Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Those eyes belong in the graves of my people.”

Schoolteacher by day.

Flesh collector by night.

Disgusting.

“Give them back, and you will come to no harm.”

Shooting forward like a bolt from a crossbow, the Judgement Chain embeds itself into his target’s chest, winding snakelike around the beating heart.

“Refuse, and you will die.”

Numb lips move soundlessly. Trembling hands nearly slip as they reverently lower two glass vials to the ground then, empty, raise themselves in surrender. The frightened, living pair of eyes locked onto his unsympathetic gaze make Kurapika hate himself just a little more. He dismisses the schoolteacher, silently casting his eyes downward and away as he allows his chains to vanish.

Ten other pairs of eyes have been watching him. By the time Kurapika notices, it’s already too late.

He wasn’t going to kill her! He swears upon the stake pointed at his heart. Please understand, please! But when Kurapika looks up from his crouched position, about to gather up the precious remains in his arms, his jaw drops at the discovery of a sharpened black umbrella backstabbed straight through her heart, shocked betrayal etched into the last expression her face will ever make. She accuses him with her dying breath, blood running in rivulets down the outside of the glass.

Peeking around the slumping body with a gleeful mockery of astonishment in his exaggeratedly wide eyes, Feitan yanks back his umbrella by the handle and lets the corpse hit the floor. “Surprise?”

Shit, shit, shit, the eyes! If the glass shatters- no. He can’t fight with both hands full. If he can’t fight, he’ll never make it out of here alive. If he’s dead, Kurapika is a failure to all of his kin, and these two vials are of no use. There is only one rational choice. He abandons the Scarlet Eyes.

Good thing Emperor Time was already active; Kurapika needs it now more than ever. He rolls out of the way of a series of attempted stabs, deafened by the roar of his own blood boiling in his ears.

“Hey!” Nobunaga grumbles with just a hint of a childish whine, slashing his katana into the space Kurapika is trying to use to evade the blade of Feitan’s parasol. “I wanted to do that!”

Spiders in front of him. Spiders behind his back. Spiders dropping from the ceiling. Spiders blocking every exit.

Feitan waves a middle finger in Nobunaga’s general direction without actually bothering to look at him. “You slow.”

“We’re not here to take turns today, assholes,” deadpans Phinx as he winds up his right arm once, twice, three times. “Boss’s orders. Come get a piece while there’s still something left.”

“As long as you save the last dance for me,” adds the Boss from his perch on the sill of a smashed window. “Try not to kill him instantly, won’t you, my dear friends?”

Speaking of something left, Coltopi’s diminutive form weaves their way between a minefield of limbs, weaponry and criss-crossing chain links, snatching up the abandoned Scarlet Eyes from the middle of the floor. Safekeeping, in a horrible sort of way. Maybe this is for the best. At least Kurapika can always take them back later- if he survives these stacked odds.

That’s a big if. The Ryodan has cottoned on to the fact that Kurapika’s powers are designed to pick off its members one by one. There’s no possible way he can handle all of them grouped together at once. If he can at least knock one of them out of the way and run-

Ten circles. Eleven. Twelve. Phinx steps closer at an unhurried pace, elbowing Nobunaga and his enthusiastic swordsmanship to one side. Not that way.

Kurapika turns tail and dodges directly into a spray of Franklin’s bullets, swatting them away with the links of his Dowsing Chain. He feints a roll toward the gap between the towering giant’s feet, then leaps up instead, vaulting over the lance conjured in Bornoleov’s gloved hands for extra height. Because Franklin isn’t moving he makes a good target for Chain Jail, hidden by Kurapika’s In. To avoid getting shot point blank, he activates Chain Jail at the last second, just before he sails over Franklin’s head. Will he make it? All he has is a long shot. No, he should have predicted this among ten enemies who also know how to use In. Chain Jail connects, but so does an attack from Machi. An invisible thread jerks Kurapika backward by the left arm- directly into the path of Phinx’s blazing uppercut.

Machi just dislocated his shoulder. Fuck. Lightning sears afterimages into his crimson-stained vision.

That hurts. But it’s about to get a whole lot worse. Think fast. Ryu.

Even as he shields the soft organs in his abdomen from the worst of the damage, Kurapika’s left side becomes a supernova of pain. It drowns out the sharp sensation of Machi’s silk slicing thin ribbons into his skin. He can’t move. It hurts to breathe. Silk binds Kurapika’s entire body from his shoulders to his wrists to his feet, like a mockery of his Chain Jail.

Kuroro hasn’t made his move yet, watching his personally selected group of bandits with a mixture of fondness and keen interest. Now he lifts one finger, calling for silence. “Hold your fire. I would like to have a word with this gentleman.”

Only adrenaline is keeping Kurapika from making a sound. It’s hard to process words through white hot agony, nausea and a growing haze of light-headedness. The Holy Chain- he needs- this could be his only chance. Concentrate, Kurapika, concentrate. Sweat beads across his forehead as he coaxes the sluggish chain forth from his right thumb. It heals the internal bleeding, the bruises deep inside where they don’t belong, the cracked ribs, the tendons in his shoulder. Kurapika takes a greedy, ragged gasp of air and allows his eyes to close for a moment, the crease smoothing out from between his eyebrows.

His eyes reopen slowly, blinking up at Kuroro, who is leaning over him with wide eyes and the slightest hint of a smile. Fuck this. If escape is no longer an option, he’s going to die fighting.

Kurapika is going to drag down as many of these sadistic serial murderers as he can right along with him. Conjuring his Dowsing Chain, he whips it wildly to smash anything it can reach.

He doesn’t make it very far.

“Ah, ah, ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Shalnark?”

“On it, boss!”

It’s so easy to succumb to the prick of Shalnark’s antenna at the back of his neck. Kurapika relaxes instantly. The fiery glow of his eyes fades to brown, accompanied by a sigh of pure bliss he is too zoned out to be embarrassed by. God, the relief is overwhelming. What anxiety? What humiliation? What grief? What anger? Who are these people? Why is he here and what was he supposed to be doing again?

“Place your hand on my book,” says Kuroro. Machi temporarily releases her threads from Kurapika’s right arm while the threat is neutralized. With one swipe of his thumb across his phone screen, Shalnark puppets his new toy into obedience.

“Did you know that your aura becomes unnaturally strong when your eyes are scarlet? In fact, judging by the range of your conjured chains, your ability to manipulate others using your Judgement Chain, and the fact that your fascinating instant healing chain is an Enhancer ability, I would come to the conclusion that you have gained mastery of all of the nen categories. Our dearly departed Pakunoda hasn’t been able to tell us any more about it, which means you must have been hiding a dirty little secret from your closest friends.” Kuroro’s smirk widens into delighted mirth. “Naughty, naughty. If you place so little faith in your own friends, it’s a wonder that any of them trusts you at all. What could your secret possibly be, I wonder? Could it be something you’re not proud of? You must be paying a terrible price in exchange for raw power. Tell me if I’m close to the mark.”

As if he is playing a video game, a dialogue box pops up on Shalnark’s screen, featuring two choices in bubbled text.

> Answer

> Don’t answer

Make him answer, obviously.

“I can turn my eyes scarlet at will. When my eyes are scarlet, I become a Specialist. Used in conjunction with an ability called Emperor Time, I can use every nen category with 100% proficiency.” Kurapika delivers his answer in a toneless voice, devoid of any emotion. “For every second Emperor is active, I sacrifice one hour of my lifespan. The time limit is three hours, after which I develop migraine headaches, a high fever, and unconsciousness for the following two days, followed by weakness and lethargy on the third day.”

“Huh, so it’s a bit like my Autopilot mode then.” For all that he isn’t mowing down mobs with a random bystander who’s probably going to break on him in another two seconds, Shalnark finds that he’s enjoying this game more than he expected. Like a choose-your-own adventure or a story-based game rather than pure action.

Kuroro laughs, delighted by the dark twist of the soul in front of him. “And is it worth such a high price?”

“My life has no value.”

“Not necessarily true, little eye hunter. As long as you’re alive, I will find your abilities quite valuable. I would love to hear more about all of them.”

“The Holy Chain on my thumb can be used to heal injuries instantly. It cannot replace amputated body parts or heal infections or poison. Because my natural skill is Conjuring, I must use it with Emperor Time for maximum effect. It requires holding still and focusing for a few seconds, so it is not ideal for use in the middle of battle unless my target is distracted or subdued.

“The Judgement Chain on my little finger is a Manipulation and Emission skill which must also be used in conjunction with Emperor Time. The Stake of Retribution wraps around the target’s heart. It allows me to issue commands and set conditions on the target, including on myself. If the condition is broken, the target is killed instantly. The Judgement Chain will remain in place no matter how far away I am from the target, until I wish to remove it or until the target dies.”

“The Chain Jail on my middle finger forces the target into a state of Zetsu. It can only be used against active members of the Genei Ryodan, or else the Judgement Chain around my heart will pierce me with the Stake of Retribution, killing me instantly. Chain Jail is a Conjuration skill. Nevertheless, I have never tried to use it without Emperor Time already active.”

“The Dowsing Chain on my ring finger is a general purpose combat skill that does not require Emperor Time unless I desire an extended strength and range. It has two additional uses. If I dangle the chain in front of someone I have previously met, it can be used as a lie detector. The pendulum will swing when the person tells a lie or is withholding an important part of the truth. In conjunction with Emperor Time, this skill can also be used on a video of a person speaking, provided that I have previously met them in person. The limitation of this skill is that it cannot be used to detect when a person does not know that they are lying.”

“The second purpose for this skill is to find a person I have previously met. This can be done by dangling the chain over a map. The pendulum will swing to the point on the map where the person is located. This use of the skill does not require Emperor Time.”

“Pause the dialogue. Have him demonstrate for me, Shalnark.”

“Sure thing!”

At Shalnark’s prompting, Kurapika walks them through both Dowsing Chain abilities. First, with scientific curiosity, Kuroro observes the impact of telling a few truths, a few half-truths and a few lies, watching as Kurapika’s chain stills, twitches and swings in response to each sentence. Very interesting. Next, how about that nuisance, Hisoka? Kuroro could have sworn he felt a very familiar spike in bloodlust nearby the other day. Always looking for a fight, the magician hasn’t been subtle about following him at all. He instructs Kurapika to find Hisoka for him on a map of the city. The Dowsing Chain tugs itself off the page, pointing northeast. Not that close, then: Hisoka must be biding his time, waiting for an opportunity for a one-on-one fight when the Spiders have gone their separate ways.

And… perfect. One by one, all of Kuroro’s conditions have been met. Kurapika is still touching Kuroro’s book. Within the span of one hour, Kuroro has witnessed his abilities and heard in his victim’s own words how they work, the restrictions and covenants governing their use, and their limitations. Each time Kurapika finishes one explanation in full, Kuroro steals the ability for himself.

“Excellent. Do you have any other skills you have not told us about yet?”

“No.”

Kuroro guessed as much, considering that Kurapika’s aura has dwindled down almost to nothing. Still, he is curious. “Oh? What about your index finger? Why did you skip it?”

“My nen Master advised me to leave a skill unallocated in case I think of a later use.”

“Why did you decide to conjure chains for all of your nen abilities?”

“Because there are monsters out there who deserve to be chained down to hell.”

“Out of all of your abilities, which ones would you say are most likely to persist after your death?”

“Chain Jail and the Judgement Chain.”

“Not the Holy Chain or the Dowsing Chain? In that case, I suppose he really is more useful to us alive.” Kuroro allows his book to dematerialize in a cloud of vapor. “Thank you, Shalnark, you can wake him up now.”

What just happened? Dazed and confused, Kurapika shakes his head, trying to clear it, but that only makes the dizziness worse. He screws his eyes shut against the spinning room, certain he just lost something vital in the last few minutes that he can’t remember no matter how he tries. First… the eyes. Then, the Spiders. Then the floor. His head and heart feel dull and empty.

He’s trapped. Kurapika shudders with revulsion, his face going white. He can’t see Machi’s threads anymore, still rooting him to the floor and pinning his arms to his sides. His aura. No, no, no. His aura is gone. Where is it? He tries to focus Gyo into his eyes and he can’t. It’s lost, invisible.

Cold terror creeps into Kurapika’s voice. “What did you do?”

“Feitan, he looks too calm. Feel free to go wild and break both his legs.”

A thousand times louder now: “WHAT DID YOU DO?” Kurapika always imagined he would be stronger than this, when his time inevitably came. What is this screeching panic attack shutting down his entire brain? Why can’t he at least shut up? God, he’s so pathetic. He couldn’t even run, let alone take down a single Spider when they are all fighting as a team, and they’re hardly even trying. He had hoped for defiance and resignation. Suddenly Kurapika can’t banish the image of Ubogin’s bloodied face from his mind’s eye, responding to all of Kurapika’s questions with the same sentiment. Kill me. Is that how Kurapika wants to die, his last words following the pattern of his past sins?

Then Feitan snaps both of his legs at the shins like two matchsticks. It feels nothing like when Ubogin punched his arm into a constellation of fractures, when Kurapika was so furious and full of adrenaline he could barely register anything else. All it takes is a simple chopping motion and Kurapika’s whole world explodes into excruciating pain. This time, his scarlet eyes flood with tears. This time, he screams his throat raw.

“Hehe. Shalnark, make him heal so I can break again.”

“He won’t feel it if I stick my needle in him again, dummy.”

“Like the Titan Prometheus, punished for stealing the knowledge of fire from the gods by being chained to a cliff and having his liver pecked out by an eagle, only to regrow it every day for all eternity? How delightfully appropriate, Feitan. I didn’t know you were so poetic. But he can’t, silly. That skill is already in my book. Be gracious and let someone else have a turn.” Kuroro smiles indulgently. “Nobunaga, you’ve been waiting so patiently. How would you like to be the one to steal his eyes for me, before he loses consciousness from the blood loss?”

“Hell yeah, that’s more like it!”

That’s when it hits him. Fifteen pairs of Scarlet Eyes. Kurapika didn’t even make it halfway to finding them all, and he lost. It really is poetic, in a way. He gets to die just like all his brethren, an echo that rhymes with history. Deep down in his heart Kurapika always knew that he would end up living a short, violent life with a prolonged, violent death. It’s nothing better than he deserves. “What took you bastards so long?” he laughs hysterically as the searing pain blurs into delirium. “You’re six years too late!”

Reality is fading. The Spiders seem less and less important, further and further away. With rapid, shallow breaths, Kurapika begins to chant in formal Kuruta: half prayer, half confession.

“Dear God, before you send me to hell, all I ask is that you let me see Pairo’s smile one last time.

“Dear Senritsu, if you’re listening, I’m sorry I’ve been too stubborn to return the favor. I have one last kindness to ask of you, even though I know I have already asked for too much. You know where I spend my evenings on my days off. When I die, my nen wards will let you in. Will you follow the map on the second shelf and lay the Scarlet Eyes to rest? I hope you can find the Sonata of Darkness now that I won’t be getting in your way with my own selfish goals.

“Dear Leorio, I’m sorry for letting all of your calls go straight to voicemail and deleting them all without listening to a single second. Forget me. You don’t need to worry about me anymore.

“Dear Gon and Killua, I am sorry for letting you become hostages, and I’m sorry for leaving without even giving you the chance to say goodbye.

“Dear Mother, dear Father, I love you. I don’t think I ever said that enough to both of you, before I left.”

And to the rest of his clan, “Know that I tried my best, and I still failed. Becoming a Hunter wasn’t enough. Learning nen wasn’t enough. None of my restrictions and sacrifices were enough. I will always regret that I couldn’t do more, and that I couldn’t be there by your side when you were suffering the most. I hope you can forgive my shortcomings, although I know it’s more than I deserve. Perhaps I can join you someday, when I am finished paying back what I owe. Be well, and rest in peace.”

When there’s nothing left of Kurapika’s eyesight but blackness that stretches on into eternity, he decides he prefers this view. He pictures greenery and blue skies and the warm, buttery white of piko feathers, towering trees and spiraling paths and babbling brooks.

“Your language is beautiful, like liquid silver.” Kuroro’s tone floats back to his ears from a distant dream, casual and friendly as he lays there bleeding. “Is there anything else you would like to say to me?”

Somewhere behind his head Kurapika is dimly aware of the ravenous slurping sounds of Shizuku’s vacuum cleaner, devouring all the evidence.

“Send me home,” Kurapika whispers, feeling strangely calm. He isn’t even sure whom he addressed it to anymore, nor which language he was using.

The familiar pressure of his Judgement Chain pierces his chest, winding its way back around his heart. Oh. Just when Kurapika was beginning to appreciate how nice the freedom felt without it.

“Don’t come after us,” Kuroro orders, the thirty-seventh, most brilliant pair of Scarlet Eyes still warm and bleeding within the folds of his stolen nen cloth.

Chapter Text

He’s late.

No cryptic text messages, no calls from a borrowed phone, no mysterious emails from a hundredth new account.

Senritsu doesn’t hear Kurapika’s voice over the background noise of the wind whipping past the car’s windows. She still can’t hear him as the car rolls to a stop and the rumbling of the engine cuts out. By the time she steps out from the passenger seat behind Basho at the wheel, leaving her door wide open, worry is making her own heartbeat too loud in her ears. She closes her eyes. She takes a deep breath. With one hand curled behind the shell of her right ear, Senritsu filters out all the distractions in her mind and listens, slowly turning her head from right to left.

There. Two blocks down, a shallow rapid heartbeat and erratic breaths. She takes off at a run, Basho hot on her heels.

“Kurapika!”

He doesn’t hear her. The shape of his body sprawled out on the floor is all wrong; his hands and lips are a cold blue; his aura is nearly depleted and his eyes- there’s nothing left but gaping black holes, his cheeks and hair smeared with blood.

Their car will never suffice for this job. Senritsu dials 911. Basho whips out his note pad and springs into action with poetry.

"When I punch this wall,
Kuruta Kurapika,
You will stop bleeding.

I won’t let you die,
Now, when you have not yet lived.
Such a goddamned waste!

I will ease your pain,
Until you are in the care,
Of a skilled doctor.

On awakening,
You'll find yourself surrounded,
By loyal allies.

We have you covered,
While you get some well-earned rest.
Dream untroubled dreams.

You will be happy,
But maybe not right away.
Stop flying solo!"

Seething with helpless frustration, Basho slams his fist into the wall hard enough to leave cracks in the plaster. As his haikus come to life, Kurapika’s body is shrouded in a soft glow of nen, keeping him stable until the paramedics arrive on the scene. His pulse seems a little stronger, his breathing a little easier.

“The rest is up to you, Boss. Don’t you dare stop fighting now.”

He looks up from the floor to see Senritsu grimacing, standing hunched in on herself with her shoulders up to her ears.

“Oh shit, was I too loud? Sorry for getting carried away.”

“No, it’s- I can hear the ambulance coming.” Basho is only just beginning to make out the sound of a siren echoing among the skyscrapers from far down the street, and Senritsu is already fishing in her pockets for a pair of earplugs. If she already thinks this is bad-

“Hey, are you going to be okay?”

“I would offer to drive the car back, but my legs can’t reach the pedals.” Senritsu jokes weakly. Of course she would never abandon Kurapika at his most vulnerable, even if it means suffering through her hypersensitivity to noise.

“Fuck the car.” It’s parked illegally on the side of the road, but Basho can worry about that later when Kurapika isn’t so perilously close to becoming a murder victim. “I’m coming with both of you.”

“Thank you.”

