a couple times, the applicants again slipping back into mediocrity. Mediocrity was a little harsh, but. It was true. 

"Two more videos." Netero nudged her awake. 

She opened her eyes and straightened her back to see a slim blonde person in a navy blue tabard lined with gold trim over off-white training clothes show up on screen. He introduced himself as Kurapika in a steady but soft voice. 

"I don't know why I'm doing this," he said. The words caught on each other as they slipped out. Bisky noted that he didn't wince at all. He looked remarkably similar to a shadow. "My friend said I should."

A murmur from somewhere in the background. It sounded like, "You don't have to say that." 

"But it's true, Melody," he said. There was a little bite to that retort. Interesting. 

Doubt flashed across his face for a beat before he extended his hand and conjured chains, wrapping some around his arm and hand and letting the rest drape onto the floor. 

A hand on his back, so quick that Bisky wasn't sure she'd seen it. He bowed his head and closed his eyes; when he opened them, they were red. Bisky's mouth dropped. She heard the gum she was chewing drop onto the floor. The eyes. They were beautiful, like rubies. Or garnets. No, neither of those gems could come close to what she was looking at. 

But it felt wrong to ogle — it was as if she was looking at something sacred. So she focused back on his words. 

"I am the sole survivor of the Kurta Clan," he said. "My Hatsu is chains. I am a Specialist when my eyes flash scarlet." He held up his hand. 

"There is a specific chain ability for each of the fingers." He went through all of them: the Dowsing Chain, Steal Chain, Judgment Chain, Holy Chain and Chain Jail. "Some of these are practically useless, now. But there you have it." 

His voice was hollow. That was the word for it, Bisky realized. His posture was ramrod straight, so stiff that maybe he could've come across as a statue. Beside her, Netero's eyes widened.

"I know him," he murmured. 

"You do?"

"The Chain Bastard."

It didn't hit Bisky until a few moments later. "The kid who was a mafia boss? Running around looking for the Phantom Troupe?"

He nodded. "He fits the bill. I don't know any chain Nen user, let alone one as adept as he is."

History was flooding back to Bisky, now. She'd been out of the loop for a bit, particularly when she started diving more into teaching and less into physical gem hunting. She remembered hearing about the Kurta, bits and flashes, how those gem-like eyes had driven people into madness and the Kurta into hiding. While she loved collecting beautiful things, it made her ill to imagine someone ripping out the eyes of an entire clan. And the thought of that kid coming back home to eyeless, silent families — no wonder he sounded like that. 

"The last anyone heard of him was after what happened with Chrollo,” Netero said.

"That was years ago — what else could he have been doing?" 

"I mean, the Phantom Troupe all but disbanded after. So much for solidarity," Netero hummed. "But I heard that he was taking Nen from many of the remaining members. Something about not wanting to kill if it wasn't Chrollo."

"I wonder what changed his mind," Bisky said. "I remember hearing about him when he was taking the Hunter Exam from Satotz. He said that Kurapika reminded him of a knife." 

"A knife, huh." Netero let that sit in his mind for a little. "That makes sense. And a knife with nothing to cut, it seems. But maybe this race is a good thing for him. He is strong. He needs something to do. He does not care for his life."

"You want to put him in that position?"

"I'm stating the facts, Bisky. And I trust that we will find someone who can provide a good balance to him." 

Bisky bounced the idea in her head around a little bit. The wariness she felt, she realized, came from the fact Kurapika reminded her of Killua. Not in the Gon "other side of the coin" way, but the Killua traumatized way. He was still so young, probably just shy of 20. His face carried ghosts that he couldn't speak about. The body remembers, she had heard once, and it looked like Kurapika's would never forget. She couldn't see him relaxing long enough to even enjoy where the participants would be going. But maybe Netero was right. 

So she swallowed her nerves and nodded. Netero gave her a cursory look up and down, restating his question without words. More certain this time, she nodded. Kurapika could hold his own. 

If he had a death wish, it didn't show, because some part of him still clung to life enough to get him in front of the camera. That was the part she was saying yes to. She hoped that they could find him a good partner. 

As luck would have it, the last applicant was everything Kurapika didn't seem to be. Aggressively normal, for one. And where Kurapika was lithe, this man had arms that strained the rolled-up sleeves of his button-up, blue and worn with use. 

"Hi! I'm Leorio and I use he/him pronouns." He gave a toothy grin and put up a hand, waving at the camera by waggling his fingers. The video was clearly filmed on a phone propped up on a stack of books, and taken in the man's apartment, where the edges of piles of clothes lingered in the background and coffee mugs were littered on a stout bookcase. Despite the clutter, the atmosphere — its refreshing normalcy — made a wave of calm wash over Bisky. 

He was training to be a doctor, Leorio said, and was a second year resident at Yorknew Medical. He'd passed the Hunter exam years ago — "almost six? Yeah, I think six" — right before he started undergrad at Yorknew University. And he wanted to join the race for money. 

"Money?" she squeaked. But Leorio kept going. 

"My brother — my best friend — is sick," he said. There was an odd mix of sadness and defiance and rage in his eyes. "We can't afford the treatment." 

His voice dipped, then. "My parents died because of that, too, and I swore I would never let money be the cause of someone's death again if I could help it." 