Senritsu hates ambulances. Earplugs come nowhere close to blocking out the shrill of the siren in her ears, layered over the noise of beeping machines, the growl of the engine and the sounds of traffic outside. Overhead the fluorescent lights are too bright. There’s nowhere comfortable to sit and her entire body sways with every sudden high speed lurch around a corner. She still needs to make two more calls, one to Leorio and one to Mr. Nostrade, but it’s going to have to wait until the sensory overload stops making her nauseous. She can’t even process the questions the paramedics are asking about Kurapika’s medical history, let alone the luminescence of her own phone screen.

Basho answers as much as he can instead, and for that she is immensely grateful.

*

“Kurapika got himself badly injured on one of his missions. Basho and I are with him in the emergency department at York Shin General.”

“He WHAT!? Where are his injuries? How badly is he bleeding? Does he have any broken bones? Is he concussed? Does he have a fever? Is he in a coma? Is his aura going absolutely crazy?”

Senritsu has to hold the phone away from her ear until the panicked shouting runs out of steam at the other end.

“Calm down, Leorio,” she admonishes gently, trying her best to keep the strain out of her voice. “He’s stable and he’s… expected to recover. He has very little aura now, but we are hoping it will come back after he has had a chance to heal. He is unconscious and on pain medications. Now that the paramedics have given him a blood transfusion and treated him for shock, the triage nurse decided that his broken legs aren’t that urgent. We could be stuck here in the ER all night before they can schedule him in for surgery.”

It’s hard to decide what’s worse- being inside an ambulance or being stuck here inside the emergency department. Senritsu can hear far too much suffering all around her on every floor. Heart monitors and ventilators. Doctors delivering grim diagnoses. Patients in anguish. Children crying. A thousand broken heartbeats. Grief and anxiety and waiting, forever waiting.

“Can I ask you a favor? Would you mind keeping your volume down?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ll… I’ll try.”

As Leorio struggles to compose himself, taking a few deep breaths in through his nose and slowly out through his mouth, Senritsu focuses in on the calming rhythm of his heartbeat, the one sound that can help her tune out everything else and restore a little sanity.

Leorio’s voice comes back as little more than a whisper. “What happened?”

“I’m not exactly sure. Before he left, Kurapika gave me a specific time to come and pick him up, and the location was only about an hour away through traffic. His heartbeat was calm and steady and determined, more coldness and sorrow than rage. I get the impression that something which should have been relatively routine went horribly wrong.”

“Senritsu… there’s something else, isn’t there?”

Senritsu hesitates for a long moment, drawing a deep breath. “His eyes.” Even though she knows Leorio will see it the instant he makes it to Kurapika’s bedside, it still isn’t any easier to speak the words aloud. “They’re gone, Leorio. There’s nothing any doctor can do about it.”

“I’ll be over right away.”

*

Leorio skips class. Senritsu can barely eat or concentrate on anything after spending too long immersed in the restless cacophony of the trauma ward, and Basho is trying to manage the entire Nostrade security detail, the gaming company and Nostrade Senior’s whiskey-fuelled insecurities largely by himself. Kurapika’s legs are full of metal pins and smothered from ankle to knee in loose bandages and ice to keep the swelling down. His arms are full of tubes and wires, and his veins are full of painkillers, antibiotics and saline solution. While Leorio pulls two all-nighters in a row, keeping vigil in an uncomfortable plastic chair between the bed and the plastic curtains, Kurapika remains completely unresponsive. Heavily medicated, Kurapika brushes closer and closer to the surface of consciousness with agonizing slowness, his lips moving in his sleep. Leorio finally breaks down and weeps quietly into Senritsu’s shoulder. He can’t go through this again, he can’t! Senritsu wraps her short arms around him, trying to let his steady heartbeat reassure her that everything is going to be okay. All this time she hasn’t judged him even once.

Then Kurapika wakes up screaming. Neither of them can understand the language, but the raw grief comes across loud and clear without a translation.

“Pairo! Where are you? Where am I? Help me, help me, I can’t see! How can I ever find you now? How can I find my way home? I’m lost, I’m so lost without you.”

His hands fly to his face, feeling their way around plastic eye shields that itch against his skin. He can’t move, confined in wires and tubes and bandages and his own weak, useless husk of a body. His last memories are of inescapable nen threads around his body; chains around his heart that he didn’t put there himself; Feitan reveling in his suffering; the sharp tip of Nobunaga’s blade carving the map of his face into an unrecognizable cratered moon. Kurapika struggles to sit upright against the weight of his elevated, immobilized legs, desperately trying to claw his way out.

“Kurapika-”

The sound of Leorio’s voice doesn’t seem to register. Kurapika snatches his hand out of Leorio’s grasp, shrinking back into his too-thin pillows as far as he can go.

Senritsu can’t bear to hear him like this any longer. Lifting her flute to her lips, she gently coaxes Kurapika’s anxiety back down to a manageable level and erases a little bit of the fatigue of everyone around her. When she is finished, Leorio is sitting up straighter, and all the trauma ward nurses and doctors have a little more spring in their step.

Kurapika has sullenly sunken back onto his mattress, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. Even after the piece ends he is silent for a long moment, listening, reorienting himself to his surroundings. It’s… noisy. There are carts rolling to and fro across tiled floors, incessant beeping that’s going to drive him up the wall in the next five minutes, bustling footsteps, conversations about x-rays and blood samples, “How are you feeling today”-s and fragile, delicately worded small talk floating to his ears.

So Kurapika is in a hospital, then. He could almost laugh. All this fuss over injuries he could fix with Emperor Time and his Holy Chain in a matter of seconds. He would trade those hours of his life away in a heartbeat. How long is he going to be stuck vegetating here, wasting space that could be used by someone more worthy of the attention? Days? Weeks? Months? Do they actually expect him to get better? Don’t they know they’re just prolonging his suffering? How bruised and battered must he look right now? Is Senritsu frowning at him with her sad, kind eyes? Pity is the worst insult of all; Kurapika would have preferred even Kuroro’s cold indifference or Feitan’s sadistic glee. He doesn’t want to be seen like this. Everything is exhausting. Lurking just beneath the surface of his pain medication is a dull ache behind his eyelids and a throbbing warmth that splits both his shins in half at an angle.

This time when Kurapika speaks, his voice is heavy with resignation. “Senritsu. You shouldn’t be here. You should be finding the Sonata of Darkness.” Kurapika makes a vague sweeping gesture with his arm in an attempt to indicate the outdoors, wherever the hell that is. “I’ve been so selfish. I’ve been holding you back. I am the worst friend. I’m a failure. I’m weak; I’m blind; I’m broken; I’m nothing but a burden. Just leave me here.”

“No, Kurapika.” He doesn’t resist as Senritsu clasps her tiny hands over his left palm. “I’m here because I care about you and I want you to be happy.”

“Happy? Don’t waste your time. My happiness died six years ago and it’s never coming back.”

“Stop spouting bullshit!” Leorio has heard enough. Leaping out of his chair fast enough to knock it over onto the tiles, he clamps one big hand straight over Kurapika’s surprised mouth before it can utter one more naysaying sentence. “Gon and Killua made you laugh last time, you liar! I was there! You wanna throw yourself in the trash? So help me God, I will dive right in after you and yank you out by the ankles.” Kurapika bites him. There he is; it’s the real Kurapika! He knew he was still in there somewhere! Leorio immediately bursts into tears and smothers him in them. Who cares how awkwardly Leorio has to bend down to hug him!!?? “I missed you. I missed you so much.”

“I know.” And he kept ignoring him anyway. Kurapika turns his head away, his voice nothing more than a whisper of guilt. “I made you cry. Why couldn’t you take a hint and stop calling me, Leorio? How did you know you weren’t leaving a voicemail to my dead body? You don’t need that on your conscience. Especially not after… I thought if I cut you off, it would hurt less when I’m inevitably murdered in a back alley somewhere.”

“That won’t happen, Kurapika. You’re safe now.”

Sure… if ‘safe’ means the worst has already happened. If ‘safe’ means Kurapika is going nowhere fast, and the rest of his people will have to remain half-buried forever. Kurapika constantly put himself in danger for a reason. Yet at the same time, he doesn’t quite have the energy to shove Leorio away. In fact, he no longer has the energy to refute him, or to say anything at all. With Leorio’s warm arms still looped around his torso and Senritsu cradling his left hand like a baby bird that fell out of its nest, Kurapika sinks back into a restless sleep.

Leorio is afraid to move. Much as a cat owner with a sleeping bundle of fur curled up in their lap will delay getting off the couch for all but the greatest emergencies, Leorio holds his uncomfortable posture until the protesting of his muscles becomes too much to bear. Even then, he pulls back with exaggerated slowness. Kurapika stirs into half-consciousness, the tilt of his head follows in the wake of Leorio’s retreat, his mouth turned down in a frown at the corners. His right arm reaches out, searching, until it brushes against the hem of Leorio’s blazer. Leorio hastens to set his chair back up with a minimal amount of noise so that he can sit back down by Kurapika’s side, interlacing his long fingers in Kurapika’s right hand. Kurapika sighs and goes still. His frown smooths itself away.

The brevity of their exchange was predictable yet disappointing; the fatiguing side effects of Kurapika’s painkillers can’t be helping on top of the considerable strain on the body’s resources when recovering from his injuries. Leorio can’t stop staring at Kurapika’s face, feeling helpless. This helplessness is different from the one he felt watching Pietro waste away. Like evil cousins. Where Pietro squeezed every precious moment of joy out of his dwindling waking hours, even when he was hurting, even when he knew he was getting close to the end, Kurapika, whose medical prognosis is much less grim, meets the idea of his future with outright rejection. Hope? He wants nothing to do with it. Why is it that now that Leorio is on track to becoming a doctor, now that he is learning all about infection control, painkillers and their side effects, the meaning of the notes on Kurapika’s medical chart and the way to mend his broken bones, he is faced with another problem he has no idea how to fix? Leorio can’t process Kurapika’s grief for him any more than he can bring the Kuruta clan back from their graves.

“You should get some rest.”

Leorio startles guiltily and gives a nervous laugh, wondering exactly how many of his thoughts Senritsu can read like an open book. “I sure zoned out there, didn’t I?” But he doesn’t want to leave. What if Kurapika wakes up again?

“Don’t worry, he won’t be alone. I’m here, and Basho is on his way in a few minutes. It will be more efficient if we trade places, no? At least until he’s feeling a little better.”

“Yeah…” She’s right. He knows she’s right. He’s probably going to skip all his classes tomorrow, too, but at least next time he comes back here he can be rested and freshly showered. Letting go of Kurapika’s hand, Leorio very reluctantly rises from his chair. “Hey, Senritsu?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks. For calming him down when I couldn’t.”

*

“Hey, Boss.”

“Basho, you’ve seen me at nothing but my worst for months on end. Were the formalities ever necessary? Please, just call me Kurapika.”

“Well, to me, you’re still the guy with the take-charge attitude and all the most intelligent plans.”

“I won’t be coming back.”

“Are you sure?”

“As the head of a security company? Who am I going to protect like this, Basho? I can’t do my job anymore.”

“If you really feel that way, you can tell Mr. Nostrade yourself, but I’m sure he’ll be disappointed.”

“I’m tired, Basho. Let’s not talk about work anymore.”

“Okay.” Geeze, he really is out of it. “Would you like me to read you some poetry?”

“Yes, I’d like that. Is it one of yours?”

“No, I saw it on one of the subway ad spaces and it made me think of you. It’s called Benediction, by James Berry.”

“Thanks to the ear,
That someone may hear.
Thanks to seeing,
That someone may see.
Thanks to feeling,
That someone may feel.
Thanks to touch,
That one may be touched.
Thanks to flowering of white moon,
And spreading shawl of black night,
Holding villages and cities together.”

Kurapika lies still, contemplating. For one fleeting moment, poetry has returned his eyes. He envisions the full moon rising over the York Shin City skyline, connected to Lukso Province by the same milky white thread of stars. It doesn’t matter what time it is now. It doesn’t matter if there are clouds. It doesn’t matter that the two locations are hours apart, unable to communicate by satellites and wires. We all share the same atmosphere, the same wind and sun and sky.

“What have I done to deserve this kindness? Senritsu, and Leorio, and now you…”

“Kurapika, you are kinder than you realize. I see it in the way you take your job seriously, even when your duties go against your own interests. You are loyal to a fault. You push yourself too hard to spare hardship for others. You put your mission ahead of your own wellbeing. The only one you haven’t been kind to is yourself.”

Chapter Text

Neon has been oddly subdued these past few months, barely knowing what to do with herself since Squala was murdered in cold blood and all the spark died in Eliza’s eyes. Squala hadn’t even made the news- he was just one more number in the unfathomable body count. The culprits were the notorious Genei Ryodan; they must have been after Neon or the Scarlet Eyes Kurapika had just purchased for her at the Underground Auction, or both. To this day Neon still isn’t sure how those jars were stolen. One day they were still in the car at the crime scene, and the next they had vanished as if into thin air.

Was this… her fault? Was it because she ran off and attracted the wrong kind of attention? Neon had been told over and over again that things that are pretty and valuable and expensive were also dangerous- a worry she always used to brush off as something that happened to other people. That’s what she had so many bodyguards for, right? But then suddenly she couldn’t make her Ghostwriter come out anymore.

Ever since the Underground Auction went so horribly wrong, Kurapika was often away from the mansion for days or weeks on end. Neon hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Not like she was close to Kurapika anyway! Cold and distant, he seemed to go out of his way to avoid talking to her, keeping conversation to a bare minimum when it was absolutely necessary. Never once did he reveal anything about himself and what he likes and where he got those colorful, foreign garments he used to wear before throwing away that last vestige of his personality and donning a suit and tie. He’s pretty, she thinks objectively- if you’re into marble statues.

No, Neon had more pressing matters on her mind. Eliza wanted to quit! Nothing seemed to help, not even after Neon lost interest in mummified hands and pretty eyes and cool looking scaly skin and agreed to go home without a fuss. She offered to take Eliza clothes shopping- not for herself this time! But then it turned out neither of them really wanted to go. She tried to talk to Eliza- if she quit, then who would take care of all of the dogs? Where would she go? When she could muster the energy to say anything at all, Eliza told her she simply didn’t understand. Maybe she was right. Neon didn’t understand. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t trying, when she offered to help walk far more dogs than Eliza’s two hands could handle by herself. It only lasted another two weeks, and then she was gone. All the dogs left with her.

Neon didn’t want another attendant, she wanted Eliza! Eliza, who had been with the Nostrades since Neon was a little girl of six. Eliza, who was more of a mother to her than Daddy’s ex-wife who left so long ago she can’t even remember her face or the sound of her voice. Neon had cried for days, refusing to leave her room. Nothing could fill the void. Not clothes, not jewelry, not stuffed animals- even the really cute ones.

Daddy didn’t know how to comfort her. She never faulted him for it, because he was so worried about money he needed comforting himself. Wasn’t that her fault, too, because she couldn’t use her powers anymore?

Senritsu knew, though. She offered kind words and flute song and didn’t mind being hugged and cried on, even after Neon had greeted her first tentative approaches with a barrage of pillows thrown straight at her. And Neon used to think she was ugly! Did Senritsu know? One more thing to feel guilty about. Maybe if Neon took her shopping for some cuter outfits and did something with her hair? Would that be okay to ask her, or would it come across just as uncharitably as the first impression that crossed her mind?

Then after Kurapika came back, somehow this stone statue of a man managed to comfort her father. Daddy stopped muttering to himself about debts and insurance claims and interest and losses and back taxes and protection payments. In a few short months, even when he wasn’t there in person, Kurapika made them all disappear. Daddy stopped spending all day staring at the melting ice cubes in his empty glass and poured his renewed energy into a million business meetings. The next time Daddy offered to buy Neon a gift, he didn’t plaster on a fake, placating smile. She knew no amount of money could buy Squala back, and Eliza along with him. The next best thing Neon could ask for was a puppy.

Bijou- her adorable white teacup poodle- became the center of her life. Neon took full responsibility for her pet, playing with her, feeding her and teaching her tricks, taking her to puppy classes and vet appointments and two walks a day, tailed at all times by at least one bodyguard. It was on these walks that she began to take more notice of Kurapika, silent or on his phone. He looked… tired? And sad? Something that softened slightly in the set of Kurapika’s shoulders and the faraway look in his dark eyes, even as they constantly scanned the horizon for threats. What kind of pressing thoughts could be zooming around in his brain at a million miles an hour? Were they keeping him up at night? Was he sad about Squala and Eliza too? Did Kurapika have to worry about money all the time now that he’d lifted that burden from Daddy’s shoulders? There were so many times Neon could have asked him. She’d never dared.

His disappearance these past few days has not gone unnoticed.

“Where’s Kurapika?”

“He can’t come into work today.”

“But Senritsu, that’s the same thing you said yesterday!”

“That’s because he couldn’t come into work yesterday, either.”

“When is he coming back?”

“We don’t know, Miss Neon.”

She turns her gaze to Basho, absently scratching Bijou behind the ears. Basho shakes his head. “Kurapika plans to resign.”

“He WHAT!? But then what about Daddy?”

“Mr. Nostrade is trying to talk him out of it.”

Is that why Daddy started drinking too much again? Is this Neon’s fault too? She’s not even sure what she did this time.

*

“Good morning, Kurapika.”

“Good morning, Mr. Nostrade.” Not quite the last person Kurapika wanted to see him in his disheveled, bandaged, hospital-gowned condition, but his mafia boss comes pretty close to the bottom of the list. “How kind of you to visit me.”

“How are you?”

He could just lie mechanically and say he’s fine, but that worn-out phrase is too bald-faced in front of the obvious. Just as obvious is the fact that his employer doesn’t actually want to hear any of the details. The pills, the discomfort, the oozing body fluids, the daily bandage changes, the antiseptics, the fact that he has been robbed of so much independence he can’t even take a shower. Kurapika simply shrugs impassively and waves his hand in a vague gesture that encompasses the entire room. What you see is what you get.

“All of us wish you a speedy recovery. I trust you will be returning to the Nostrade Mansion when you are feeling up to it?”

“And if I never feel up to it, what then? You would accept a blind, bedridden vegetable who can no longer use nen as the bodyguard for your daughter? I find that hard to believe.”

Not the choice of words Light Nostrade would have used, but he does have a point… He absolutely does not want to talk about Kurapika’s eyes. It’s disconcerting to even look at him. The fact still remains that Kurapika is a natural leader and a financial genius; without him, the debt would have eaten the Nostrade estate alive and ruined his reputation. “We still need you, Kurapika. Your role within the organization would change, of course. Purely a managerial position.”

“With all due respect, sir, I am not interested.”

“How much of a salary increase are you looking for?” Light Nostrade leans so far forward in the uncomfortable plastic chair he is barely touching it, pen hovering eagerly over his notepad.

If Kurapika still had eyes, the stare he would be levelling in his employer’s direction at this moment would be as flat and lifeless as the tone of his voice. “That will not be necessary.”

“Modest as always, I see.” Panic is beginning to creep into his voice, like a slow trickle of floodwater seeping into the basement. “Name a number. Don’t be shy.”

“It was never about the money, Mr. Nostrade.” Of course he doesn’t understand. Everything is about money for this man. Kurapika might almost feel sorry for him, if he could spare the energy to give a shit.

“Surely you must at least be concerned about your medical expenses? Naturally we will cover them all.”

He hadn’t even thought that far ahead. But honestly? Fuck it. Kurapika could just sell his Hunter License and be done with it. It’s basically useless to him now. Why would Mr. Nostrade bother? Kurapika hadn’t even been protecting Neon or the Nostrade Estate when this happened.

Light Nostrade can’t bear the sound of Kurapika’s silence any longer. It must be all the pain and the drugs and the discouragement addling his decision making capabilities. “We will discuss more on this later.” Kurapika will be better soon! Surely by then he will change his mind! Light Nostrade will make sure of it, one way or another. If only he knew how. He returns to the car with Linssen at the wheel, feeling more shaken than ever.

*

He may not be Eliza, but Neon had gotten so used to having Kurapika’s silent presence shadowing her, guarding every footstep. Neon can’t bear the thought of hiring another round of bodyguards- strangers- after so many of the people around her have had horrible things happen to them, all because of her. “What happened? Is he okay?”

Senritsu finally caves to Neon’s genuine concern. “Kurapika is in the hospital.”

“I want to go and see him!”

“Miss Neon…” There’s really no way to break this gently. “Given the circumstances of his injuries, your presence may upset him.”

“Then it is my fault! I need to talk to him. I need to tell him that I’m sorry…”

“He has been sleeping a lot, Miss Neon. I’m not sure if you will have the chance.”

“Well then I’ll just have to keep trying until he’s awake!”

*

Just as Senritsu predicted, Kurapika is asleep. He doesn’t move or make a sound as Neon warily crosses the threshold of his hospital room, feeling every bit like an intruder. The only one who reacts to her sharp intake of breath is Senritsu, looking up at Neon with grim sadness in those kind eyes. Neon isn’t sure what she was expecting to see, but this… this comes as a shock. There is almost nothing recognizable about Kurapika. The straight blond hair- usually meticulously brushed without a single strand out of place- is tangled, dirty and unkempt. The cheeks are pale and thinner than they should be, the chapped lips set in a neutral line. The eyes are an alien landscape of bandages that look too large for his face. Head down, feet up; both legs are so stiff and bulky with bandages that they barely seem to fit on the bed. Everything else is hidden in thin white bedsheets.

Who did this? What even happened to him? Kurapika’s presence is supposed to be serious, alert and imposing, filling up the entire room in a way that makes him feel much taller. He is supposed to strike fear into the heart of the enemy with one cold glance. He is supposed to radiate sharp-witted intelligence, always two steps ahead. Now he just looks… small and frail. Like he’s given up. Like there’s nothing left.

“Is he going to die?” Neon whispers to Senritsu, afraid the sound of her voice might wake him, or worse.

“His injuries are not life-threatening,” Senritsu answers carefully. Not after they patched up his wounds and refilled his veins with a blood transfusion. His mental state could prove to be another matter entirely. And as for what ‘life’ means, or what it’s supposed to look like in the future, Neon hasn’t even thought to ask the question.

What is his blood type? When is his birthday? Is Kurapika even his real name? She could probably try to scrutinize the chart at the foot of his bed or ask a passing nurse if she really wanted to, but it feels too much like snooping. Neon sighs. Now more than ever, she wishes she still had access to her Lovely Ghostwriter. That way even though her nen conditions would prevent her from reading Kurapika’s fortune herself, she could offer Kurapika or Senritsu or Basho a little bit of certainty. Then again, her fortunes were never really set in stone, were they? There was always room to reshape the future down a new path that no one would predict until they were faced with a choice.

The entire room looks so empty and devoid of personality. Kurapika doesn’t have any stuffed animals to hug, or a dog, or any decorations in his room- not that he would be able to see them anyway- or even a vase of flowers or a get well card on the little wheeled table next to his bed. She doesn’t even see his cell phone. After a few fruitless minutes of watching the slow rise and fall of Kurapika’s chest, listening to his quiet breathing, Neon gives in to discouragement and decides to return home. She leaves the hospital feeling lonely in a way she finds impossible to put into words. Falling into step by her side, somehow Senritsu understands anyway.

*

On Neon’s second attempt to visit, Kurapika is still asleep. The same goes for her third, and her fourth. With Senritsu, with Basho, with Linssen, it doesn’t seem to matter- the result is always same. On her fifth visit, she can no longer decide whether to be anxious or bored or annoyed with the entire affair. With a frustrated sigh and a pout on her lips, Neon watches as Kurapika shifts in his sleep- the first sign of any movement she’s ever seen from him so far.

Some vague, far away part of Kurapika’s brain recognizes that sound. Disoriented and briefly forgetting where he is, Kurapika attempts to turn over onto his side, remembers that he can’t move his heavy, swollen, bulky, restrained, painful legs, then gives up. The corners of his mouth briefly turn down in a very familiar displeased frown.

Then his body goes back to eerie stillness. Is Neon simply unlucky? Did Kurapika just wake up and fall back asleep? Is he actually awake and just faking being asleep so he doesn’t have to talk to her? Did Neon just imagine that he moved at all?

“Kurapika?”

He must be awake, because his posture just stiffened. For a long, heavy moment, Kurapika doesn’t say anything.

“He is awake, right?” Neon turns to Senritsu for confirmation, crinkling her nose in a frown. “You can hear his heartbeat.”

“Hello, Kurapika,” Senritsu addresses him directly in lieu of an answer, with a brief brush of her fingertips against the back of his right hand. Only two words, but they’ve managed to convey so much more. Fondness. Reassurance. A note of apology. This wasn’t my idea. You know how it is once she gets something into her mind. Hesitancy. Kurapika’s heartbeat is elevated, tense and startled. How will he handle this confrontation, unwanted yet inevitable? Will she need to step in and calm one or both of them down?

Kurapika briefly, subtly reaches up to curl his hand around one of Senritsu’s fingers, seeking an anchor. The gesture vanishes into starched and pressed formality in an instant, almost like it never happened.

But Neon saw it. So they care about each other a lot? So there really is a river of human emotion flowing somewhere underneath that stony exterior? Is he trying to hide it? Why? How much more would she have noticed about him if she had actually made the effort to look?

“Miss Neon.” What on Earth is she doing here? Does she want something from him that he cannot possibly hope to give? Is she simply here to sate her morbid curiosity? Did her father put her up to this, trying to convince him to stay? Never in the furthest reaches of his mind does Kurapika imagine that Neon might actually want to spend time in his presence; all he ever did when in the company of this tiresome, entitled child was ruin all her plans to run away and buy a hundred more dresses.

She has no idea how to talk to him. She never did. Kurapika’s sparse words and the immediate air of distrust aren’t making this any easier. If only Neon knew just what she did this time and how it was her fault, maybe she would know how to fix it. But there’s no fixing whatever happened to his eyes, is there? What’s going on underneath all those bandages? Is it scary? Is it gross? “How are you?” The stock opener for small talk is the best Neon can do. Only this time she is actually invested in the answer, awaiting Kurapika’s judgement with bated breath.

“What answer do you want to hear?” Kurapika fires back unkindly, in pain and at the limits of his patience. “Empty platitudes that will make you feel better about yourself, or how I really feel? Choose wisely, because I’m not going to take any of it back.”

He’s been disapproving before, but never mean. For a moment Neon is stunned into silence, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. She’s sure she doesn’t want the fake, meaningless answers everyone around her must have been spoonfeeding to her all of her life, walking on eggshells. She doesn’t want to be treated like a baby anymore, but Neon is not sure if she’s ready for the truth. It’s going to be ugly; the raw emotion in Kurapika’s voice is the last teetering pebble before a rockslide. Maybe it’s time. Now that Squala is dead and Eliza is gone, maybe it’s better to understand how all of this happened and why.

“Kurapika… I… ever since Squala died, I… was it my fault, because I was greedy and selfish and I refused to keep my head down and stay safe like you and Daddy and Senritsu and Basho and everyone told me over and over?”

He remembers Ubogin’s corpse, his shovel biting over and over again into dry earth. He remembers Gon and Killua surrendering themselves willingly- no, no, NO not you too, not AGAIN! He remembers Kuroro talking down to him like they were on a leisurely Sunday drive. He remembers looking into Pakunoda’s eyes and reading kindness.

“Squala’s death was my fault and I will never forgive myself.”

“But wasn’t it because I really, really wanted those pretty Scarlet Eyes and-”

Kurapika hisses. Senritsu’s hand closes tightly around Neon’s upper arm even as the words die in her throat.

He sits up laboriously in bed. No matter how much pain it causes for his tender legs, the burning fury in his breast has always been far, far, worse. “What color are my eyes, Miss Neon?” Kurapika snarls, gesturing at the yawning void in his own skull. His sightless, accusing gaze drills right into her soul. “Go on.” He bares all of his teeth as if they are dripping venom. “Take a wild guess.”

They weren’t… black? Neon’s knees give out, and Senritsu guides her to a chair. Oh my god. She never knew. Worse, only a few short months ago, Neon knows she would have shrugged it off like she did with Baise, Dalzollene, Shachmono and the hundreds of Mafia bosses who went into the basement and never came back.

“Kurapika…” No wonder he closed himself off like a wall. No wonder she’s never seen him smile even once. “…Do you hate me?”

He is done hiding. He is done pretending. Kurapika is never coming back, and if he leaves a wreckage of hurt feelings in his wake then he doesn’t have to be the one to clean up after it. No, that wouldn’t be fair to Senritsu. Then again, she doesn’t have to put up with this soul-crushing job either, if she doesn’t think the effort makes a meaningful contribution toward her goals.

“Do you care? You are the market. I am the externality. My body has no financial value until I have been cut down and carved into pieces. I am utterly expendable. I am so insignificant as to be invisible. I am the collateral damage to your revolting flesh collection. Have you ever once considered that those used to be real people with real lives and real hopes and dreams and suffering? You’ve been dehumanizing them like a freak show in a circus. Gawk at me. Prod me with a red-hot poker until I learn how to dance. Clear cut my rainforest and carve my mahogany into furniture. Hunt my white egrets to extinction and wear their feathers in your hat. Put me out of my misery and sell all of my organs. Throw my broken corpse onto the pile and parade me around in front of an ooh-ing and ahh-ing audience. Hire a new bodyguard with the money. Buy a hundred new dresses and forget me.”

“Kurapika, I’m sorry.”

Too little, too late. Kurapika slumps back onto his pillows, sweating with exertion. “You’re sorry like a dog cowering next to an overturned trash can.”

“I don’t want you to die! I didn’t want this to happen to you! I don’t want a new bodyguard!”

“Actions? With consequences? Shocking.” She has no idea how long she’s had that backlash coming. “We can’t always have what we want, Princess. Some of us who weren’t born with silver spoons in our mouths learned this at the tender age of two.”

The tears are flowing freely now, and Neon’s slender hands fly up to her face.

Senritsu sighs. She did warn her. “Kurapika, will you excuse us for a minute?”

He answers with a noncommittal grumble; the storm has already passed. Kurapika very nearly tells Senritsu to ditch Neon in the car and come back without her, but that would be too far. He’ll still be here whether he likes it or not.

Senritsu gently herds Neon out of the room, guiding her charge by the upper arm.

“He does hate me.”

“No, but you did upset him. Do you understand why?”

“Did someone sell his eyes to a collector?”

“Think harder, Miss Neon. Try to put yourself in his position. Why did Kurapika bid 2.9 billion Jenny on the Scarlet Eyes at the Underground Auction?”

“Because Daddy said so?”

Senritsu says nothing.

“Because… those eyes belonged to someone from his family, and they were priceless to him?”

“Miss Neon. His entire family was murdered for their eyes. Each one of those vials is a vessel containing Kurapika’s raw grief. It’s only natural for him to lash out at someone who shares in the blame. How would you feel if you saw someone buying and selling a jar containing Squala’s head, or a coat made from Bijou’s skin and fur?”

She never thought of it that way. She wasn’t allowed to. Her tears dry up and her face goes as white as a sheet. Suddenly Neon violently doesn’t want to look at her collection ever again. But… isn’t selling it just as bad as keeping it? This was always how the world worked, ever since she was little. Daddy always encouraged her with her flesh collection. He would point at the silently screaming, too-realistic painting in the hallway that used to be a failed bodyguard and tell her, This is how you intimidate people and show them you’re the boss. This is how you flaunt your money and influence and keep the other Mafia bosses from threatening you and horning in on your territory. Offense is the best defense. Empathy is for the weak. As soon as you let the lines blur between ‘us’ and ‘them’, you will be the next painting on the wall. Never forget.

And she would tell him, ‘okay, Daddy’ every time, without ever giving it a second thought.

Not anymore. “Senritsu… maybe I want to quit too.”

Chapter Text

Although the nurses have been gradually reducing Kurapika’s dosage of intravenous painkillers, he still seems to be asleep the vast majority of the time whenever Senritsu, Leorio or Basho take their turns visiting him. On his better days, he complains about how narrow his world has become within the confines of a single bed, and about the ever-present rising and ebbing pain in his legs and the throbbing ache behind his eyelids. On his worse days, he barely reacts at all. Often even when he is awake, he lies in bed so motionlessly that it’s hard for an untrained eye to tell. Senritsu knows by his heartbeat, Leorio by his breathing and Basho by the shape of his remaining aura. Leorio thinks he’s beginning to see a pattern here.

“Hey.” His aura isn’t getting better. “What happened to you, Kurapika, huh? You still haven’t told me anything.”

“How familiar are you with Gyo, Leorio?” Kurapika sighs with an air of worldly fatigue. He sure doesn’t sound upbeat, but at least he’s willing to talk this time.

“I’ve been practicing!” Leorio shoots back too quickly. Yet another part of his life he’s been neglecting. Sure he knows Gyo! Turns out it’s damned useful as a diagnostic tool. He’s even moved past concentrating it only in his eyes and developed two abilities where he concentrates it into his hands. They just… need a little polishing. He has a lot on his plate, okay?

Kurapika doesn’t call him on it. “Look at me, and tell me what you see.”

Leorio concentrates. After a moment, he lowers his voice so that only Kurapika can hear. “That’s your Judgement Chain, right? The one you said was pointed at your heart, ready to kill you the instant you use your Chain Jail against anyone other than a member of the Ryodan?”

“It was my Judgement Chain. Now it’s merely one of my former skills in Kuroro’s book of stolen abilities, ready to be used against me the instant I try to go after him or any of his Spider friends.”

“What. How!?”

“As long as he is carrying my eyes on his person, he can use Emperor Time whenever he wants.”

“Wait, what’s Emperor Time?”

Shit. Kurapika has revealed too much. He supposes it doesn’t matter anymore, considering that he can never use it again. His mouth tightens into a thin line.

“Is that something you invented for your index finger after you told us about your abilities?”

“No.”

“Kurapika.”

“I sacrificed one hour of my lifespan for every second Emperor Time was active. It turned my eyes scarlet on command and allowed my to use all Nen types at 100% proficiency.” It’s easier to talk about when Kurapika is bored of everything, and he can’t see the look of horror all over Leorio’s face.

“Kurapika, what the fuck!? Is that why-”

“Yes.”

“When you-”

“Yes.”

“For how long!?”

“Three hours, and that was my limit before the physical toll on my body became too much.” In the shocked silence that follows, Kurapika can almost hear Leorio doing the math in his head. Might as well save him some trouble there. “Before you ask, no, that wasn’t the only time I used it. I think I burned through about a year before my eyes were stolen.”

“You’ve been hurting yourself.”

“It was useful, Leorio. It made my chains stronger than the Spiders’ strongest Enhancer. I wish I still had it. I could fix my legs and walk out of here.”

“One entire year? How much more were you ready to throw away? Didn’t you ever spare one thought for what you wanted to do with your life after you finished getting your revenge and recovering the eyes?”

“What life?” Kurapika scoffs, gesturing at his fragile body. “They should have just taken my entire head, like they did with Pairo. It would have been worth more. I hate Kuroro so much he probably still would have been able to use my Judgement Chain to his heart’s content.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re really just going to lie there and let the Ryodan win?”

“They’ve already won, Leorio. I’m nothing but an embarrassment to my people now.”

“Is that why you won’t eat?” The other sign that sends sharp spikes of worry through Leorio’s chest is how Kurapika has barely been touching his food, turning his head away after one or two bites if he even makes any attempt at all. He’s so listless. He’s losing weight. At this rate the doctors are going to step in and shove a feeding tube up his nose against his will any day now, nobody even knows who counts as his next of kin who could make that call, and it’s only going to make Kurapika’s mental state worse.

“Leorio,” Kurapika whispers, clasping his hands over his chest. “I want to go home.”

“Hey, I’m just going to talk to the nurses for a second. I won’t be far away, and I’ll be back in a few minutes. Shout if you need me, okay?”

Kurapika shrugs, disinterested.

If this hospital doesn’t have a grief counsellor on hand for the benefit of the healthcare staff, the patients and their families, Leorio will eat his own necktie. He doesn’t know how to help, damn it, but Leorio is going to hunt down someone who does. There is a life hanging in the balance.

*

What Leorio expected was Kuruta “I don’t need help” Kurapika, protesting down to the minutest point of contention.

What he got was “okay,” delivered in a weary sigh.

The rapidity of his acquiescence alarms Leorio more than anything.

Breaking up the monotony by coaxing all the guilt and rage and helplessness Kurapika doesn’t want to talk about into the open? More pills, on top of the little round painkillers with the line through the middle, the anti-inflammatory gel capsules and the chalky oval-shaped antibiotics? Sure, why not. Kurapika is miserable and he isn’t fooling anyone. The dam was already leaking Kurapika’s problems all over everyone he cared about, and no amount of denial was going to patch all the holes. Gentle prodding is all it takes for the entire wall to collapse, drowning the room in a river of anguish. Leorio brought this upon himself. It’s only fair that he doesn’t get to leave.

Kurapika clings to his hand like a lifeboat. Craving human contact in place of the faces he can no longer see, he accepts any and all hugs (within reason), from Leorio, from Senritsu, from Basho.

He is so exhausted, all the time. Kurapika stops trying to follow the conversation between Leorio and the psychiatrist, hashing their way through at least five different antidepressants and their side effects before settling on one that won’t interact dangerously with his current regimen of painkillers. Listening to the sound of Leorio’s voice is enough to soothe him to sleep.

*

“Do you want to be fitted with prosthetic eyes? Just for cosmetic purposes to make you look more approachable. You can remove them anytime you want-”

“Stop. Please. Absolutely not.” If there is one thing Kurapika is immensely grateful for, it’s the fact that he will never see a spider again, nor its likeness in the form of a tattoo. Please let him keep this small mercy without creating a substitute that’s even more upsetting. The thought of holding a pair of eyeball-sized spheres in his hands and popping them in and out of his own skull is enough to make Kurapika shake with queasiness. Brown, black, or scarlet, they all bring the same brutal violence to the forefront of his mind. Glass jars. The tip of Nobunaga’s katana. Seeing his right eye with his left, staring back at him through a gap between Kuroro’s fingers, slowly dripping with blood.

“You look unwell. Shall I call a nurse?”

“No, the grief counsellor.”

*

There is one step Kurapika knows for certain: he still wants to go home, taking all the Scarlet Eyes he did manage to collect along with him for repatriation. But when will Kurapika be well enough to handle a twenty-four hour journey by laden piko? With no nen- hell, without the muscle to even put his full weight on his own two feet for several months yet- how will he defend the remains of his family until then? Now that he is blind, how will he find his way back to Lukso Province? Would he even be able to recognize his former home when he gets there? After all the prejudice he faced in Nancha City as a child, whom could he trust to guide him without leading him by the nose on an expensive goose chase? What can he possibly do about the rest of the eyes? And Pairo’s head. God, that regret is going to haunt him forever.

He can’t do anything. If someone just walks right in to the abandoned church and steals all of the Scarlet Eyes away from him again in one swoop, Kurapika is powerless to stop them. The hardest part of Kurapika’s counselling sessions is learning to accept his own limitations.