He thrust his hand up into a soft mint green portal; suddenly, the phone was hoisted up to Leorio's eye level. "This is part of my Hatsu." 

He set down the phone again and closed the portal. Shyly, he held up his hand, again connected to his body by skin, where the green aura had concentrated. "This is another ability I've been working on." When he ran his hand across his body, the skin turned translucent, revealing the bones underneath.

"It's a work in progress, but I can feel when there are abnormalities. It's kinda like a bump in the aura? And I can transfer some of my own aura into another person or redistribute their aura so that it levels things out to help them heal." 

The bashfulness was gone when he deactivated his Nen and shoved his hands back into his pockets. Despite the slouchiness of the gesture, he was standing up, chest out. 

"I know I'm not the strongest with Nen, but I'll do anything. I trained for years to get through the Hunter Exam. And I'll do whatever it takes to save my friend." 

The screen went black. If there were tears in Bisky's eyes, she didn't notice.

"His Hatsu doesn't seem particularly strong." Netero frowned. "I don't know if it would be up to par."

Bisky disagreed. Sure, his Hatsu wasn't as developed, refined, or full of raw power. But he was an Emitter, which meant that there was a lot of potential to grow and grow quickly. 

And Nen aside, too, something about the man felt hardy. Stubborn. She believed him — even if he wasn't where he needed to be, he would fight tooth and nail to get there. Of all the applicants, he stood out to her the most, a diamond of possibility under coal. She wouldn’t forget the way his face looked when he talked about his best friend any time soon.

"I think he'd be able to hold his own." The ferocity in her voice surprised even her; she had balled up her fists, her fingers making white crescents in her palm. "He passed the Hunter Exam—"

"But this is different, Bisky." He caught her gaze, and she was surprised to find an urgency there. Sometimes she forgot that Netero thought beyond the challenge. The moment told her that he was worried Leorio wouldn't survive. Normally, she was the one in that position. It threw her off guard for a moment, enough to offer that they rewatch Leorio's audition.

"Let's watch it again," she offered up instead. "Then we can decide."

Netero made a neutral noise, but he cued up the video again.

Bisky paid even closer attention this time. She noticed the eyebags underneath Leorio's eyes, the haphazardly cleaned apartment, the telltale ripple and bulge of his muscles. The way his teeth clenched when he talked about dedicating himself to the race, how it moved his entire body forward — if Kurapika was a doused flame, Leorio was the ocean. Both capable of great destruction and great healing, but Leorio had clearly chosen the latter path. Everything about him was full of emotion. She would be surprised if Leorio had ever applied the word "nonchalance" outside any of his school essays. 

He was the type of person who wore his heart on his sleeve. And watching the video again, she understood where Netero was coming from: those people were most easily deflated. 

But she didn't see that in Leorio. This was a man who had seen loss and come out wanting to prevent it. 

It all clicked for her once she realized.

"Kurapika," she whispered to herself. Then louder. "Netero, it needs to be him and Kurapika." 

She laid out her reasons: Kurapika, as someone who was barely clinging onto the idea of living, would get into more scrapes than a person with a tighter grip on life. Leorio was a healer; he could make sure Kurapika could keep going, and in turn, Kurapika could teach him to hone his Nen and unlock the potential there. 

"And maybe, Leorio could be—"

"Bisky." Netero held up a hand. "This man has a lot to lose. Do you think he can rise to the occasion?"

"Yes," she said, impatiently. "That's what I've been saying."

He caught her gaze and held it, unwavering. She waited until he was the one to look away. Conceding, he sighed quietly and turned off the TV. 

"There we have it. Our fourteen people, seven teams," he said.

Right before the sun took its position above them, they figured out the teams. 

Knov and Morel. Pakunoda and Machi. Knuckle and Shoot. Ging and Pariston. Hisoka and Illumi. Gon and Killua. Kurapika and Leorio. 

They sent out the emails requesting everyone's attendance at Swardani City; everyone would be seated next to their partner on the airship, but they would only have that and a day to get to know each other before the race began. 

"I think we did a good job," Netero said, out of the blue, as they were packing up to leave. He sounded uncharacteristically serious. Bisky wondered at how well he had hid his nerves; the only reason she could sense them was because she could see the slight shake of his hands as he shut his laptop.

"I think so too." She thought again of Leorio, the set of his mouth when he vowed to do whatever he needed to, and of Kurapika, the way loss was written all over him. Of Killua and Gon, the twin longing in their eyes. "I think they can save us." 

Chapter Text

Leorio fidgeted with the loose thread on his suit cuff, feeling self-conscious. He was easily the tallest person in the airport for miles around and the most overdressed. Normally, he wouldn't have minded, but every moment that passed he was spiraling more into his own insecurities. 

When he got the email confirming that he had been chosen to participate in the race, he was elated for two seconds before panic set in. He checked the email address and the name of the addressee to make sure that it was really him they accepted. He did that about ten times that night, and then five times the next morning, before realizing that shit, this was real, and he only had a week to get everything in order.

The hardest thing wasn't settling things with his professors. That ended up being pretty easy. Cheadle was, helpfully, also his advisor, and convinced the higher-ups that the race was essentially residency, since he'd be sharpening his healing Nen abilities and helping to treat others. Leorio was impressed at how easily she sold them, stretching the truth without lying. She shrugged and said she would teach him when he got back. So there was that. At least. Someone believed he would make it back. 