Then the grief counsellor points out to Kurapika that he still hasn’t asked himself the most important question.

“Kurapika, what would it mean to you if you could recover your own Scarlet Eyes?”

“Who cares? What good would that do? It won’t miraculously heal my broken legs or magically cure my blindness.” And it won’t restore his nen, but the grief counsellor doesn’t need to know about that. It would probably also mean that someone killed Kuroro, which, given the dangerous lifestyle he leads, is not nearly as shocking now as it was when Kurapika saw the fake dead bodies outside the auction house last September. This time, that mental image leaves Kurapika feeling… nothing.

“How would your family feel about it if even after trying your best, you could not return all of their remains?”

“That’s different!”

“Is it really?”

“My family would be disappointed in me. Their bodies have been desecrated. Someone will still be walking around with their body parts without their consent, objectifying them and making money off their suffering!”

“Would bringing back their eyes bring your family back to life? Would they be able to see again?”

“…Obviously not.”

“Kurapika, you are holding yourself to a double standard. The fact that you already managed to collect fifteen pairs of eyes is nothing short of monumental to achieve, especially considering that you started as an orphaned twelve-year-old. I have no doubt your family would be proud of you for pulling yourself together and surviving every day, even if you never managed to recover any of their remains at all. Remember, you have made it through every single one of your worst days up to this point. Living through adversity takes incredible strength. Healing from severe injuries takes incredible strength.”

*

Birds chirping, the warmth of dappled sunlight filtering through green leaves, moss and ferns-

Suddenly Kurapika is pounced upon at full force from behind, a pair of hands flying up to cover his eyes. He almost falls flat on his face from the force of the impact.

“GUESS WHO?”

The hands are too big. He doesn’t recognize the deep voice, but it’s in fluent Kuruta. Something about it just sounds right. Way too playful to be his dad, definitely not serious enough to be one of the adult villagers he used to know- there’s only one person who could possibly be this exuberant at the sight of him. But it couldn’t be. “Pairo?” Could it?

“Duh, how slow are you?” The hands let him peek.

Kurapika struggles out of his best friend’s grip so he can get a good look. The more he sees, the more incredulously he furrows his eyebrows.

“Who else was it going to be, Elder Tapikt?”

Kurapika snorts. “This may sound stupid, but I actually miss his crotchety meddling too. I love how you were always leading him around by the nose and he was so full of himself that he never noticed.”

The Pairo Kurapika once knew was definitely not strong enough to catapult himself at unsuspecting visitors. He had forgotten the depths of those beautiful, clear eyes, looking straight at him. Correction- down at him.

“When did you get taller than me? This is so unfair.”

Then it hits him. This is a dream. None of this is real. Kurapika is blind. Pairo is long dead. The vision in front of him flickers into a wispy white shape with black holes where its eyes should be. It looks like… life aura? Just before his vision fades to black, Kurapika catches sight of his own arms going wispy and white with a light greenish tinge.

Pairo’s hearty laughter at Kurapika’s expense peters out into disappointing emptiness. Kurapika’s legs ache. He can’t hear the forest anymore. Kurapika sits down heavily, surrounded by nothing but silence and darkness.

“I never found your head,” Kurapika apologizes dejectedly into the void. “I’m so sorry.”

The ghostly apparition smacks Kurapika upside the head. “Not this crap again! Snap out of it, Pika! Oh for the love of- will you stop spiraling and listen to me?”

“…Huh?” Pairo’s voice? That means he’s still here?

“If you can hear me, you should be able to see me. No, seriously. This is a dream, Pika, why can’t you just do whatever you want?”

“…Whatever I want?” Kurapika wakes up with the words still on his lips. No! He wanted to stay asleep! Pairo was right in front of him and he missed his only chance to say goodbye! He missed his chance to cling so tightly he would never have to say goodbye. It figures God granted him his dying wish, and Kurapika squandered it so completely he couldn’t even muster a drop of gratitude for it.

Kurapika lets out a short scream of frustration as he grabs hold of his pillow in both hands and spikes it down with all the violence he can muster. Oh no, how is it that he doesn’t have eyeballs anymore but he still has tear ducts, functional and horrible enough to soak messily through the bandages behind the eye shields, the rest of it filling up his sinuses and dribbling from his nose all the way down to his chin? It hurts and it itches and he can’t stop. He hates this he hates this he HATES this!

“Kurapika?” Great. And now Basho is watching him cry. “Do you need a hug?” One broad hand comes to rest lightly on Kurapika’s shoulder, waiting for an answer.

Once again the numbness is starting to set in. Kurapika nods in spite of himself, jealous of the ease and freedom with which Basho can express his feelings. One burly arm reaches around both of Kurapika’s shoulders, offering support until all the strength bleeds out of Kurapika’s body through his eye sockets. When Kurapika begins to pull away, Basho lets him go. Kurapika resettles himself as comfortably as he can. Thankfully he didn’t lose his discarded pillow somewhere he would never be able to reach.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Fine. Let’s just drag down as many people as possible in this avalanche. A shoulder to cry on deserves at least a token effort at explanation in exchange. “A dream. I wish it were real.”

Soon it becomes clear that no elaboration is forthcoming, but Basho never presses him for details. After a few minutes of companionable silence, something round and dense is nudged into the crook of Kurapika’s arm. It smells like… lavender? A delicate touch of mint, sweet peas and lemongrass reaches his nose. When Kurapika brushes his fingers against the object in front of him, he feels the cool smoothness of a glazed ceramic pot, freshly watered damp soil, and potted plants with leaves and flowers in a wide variety of textures. He finds the rough, spiky spiral of a hen and chicks plant; tall, smooth blades of grass topped by luxurious fuzz; soft lamb’s ear and the delicate seed pods of a Chinese lantern plant.

“Colors can’t reach you,
So I brought nature indoors.
Water once a week.”

Living things that need him; a tiny ecosystem to care for. How thoughtful. A small smile tugs at the corners of Kurapika’s lips.

“Once again, you’re telling me I need to stop and smell the flowers.”

“Yup!”

Only this time, it’s not like he has much of a choice. Tilting the flowerpot toward his face, Kurapika takes a deep breath through his nose and exhales through his mouth in one long sigh.

“Some things you just don’t appreciate until they are taken away from you.”

*

“Hey… Kurapika?”

Fine. He’ll bite. “You again. What do you want from me? You always want something.” If he’s honest with himself, Kurapika is impressed Neon hasn’t gotten bored of him and given up already. If he’s honest with himself, maybe Kurapika has been the one throwing a childish hissy fit this time. Come on, he’s been through so much shit. Can’t he indulge himself just this once?

“…Oh. You’re still mad.” Neon is not sure why she was expecting anything different after Kurapika spent her last few visits stubbornly pretending to sleep, ignoring her, or talking around her to Senritsu or Basho like Neon wasn’t there.

“What, did you think my family was magically going to leap out of their graves and I would grow a new pair of eyes overnight?”

“I’m not stupid, Kurapika! I’m trying to be nice to you but you won’t even listen! All this time I never put in the effort to get to know you. Won’t you at least let me fix that mistake before you quit and you get up and leave and I never see you again and it’s too late?”

“Wait.” Kurapika’s jaw relaxes and his eyebrows slowly rise up into his messy hairline. “You… want to be my friend?”

“Can I please????”

“Even after I made you cry?”

“Yes! I mean… ohmygod, that would be more than I ever hoped to ask for. I just wanted you to stop shutting me out and talk to me.”

“Even after I was rude to you?”

“I mean… it hurt, but… you weren’t wrong. I think I needed to hear that.”

“I took it too far. I always take it too far. I blasted you with more vitriol than you rightfully deserved. You’re… a year younger than me. When my family was murdered, you were eleven. A child. You weren’t the one holding the purse strings, or the weapons, or spreading malicious slander, or fanning the flames-” Devouring the house he once lived in, tearing through the underbrush of the forest, driving all of their pikos away in a wild panic to be eaten by an ambush predator somewhere.

“You were twelve?”

There he goes crying again, and he hates it. Lately the smallest thing sets him off, and once he gets started it’s impossible to stop. It’s no use. No matter how many tears Kurapika cries, it will never be enough to extinguish those flames.

“Oh, Kurapika, you must be so lonely…”

He lets her envelop him in a hug, tentative at first, then increasing to a tight squeeze. The entire time, she never stops babbling, trying to distract him from his sorrows.

“Can I bring Bijou? Are we allowed to bring pets as visitors? I mean I see therapy dogs in here and they come and visit children and cancer patients and stuff, and they’ll jump up on your bed and lick your face or just curl up next to you because they know you’re sad, and you can pet them until you’re feeling a little better. What’s your favorite animal, by the way?”

And it’s… it’s working? He vigorously scrubs the tears off his face until he can trust his voice not to crack into another fresh sob. “Dolphins. And… chickens? Pelicans? Emus? No, that isn’t right.” The more Kurapika searches for a word that just doesn’t translate into Hunter language, the more petulantly he scowls. He’s getting annoyed over something so cute that Neon has to suppress a giggle. Finally he throws his hands up in the air with a dramatic sigh. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of a piko, have you?”

“Some kind of bird, right?”

“Yes. Large, filghtless and wingless, with a long neck and a beak with a pouch. We used them as pack animals, or to go for a ride through the woods.”

“Oh yeah? I bet you went super slow like a grandpa and followed all the rules.”

In his mind’s eye, Pairo bursts into such raucous, hooting laughter that Kurapika nearly joins him. “Miss Neon.” Beneath the bandaged eyes, Kurapika’s face splits into a wicked grin. “You don’t know me very well.”

He’s right. The smile renders him nearly unrecognizable. Neon blinks, stunned, and it’s gone. Could her imagination be playing tricks on her?

“I don’t mind if you bring your dog next time, if the hospital allows it.”

“Great! I’ll go and ask the volunteers at the front desk-”

“Wait.” Just as Neon is beginning to straighten up to leave, Kurapika reaches up and grabs hold of both of her arms, holding her in place. “Earlier, when…” His voice is little more than a murmur, reaching no further than Neon’s ears. Unsure of how to continue, he lets his trail of thought peter out. Kurapika clears his throat and tries to start over. “I’m… ready to accept your apology.” He lets her go. Neon hardly moves, leaning in close to listen to him. “Honestly, I… had a hard time believing you. I couldn’t reconcile your… hobbies… with the idea that you might actually concern yourself with my wellbeing. Somewhere along the way, you’ve grown up, and I was so engrossed in my own fight that I missed it.”

“Kurapika, I can’t look at all those things from the auction anymore without thinking about what you said. I don’t want them anymore. What do I even do with them now?”

“Send them home.” The reply is instant and emphatic. “Give the Dracoderma skin back to the patient’s living relatives, or at least to a doctor who could use it to research a cure. Return the unicorn tribesman’s skull to their tribe and pay reparations to the family if was stolen. Take the mummified arm back to Egypersia where it belongs.”

“What about the lock of Sara Brightstar’s hair? That one was from you, right?”

“Sara Brightstar could probably care less about her hair. All the tabloid hype about her chopping it short was just one big publicity stunt. She could have grown it back a hundred times by now. If it bothers you keeping it around, you could sell it and donate the proceeds to charity, but do your research first because many organizations waste nearly all of their funds on advertising and merchandise instead of using it to benefit the people they are supposed to represent.”

“How do I get rid of my collection without anybody finding out? Daddy won’t like it. He paid a lot of money for those, and if the other Mafia bosses knew about it-”

“Replicas. I have a friend of a friend named Zepile…”

Chapter Text

“How are you doing this morning, Kurapika?”

“I’m going to take your blood pressure, Kurapika.”

“It’s time to take your medications, Kurapika.”

“You haven’t touched your lunch, Kurapika.”

“She’s right, you know.”

“Leorio. Not you too. Go away and let me sleep.”

“You mean like the last five times I tried to visit you? You must have been asleep for eighteen hours.”

“No, I have not, because this endless parade of nurses keeps waking me up.”

“Your snoring makes great background noise to study to, by the way.”

“Good.” Aiming a rude gesture in Leorio’s general direction, Kurapika resolutely pulls the covers up over his head.

“C’mon. How many meals have you skipped?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You want to get out of here, right?”

“God, yes.”

“Well, the more you starve yourself, the longer it’s going to take to discharge your ass. Eat something, Sunshine. It might even make you feel a bit better.”

“Fine. If it will make you shut up, édesanyám.”

“What did you just call me?”

“My dear, sweet mother.”

Leorio snorts. This is definitely one of Kurapika’s good days.

Tossing the covers haphazardly to one side, Kurapika makes a concerted, spiteful effort to sit up. “Don’t you dare push the button that folds up the bed.” He grumbles throughout the entire struggle. “I can… do this… myself.” Now where was that stupid rolling tray table? Did he push it out of reach? There. He pulls the hard plastic in his general direction, then gropes around for an eating utensil. His hand finds a fork. Not even a goddamned pair of chopsticks in this savage country. His fork finds bland meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and peas and carrots that taste like they’ve come straight from a can, all of it long cold. Kurapika makes a face and washes it all down with a plastic cup of lukewarm apple juice. Sahertan hospital food is the worst.

“I hope you’re happy now, because these mashed potatoes taste like reconstituted sawdust. Even your cooking would be an improvement.”

“Challenge accepted.”

“No, don’t.”

“No takebacks!”

*

“Tell me if it hurts too much, okay, sweetheart? If you don’t listen to the signs your body is sending you, you could undo all the progress you’ve made and have to start over from scratch.”

Physiotherapy is a special place in hell. Kurapika is suspended from the ceiling in a harness holding three quarters of his weight, like he’s trying to walk on the moon. The floor beneath his feet starts moving, whether he’s ready or not. His hands latch onto the railings on either side of him with a white-knuckled grip, because any sense of balance he used to have has been shot along with the last vestiges of his dignity. He can’t see where he’s going, even though he knows he’s going nowhere.

“Good job! You’re doing so well!” The physiotherapist coos at him like she’s watching a baby take his first steps.

He never wants to do this again.

“I’ll see you at your next appointment tomorrow, Kurapika!”

No. Nope. Staying in bed, thank you.

*

“My GOD, Pika, are you done WHINING!? You’re making the rest of us look bad. Do you have any idea how boring it is to watch you sleep for eighteen hours a day!?”

“Pairo.” Tall and solid, with brown hair, a maroon and gold tabard and a wicked glint of mischief in his startlingly clear brown eyes.

“What? You’re surprised that I came back? You are. Rude, Pika. I thought you had way more faith in me than that.”

“It’s not you, it’s-”

“Don’t care. You, my best friend in the whole world, are going to learn to walk again.”

“But Pairo-” It hurts. It’s humiliating. The effort of being hoisted from bed to wheelchair to harness and back again just isn’t worth toddling around on a treadmill for a few minutes, and it leaves him so ready to collapse at the end it’s like he’s been holding Emperor Time for three hours, minus the superhuman strength. Kurapika is keenly aware of how pathetic he sounds, even inside his own head.

“Nice try, Pika. Tell it to my broken legs and my blind eyes. Did I waste my entire day moping?”

“…No.”

“Did I call it quits when you chose me as your partner, even though you knew I still couldn’t walk very far?”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“Did you let those bullies in Nancha City walk all over me and call me a cripple?”

“Hell, no.”

“Then suck it up and stop making excuses! If you want people to stop treating you like a big baby, then you’d better stop acting like one!”

“Who are you calling a baby?”

“Oooh, Pika’s mad, I’m so scared!”

The rest of his dream devolves into a stupid wrestling match. Pairo has Kurapika in a headlock, Kurapika is elbowing him in the ribs and is definitely losing. It’s okay; they’re both laughing so much that he forgot.

*

The physiotherapist’s gentle coaxing isn’t the kind of encouragement Kurapika needs. On an impulse, Kurapika reaches for the clunky plastic telephone hanging from the wall by his bedside, carefully mapping out all of the numbers with his fingertips. Slowly and deliberately, he dials Izunavi’s number and holds the phone up to his ear.

“Kurapika, you disappeared on me for a month again. Where have you been, you little shit?”

“In the hospital.”

Three… two… one.

“I told you you’d end up there one day. Your careless attitude-” Blah, blah, blah. Kurapika holds the phone away from his ear, grinning, until he decides that he has let the lecturing run on for long enough.

“Master.” He cuts Izunavi off. “I need you to tell me that I haven’t been working hard enough and my form is sloppy. Can you do that for me?”

“What the fuck, you call me up out of nowhere from the hospital and you’re not even going to explain to me what you got yourself into this time?”

“No time. I have to do physio. I’ll call you back later.”

“Right. Like I haven’t heard that one before.”

*

“Bijou says hi!” Neon offers by way of a greeting, knocking on the empty door frame. “Do you want to pet her?”

Neon really does want to get to know him. Kurapika can’t get over the surprise every time she comes to visit him, with or without her tiny poodle. Hauling himself upright, Kurapika pats the space in his lap. A warm, fluffy body jumps up and settles its head there, sighing with contentment as Kurapika runs his hands though the soft curls. Bijou’s tail is wagging at a mile a minute. Every fiber of this creature’s being is happy to see him. In the face of such enthusiasm, Kurapika can’t help but smile.

How isn’t Neon bored of him yet when he can barely even move? How is she always full of a million questions about his favorite books and his favorite places and his favorite foods? How is it that she actively listened without so much as one stifled yawn as he turned her discussion about mummies into an animated two-hour rant about museum displays and cultural appropriation and how just because somebody got away with robbing a grave two hundred years ago for ‘research’ doesn’t mean it wasn’t theft?

Piece by piece, Kurapika find himself telling Neon everything. He tells her how he met Gon and Killua and Leorio, and the trials they went through during the Hunter Exam. He tells her about his childhood, and what it was like to grow up off the grid, knowing nothing beyond the green forests for an entire decade. He tells her about round two-storey homes and stables and vegetable gardens and pikos, and the supplies they always seemed to be running out of, a twelve-hour journey away. One day he may even tell her about Pairo.

After that, it’s his turn to listen as Neon tells him all about her day. Her lessons with her tutor, her homework, the adorable new outfits she bought for Senritsu, her favorite TV shows, her online friends- her father features very rarely in these stories, and it soon becomes apparent that the only friend her own age that Neon is allowed to see in person is Kurapika. Everyone else in her immediate circle is a bodyguard, a member of the household staff, or a Mafia boss. Evidently being a princess is not all it’s cracked up to be. It’s a sad, caged sort of life, interlaced and bound by threads of fear.

Is it weird that he feels more protective of her now than when it was actually his job to protect her? Quit the Mafia, gain a bratty little sister. Kurapika never claimed to be someone who follows the rules.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t change the fact that Kurapika is in a constant struggle against his vastly depleted energy reserves. No matter how much he sleeps or how much he is enjoying the present company, Kurapika’s body has become a battery that can only hold 30% charge. And that’s on a good day. If he still had eyes, he would barely be able to keep them open.

It hasn’t escaped Neon’s notice. Aided and abetted by Senritsu, she’s as bad about trying to get him to stay awake just a little longer and accusing him of being boring as Pairo is in his dreams. “Oh! I got you something!” Neon picks up Bijou and deposits a gift-wrapped box into Kurapika’s lap in the poodle’s place.

Kurapika startles, halfway to nodding off.

“Kurapika?”

“Hnn.”

“Are you falling asleep?”

“M’sorry.” Blame the stupid leg injuries for sapping his body’s resources. He runs out of steam so quickly.

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

“Give me a moment.” Seeking out the edges of the ribbon and the tape holding the wrapping paper in place with his fingers, Kurapika carefully eases the package open. Inside the box is… something soft, with round little button eyes and a narrow snout. It’s triangular- no, crescent shaped, with- are those fins? Is that a flat, curved tail? “A dolphin.” Maybe if Kurapika’s heart melts enough, it will escape from the Judgement Chain.

“So you don’t get lonely when it’s too late for visitors!”

What fearsome reputation? Fuck you, Zenji. Fuck you in particular, Kuroro. Kurapika cuddles the stuffed animal to his chest.

“Thank you. I love it.”

“Oh? My god?? You’re adorable??? Can I take a picture of you?”

In his hospital gown? There are limits to everything. Kurapika pulls the covers up over his head. “No. I’m underdressed.”

*

He can’t pinpoint exactly when it happened, but Kurapika has gradually gone from skipping entire meals, to picking noncommittally at his food, to eating like a man on a mission, scowling through everything on his plate. Once he had started eating, the hunger soon followed. Actually, he realized he was famished. He hasn’t quite gotten to the point of asking for seconds, though. He has his pride, after all.

“Hey, Sunshine. Missed me?” Leorio is pleased to see a visible improvement in Kurapika’s condition. Sitting up in bed, he is looking much more energetic and alert, with a rosy tinge of color returning to his pale cheeks. All the plastic and bandages have been removed from around his missing eyes; the effect is a bit unsettling for those who aren’t used to the sight, but it’s undoubtedly much more comfortable for him.

“Ah, Leorio, you’re just in time. Would you mind returning these to the library for me?”

“Have you seriously read through that entire stack already?”

“I still have one or two of Basho’s audiobooks left. They take longer to listen through than I can read.”

“You learned to read Braille, what, yesterday?”

“I’m bored, Leorio.” Kurapika already knows Hunter language. A new set of characters is easy. “How else was I going to spend my day? It wouldn’t be right to trap you here for my own entertainment when I know your schedule is full of coursework and exams. Have I told you that I appreciate you taking time out of your evenings and weekends to come and see me?”

“Only every day.”

“I suppose I had better stop inflating your ego before your head flies away.”

“But I like my ego!”

Kurapika holds up one finger, cutting off the train of their conversation. “Something smells… edible? Don’t tell me you were actually serious.”

“Oh, yeah. Have you eaten yet?”

“Yes, but I’m still hungry. Don’t tell the kitchen staff.”

“That’s a good sign. Did you know that you may need to eat as much as triple your normal caloric intake when recovering from a broken bone? It’s like a growth spurt because you’re regrowing a lot of bone and muscle. I made you some rice, lentils and some curry sauce. I even threw some chopped veggies in there because I was feeling fancy. Don’t worry, I made a big batch and I already ate some before I came here, so I can guarantee it’s not going to kill you.”

“I am apprehensive yet intrigued.”

“You wound me. So little faith in my skills.” Kurapika’s doubtful expression doesn’t change, other than one single quirked eyebrow. “Okay fine, so I cheated a little. The sauce is from a package I bought at the store.”

Kurapika smiles and makes a grabby motion with his hands. With the bento box in his left hand and the chopsticks in his right, Kurapika eats his way down to the very last grain of rice. He washes it down with a thermos of green tea, kept insulated at the perfect temperature. When he is finished, he leans back against his pillows, looking satisfied.

“So how was it?”

“Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”

“All right, you got me.”

“Honestly, I’ve missed home cooked food. Sometimes- dare I say most of the time- simple and comforting is better than fancy.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Where’s my hug, Mr. Paladiknight?”

“Clingy, much?”

“I think I’ve earned it.”

*

Today’s program: a Yu Yu Hakusho marathon, narrated by none other than Neon Nostrade.

“A solid green button-down shirt with green pants? That’s tacky.”

“RIGHT? Yusuke needs to make better fashion choices.”

*

“…so then Yusuke fires a beam out of his finger-”

“It figures such an impulsive hothead would be an Emitter. Although that isn’t like Senritsu at all…”

“Kurapika, my sweet summer child. You didn’t know me when I was younger.”

“Please share. Is this story appropriate for a young and impressionable audience?”

“Later, Kurapika.”

*

“-and Hiei thinks he missed but BOOM! It was a trick, he was actually bouncing it off of-”

“Oh, is the box empty?”

“Wow, Kurapika, quit hogging the pizza. You’ve already had five slices.”

“I need it.”

“He needs it.”

*

“We have to go, Miss Neon.”

“Come on, Senritsu, one more episode? Please?”

“My physiotherapist is coming. Hide me.”

*

One day Kurapika is going to get back into martial arts and sword fighting and lifting weights and doing crunches in his bed. Today is not that day.

Today, Senritsu is visiting him with a fresh batch of classical music CDs to pop into the radio one by one at random; there are no raised dots for Kurapika to read what’s on the cover, so each one comes as a surprise. He is delighted by the crescendo of a symphony orchestra and the warm clarity of a brass quintet, but nothing comes close to hearing Senritsu’s flute in person.

Today, they are going for a stroll together in the garden outside the cancer wing.

Today, Kurapika sits up, swings his legs in their chunky casts over the side of the bed, and uses a walker in a complicated maneuver to lever himself into a wheelchair, never letting his fractured legs carry more than half of his weight. He hates how it takes half an hour of planning every time he wants to make it as far as the goddamned bathroom without flagging down two nurses and a personal support worker for assistance. Kurapika curses inwardly, fighting back a surge of impatience. Remember the IV bag, Kurapika? Remember the harness? Remember the catheter? Ugh. Kurapika shudders. He has to remind himself that his latest indignity is still progress from the previous incarnation.

“Senritsu.” Wait a minute. When he agreed to leave his room and get some real fresh air, this unforeseen problem never occurred to him. “Senritsu, we are about to go out in public, I have nothing on but a hospital gown and my only other choice of clothing at hand are these slacks that I can’t even pull on over my legs without my enormous casts getting in the way, and also look like they have gone through a paper shredder. The same thing goes for my blazer and the shirt I was wearing underneath. The bloodstains are probably irreversible at this point. I can’t be seen like this. What am I going to wear?”

“A blanket?”

“I suppose that will have to suffice for the time being. I need my sewing supplies.”

“I’ll pick them up from your room next time.”

“Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”

He wheels himself into the elevator, guided by the sound of Senritsu’s footsteps. She always seems tense when she comes to see him, the strain bleeding over into her voice and the stiffness of her posture when Kurapika reaches for her with his arms. As soon as they are out in the open, the haste and urgency disappears from the sound of her footsteps. He can hear soft rustling fabric as the rigidity softens away from her back and shoulders. Now they are surrounded by singing birds, people chatting and the whisper of the breeze through tree leaves. The usual busy traffic is a muted din off in the distance.

“Senritsu, are you feeling alright?”

“Better now.”

“Then something was bothering you. I could tell.”

“Don’t worry about me, Kurapika. I bring earplugs with me to block out most of the distressing sounds in the hospital. It’s worth it when I hear your heartbeat getting stronger every day.”

Right now Kurapika’s heart has never been more touched. She keeps coming back to support him, even though it hurts her. “Can I hug you again?” He might cry. “You’re like a candle in the darkness. You deserve to feel healed and whole again. I wish I had the strength to be a help rather than a hindrance.”

“I can wait. Some things are more important than the hunt.”

Senritsu sits beside him on a park bench; he places his hand on hers. For a long time they sit together and say nothing, simply listening to the sounds of nature all around them. Kurapika can’t remember the last time day stopped blurring into night. Kurapika can’t remember the last time he the felt sunshine warming his face and the wind in his hair.

In his mind, Pairo is smiling at him. He sets down his crutches and takes up the free space next to Senritsu on the bench. After stretching and yawning loudly, he folds his arms behind his head and begins to name every bird by their songs. He makes up silly shapes for all the clouds he can’t see, herded by the breeze.

Is this what Kurapika should have been searching for all along? Peace. It was right here under his nose, overlooked, crushed by every chain link.

Except for one thing. If Kurapika was satisfied with peace, he would have never left Lukso Province in the first place.

“Your heart sounds uncertain.”

“I feel restless, Senritsu. I don’t know where to go from here.”

“No one ever said you had to decide right away.”

What would Pairo do? Where would he want to go?

The beach! The moon! The Sahertan Desert Fossil Beds! The science and technology museum!

The moon, Pairo?

Low gravity, Pika. Think of the possibilities!

Point.

*

He loses the needle three times in a row trying to thread it, and only manages to find it again when he stabs himself in the ass. He pricks his finger and curses. He can’t cut or stitch in a straight line to save his life. God damn it, he needs a new measuring tape with numbers and dashed lines he can actually feel. What color are these fabrics? Do these buttons match? Kurapika hasn’t even dared to make an attempt with his sewing machine yet- not until he can pick up a pair of cut resistant gloves and make sure he isn’t about to embroider his own hands when he can’t see shit.

“Hey Kurapika, whatcha doin’?” Neon leans into his personal space, curiously inspecting his work.

“Making alterations.” This is so stupid. “These casts get in the way of everything and I want to feel like I’m wearing normal clothing again.”

“I didn’t know you knew how to make your own clothes! That’s so cool!”

“I did. Emphasis on the past tense.”

But Neon’s enthusiasm is only just getting started. “Then does that mean you made all of the clothes you showed up in yourself? The blue and gold ones?”

This is how Kurapika inevitably finds himself drawn into a discussion about looms and bolts of cloth and natural dyes for fabric; measurements and fabric patterns, decorations and embroidery. It reminds him that the individual tasks really aren’t that hard; he just needs to practice enough to rely on muscle memory and touch without being able to rely on his eyesight. That could take a while.

“Can you teach me? Pretty please?”

“Oh, why not? It’s not like I have anything better to do. Maybe you can help me learn again in the process.”

“Yaaaaay! Awesome! I’m going to make so many dresses!”

“Do you happen to know where to buy a measuring tape with measurements on it I can feel with my hands?”

“Dunno, but I’ll try!”

*

“Hey Kurapika, what if I want to open my own business and sell clothes? It would be way better than daddy’s stuffy old gaming business full of creepy old men with smelly cigars and people gambling away their life savings.”

“Ah. For that, you need to learn more about how to manage your own business. Consider the variable cost of all your supplies, like this fabric, lace and thread. Consider the fixed cost of how much it would cost to buy or rent a workshop and a storefront. Are you planning to custom tailor all your pieces or have them mass produced? There is a different labor cost for both of those options. Once you have a plan for your type of product and your target market, you will have a better idea of your target price point and how many pieces you would need to sell to turn a profit. Think about whom you’re going to sell to and how you are going to advertise to reach your customers. You will need to set up your own corporation and pay its taxes. You will need seed capital to get started, either from your father or from a bank.”

“That’s a lot…”

“Miss Neon, that is only the tip of the iceberg. You need to know what you’re getting yourself into. Building a business from scratch takes a lot of hard work and dedication. You don’t have to jump in with both feet if you don’t feel like you’re ready.”

*

Kurapika takes a shower and gets dressed. This is a long, complicated process that he used to take for granted. First he has to extricate himself from his bed. Then he has to carefully shuffle his way to the bathroom by wheelchair, walker or crutches depending how strong he is feeling that day. Inside the bathroom, he hauls himself onto a bench with his feet firmly placed on the non-slip floor mat. His hospital gown is easy to toss out of the way. He reaches for the flexible showerhead and turns on the tap. As the water comes cascading down on him, he takes a moment to appreciate how he doesn’t have to worry about his waterproof casts in spite of all the times when an itch he can’t scratch absolutely drives him up the wall. When he is finished, he dries himself off and brushes his hair into some semblance of order.

Kurapika pulls his long-sleeved embroidered shirt over his head. The short upper half of his tabard is next, reaching just above his waist. Then come one of the undergarments he has been repeatedly chopping up and sewing clasps onto when he has some privacy. Over that, a pair of white shorts with extra buttons. Over both, the lower half of his tabard, simply tied on around his waist with two long straps, like an overlapping skirt.

And that’s what it takes to feel human again.

Chapter Text

“So in other words,” Kurapika breaks into a cold sweat, “being able to support 50% of my weight is enough to release me back into the wild?”

“Yes, congratulations! With the proper setup and some support, you’ll be back on your feet in no time. It’s important to keep practicing your walking every day to rebuild your muscle strength. Come back for outpatient physiotherapy appointments twice a week so we can track your progress and recommend any changes. We will evaluate whether your casts can come off in about five to six weeks.”

But… where will he go? What would Pairo do? When Pairo was recovering from his broken legs, he had his parents and Kurapika and the whole village supporting him. Kurapika has… Leorio, Senritsu, Basho and now Neon, but he isn’t sure how much more he can ask from them after all their generosity. Kurapika can’t just take up residence in Leorio’s tiny studio apartment, or haul himself back up three flights of stairs to his barely-used employee bedroom in the Nostrade Mansion - especially after throwing in his resignation. Would it be better to find a new apartment in York Shin City, that he won’t be able to inspect with his own eyes before moving in? That could take him an entire month, and only after he is discharged. Does he even want to stay in York Shin City at all anymore? Well, all his closest friends are in this area, and it would be far worse to move away from the few supports he has.

In an effort to arm himself against the unknown with more information, Kurapika spends the next few short minutes grilling his doctor for recommendations and resources. His doctor only has a few minutes to spare for him before being whisked away to another patient. Typical. Now if only Kurapika knew a doctor who would actually make time to answer all his questions to his satisfaction…

Kurapika picks up his phone.

“Hello Leorio, are you busy?”

*

“Kurapika, you are looking well.”

“Mr. Nostrade, how kind of you to come and visit me again.” Kurapika raises his head up from the book in his lap, folds it up around a bookmark and directs a polite nod toward the sound of his employer’s voice. The difference from Light Nostrade’s first visit is remarkable. Once again Kurapika holds himself with an air of dignity and grace, neatly dressed and expressing interest in the goings-on around him. His intelligent eyeless gaze cuts through all lies and pretenses, straight to the heart, to the point where Light Nostrade feels a familiar intimidation in his presence.

“My daughter is always talking about you. I have never seen her take so much interest in the family business. Every day her questions and commentary grow more relevant.” Frighteningly so. Light Nostrade once thought that the day his own daughter surpasses him was impossibly far in the future. Not anymore. “Yes, about that. I am sure you already know what I am going to ask you. Have you reconsidered my offer?”

“You mean with regard to returning to Nostrade Security in an administrative role? Mr. Nostrade, I think we can both agree that the circumstances have changed.”

“Precisely.”

No, there’s nothing precise at all about the muddy quagmire that Kurapika’s life has become. In a way being stuck in the hospital made everything so easy. For weeks now, Kurapika has known exactly what tomorrow will look like because it has been exactly the same as yesterday. More darkness. More residual pain. More lying around in bed. More Braille and more audiobooks. More struggles to get out of bed. More rehabilitation. More visitors to make the day a little brighter for an hour or two. And the best, or possibly the worst, part of all of it is the fact that almost nothing about his daily life has been his own decision. Suddenly having his own future thrust back into his own hands, without having a single notion of what shape it’s supposed to take, is overwhelming.

One step at a time, Kurapika. Breathe. Decision making in a realm of infinite possibilities is never really infinite. First, rule out the impossible.

He can’t let himself die now, not after all the effort he put in to make it this far, and especially not after all the time Leorio, Senritsu, Basho and Neon have spent by his bedside convincing him that getting better is worthwhile. Pairo would smack him upside the head for even thinking about it. Caveat: that also means hunting down the Genei Ryodan will be impossible. Even if he found a nen exorcist to remove the restriction from his heart, the losses he’s already experienced are likely to lead to others. Without nen- hell, without even the raw strength and fearlessness his scarlet eyes loaned to him long before he learned how to weaponize his aura- Kurapika’s swords amount to little more than a pair of toothpicks.

Next: as much as it pains Kurapika to admit it, hunting down the rest of the Scarlet Eyes, while not quite as dangerous as going after the Genei Ryodan, is still not worth risking his life anymore. Getting the Scarlet Eyes back won’t restore his family’s lives; it won’t bring Pairo back. It wouldn’t give back their eyesight even if they were still alive. He will have to focus on preserving their memories and his dreams instead.

So if Kurapika can’t do what he set out to do before, what does he want to do?

Here is Light Nostrade, standing next to Kurapika’s hospital bed, telling Kurapika that the door is still open. Somehow Light Nostrade must still see value in Kurapika even when he has difficulty finding it in himself. He can come back to the Nostrade Family. Even if he no longer meets the minimum standards set by the bounty hunter agency because he is no longer able to use nen. Even if he can’t be a bodyguard. Even though his eyes will never recover and his legs are a work in progress. The only reason Kurapika joined the Nostrade Family in the first place was to use it as a stepping stone for recovering the Scarlet Eyes. Is it in his interest to stay, now that his original goal has been taken away?

Kurapika wants to rebuild his strength to the point where he can take home the Scarlet Eyes he did manage to recover. Until then, he wants to stay close to Senritsu and Basho and Leorio, even if it’s selfish, because the thought of being blind and helpless and alone is too much to bear. Light Nostrade’s offer will allow him exactly that. Kurapika wouldn’t mind getting back up to speed with all the clients and networking and scheduling, not to mention the budgeting and bookkeeping. He could even look forward to the idea of teaching Neon how to start her own business from the ground up. Everything else is just details, or another one of the countless next steps Kurapika is too exhausted to process all at once. Later. He can worry about the next steps later.

“Mr. Nostrade, I am reconsidering your offer as we speak.”

*

As expected, moving back to the Nostrade Mansion takes all the energy out of him. First, there’s the setup. Kurapika would feel bad for making Linssen move his belongings down from the third floor to a guest bedroom on the ground floor if it weren’t for the fact that he has accumulated so few of them. The bigger issue is barrier-free access. Kurapika spends hours doggedly doing background checks on five different contractors before he settles on one he decides he can trust, more hypervigilant than ever now that he can’t even look into someone’s eyes to read whether they are lying. He never spared a thought toward the three little steps leading to the front entrance until suddenly they became a huge obstacle. Even his private bathroom is a sticking point until he can get railings drilled into the tiled walls.

Kurapika can’t keep borrowing the wheelchair and crutches that belong to the hospital, so he has to buy his own, the crutches custom fitted to his body. It would be alarmingly expensive if Light Nostrade weren’t covering all the costs, no questions asked. Leorio gets the sticker shock on his behalf, grumbling and haggling his way through all the different models and features that would have otherwise left Kurapika feeling embarrassed and out of his depth trying to navigate on his own. Does he really need all this, even if it’s only for another month or two? Yes, yes he does.

Then there’s the move. Kurapika has to tidy himself up, gather up the belongings the hospital has been keeping for him, sign off on a pile of paperwork he can’t see or read (honestly, one would think that a hospital of all places would be able to provide pamphlets and documents in Braille), fold up his wheelchair and hobble into a taxi- and then get on an airship with priority boarding, feeling like a large, slow elephant in a china shop. Back on the island where taxis aren’t even an option, Linssen has to fetch him from the airport; it’s a pain to fit his baggage in the back seat with his wheelchair singlehandedly taking up all of the trunk space. After buying a lifeless pair of Scarlet Eyes for three billion jenny and making it all back in a year, Kurapika still struggles to feel like he is worth the few hundred thousand more it takes to make the mansion livable for him.