Not the person he wanted, though. 

The hardest thing was telling Pietro. His face looked like the sky during a thunderstorm when Leorio, armed with the newest video game in Pietro's favorite franchise, sheepishly told him what he'd done. 

"Are you fucking kidding me." The game lay forgotten on their counter. Leorio's stomach dropped.

"Pietro—"

"I don't want to hear it. You're an idiot." Pietro must have seen the way Leorio's face crumpled. Or he just knew Leorio too well, and Leorio probably looked like a kicked puppy. He'd never been good at hiding his feelings. He watched Pietro catch his next words and pick new ones.

"Leorio," and he sounded so tired that something in Leorio's heart cracked wide open. In the afternoon light, he could see the dark shadows under Pietro's eyes deepen. "I don't want you to kill yourself for me." 

"I'm not going to die, Pietro." The words stung. Did his best friend and brother have that little faith in him? 

It makes sense, a voice in his head told him. You got lucky that the Hunter Exam your year was the easiest in a decade. 

Leorio shoved the insecurity down, though he knew it would only circle back and smack him in the face later. Right now, showing it in front of Pietro would just make things worse. 

"Pietro, I'll come back." His voice shook. Not a great start. He tried to find the stubborn determination that had carried him through his parents' death, training for the Hunter Exam, the Hunter Exam itself, med school, and now this. Hopefully. He pictured Pietro in a hospital bed, and the feeling settled back into his stomach.

"I came back alive after the Hunter Exam. I'll come back alive after this. You know me, Pietro. You know that I find a way. I'm not going to fucking sit here and let you die and not do anything about it." 

His eyes were wet and his fists were clenched when he stopped talking, his voice having gone an octave higher. Leorio inhaled sharply. "Look, I'm sorry. For hurting you. But I'm not sorry for wanting to help."

"You're an idiot," Pietro said again, but quieter. Fonder. More resigned. "I know I can't stop you. Not like this." He chuckled, the sound raspy and self-loathing. "I can't control what you do, anyway."

Leorio didn't know what he was looking for. Pietro's approval, maybe? Or his faith? Whatever it was, he didn't feel like he was getting it. So he would take the acceptance, reluctant as it was, and go. 

And now he was here, standing at terminal 33A of Lingon Airport. The heat of the coffee that he'd gotten as soon as he arrived was doing nothing to calm him down. The flight was running late, so he pulled up the ticket on his phone again to make sure that it was the right one. It took a couple of taps to confirm that it was. Leorio gave up on trying to wait by standing still and started pacing the length of the gate. 

While he did, he took the opportunity to check the place and see if he could pick up on any other Hunters scattered throughout the gate. No one was at his terminal, yet. To be fair, not only was the flight running late, but he had been there since sunrise, although the flight was at noon. 

He noticed a couple of people at the coffee stand he'd stopped at earlier. He didn't have to use Gyo to know that these were experts. Also, Hunters never wore normal clothes, like jeans and T-shirts, and these two were no exception. One was suited up, like him, but the suit was definitely better made; it was black and tailored to every angle of the person's body. That person, black-haired and bespectacled, was chatting quietly with their purple-robed companion, whose purple hair had been bundled into a tall ponytail. Leorio debated saying hi and introducing himself, but figured that sneaking up on Hunters — even if they weren't actively trying to conceal themselves — was a bad idea. 

He was at the end of the gate, anyway, so he decided to turn around and stroll back to the terminal. He had begun to swivel when suddenly he bumped against someone in front of him. The coffee slipped out of his hand and spilled on the floor, soaking his pant legs. 

"Fuck," he swore underneath his breath. He had an extra pair of pants in his carry-on, but they were sweats. And he could feel himself start to panic again, that shit, this was something that yet again would mark him as an imposter. It was only the muttered string of swear words from whoever he'd bumped into that snapped him out of it. Leorio looked down to see the top of a blonde head. 

The person stepped back and met his eyes, and they were furious. If Leorio didn't know better, he would've said their eyes were glowing the color of blood. The coffee had stained their pant legs, too, but they were white and thus worse for wear than Leorio's, so Leorio sympathized. 

"Watch where you're going," the person said, in a tone that clearly said, "I don't tolerate bullshit."

And then Leorio remembered — he was the person who was turning around, meaning that whoever this disgruntled blonde was, they should've seen Leorio. If he hadn’t been going through the three stages of Leorio Panic, a mixture of annoyance, fear, and anger, he would've found the other attractive.

"You're the one who should watch where they're going!" He knew that his gestures were reaching flailing territory, but come on, the other person should've known better. "You could've seen me coming — I was the one turning around!"

"Aren't you a Hunter? Shouldn't you be able to sense someone else's presence?" 

Though the other had spoken somewhat softly, Leorio still went on high alert. "Not so loud!" 

"You're the one lecturing me about noise?" 

"I wouldn't have had to lecture you at all if you didn't bump into me!" Leorio jabbed a finger at the other's chest. They stepped back, an indecipherable look flashing across their face before it settled back into the anger Leorio was familiar with. 

"Get your dirty hands off me!" 

"Buy me a new coffee." Leorio crossed his arms and met the other's eyes. "It's the least you can do."