Here’s his new room. Here is his messenger bag dropped haphazardly inside the doorway. Inside it is his wallet, his Hunter License, his keys, two books, a notepad, a pen and his cell phone, the battery long dead. Here is the window Kurapika can open for a breath of summer breeze and a snatch of birdsong. Here is his bookshelf, piled high with his latest stash from the library. Here’s his familiar desk with his familiar laptop, a new radio and a stack of audiobooks and music CDs, and another table with his sewing machine and supplies, with his fabrics newly rearranged by shape and size and texture. Here is his wardrobe. Here are the few changes of clothing Kurapika managed to sew and alter to fit around the bulky casts on both legs- not much, but enough for now. Here is his new bathroom. Kurapika cautiously feels his way around on crutches, locating the sink and the toilet and the bathtub for future reference. Here is his bed. Kurapika decides this has been quite enough exercise for one day, and collapses straight into it without bothering to change his clothing.

*

This is… undignified. Kurapika has to keep telling himself that he’s in training, walking around at a snail’s pace on two forearm crutches like a herky-jerky alien puppet on four spindly legs. It’s training when he times his outings for the small hours of the morning, trying to avoid being seen. It’s training when he can’t even make it even as far as a lap around the mansion grounds, feeling his way along the walls. It’s training when he wastes the entire following Tuesday and Thursday lugging himself to his physiotherapy appointments and back. He can’t drive anymore, and knowing he’s wasting the day of another unfortunate soul on the Nostrade Family payroll makes it even worse.

The following week, Leorio insists that Kurapika stay at his studio apartment between appointments, saving Kurapika two trips by airship. Thank fuck there’s an elevator. How is it that Leorio is still so happy to see him even when it means kicking himself out of bed and onto a couch his legs don’t fit on, buying a bench for the shower, tidying up all the messy stacks of textbooks Kurapika knows were all over the floor last time, and making room for a wheelchair where there already isn’t any space to walk around? They sit at the kitchen table together, carefully peeling and chopping vegetables for a simple meal.

“So I looked up some beginner recipes for hopeless college students and bam! Check this out. All we have to do is throw it in the oven and forget about it for an hour until the timer goes off. Easy, right?”

“If you say so…” When was the last time Kurapika even tried to cook anything? Already not his forte, he has to go extra slowly to avoid cutting himself now that he can no longer see.

“Really, Sunshine? You doubt my cooking skills that much? I am deeply hurt and offended.”

“No, I’m useless and I’m getting in your way and -”

And that’s when Leorio shoves a mini cheese wheel into Kurapika’s mouth. “To go with that whine.”

Kurapika blinks in rapid bewilderment behind the sunglasses he has taken to wearing on a daily basis. Just like Pairo. Suddenly he feels like laughing and crying at the same time and he can’t really do either because the cheese is in the way and he’s still chewing. He gives it a minute, but the helplessness is hard to shake.

“The fact remains that I’ve inconvenienced you. All of you. Linssen and Basho when they spent hours driving to and from the airfield, Senritsu when I’m too exhausted to manage my workload, the cleaning staff when I can’t see and can’t reach and can’t catch my breath, the head chef when I never learned to cook for myself and it’s going to be even harder now-”

“For the thousandth time, Kurapika, you’re not an inconvenience, you’re my friend.”

“I’ve spent two entire months doing nothing, Leorio! I need to start pulling my own weight.”

“Okay, first of all, recovering from two serious injuries is not doing ‘nothing’. Second of all, have you considered that pulling too much weight is what got you into this mess in the first place? And third-”

“I know that!”

“Let me finish- and third, you can’t expect to go from zero to one hundred all at once just because you feel like you owe it to somebody. Did we build up the strength to open the first Testing Gate in one day? Of course not! I get it. You’re frustrated. You’ve suffered the kind of setback that makes you feel like you’ve gone all the way back behind the starting line, and you’re no longer sure where the finish line is. Be kind to yourself. There are no strict deadlines. Give yourself as long as it takes.”

“I’m trying.” Pulling Leorio closer by the sleeve, Kurapika buries his face in his shoulder and just breathes for a minute. He may not deserve friends like these but goddamn it, he’ll take them. “Thank you for making everything a little easier. I wish I could do the same.”

*

“Hey. Are you sure you don’t want a ride to your appointment?”

The familiar stubborn set to Kurapika’s chin gives Leorio his answer long before Kurapika opens his mouth to speak. He wonders- can Kurapika hear the grin spreading across Leorio’s face?

“I have to do this, Leorio. Until I’ve walked a mile in Pairo’s shoes - and I use the term ‘walk’ here very loosely - how will I ever learn to navigate my way back home? This should be comparatively easy. A forest full of whispering tree leaves will not be updating me with automatic bus stop announcements every two minutes, there will be no one to ask for directions on every street corner, and there will most definitely not be any smoothly paved roads running conveniently in a straight line. I have my wheelchair, and I have a plan. I memorized the route to the nearest accessible subway station. Then I’m going to transfer to the 109 bus and get off at York Shin General Hospital. If I get too tired, I will hail a taxi.”

“Phone me when you make it there, all right?”

“Oh, all right, if it will make you feel better.”

*

Throughout the entire bus ride, Kurapika’s swirling thoughts are heavy with the weight of words left unsaid. Technically he has two appointments, because Kurapika scheduled another face-to-face visit with the grief counsellor right after the physiotherapy session, in the vague hope that all the things he aggressively does not want to talk about will be easier to unload in person than over the phone. Maybe it was a bad idea to move back to the Nostrade Mansion. The remoteness of the island is both a blessing and a curse, a war between his private, introverted nature and his current need for more services than are locally available. He feels guilty about only being able to work part time, for every hour spent resting or taking care of his own needs, or reluctantly asking for help instead of taking the lead.

Dumbass. Pairo’s voice smacks him across the hindbrain with a forearm crutch. Which is more important, your health or your boss’s bank account?

But all the clients we’re guarding- their lives are in danger.

Has your kickass poet and musician dream team ever let you down?

Of course not.

Then stop getting so anxious about it! You’re physically present. They can see you getting better. You’re doing as much as you can, and that’s enough.

The next bus stop announcement snaps him out of his reverie. Kurapika presses the stop request button, waits for the bus to slow to a halt and unfold the ramp at the middle doors for him, and politely thanks the bus driver on his way out.

Well. He’s here. He made it (mostly) under his own power. One step closer to independence. One step closer to making it back home. Just this once, Kurapika will allow the tiniest candle of pride to light up in his heart. He even remembers to phone Leorio about it.

“I’m here,” he announces without preamble as soon as the would-be doctor picks up. “See? You had nothing to worry about.”

“You’ve got this, Sunshine. I’m rooting for you.”

Now get in there and do your exercises, Pika. You owe me a recovery. I didn’t save your ass seven years ago just for you to break it.

God, Pairo. Get off my case. You really think I would drag myself all the way here just to turn around and go back?

Ha! The look on your face right now. It’s like you straight up ate a lemon.

Suddenly a wave of homesick longing stabs through Kurapika’s chest. It hurts a lot more than the Judgement Chain; it always did. I really miss you. You know that?

Of course. I miss you too. Pairo shoos him forward. Go, go, you’re going to be late.

*

Lying in bed for two months will destroy a body. It’s not just Kurapika’s legs that are out of shape, it’s also his arms and his back and his core. As a result, some of the stretches and exercises his physiotherapist puts him through look truly ridiculous- like the cat-camel stretch, for instance. Kurapika is on his hands and knees, counting twenty repetitions as he arches and relaxes his back. Thank god it doesn’t put any pressure on his fractured shins. He wishes his physiotherapist would just keep a straight face instead of cooing at him like he is an actual cat. Meanwhile Pairo is threatening to make him lose count and start over.

Remember when you didn’t know what nen was yet and Izunavi beat your ass into the ground? That’s what you look like right now. Except your ass is in the air. Sexy.

Shut up.

Pairo makes zero effort to stop snickering at his expense.

Oh god, Kurapika used to be able to do planks and push-ups like they were nothing. Weak, weak, weak.

This is hard.

Poor baby. What, did you think I magically started walking on crutches after I broke my legs? Drop and give me fifty.

You’re worse than Izunavi.

Yeah, and you’re a slut for punishment.

I’m asexual.

So? Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.

*

It turns out Neon is a lot smarter than Kurapika ever gave her credit for. The more he teaches her, the more apparent her shrewd business sense and her natural talent for balancing the books becomes. Neon even takes over part of the management of the existing Nostrade businesses, partly for the experience but also for the satisfaction of a steady income earned with her own hands, rather than having to borrow money and pay it back with interest later. She acts much, much differently when she thinks of all the money she spends as her own and something she earned- worlds apart from burning money that belongs to other people and comes with no consequences or responsibility attached. This new, mature version of Neon Nostrade is a breath of fresh air.

The most delightful thing about working with Neon is observing her develop her artistic skills. She starts small, trying her hand at intricately designed outfits for dolls and stuffed animals. Some of them she plans to keep for herself; some of them she could sell as custom handmade toys for children or for collectors. If anything goes a bit lopsided with her designs or she doesn’t like how the outfits turn out, she doesn’t lose as much material as she would have with a larger design, and she can still sell the dolls at a discount or even give them away for free.

Next, she progresses to creating clothing designs for herself and everyone around her. This, of course, includes Kurapika, no matter how much he insists that he really isn’t expecting any gifts. In turn Neon insists that she has to express her gratitude somehow! She tells Kurapika that he is her inspiration. How else would she have stopped taking fashion for granted, taking the initiative to learn about adaptive designs like extra clasps or buttons or fasteners? Who else would have ever explained traditional Kuruta clothing to her, with its beautiful embroidered patterns and color palettes and symbolism? She tries so hard to get it right, to avoid misappropriating a design and placing it in a context where it doesn’t belong.

Apparently Neon has also decided that it’s fun to see him get flustered over a new outfit. She’s bored of seeing him in suits! Okay, anything is better than a hospital gown. Okay, his wardrobe does need an update. Okay, maybe he would have gotten bored of suits too, if his choice of clothing wasn’t stagnating near the bottom of his to-do list for several months. Fine, he’ll graciously accept, but under one condition: for every new button down, tunic, long robe, pair of shorts, or waist sash, Kurapika insists on trading her a Kuruta style dress, skirt or embroidered top in exchange. He’s getting quite good at embroidery, too. Kurapika is proud of his hands for picking up the slack in place of his eyes.

Kurapika likes listening to Neon describe the cut and the style of her outfits, and the colors and patterns of the fabric, in great detail. He enjoys the feel of the well-tailored fabric on his skin. It doesn’t bunch up or wrinkle awkwardly whether he sits or stands. He can imagine how it would look in the mirror, and how it would go with his skin tone and hair and ruby earring.

Although his exercises are a work in progress, Kurapika no longer feels quite so weak and helpless and bony, like a greasy, unwashed puddle of sallow skin. Little by little, he can feel the muscles knitting themselves back onto his bones, the healthy layer of fat softening his cheeks, the warmth returning to his skin, the soft freshness of his hair after a daily shower. There’s just one thing missing.

“I need a haircut.” It’s getting in his face. It tickles his nose. If he doesn’t tie it back, the ends sneak into his mouth when he’s trying to eat, and it’s really annoying.

Getting a haircut becomes an entire outing, one that Neon is enthusiastic about. Kurapika gets dressed up respectably for the occasion. Does he have an adoring public waiting for him? No, but the way Neon reacts to his haircut is close enough.

Neon claps her hands at the sight of him. “Kurapika, you look amazing!”

“Thank you.” Leaving the house was tiring but worthwhile. He knows he looks good, without having to use his eyes. Has he ever felt this acutely comfortable in his own skin? Kurapika struggles to remember. Not in recent years. Maybe never.

*

Senritsu is already smiling at the strength of his heartbeat even before she enters the room.

“You said you wanted us to take you to the Science and Technology Museum, right? Are you still up for it?”

Kurapika has never said yes to anything so quickly in his life.

Wheelchair. Crutches. Car. Freedom. He’s going to play through every recorded caption on their self-guided tour, just you wait.

“Wow, Kurapika, you’re like a whole encyclopedia.”

Neither Neon nor Senritsu have to read any of the signs. Kurapika can bring the subject matter to life much more enthusiastically, and in much greater detail. He’s narrating to Pairo, okay? Otherwise, who else is going to touch the real meteor fragment and build a questionably earthquake-resistant structure out of foam Lego blocks and haul himself up on a platform to lie on a bed of pins?

For once he’s like a kid in a candy store. Senritsu smiles, a little bit sad. If only she had gotten to see this side of Kurapika much earlier.

Chapter Text

Two more weeks. Two more weeks until these damned casts come off and Kurapika can wear normal pants again. Two more weeks until he’s allowed to put his full weight on the healed breaks in his legs and start weaning himself off the wheelchair and crutches for good, one short walk at a time. Two more weeks until Kurapika can scratch the infuriating itch on his right shin instead of sitting stiffly on Leorio’s couch, losing the thread of his latest rant about anatomy lessons and drug names and microbiology, or whatever flavor of the month Leorio is cheerfully complaining about this time. Kurapika has trouble keeping his expression from souring into a scowl as he tries to erase the stubborn itch out of existence with willpower alone. God, he can’t wait.

“Geeze Kurapika, I hate RNA mutations as much as the next guy, but what’s with the face?”

“Fine, you caught me,” Kurapika sighs, losing the battle against his frown. “This itch above my right ankle is driving me insane. I’ve been trying to ignore it but it isn’t helping. I haven’t been able to focus on a word you said for the last five minutes. I’m sorry.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Leorio asks as if this solves everything.

As a matter of fact, it does.

“Check this out.”

Kurapika can’t use nen anymore but he can still feel it. Leorio taps two fingers of each hand in a cross shape against the place where Kurapika indicated on the outside of his cast; a small, concentrated, pulsing wave of pressure soon follows, smoothing away the itch instantly. Sweet relief. Kurapika is too grateful to feel jealous.

“So what do you think? I’ve been working a new palpitation skill as a diagnostic tool. Turns out it also has some other uses.”

“Leorio, you’ve saved my life.”

“You’re welcome!” Kurapika can hear the proud grin in Leorio’s voice. “Hey, do you mind if I check how your fractures are healing? I know your doctor is already on top of things; I’m just professionally curious.”

Yeah, well, Kurapika’s doctor at York Shin General can’t make his re-growing calf muscles feel like they’re being treated to a day at the spa. “Go ahead. By all means.” Kurapika loses the thread of the conversation all over again as he melts into Leorio’s couch. He can’t help it. Leorio’s voice is so soothing. Kurapika’s healing legs have sapped the energy out of him for so long that the instant he stops actively trying to focus on a task, he’s never more than three seconds away from keeling over into an emergency nap.

Some time later, Kurapika stirs into the awareness that Leorio is snickering at him.

“I have become too powerful.”

“Shut up,” Kurapika grumbles with no menace in his thick, gravelly half-yawn. Reaching toward the warm gravitational pull of Leorio’s weight indenting the couch cushion, just beside where Kurapika’s curled up legs had been, Kurapika uses Leorio’s shoulder as a pillow. During the next few minutes of peaceful silence, Kurapika feels disinclined to move as the world around him sharpens back into wakeful focus. Leorio doesn’t seem to mind.

Then there is a marked shift in the atmosphere. Something is making Kurapika’s pillow a lot less comfortable all of a sudden.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“So, this is probably nothing, but…”

Kurapika lifts his head, directing his furrowed brows toward the sound of Leorio’s voice.

“Have you heard from Gon and Killua lately?”

All Hunters have a sixth sense. Now that Leorio has mentioned it, Kurapika doesn’t need his Dowsing chain to pick up on the feeling that something isn’t right. “I must confess that I have not had the chance, no.” He’s tried to catch up on all the missed calls, he really has, but now his calls are going straight to voicemail.

“Me neither, for weeks now. I get the impression that they’re somewhere with no cell reception. I hope they’re doing okay.”

“They’d better be.” Kurapika’s right hand tightens into a fist at Leorio’s waist. Goodness knows both of them have enough to worry about already. The last thing Kurapika needs is someone new he is utterly incapable of chaining down to Hell.

When it rains, it pours. Soon enough, the bad news comes in the form of a phone call from Morel Mackernasey, an experienced Hunter who had been fighting alongside the boys in the NGL.

Chairman Netero is dead; the ballots to elect his successor are on their way.

Gon is in the Swardani City Central Hospital, hanging on to life by the barest thread.

Killua is facing off against his own family.

Leaping up out of his seat so quickly it throws Kurapika off balance, Leorio is ready to fly straight to Swardani City without so much as a change of clothing in his briefcase.

If Kurapika still had eyes, they would be scarlet. Well, they are, but God damn it, that’s old news. Gon and Killua are so much more important.

“I’m going with you,” Kurapika growls before Leorio could dare to tell him to stay put and focus on his own recovery. More motivated than ever to walk again, Kurapika hauls himself up onto his feet and paces around Leorio’s studio apartment on his crutches like a caged tiger. What else is he supposed to do? He doesn’t have the means to heal Gon himself. He can’t even see him. Being physically present, offering the smallest straw to grasp at; Kurapika at least needs to say he tried before he finds out yet again that it’s too late.

Action is the only way he knows how to fight against a great crashing tsunami of helplessness. Depending how long this goes on, Kurapika has a million phone calls to make: cancelling his last four physiotherapy appointments and rescheduling them in Swardani City, because he does still want to get the casts off, working out some kind of remote arrangement with the grief counsellor, shuffling scheduling around with Senritsu and Basho, notifying Mr. Nostrade of his impending absence- and then there’s all the minutia of booking his travel arrangements and accommodations.

Wait. Kurapika’s racing thoughts crash to an abrupt standstill at a hitch in Leorio’s breathing. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t responded-

“Not Gon… why him? He’s the sweetest kid in the whole world. He didn’t deserve this. I should have been there! I should have helped! Why didn’t I learn nen faster!?” Leorio’s voice shatters into loud, wet, unfinished sentence fragments, punctuated by sobs. “I could have- if only- this isn’t-”

All the rage drains out of Kurapika as abruptly as if Senritsu were playing her flute right by his ear. “Leorio.” Kurapika sinks back onto the couch, carefully sets down his crutches and pulls his close friend into a messy, tear-stained hug. In this moment, this is where Kurapika is needed the most. “You didn’t know. You’ve been helping me. You can’t be in two places at once.”

“Then why does all this shit have to happen in two places at once?” Leorio snivels pathetically as he begins to regain control. “You’re still hurt.”

“I’m getting better.”

“I’m still catching up on my late assignments from last month.”

“Talk to your professors. They will understand.”

“I have midterms.”

“Postpone them.”

“Geeze, Sunshine, you make it all sound so easy.”

“Good.” Because it is easy; startlingly so. The ability to reprioritize has been the most useful thing Kurapika’s blind eyes and broken legs have taught him.

*

The next two days pass by in a whirlwind of emotion that simultaneously feels both incredibly fast and unbearably slow. Kurapika barely registers dropping everything and getting on the next airship to Swardani City, tugging Leorio along by the elbow. His arrival in the hospital is a blur of hushed conversations with other injured Hunters he has never previously met, the beeping and hissing of life support machinery, and an interminable span of waiting. Waiting his turn to see Gon. Waiting for more news from the doctors and nurses. Waiting for Killua to come back. Waiting for Gon to stir from unconsciousness, to breathe on his own, to say something, anything - Kurapika doesn’t want to show Leorio, Senritsu, and all these sympathetic strangers how it breaks his heart all over again.

Kurapika feels numb sitting by Gon’s bedside, almost glad that he can’t see what a terrible shape the boy is in. Gon has grown long and thin and achingly fragile, like his body has been stretched until it’s ready to snap. What little Kurapika can feel of his arm through the bedsheet is all skin, bone and bandages, offering meagre warmth. Kurapika finds his hand and gives it a squeeze anyway. Gentle. Reassuring. He wishes he could chase away the dark, oppressive aura hanging over Gon like clouds before a heavy downpour. Who did this to you? Kurapika doesn’t ask, because he knows all too well. Gon did this to himself. Kurapika knows, because he can feel the same dark, clinging echo over his own heart.

In the meantime, Kurapika participates in the Hunter Association’s Chairman Elections, grateful for the way the lively, twisting political machinations take his mind off his worries for a moment. Kurapika is immediately deeply unimpressed with Ging’s careless attitude – not just about Netero and the Chairman Election, but about his own son. So this is the father Gon has gone to such lengths to meet? How is it possible for Ging to show such utter disregard for his flesh and blood when Kurapika would quite literally kill for the chance to see his clan again? Kurapika would absolutely kill to save Gon too- or burn as much of his own lifespan as it would take for Emperor Time and the Holy Chain to put the smile back on Gon’s face.

Hearing Leorio’s impassioned speech, the way he punches Gon’s father and the way all the assembled Hunters cheer for him brings Kurapika a much-needed smile. Not like it’s going to sway his vote. Sorry, Leorio, your heart is gold but your head is inexperienced, impulsive and too easily manipulated. Fuck Pariston; he really is a Rat. Kurapika was tempted to sleep through that smarmy asshole’s speech just to spite him. Kurapika’s vote is for Cheadle, sharp and loyal and logical.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, Gon bursts into the chamber like pure sunlight, greeting Leorio in his high, clear and cheerful voice. Kurapika hears running footsteps, a crash, a thud, the whoosh of air out of Leorio’s winded lungs right before the medical student dissolves into incoherent blubbering. So many emotions hit Kurapika all at once; he can’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Is he really okay? Can Kurapika believe his ears? What about Killua, did he escape from his deadly family? Surely Gon wouldn’t sound this happy otherwise?

By the time they all met up again in York Shin City, those two had become inseparable. Kurapika remembers Gon and Killua chasing each other around the park after declaring an all-out food war. He remembers their capture by the Ryodan, their escape, the hostage exchange, the crippling migraine, the guilt tearing him apart as he left both of them behind without even saying goodbye. He realizes with a dawning horror, that hostage situation was the last time he would ever see them. How could Kurapika have made such a grave mistake? Their faces are already becoming hazier in his memory. Kurapika will never get to see what they look like when they grow up.

Then Gon’s footsteps approach Kurapika slowly, as if the boy has cornered a flighty endangered animal. “Oh no, Kurapika, what happened to you?” He hugs Kurapika so carefully he could be spun from blown glass, and suddenly Kurapika is crying so hard he can’t even begin to formulate an answer.

*

Hours of explanations later, Kurapika still doesn’t feel like he has caught up on everything. Already raw with emotion, Kurapika finds it easier than expected to bare his own soul. He fills in Gon, Killua, and even Leorio and Senritsu on all of the defining moments that brought him here, starting from his childhood and ending with his long recovery. In turn, Gon and Killua tell Kurapika about Greed Island and Kite and the Chimera Ants and all of their new friends. Killua’s presence is much stronger and more confident, but a tense, unspoken gap has become palpable between him and Gon. Cleared of his binding nen covenant, Gon seems to have no aura at all; Kurapika wonders if this should worry him. He makes a mental note to talk to Gon privately later.

Sitting somewhere among them is Killua’s sister Alluka (and Nanika), neither of whom Kurapika gets to meet properly just yet because they need a long time to sleep off a miracle. Gon asks Killua if Nanika could heal Kurapika’s legs and eyes after they have had a chance to rest, like it’s an obvious solution, like Kurapika has done anything to deserve a stranger paying off the debt he owes to his own arrogance. Resting an arm on Gon’s shoulder, Kurapika shakes his head. He is walking in Pairo’s shoes now.

*

Kurapika does not join Gon, Killua and Alluka on their outing exploring Swardani City; he would only slow them down hobbling around on his crutches. After the long, hectic journey to get here and the subsequent emotional roller coaster, Kurapika is content to hang back and get some rest.

Or so he tells himself.

He still can’t quite process what happened – the idea that he could have lost Gon and Killua so easily. He could have missed it entirely, not knowing until years later, or never. What emotional scars are they still hiding beneath flawlessly healed skin? Does Kurapika even have the right to ask, given the way his own emotional turmoil exploded in all their faces, and how he ran away instead of owning up to the result of his actions?

He knows Killua comes from a broken family, with impossibly high expectations, mind games and manipulation, and a twisted sense of protectiveness that once smothered the spark of life from Killua’s eyes. But Gon? Gon was always smiling through all their hardships like it was nothing but a game to him. He enjoyed the challenge. He enjoyed winning against all odds. When things appeared to be at their grimmest, he brightened the spirits of everyone around him until the tables were turned. What could have possessed him to wreck himself like this?

Kurapika is utterly shocked, surprised, at a loss. But… he realizes slowly, belatedly… maybe he shouldn’t be. Maybe the signs were always there. The determination to hunt down his father at all costs. A twelve-year-old so willing to throw away his life, so willing to accept that if he failed it would be because he is unworthy. Kurapika remembers Gon’s broken arm and his swollen, bruised face, taking repeated beatings from Hanzo during the Hunter Exam and then from Canary at the Zoldyck Mansion, because he didn’t know when to give up. Kurapika can’t blame him. Kurapika didn’t know when to give up either, until every last drop of morale was squeezed out of his body. Even after that, maybe he still doesn’t. Is that what it means to be a Hunter? When is the sacrifice really worth it? Kurapika will be renegotiating the answer to that question- with himself, with his grief counsellor- for a long while yet.

Gon returns to Swardani City Central Hospital by himself. Kurapika can hear the forced smile in his voice when Gon relays a few stories of Ging’s adventures, only dropping in the revelation that Killua has now decided to make protecting his sister his priority as a soft, pained afterthought. Kurapika, who is devastatingly good at reading between the lines, can also hear a whole lot of what Gon isn’t telling him. Gon feels like he has failed, like he isn’t good enough, like he can no longer keep up. Gon is riddled with guilt and loss and the sharp, sudden devastation of loneliness that Kurapika knows all too well– surrounded by well-wishers who will never understand. Does Killua think it’s too late to protect Gon anymore? Does every glimpse of Gon’s open, honest amber eyes remind Killua of the gaunt shell of a human being who must have been unbearable to look at beneath the covers of his hospital bed only a day ago? Do Alluka and Nanika make Gon feel like he no longer belongs in Killua’s life?

A decision crystallizes in Kurapika’s heart.

“Gon, may I come with you to Whale Island?”

“YEAH!!! I mean, really!? I mean- what about your mission?”

“My mission now is to be a better person, and a better friend. Everything else can wait.”

*

Sea salt. Wind whipping about his hair. Hot sunshine on his skin. Rhythmic splashing waves, flapping canvas pulled taut in the breeze, seagulls crying overhead. A sense of hope, of promise, of setting out on a new adventure. Funny how Kurapika missed out on all this last time on the boat to Zevil Island, choosing instead to shut out the world and bury himself in his books. Leaning half his weight against the railing over folded arms, balancing himself against the gentle rocking of the ocean, Kurapika closes his sightless eyes and inhales deeply. Standing at his right, Gon gives him a friendly elbow bump.

“What do the sea birds have to say about the weather this time, Gon?”

“Nothing!” Kurapika can hear him grinning. “They’re hungry and they’re looking for fish.”

“Good.” As thrilling as it was to ride out a massive thunderstorm on the open sea, Kurapika really isn’t in the mood to repeat the experience. Another ten minutes and just standing here is going to be taxing enough on his weak legs.

A long, contemplative silence descends between the two of them. Is it strange to think back upon that journey leading up to the Hunter Exam as a simpler, more innocent time? Yes, Kurapika’s life was already long since torn to shreds by then, but it was before he had blood on his hands. Before nen. Before covenants and restrictions and a chain around his heart. Before turning his eyes scarlet on purpose, sapping his lifespan like it meant nothing to him. Before Ubogin. Before Pakunoda. Before nearly throwing Gon and Killua under the bus on a violent impulse, struggling not to succumb to Kuroro’s provocations from the back of the car. But it was also before healing and counselling and the realization that Kurapika has new friends who are vitally important to him. It was before he placed value on his life as a precious thing, not to be discarded as mere currency on a hopeless path to ruin. Before he began to make peace with himself, his sins and all his failings. For all that he has sacrificed, Kurapika still wouldn’t go back to that time even if he could.

A sudden, shaky intake of breath from Kurapika’s right brings him out of his reverie and back into the present. Gon’s voice comes out very small, nearly inaudible over the wind. “Hey, Kurapika?”

“One moment, please. I need to sit down.” Kurapika’s legs have decided for him. There’s that familiar ache in his mending bones, the quivering of muscle as it grows too tired to compensate. Gripping the railing for support, he carefully lowers himself into a cross-legged position. When he is settled, he reaches out in Gon’s general direction, finding one booted foot. Kurapika taps twice on hard leather and shoelaces then pats the wooden deck beside him, inviting Gon to sit. “Go on. I’m listening.”

Gon lets himself drop like a stone, huffing out an exasperated breath. “Do you ever just… wish you never left home at all?”

“I… yes. Every day.” Kurapika sighs like he’s had all the wind knocked out of him. “Oh Gon, I’m so sorry you feel that way.”

“What’s so great about being a Hunter, anyway? Why would Ging choose this over… over me? If I knew I was just going to lose my nen, and that I would get in Kite’s way and they would die and reincarnate in the wrong body because of me, and that I would make Killua fight his whole family-”

“Gon. Gon, slow down. One thing at a time. I’m here. We can talk through this.” It’s heartbreaking listening to Gon rapidly growing upset, his voice quieter and more toneless than Kurapika has ever heard it. Gon is a child, and he’s been through so much. As Kurapika gathers him into a one-armed side hug, Gon shifts sideways to cling hopelessly with both arms.

“I often regret leaving home,” Kurapika starts over, trying to steer his own train of thought past the old, familiar despair that keeps trying to disguise itself as a form of comfort. “But then I get to wondering. Would the Genei Ryodan have inevitably found us anyway? Would I be dead? Would I be happier knowing we had all died a violent death together with no survivors and no one who would even try to return the Scarlet Eyes to their rightful graves? If my clan were still alive, but it meant that I never got to leave, would I ever be satisfied with that sheltered existence, having already read through my father’s entire library dozens of times? Would I trade having met you and Killua and Leorio, and Senritsu and Basho, in exchange for my best friend Pairo, my parents and my eyesight? Ultimately, I don’t wish I had never left home after all. It isn’t what Pairo would have wanted for me. And I would never trade you away, Gon. You deserve better.”

“I do?”

“Of course.”

“Even though I traded Aunt Mito away to become a Hunter, just like Ging?”

“You are not ‘just like Ging’. You are the kindest, brightest person I know. You have brought smiles to me on my darkest days. And you did not trade your Aunt Mito away. We’re on our way to see her right now.”

“…She’s going to be mad.”

“And then she will forgive you.”

“Yeah…” Gon’s shoulders stubbornly refuse to loosen. “Do you… do you think Killua will forgive me too?”

“Have you forgiven me for nearly getting myself killed facing down the Ryodan alone?”

“There was nothing to forgive, Kurapika! When I saw that you were hurt, I was too shocked and scared to be angry. If I had more time to think about it, then I would have been angry at them, not at you. I just wanted you to be okay.”

“Then there’s your answer. Maybe Killua has already forgiven you. Maybe he needs time. Maybe the person he needs to forgive the most is himself.”

“I miss him.”

*

Kurapika’s first impression of Gon’s Aunt Mito is admiration. Strong and unsentimental, she jumps straight to the point instead of letting bottled emotions fester in the same way Kurapika would have only a short time ago. She is as solid as a rock. Her voice is neither raised nor strained. One small scolding and one big hug later, suddenly Gon’s most immediate worry is the mountain of schoolwork he has to catch up on.

While she leaves Gon to struggle with the consequences of playing hooky for two years, Mito launches the full force of her attention into making Kurapika feel welcome. Introductions and pleasantries are exchanged. This is Gon’s aunt. This is Gon’s great grandmother Abe. Here is the kitchen, and Gon’s room is up the stairs. Oh god, stairs. Kurapika will have to start working stairs into his daily exercise routine, slowly and with exaggerated care. Until he is sure he can make it to the top without any issues, he’d probably better sleep in the kitchen, or outside in the warm grass.

A bath, a batch of washed clothes, and a generous, delicious helping of lunch later, the prospect of a nap under a tree is suddenly nigh irresistible. Next time Kurapika promises to help with dinner, not just the dishes. Next time Kurapika will jump in and rescue Gon from his homework, just as soon as Kurapika has sorted out his own work and the loose ends remaining with his health care. He’s good at math. Once upon a time, huddled together over books with Pairo, Kurapika thought he could have become a good teacher, too.

*

Kurapika’s second impression of Mito is that she sees through to his very soul. He feels it in the comfortable, non-judgemental silence between them as they chop vegetables. He feels it in the way he never wakes up alone on the days when everything feels like more effort than it’s worth- picking up his phone, picking up his body, picking up his clothing, even picking up a pair of chopsticks. Someone is always there, Gon, or Mito, or Abe, coaxing life back into Kurapika’s dulled emotions with a steaming bowl of breakfast that smells too good to refuse.

Gon’s smile is returning at full force; Kurapika can hear it in his thundering footsteps just as much as his voice. He’s never done this well in school before, and he glows from Mito’s hard-earned praise.

Kurapika’s mentorship for the unwavering encouragement of Gon and his family: this is a fair exchange, Kurapika thinks. He likes it here. Soon he knows his legs will be healed and itching for adventure. Until then, why hurry?

Chapter Text

While Kurapika still spends part of his time advising Neon and managing as much of the Nostrade businesses as he feels he can handle over the phone, he ends up staying on Whale Island much longer than he expected. Time flows with a slow kindness here, measured less in days and nights and seasons, and more in growth. Kurapika’s casts come off. His crutches are set aside for longer and longer, until they begin to gather dust. Caution becomes confidence. Walking becomes running. Weakness becomes strength.

Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that rehabilitation really has become training. Gon has joined Kurapika in his daily exercise routine. Calling forth any aura may be hopeless, but that doesn’t mean Kurapika can’t work his way back up to the corded muscle he remembers it took to push open the first Testing Gate at the Zoldyck estate. Gon makes a fun sparring partner, and after his studies Kurapika is more than happy to teach him how to handle a pair of swords. God, Kurapika is rusty. It feels good to hear the rush of a blade through the air again. Learning how to read Gon’s movements through sound and vibration alone is a unique challenge. Kurapika is up to it. He knows he can do this. He refuses to be a defenseless pushover.

“I can’t stop thinking about what Ging said,” Gon huffs between weighted push-ups. “When I told him about how I lost my nen, he said I should find out what I can do without it. Am I even still a Hunter? If I took the Hunter Exam over again today, I could pass the official part right away, but I would fail the secret part where you have to learn nen. I could never get back into Greed Island again, either.”

Kurapika breaks into a sweat as he mirrors Gon’s exercises beside him. “I completely understand where you’re coming from, but we’re still Hunters, Gon. That ship has sailed. You know you can’t retake the Hunter Exam once you’ve already passed, and the only way to lose your license is if you sell it or carelessly allow someone to take it from you.”

The set of push-ups comes to a halt. Gon and Kurapika sit up and settle side by side, leaning against the trunk of a large tree. “Aren’t I just a normal kid now?”

[Image caption: Art by Oraclefigma / Kiyo. Gon and Kurapika sit together under a tree upon a grassy hill with the ocean in the background. Gon is wearing a white bandage tied around his forehead, a white tank top and green shorts. He has a pensive expression on his face, staring up at the sky. Kurapika is wearing a dark blue tabard with gold embroidery over his long-sleeved white training garments. Kurapika’s eyes are bandaged with his bangs falling over the top. Gon asks, “Aren’t I just a normal kid now?” Kurapika answers, smiling, “No, Gon. I don’t think you ever were.” End image caption.]

“No, Gon. I don’t think you ever were. Think about all you’ve accomplished and all the places you have been in such a short time, even before you learned about nen. Could a normal kid catch the monster of the lake, or steal Hisoka’s badge with a fishing pole, or push open a two-tonne door?”

“I guess not.”

“Could you ever go back to thinking in the same way as a normal kid, whose only concerns and aspirations revolve around grades and hobbies and hanging out with friends?”

“I see what you mean.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Meeting Ging was disappointing. I was hoping that if I tracked him down and found him in some dangerous, secret, faraway place, it would be like passing another test and he would be proud of me. It wasn’t supposed to be so easy. We weren’t supposed to be in Swardani City together at the same time like that. Swapping stories with him… I didn’t really feel any connection with him at all. I’m not part of his life. He doesn’t care about me. He didn’t visit me in the hospital, and he wasn’t there when I was five years old and almost got killed by a mother foxbear.”

“It’s his fault for being an irresponsible father, not yours. The loss is entirely Ging’s.”

“It still hurts.”

“I know. Try to focus on the people who mean the world to you.”

Gon takes a deep breath and makes an effort. “I don’t want to be like Ging anymore. I want to be like Kite. Kite was more of a role model to me than Ging ever was. They’re like an older sibling to me. They taught me so much about being a Hunter, like being in tune with nature, and caring for animals, and chasing your dreams to the ends of the Earth. I wouldn’t be here without them. They saved my life twice. That’s why I- Kurapika. You won’t get mad like Killua, will you? If I… told you how I lost my nen?”

“I won’t, Gon. I promise.”

“I told you a little bit about Neferpitou before. They were one of the Chimera Ant Royal Guards, with cat ears and a cat tail, long white hair, bug legs and arms, and a blue button down shirt. Pitou was super fast and super strong, with Specialist nen abilities that could heal someone even if they were about to die, or control their bodies like a puppets on strings. They had the scariest, most malicious aura that could touch you from miles away. You met Knov at the hospital, right? After he went to NGL with Morel, he got so stressed and nervous just from being touched by Pitou’s En that all his hair turned white and fell out.

“Killua, Kite and I ran into Pitou in the woods. They were too strong for us, especially me and Killua, so Kite told us to run away while they held Pitou off. The last I saw of Kite that day was them losing an arm. I wanted to believe they were still alive so badly. Next time I saw Kite, they were all sewn up like a doll and they didn’t even recognize me. They were nothing more than a training dummy for newly hatched Chimera Ants. I wanted to make Neferpitou bring Kite back and heal them, but Kite’s soul was no longer in their body. It was just an empty shell.

“When I found out that Neferpitou killed Kite for no reason and then decided to save the life of a girl named Komugi because she was important to the Ant King Meruem, it didn’t make any sense. Pitou asked me for mercy because they couldn’t defend themselves while they were using their healing nen. It made me so mad, I almost murdered Komugi just to get at Neferpitou while they were vulnerable. She had nothing to do with our fight. She was blind, she was hurt, she had no nen, and she wasn’t even awake. I don’t remember how I stopped myself. It felt like I was on fire for the whole hour I was waiting for Neferpitou to heal the girl so we could have a fair fight.

“When they were finished with the healing nen, we went far away to fight in the woods. I made a covenant with myself that I would stop using nen for the rest of my life if I could gather enough power all at once to make sure Neferpitou never came back. They were so much stronger than me, it felt like the only way. I tried to run away. I didn’t want Killua to follow us. Neferpitou was mine, and if I died, I didn’t want Killua to be next. We fought, but I don’t really remember what happened. There was so much noise and light and my nen was burning up like a trick candle. It didn’t feel like I won. I couldn’t stop punching Neferpitou even after they were dead. Even when I could hear Killua screaming at me to stop. Then I couldn’t hear him screaming anymore.”