"I don't think I will," the other said, and walked away, leaving Leorio fuming. 

"Wait — why not — get back here!" He flipped his middle finger up toward the retreating figure for a moment before realizing he should clean up the spilled coffee. Leorio frowned at the mess, but before he went to go get napkins, a voice came out of nowhere.

"Need some help, old man?" He whirled around so fast he thought his head had flown off. His neck muscles cracked a little and he winced. A tall, white-haired teen was looking up at him, a mischievous glint in his eyes and a flush on his cheeks. How he'd gotten there so quietly, Leorio didn't know.

"I'm not an old man! I'm 23! And my name's Leorio!"

"Sounds old to me, Rioleo."

"If I'm so old, why don't you respect your elders?" Leorio put his hands on his hips. "By the way, it's not Rioleo. It's Leorio. You should get your ears checked." 

He gave Leorio a once-over. "Mm. I don't think I will, Rioleo." 

"Who are you, anyway?" Leorio sucked in a breath so he wouldn't do anything rash. He guessed that they were probably another Hunter here for the race. This was his competition? Oh, god. Don't spiral again, Leorio, he coached himself.

"I'm Killua. He/him." He stuck his hands in his pockets. "So do you want help or?" 

"Right, the coffee. Uh, yeah. That'd be good. Thanks, kid."

"I'm 16," Killua deadpanned. He got some napkins and tossed them at Leorio, whose back cracked again as he caught the napkins without thinking. This really was the end, he thought. I'm getting early-onset arthritis. When he went to say thank you to Killua, the other had gone off to explore the gate on his own again. 

Hunters were a weird bunch and Leorio didn't think he'd ever get used to that. This would be a long month, but Leorio steeled himself. Eyes on the prize, he reminded himself. Pietro's face popped into his head and he nodded, even though the coffee was his only witness to his renewed commitment to win. As he mopped it up, he heard the patter of footsteps heading in his direction pass him, going towards the gate. 

"It's time," he whispered. Any fear was suddenly eclipsed by excitement as he jogged slowly to catch up with everyone; they were now clustered around an old man who looked surprisingly spry for however old he was. 

"So that's Netero," he said to no one in particular. He'd heard of the man, but seeing him in person was definitely something else. Leorio wouldn't be surprised if the guy was a dinosaur. He chuckled to himself, imagining Netero riding a triceratops as a kid. Or better yet, having a body of a triceratops and the face of a child. Maybe that wasn't doing Netero enough justice, though. Leorio didn't have to use Nen at all to pick up on the man's presence. Even non-Hunters were angling curious looks toward their gate. 

Once fourteen — Leorio counted — different Hunters were gathered around Netero, he clapped his hands together with a grin and started speaking. 

"You should've received emails telling you to come to Swardani City on this flight, ticket included. I've come to wish you all luck and to hand you clue zero. Inside of the clue is the name of the hotel that you will be staying at and the image of your partner, along with the name of their Hatsu. Tomorrow morning at 8 a.m., you will get your first clue and some cash."

Leorio was transported back to elementary school while Netero handed him and every other Hunter in the circle a differently-colored folder. He was mildly tickled by the fact that his was the same shade of blue as his suit. 

"You'll have this flight and the night to get to know your partner, then it's off to the race for both of you!" Netero rubbed his hands gleefully. "No exchanges. We paired you based on your audition videos and your strengths and weaknesses, so you'll have to trust us. And each other." 

Partner? Leorio didn't remember reading about a partner. Had he really missed that? Okay, things would be fine. He felt a little more comfortable now, knowing that he didn't have to carry things by himself. As soon as he got his folder, he peeked inside, and then saw, to his horror, a picture of the same blonde — Kurapika — who had bumped into him earlier. The same blonde who was at the other end of the line and glaring daggers at him, who had probably just realized the same thing he did. Great. Just his luck. 

Leorio didn't know who he felt sorrier for: Kurapika, who'd have to carry him in combat, or himself, for having to put up with someone who had a holier-than-you attitude for a month. 

Netero finished up his speech as Leorio finished the last of his coffee. The air turned solemn, the glee momentarily disappearing from Netero's eyes.

"We picked you because you are strong." Was it just him, or was Leorio making eye contact with Netero? He dismissed it; he was definitely the weakest here, and the rest of the room knew it. 

"We trust you to run the race as best you can. Good luck!" 

Leorio noticed Kurapika approach Netero, gesturing animatedly. He was probably trying to get rid of Leorio as a partner — honestly, he didn't begrudge the guy, it was kind of funny seeing how dedicated he was to switching. Leorio bit back laughter as the indignation slid off Kurapika's face and slipped into something like acceptance, with the blonde looking very much like he wanted to stomp away but was trying not to in order to keep his dignity.

Shortly after the conversation with Kurapika, Netero left, waving and mentioning something about how they should take the time to try the pastries on the ship, since there was an "exquisite selection curated by the best Gourmet Hunters." The Hunters all gravitated toward their partners and shuffled onto the airship.

Out of the corner of his eye, Leorio noticed that Killua had stiffened at seeing another Hunter — the one with long, silky black hair and pupils that took up their entire eyeball. He'd paused before going to his partner, a peppy teen with spiky green and black hair. Leorio fought the urge to ask if the other was okay — he knew that shoving his nose into others' lives, even with good intentions, wasn't always good. That was a lesson he'd learned courtesy of Pietro.

Leorio didn't have time to think about it when the blonde's voice, with considerably more frost than anger compared to earlier, cut into his thoughts.

"Hey."

"Hi," he said. "Fancy seeing you here." 

"Tell me about it," the other said, arms crossed over their chest. It made him look childishly petulant, but Leorio also thought if he said that Kurapika wouldn't hesitate to cut off his kneecaps. "I didn't expect this partnership."

"I didn't expect a partner at all," Leorio confessed. That seemed to be the wrong thing to say; instantly, the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. 

"You — Did you even read either of the emails? They both mentioned partners." 

"I did! I read them multiple times!" Technically true. He had just had selective eyesight, but could anyone blame a guy for latching onto the important logistics like what time a flight was and "Prize: The thing you want most in the world" instead of remembering that everyone would be partnered? 

"Clearly you need new glasses," Kurapika scoffed, not waiting for additional explanation. He walked past Leorio, back straight, and sat down. 

"Hey — come back here —" 

Leorio was left sputtering. He was a pushover, sometimes, he'd admit, but he didn't want to take this for the rest of the race. Kurapika needed to get down off his high horse or whatever he was on, because Leorio was going to make this work. Fuming, he plopped down in the seat next to Kurapika, ignoring the other man's annoyed huff when Leorio's limbs inevitably spilled over into Kurapika's personal space. 

"Listen here, Kurapika. You may think you're better than me—"

"—No comment." 

"—but we both made it to the race, and we're partnered together. I intend to win. So we're going to have to get along at some point."

"Sure." Kurapika pulled out the travel packet and started reading, face impassive as if nothing had happened. Meanwhile, Leorio felt the redness of his own cheeks and wanted to groan. 

Leorio was starting to think maybe Pietro was right. Maybe he wouldn't make it back alive. Cause of death: Complete and utter embarrassment. 

As if that wasn't enough, a smooth voice from behind them scolded him for being loud. Leorio swallowed his fucks and craned his head to see who was speaking. 

"People are trying to get some rest here," drolled a red-haired man who looked like he had abandoned a circus to become a Hunter. A painted red star and blue teardrop rested under his left and right eye, respectively. It was unnerving: Leorio had never liked circuses much, and clowns had always given him the heebie-jeebies. Something about this one felt worse than any other, though. 

"Hey, sorry about that, man. Hope you rest up," he said, hoping his voice sounded casual enough that the other wouldn't notice his squeamishness. 

The other man waved his concern off with a delicate hand. "No matter! Carry on." He went back to nursing some drink in front of him and talking with his partner, the black-haired man Killua had shied away from earlier. They seemed pretty cozy, to the point that Leorio guessed they'd either hooked up before or thought about it. The casual touches felt very not-casual to him as an observer, and he made it a point to stare out the window as the airship lifted up. Part of it was wanting to get away from what could become some obscene PDA, part of it was that it was his first time on an airship and he wanted to enjoy it. 

He felt like a little kid again with his face pressed to the window, sanitation be damned. Something in his heart skipped, seeing everything get smaller and smaller beneath him. He thought of Pietro doing his Pietro things in their apartment, of the people below him living their lives without any thought of him. 

Pietro, I wish you could see this, he thought to himself. He took out the notepad he kept in his chest pocket and sketched out a quick view from the airship window of the sunset hanging over the shrinking people and buildings, which looked like ants. By the time the sun started to sink in the sky, casting a golden light through the windows, he noticed Kurapika had fallen asleep, head lolling to one side and blonde hair covering half his face. 

Kurapika was clutching the arm of the chair slightly as if it was a stuffed toy, and honestly, Leorio found it endearing. Kurapika was cute when he wasn't talking.

Leorio took the time to observe his partner, running a clinical eye over the man. He had to know what kind of person he was working with, after all, and what someone's physical person looked like told stories they wouldn’t share otherwise.

He wondered if Kurapika had been eating enough — he was on the thin side for his height, and while he wasn't skin and bones, he seemed like the type of guy to overwork himself and forget to eat because of it. (Look, Leorio wasn't speaking from experience. Maybe.) Or Kurapika just didn't have a very big appetite. Leorio wouldn't be able to tell without the other taking off their shirt, so he moved on.

Kurapika looked like he hadn't slept well in a while; frown lines and eyebags, though relaxed, were still prominent on his pale skin. The strictness and fury that he'd carried earlier had faded. His skin looked soft and smooth aside from where stress had crinkled it, so either he was blessed with great genetics or took good care of his skin. At least he seemed to take care of himself, Leorio noted. His partner was so quiet — or the rest of the Hunters were just that loud — that he wouldn't have noticed the short huffs of breath coming with each rise and fall of Kurapika’s chest unless he was paying attention. He noticed a set of scars peeking out underneath Kurapika's shirtcuffs, one under his neck, and frowned from recognition. 

That felt too intimate to keep looking at. He knew the few times others had seen his own had always felt too probing, so he tore his eyes away and swallowed the lump rising in his throat. 

He decided to delicately extricate himself from the trap of the tiny airship seat without waking Kurapika to walk around. If Kurapika caught him staring, it would be game over for their partnership. 

The first steps he took were strange — almost like walking on a boat, but in midair, with the knowledge that there wasn't any cushion of water to land on. It didn't make him feel afraid, though. It felt like flying, which he guessed was the point. Most of the other Hunters were up and about, too; Kurapika was the only one sleeping, and only two groups — the women and the creeps — were in their seats. Curiosity tugged at him again, so he decided to walk the length of the airship and make conversation with whoever was nearby. 

By the big window across from the bar, Killua was making animated conversation with his partner. Leorio walked over to them, much to Killua's annoyance and the other's excitement.

"Hey, Killua," he said. 

"Old man, I'm busy." 

"Hi! I'm Gon," Killua's partner said, sticking out his hand with a huge grin on his face. "What's your name?"

"It's Rioleo," Killua said, at the same time Leorio shook Gon's hand and said, "It's Leorio." 

Gon looked cross-eyed for a second, trying to decipher what they each had said. "Your name is Rioleorio?"

Killua snorted and Leorio resisted the urge to throttle the teen, instead ruffling his hair somewhat aggressively. Killua shot him a glare that told him that had Gon not been there, Leorio would be dead. He liked this Gon kid already.

"It's Leorio," he said. "Good to meet you, kid." 

"He's sixteen," Killua said with an eyeroll. "An age you probably don't remember."

Leorio frowned, because he actually did remember 16 well. It was filled with too many weights and late nights and fights in alleyways than he was comfortable remembering. But he didn't want to weigh down the mood, so he just resorted to sighing and more pointedly turning his attention to Gon.

"So what brought you to the race?"

Gon thumbed a finger at a short, unshaven man in the corner. "My dad! I've been looking for him for years. He left me to become a Hunter and he was actually the reason I became a Hunter. I wanted to know what was so great about it."

Man, Leorio sort of wanted to punch this kid's dad. What kind of father left their kid at 12? But Gon seemed relatively excited about breathing the same air as the man and Leorio didn't want to take that away from him. 

"Being a Hunter's pretty cool, I guess," Leorio said. "The best part of it is definitely the money." 

He chose to omit the real reason he'd wanted it; after all, these kids were still competition. But Gon didn't bat an eye or make a snide comment. 

"The money? I think it's the adventure," Gon said, looking over at his dad again. "My dad's been a billion places, and so have I! And now we're finally on an adventure together." 

"Honestly, the race is pretty much won for him," Killua grumbled. "It's kind of unfair if you think about it."

"Not really, Killua! I still want you to win too!" 

The white-haired boy mumbled something underneath his breath that sounded suspiciously like "That's embarrassing," but he flushed and said "thanks" eventually. 

Killua was a softie, Leorio realized. Interesting. He bit back a smile and said a quick goodbye to them after noticing that the bar also had a clear glass case with a selection of pastries that looked irresistible to his increasingly rumbly stomach. 

As he was grabbing a croissant and a piece of apple bread pudding — one for him and one for Kurapika, should he wake up before they landed — he accidentally bumped elbows with another Hunter. 

"Hey, my bad," the other said cheerfully. "Looks like we're getting the same thing!" He gestured to the pastries in his hand with a grin and clapped Leorio's back with his free hand. "I'm Knuckle."

Leorio grinned back — the other guy's cheer was contagious. "Good to meet you." 

They talked briefly about baseball and dogs — two things it turned out they were both fans of — before Knuckle excused himself to go bring the pastries to his partner. Turbulence and the return of the seatbelt light forced Leorio back to his seat shortly after. 

After Leorio finished the croissant, the intercom blared with an announcement that there would still be a good three hours before they reached the hotel. He glanced at Kurapika, who was still fast asleep, and decided that he would try to follow suit. Who knew how grueling the race would be — he might as well get some shut-eye while he could. Talking to a few of the Hunters had made him slightly less nervous, but at least some of them were nice. 

When he woke up, blinking sleep out of his eyes, it was because of an elbow jutting into his side. 

"Wake up," Kurapika hissed at him in a whisper. "It's time to go." 

"Mmf." 

Suddenly, the elbow became a tug on his arm. "Leorio." 

His funny bone banged against the chair's arm, and he winced as the horrible, horrible feeling of pins and needles that spread throughout it. Biting his lip to keep from cursing brought tears to his eyes, but he rose from the chair and followed Kurapika out of the airship. The other man was clearly pissed at him again, his steps falling heavy on the carpet, which brought twin stabs of nervousness and anger to Leorio. 

Whatever endearing feelings Leorio had felt for the man when he'd slept had disappeared. Were things going to be like this the entire race? Because he really, really needed to win. Pietro's face flickered before his eyes, and his heart kicked up a little bit. Sure, he and Kurapika could bicker, but if Kurapika wasn't willing to show him even just a little bit of grace, this wasn't going to work. If they were at each others' throats the entire time, this wasn't going to work, either. He wished he had an aspirin to down in advance of all the headaches this trip could cause. 

And things just had to get worse. When they went to the check-in counter to get their room key for the night, the receptionist gave them an apologetic look and told them there had been a mix-up: They had a room with one queen bed because their reservation had been made last, and all the two-bed rooms had been taken. While Leorio kept his frustration to himself, since there was no use in taking it out on her, the look Kurapika gave the receptionist — even though his words acknowledged it wasn't her fault at all — could've skewered a lesser person.

At least there was something they both agreed on, then. That agreement didn't lessen the tension between them, though, and they rode in stony silence all the way up to the tenth floor of the hotel, a silence that lasted when they walked into the room until Leorio broke it by clearing his throat.

"Uh, I can take the chair. Don't worry about it." 

"You're far too tall to fit comfortably in the chair." 

A fair point, but Leorio wasn't willing to admit that. Especially not when the eyebags under his partner's eyes had miraculously gotten bigger, despite him sleeping through most of the entire flight. 

"It's fine, I've slept in chairs before."

"Still doesn't make it more comfortable," Kurapika pointed out. He gave Leorio a once-over that seemed to say, Buddy, you're not gonna win this argument, you've got the build of a giraffe . 

A wave of exhaustion hit Leorio, and he slumped onto the edge of the bed. Suddenly, he didn't care about fighting over sleeping arrangements and he had a feeling Kurapika wouldn't stop refusing the chair until one or both of them passed out, regardless of location. 

"Look, Kurapika, it's one night. I'm sure the other hotels or hostels or whatever we're staying at will have double beds. Let's just suck it up and share." 

He expected Kurapika to protest, but the other just nodded briskly. Leorio could've seen a flush, but he might've been imagining it, and either way he was just happy the push-and-pull was over.

"That's fine. I suppose you're right, this is just one night." Before Kurapika walked into the bathroom, holding a small toiletries bag, he called over his shoulder, "I call window side. And by the way, that's the first good idea I've heard from you today."

"Day's not done yet," Leorio sniped back, but couldn't help but feel a swell of validation in his chest. So maybe he did want Kurapika's approval, as much as he hated to admit it. The other seemed much more competent than Leorio, who honestly still wasn't sure what he was doing here besides being the person who made everyone else look better at what they did. It meant a lot to hear the approval, even if it was about something as small as taking charge of sleeping arrangements. 

Settling in for bed was a relatively calm arrangement that didn't take long — neither of them had much unpacking to do. Both of them went through the motions in relative silence, which Leorio didn't mind. It was strangely comfortable, almost like being back at home with Pietro if he ignored the short slim blonde elephant in the room. And the looming unknown of the race. 

But all the relaxation left Leorio's muscles as soon as he slipped into bed next to Kurapika, who had tucked himself in a few moments before. Don't look at him, don't look at him, don't look at him, Leorio coached himself. And then he looked anyway.

The part of his brain that he'd repressed to focus on getting through med school — that had been more overactive in undergrad — was roaring to life at the sight of his partner in a too-big sleep shirt and tiny shorts, both his angled cheekbones and blonde hair catching the moonlight. They were close enough for Leorio to smell the vanilla from Kurapika's shampoo. 

Leorio's brain erased every single snarky remark Kurapika had made and jumped to Leorio pulling Kurapika close against him, having him curl against Leorio's chest and thighs instead of away, his chin resting in the blonde's hair. He would run his fingers along Kurapika's chin, tilt his head toward him and trail soft kisses down his jawline until he reached Kurapika's lips. Kurapika would lean into the kiss, shift until he faced Leorio. He'd card his hands through Leorio's hair and press his body against Leorio's while the other man ran his hands down Kurapika's body and—

Leorio's flannel pajamas and threadbare T-shirt suddenly felt like he was wearing ten pounds of wool. Jesus, he really needed to get laid soon. 

He decided to slip off the pajamas, because he was wearing boxers that could conceivably pass as shorts. It was a pair Leorio was pretty fond of, with bulldogs wearing nurse outfits. The realization that Knuckle would probably like them both tickled him and thankfully shut down the thought path he was going down. Already, he could feel the heat in his pants, cooling. With a sigh of relief, he ended up keeping the pants on and fixed his eyes on the ceiling, waiting for sleep to take him. 

Except it didn't. There was an itch under Leorio's skin, unrelated to being attracted to his partner. His mind circled back to the motley crew of Hunters who had assembled for the race. He remembered the creeps and thought of their bloodlust. Thoughts of Killua and Gon came to him, too — god, they were still so young, for them to be in the race it meant they were spectacularly powerful Hunters. Knuckle's biceps could probably fit two of his head and still have space. Pretty much everyone in that airship was someone who'd blown him away; he could tell by the change in atmosphere when they had all split up to find their hotel rooms. 

He felt very small. Like a little kid thrown into the pool without knowing how to swim. Sure, he knew how to use Nen. He'd passed the Hunter Exam. But as soon as he was in the same room as all the other racers, he knew he was out of his depth. Netero had said no take-backs for partners, but not for individual racers, and an increasingly large part of him was begging to get out of the race, save himself, and stop dragging Kurapika down. 

Cheadle's voice cut into his mind. "Leorio, I chose you as a student for a reason," she'd told him on his last day before he took his leave. "I know you won't believe me when I say this, but you have the most potential I've seen in a Disease Hunter for years. Don't underestimate yourself."

Repeating the words to himself, though, didn't feel like enough. He wished that Cheadle was there to yell them at him. This was horrible. He needed to sleep — he didn't know how much time had passed, but they had to be up at 7 a.m., which was starting to feel increasingly painful. 

Maybe he could just stay up. He slowly turned his head to see if Kurapika was sleeping. When there weren't the newly familiar huffs of breath coming from his partner, Leorio ventured a question.

"Can't sleep, ‘Pika?" 

His voice came out rusty, didn't even form the entirety of Kurapika's name. He felt the other stiffen beside him. "Sorry," Leorio whispered, mentally kicking himself. He was now even more awake and hot with the embarrassment of accidentally shoving a nickname onto someone. He turned onto his side and stared fixedly at the alarm clock, which gave him the unfriendly reminder that it was inching toward 2 a.m. and they had to be up in five hours. 

"I don't tend to sleep well," Kurapika confessed. It came out small and stilted and the admission made Leorio ache. Before he realized what he was saying, he had slipped into doctor mode.

"I think I can help with that." He realized one potential implication and his words tripped over each other trying to get out and clarify as fast as possible. "I mean, not like that, but more so, I think, uh, my Hatsu might be able to help." 

"Your Nen." Though it was delivered as a statement, it was clearly a question. Kurapika now sounded fully awake and curious. He flipped onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

"It's something I've been working on. I can use my Nen like an ultrasound to detect and massage out any tension in your body, if that's, uh, not too much." Leorio heard his voice trail off, getting more uncertain. He wasn't sure what Bisky and Netero had called this version of his Hatsu, since he still didn't have a name for it — maybe they had only included Remote Punch. Either way, Kurapika didn't seem to know about it.

He thought he could've run a marathon in the time it took Kurapika to answer a hushed, "Yes, that's okay." He sounded as nervous as Leorio felt about trying the in-progress technique. 

Leorio moved so he was sitting up and facing Kurapika. He took a deep breath and focused on the feeling of pushing his Nen all the way to his fingers. 

"This shouldn't hurt," he reassured Kurapika, who looked more tense than before. 

The mint green light prickled against his fingertips; he held his hands a short distance from Kurapika's body, almost but not quite touching, and concentrated on seeing with the Nen. It enveloped Kurapika in a shroud as Leorio ran his hands slowly across the top of Kurapika's body. He held back a noise of concern at seeing the tension in Kurapika's shoulders — was it even possible for a human to carry this much stress in their body? His entire back looked like it was made of a chain of knots, which Leorio steadily massaged out by creating ripples of pressure in his Nen. 

While at first Kurapika had a guarded, stern look on his face, he relaxed as soon as Leorio started massaging the knots. He looked almost like a cat, eyes closed and head tilted slightly back — Leorio chuckled quietly to himself, not wanting to break his focus but amused that Kurapika looked like he was trying not to groan in satisfaction. 

When he was certain he could make a quip because he was almost done, he let out the entirety of the laugh he'd been holding back. 

"Are you trying to keep yourself from purring or something?"

"Shut up." It didn't have any heat, especially not when Kurapika was looking at him bleary-eyed and fully relaxed. Cute, Leorio thought. 

Leorio just patted his head in response, which apparently helped Kurapika recover some of his earlier fire. "Don't pat me, Leorio, I'm not a child." 

"Okay, shortie." 

Kurapika just grunted.

Leorio wondered how old Kurapika was; he couldn't be younger than Leorio, not the way he carried himself. People joked that Leorio was an old man, but he wondered if they'd ever seen Kurapika, who looked like he'd seen a war and a half and came out decades older. 

While thinking, he deactivated his Nen, exhaustion finally starting to catch up to him. He had turned onto his side again, expecting to pass out any minute now, when he heard a quiet rumble next to him. Leorio shifted so he was lying on his back. Kurapika was still in the same position he'd been in before, also staring at the ceiling. 

"Hm?"

"Thank you, Leorio." 

"You're welcome, Kurapika."

"I apologize. I think we got off on the wrong foot."

Leorio snorted. "Well, you got coffee on my feet." 

"Ha, ha," Kurapika said, but Leorio heard the hint of a smile in his voice. He glanced over and saw the smile itself, a slight uptick of Kurapika's lips. He didn't realize he had copied the motion until Kurapika broke the silence again.

"Let's try again." 

He stuck out a hand, angling it slightly upward. Leorio took it and shook; Kurapika's grip was tight and his hand warm. Leorio didn't want to let go. He withdrew his hand anyway and tried not to wince at the chill.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Leorio Paladiknight," he said. "I'm also your partner." He knew there was a goofy grin on his face at the addendum, because of course Kurapika knew that. And even in the dark, Leorio could see the other raise his eyes to the ceiling in (hopefully) faux annoyance. 

"Hi, Leorio. I'm Kurapika. I look forward to working with you."

The delivery came out so formal that Leorio had to comment on it. "'I look forward to working with you?' You sound like you're about to go on some kinda assassination mission."

He felt the figure next to him go stiff without having to look. Shit. He'd stepped on another mine. He braced himself, waiting for some verbal reprimand, but Kurapika just sighed. 

"Nothing like that. Hopefully." He said it with an air of finality, and Leorio could tell when someone didn't want to keep going. He dropped the subject but filed it away to think about later — so his partner had been on assassination missions. Probably a Blacklist Hunter. Maybe he was part of the mafia. 

A cleared throat, and then a quiet, "We should probably get some rest. Good night, Leorio."

Leorio pushed down the apology he wasn't sure if he should give. 

"Good night, Kurapika."