It’s too real, jumbling with Kurapika’s own experiences into a vivid waking nightmare in his mind’s eye. Gon with blazing scarlet eyes, terrifying, twisted with anguish. Domed houses in Lukso Province, charred beyond recognition in a forest that has become little more than a blackened skeleton of leafless trees. A spike of Enhancer aura taller, broader and more menacing than even Ubogin managed to pull off in his final moments. Killua’s dull, haunted eyes, unable to snap out of the trance in his older brother’s gaze. The scattered remnants of every friend and family member Kurapika had ever known. Pairo’s headless body.

“God, Gon. If I wasn’t trying to save enough of my lifespan to recover all the Scarlet Eyes before I die, I could have done the same or worse. And I would have told myself it was all worth it.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” says Gon in a small voice.

Kurapika reaches for his hand. “I’m glad, too.”

“You’re… going to leave soon, aren’t you? Now that your legs are better?”

The question catches Kurapika off guard. Honestly, he was so focused on his recovery that he hadn’t really thought that far ahead. Obviously Gon doesn’t want him to leave, and Kurapika finds himself equally reluctant. But the Scarlet Eyes are still sitting in rows in their shrine an ocean away, waiting to be taken home.

He must have stayed silent for too long, because it’s enough for Gon to interpret it as his answer. “I understand,” Gon reassures him dejectedly. “You still need to find all the eyes of your people.”

“Yes and no. Being here, half of me feels like I’m procrastinating, but the other half feels like I could stay forever. I still need to give my clan’s eyes a proper burial. After that, I don’t know. Thinking about my mission makes me so tired.”

Then, brutally honest, Gon’s voice develops a sharp steel edge. “I really don’t want you to go back to fighting the Genei Ryodan.”

“Gon. I gave up on that. All of it. I know it’s too dangerous. I know I’d just be throwing my life away. I’ve faced my own limitations and lost.” Kurapika can’t help the bitterness bleeding into his tone. “The thing that hurts me the most is that I will never be able to return Pairo’s head.”

“But Kurapika, that’s just part of Pairo’s body, right? His soul doesn’t live there anymore. Like Kite.”

“He’s right, you know!” Pairo’s ghost cheerfully elbows Kurapika in the brain. “Just what do you think I’m going to do with my nasty pickled baby face, you dummy? It doesn’t even fit anymore. Nobody’s home. My head is not where my soul lives, and neither are my eyes. Bring me some stories instead. Good ones. Stories about you, and all your new friends. Only stories with a happy ending, you hear?”

Stories. Of course Pairo would like that. It’s a wonder Kurapika didn’t think of it sooner. His expression brightens immediately, even as his empty eyes threaten to overflow with tears.

“Gon, let me introduce you to Pairo. He lives in my heart always. Sometimes he’s really annoying about it. Picture a brown-eyed, brown haired imp who had the audacity to grow taller than me, probably out of spite. He’s standing on the other side of me, opposite from where you’re sitting at this very moment, making bunny ears over my head. He can’t decide whether to fake innocence or stick out his tongue at me. No, Pairo, you can’t do both.”

Gon giggles. Kurapika just knows Gon and Pairo would have gotten along famously if they had ever had the chance to meet each other face to face.

“He was like a little brother to me.” Kurapika’s smile curves into the mischief of an inside joke. “I say ‘little’ more because he was half a head shorter than me, even though we were the same age. I used to tease him about it, back when we would sneak off into the woods and get into all kinds of trouble together. We would find caves to hide in, and ride pikos far faster than our parents told us was safe, and find the best views over the cliffs.

“One day, when we were ten years old, I was too careless. I came too close to the edge of a cliff and the rock crumbled under me. Pairo managed to catch hold of me and help me back up to the top of the cliff face, but he fell and skidded down the steep slope. He broke both his legs and the dust from the fall damaged his eyes. His legs mostly healed to the point where he could walk again, although his legs tired and gave out on him easily, but his eyesight worsened until he lost it completely.

“Later, when I wanted to leave home to become a Hunter and to find a doctor for Pairo’s eyes, the village elder administered a test before I was allowed to leave. As part of that test, Pairo was my trusted partner who came with me on my first trip away from home to Nancha City. The village elder and all of the townspeople in Nancha City looked down on him because he was blind, but really Pairo was smarter than me.”

“Wow, smarter than you, Kurapika?”

“I admit it freely and without shame. I never would have passed without him. Actually, the test was rigged and he cheated on my behalf, but that’s a story for another time. In a way, he saved my life twice. Now that my condition mirrors his, I have to experience the world for the both of us. Pairo insists that I bring him back all the best stories of my adventures.”

“That mission sounds like way more fun than your old one, Kurapika!”

“That was my old mission, Gon. If I had never gotten sidetracked by revenge, I would have been traveling with Pairo by my side all along. It’s… not as fun by myself.”

“So if you’ve lost Pairo, who was like your little brother…” A curious sound reaches Kurapika’s ears, the buzzing, clanking, steam-churning machinery of Gon thinking hard. “And I lost Kite, who was like my older sibling… and it’s no fun traveling by yourself… I know! I can be your little brother!”

“I… yes, I… Are you sure? I would like that very much Gon, but you have no idea where I’m going. I have no idea where I’m going. I don’t even know what I want to do as a Hunter from now on.”

“So!? We’ll figure it out together!”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“We’ll climb all the trees and all the mountains, and go swimming in all the lakes, and go fishing and find all kinds of animals in their hiding places, and walk on the beach picking up sea shells!”

The more enthusiastic Gon becomes, the more Kurapika warms to the theme. “Then we can visit countries all over the word, and try all kinds of food, and listen to people singing in a thousand different languages, and ride on the back of a plesiosaur and a flying whale and a surfing turtle, and go exploring in caves and trenches and remote islands that have barely been touched by human hands.”

“See?” Gon hops from foot to foot, bursting with excitement. “What’s so hard about that?”

“You make everything harder than it needs to be,” Pairo chimes in.

In his mind, Kurapika pulls a face at Pairo. He doesn’t even care if the lack of eyes makes it look frightening as hell.

*

It’s been so, so long since the last time Kurapika sat up in a tree branch, listening to crickets chirping, cicadas buzzing, birds staking out the borders of their nesting grounds, and the subtle whisper of leaves as some unknown small animal darts through the branches above his head. Beside him, Gon is so quiet he could be holding his breath. Kurapika can hear his own heart thrumming steadily in his chest.

There is a splash, and a cry of triumph. Gon has just caught dinner, big enough for even a growing boy to share. When it’s cleaned and roasting over the fire, he rattles off the genus, the species, the sex, and the approximate age. He has been studying hard, and it shows. If math is Gon’s worst nightmare, biology is his greatest love. Kurapika can’t help sharing his enthusiasm. Long after Gon had caught up on his lessons and then some, he and Kurapika would frequent the library until mentor and mentee had become two colleagues.

“Did you know that dolphins are my favorite animal?”

“Wow, really?”

“They are so smart and so playful, and they have a huge emotional capacity to care for one another, perhaps even more than we humans do. I used to dream I would hear them talking and that one day I would understand just what they are saying to each other. Is it strange that I should be captivated by an animal that lives nowhere near the forests where I was born?”

“No, that’s cool. I want to see all kinds of different places and learn about all different kinds of animals.”

“Me too. We know less about the ocean than about the surface of the moon. I think it’s endlessly fascinating.”

“Oh, I know! We should be Sea Hunters like Morel!”

“Hmm… yes, that could work. What’s one more blind creature in the deep sea, after all? Give me sonar navigation, a head set, a keyboard with Braille markings, and a screen reader and I’ll be able to see all around us in total darkness for miles.”

“This is going to be. SO. AWESOME.”

*

Gon is leaving again! Since Mito knows that her not-so-young adopted son is already beyond reason, she turns her sharp attention toward a new target.

Boy, Kurapika hasn’t had a stern parental talking-to like this in the better part of a decade. Mito gives him the works: the disapproval, the vague threats, the tug on the ear, the barest hint of a wobble in her voice that indicates she has grown very attached to him over the past few months and is only preventing herself from crying by sheer force of will. Kurapika can’t help blushing like he’s been caught red handed.

“Keep Gon safe, or you will answer to me, you hear?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Don’t you ma’am me, Kurapika. Come here and give me a hug. And don’t you dare be a stranger. I want to hear all about how you’re doing. Write to me often!”

“I will.”

Just when Gon is snickering at Kurapika’s expense, that’s when Mito knows it’s time to strike. Oh no, he isn’t getting off that easily!

“Study hard, eat your vegetables and try not to tear too many new holes in your clothes! Although I expect you’ll be growing out of them soon enough.”

Kurapika smiles. “I can help with that, Miss Mito. I make my own clothes, and every once in a while, I enjoy making them for someone else.”

Aunt Mito always made all of Gon’s clothes for him ever since it was a little boy; the idea that Kurapika has been making his own clothes for himself never really occurred to Gon until he mentioned it. “You make your own clothes even though you can’t see? Isn’t that hard?”

“It was hard at first, but Miss Neon helped me practice and relearn while I was teaching her how to bring her own clothing designs to life. Then she made clothes for me instead of herself, and I couldn’t just let that go unanswered. In the end we exchanged so many gifts that I had to call it even when my wardrobe was getting too full.”

“Cool! I’m glad you and Neon are such good friends now.”

“She’s like a little sister to me. I hope you get to meet her sometime.”

Mito grasps the hem of Kurapika’s tabard with a delicate touch, gold leaves twining over a forest green backdrop. “How long did it take you to embroider this by hand? The geometric patterns are so beautiful.”

“Thank you. I was trying to recreate the stylized curling vines that were painted around the base of my best friend Pairo’s house when I was a child. This is one of my simpler patterns, so I’d like to say it couldn’t have taken me more than about two weeks, but it’s easy to lose track when I have so much more free time than I know what to do with.”

Seeing Gon and Kurapika in matching green and gold next to each other brings so much warmth to Mito’s heart. She crushes both of them in one more hug. “Be safe out there, both of you. I mean it.”

“We’ll be fine, Aunt Mito! No more fighting, only fishing! I promise!”

“I promise as well.”

They even make a three-way pinky swear on it, for extra luck.

*

“I heard you’re coming home, my son! Well, it’s about time!”

More and more visitors have been jostling their way into Kurapika’s dreams, to the point where they may as well be shouting over each other to be heard. His mother, from whom Kurapika gets all the force of his personality, has shoved her way to the front of the line.

“And who is this charming young gentleman? Gon, you say? Well isn’t he darling! I could just squish his cheeks. Welcome, welcome! Oh, how I wish I could greet both of you properly. We would make a feast of it, and build a big bonfire, and sing and dance until we’re all too tired to move!”

“Doubtless you would grill him with all kinds of questions about the outside world.” She was also where Kurapika got his insatiable curiosity from, after all.

“I’m afraid it would be rather cumbersome, having to translate through you or your father. I’m sure we would manage somehow. But enough speculation. I have a shopping list for you for when you return. Would you help me replant my garden? It would be even more exciting if you could bring me seeds from some foreign plants to try. Like those tomatoes you brought back from the market. I couldn’t quite figure them out on the first try.”

“Mother. I say this with all the love and kindness in my heart. Tomatoes need full sun. How do you expect to get any fruit out of them in the middle of the forest?

“Rules are for suckers, my son!”

Kurapika sighs. “Or, I could help you clear a few trees and some undergrowth out of the way.”

“Kurapika.” His father steps in as his mother runs out of steam. “While you’re clearing some trees, it would make me very happy if you could use the wood to rebuild my library. Can you bring back a few books to fill up the shelves? It doesn’t have to be all at once. You’re welcome, of course, to come back and visit anytime you like.”

“Father, did you know that I can fit an entire library into a device the size of a single book? It’s even possible to have it read out loud for you, or to translate multiple languages into Hunter language, although I doubt that they have Kuruta as one of their language options. It’s called an e-reader. It needs energy, in the same way that one needs to burn wood to fuel a fire. I can bring you a solar charger, to keep it powered using the sun.”

“Intriguing. I could study this technology for hours.”

Then Elder Tapikt graces Kurapika’s dreamscape with a familiar scowl. “Still getting into trouble, are you? Good for nothing brat. I knew you would come to a bad end. How about you bring back some manners, hey?”

Kurapika scoffs. “Not a chance, gramps.”

*

Kurapika could have insisted on returning to Lukso Province alone, bearing the weight of his family’s funeral rites all on his own shoulders, but in the end Gon out-stubborned him on that front. Kurapika is very glad of the company. Gon acts as his seeing eyes, an extra pair of helping hands, and an all-around perfect travel companion. When Kurapika gets too bogged down in his grief, Gon always knows how to cheer him up. When Kurapika can feel hostile eyes staring at him, Gon is quick to disarm everyone around them with his charm. In turn, Kurapika is more than glad to act as Gon’s tour guide in Nancha City, showing him all the shops he remembers visiting and all the foods he remembers trying for the first time, layering a new bittersweet memory over the old.

Between the two of them, with Kurapika describing key landmarks and Gon hunting them down with his sharp eyes, they manage to make it all the way to Lukso Province- slowly, painstakingly and on foot- without getting lost even once. Throughout their journey, Kurapika makes an effort to commit every sound, every brush of his fingertips, and every new scent on the wind to memory. Is this what home was like for Pairo? No, it’s too quiet. All the voices of his clan are missing. So too are the calls and coos of his clan’s tamed piko birds, who must have all gone feral or died out by now. Thankfully Gon’s voice goes a long way toward filling the void.

“Well. Here we are. This is it. This is where I was born.” Somehow the word ‘home’ doesn’t fit anymore.

“It’s beautiful, Kurapika.”

“I can’t show you what our houses looked like, or what we grew in our gardens- at least not yet. My parents came to me in a dream the other night. Someday I would like to rebuild a house and plant some flowers and a few rows of fruits and vegetables in their honor. If I can find someone I trust, I’d like to hire a caretaker for these grounds while I’m away. I wouldn’t want to move back here all alone.”

When Kurapika buries all the recovered Scarlet Eyes in the center of the village, it doesn’t feel as heartbreaking as he expected. In some ways, it feels like reading to the end of a book. Maybe now, Kurapika is ready to start from a blank page.

*

Gon has always learned more readily from people and hands-on experience than from textbooks and rote memorization, and joining Morel’s crew as an apprentice is no exception. He and Kurapika learn the ropes together: Kurapika specializes in sonar mapping, steering and ship controls, navigation, and marine mammal communication and behavior, while Gon learns as much as he can about the trade winds, ocean currents, weather patterns and the ecological connections between local fish, bird and plant species. Both of them pick up details about conservation and rare and exotic species, and dangerous sea life that possesses nen, just beyond the borders of the known world. And all of that is just scratching the surface.

Morel’s crew is hired to escort a supermassive cruise liner called the Black Whale on a dangerous mission to the Dark Continent, sponsored by the Kakin royal family. Kurapika has a finger in two pies at the same time, advising Senritsu, Basho and the newly recruited members of the Nostrade Security Team as they navigate a convoluted web of espionage and political assassinations. Through them, he finds out that Leorio has been recruited by the Hunter Association as part of the Black Whale’s medical crew. While making sure their path through the ocean is clear from harmful creatures, and that the bloodthirstiest Kakin Princes and their Nen Beasts stay as far away from Leorio as possible, Kurapika does his damnedest to keep Leorio safe from over the phone. They call each other almost every day; every time Gon chimes in to say hello, Kurapika has to remind him that he doesn’t need to shout. They promise to visit Leorio later when their contracts are up.

Between his two jobs, Kurapika makes a tidy sum of money, and as soon as the missions are over he knows just what to use it on: a custom-built submersible. He has it built to the most exacting specifications to withstand the crushing pressure of the deep ocean, charging up on solar batteries for dives spanning days in one stretch. It’s big enough to live and sleep in, with a small hydroponic garden for recycling oxygen, supplying full spectrum light, and growing food to supplement their supply. The bottom of the garden is connected to the pressurized fish tanks for their captured specimens, keeping them alive for closer study. It has a waste recycling system as advanced as any spacecraft, ensuring that none of it will ever pollute the ocean they are studying. It has lights and digital cameras in multiple light spectra, and enough memory to store reams of footage and millions of images. It is equipped with the latest navigation and wireless technology, enabling high speed communication whenever the submersible is at the surface. Even before he commissions it, Kurapika has already decided on a name: the Stealth Dolphin.

*

On the surface, Gon cracks open a coconut against a rock and hands Kurapika one jagged-edged half. They sip out of the interior, their hands a fragrant, sticky mess. Birds of paradise invent entirely new songs all around them, stealing all the best bits from their nearest rivals. Kurapika runs his fingers over broad-leafed tropical plants and inhales the intoxicating scents of the wildflowers.

In the shallows, life is ruled by the rhythm of the tides. Kurapika wears thick gloves to avoid accidentally brushing against the venom of a tiny octopus or pricking his finger on the spines of a sea urchin. He helps Gon count, measure and identify all the species they find in the tidal pools, documenting the details in his field notes. They are delighted by sea stars, crabs and snails, and by the tiny, curious fish that try to nibble on the freckles exposed just above Kurapika’s wrist. Which reminds him: Kurapika is going to need a fresh layer of sunscreen before he broils like a lobster and Gon has a hearty laugh at his expense again.

Next, they move just beyond the continental shelf. Here, each new kelp forest is a secret garden, each coral reef a bouquet of flowers. Each shipwreck is a new treasure, repurposed into a home for thousands of new inhabitants on the sea bed. The shoals of fish fluttering across the Stealth Dolphin’s sonar field are a galaxy full of stars, scattering and condensing into a multitude of scintillating shapes.

The Stealth Dolphin dives deeper still, into caves and trenches and near the boiling heat of thermal vents. Sometimes there is nothing but a vast emptiness for miles and miles, with detritus falling slowly from the surface waters like snow. Sometimes there are jellyfish and squids flitting past the sonar field like ghosts. Sometimes they are face to face with the most monstrous, terrifying creatures of the deep, all needle-like teeth and jaws and lean hunger, or the armored segments of an isopod the size of a bus scuttling along the silty floor. Sometimes Gon describes glowing, blinking, flickering bioluminescence surrounding them on all sides, wherever the cameras are pointing. Listening to the haunting symphony of a pod of whales with Gon by his side, Kurapika finds that he does not miss his eyesight at all.

Coming across the long-dead corpse of what had once been a majestic whale, then, inspires an awe-filled atmosphere in the space between grief and celebration. There is a riot of life here, like an entire temporary city sprouting up from nothing. The feast of flesh and fat and bone will sustain its citizens for years before it all vanishes like it never existed.

Gon writes home to his Aunt Mito a little bit at a time, every day without fail. After he is done putting the day’s stories down in his journal for Pairo, Kurapika follows suit.

*

Leorio lives on the New Continent now, studying newly discovered plants for their potential to cure all kinds of diseases. After months-long stretches away at sea where no other human has ever ventured before, always stuck with the same small Sea Hunter crew until they’re going completely stir crazy in each other’s company, it’s so good to hear a familiar soothing voice and know that his good friend has been thriving.

“Kurapika, hi! Gon, is that you? Holy shit, you’re as tall as me now, and I’m not even including the hair.”

“Hi Leorio!”

“Good morning, Leorio. This isn’t just an ordinary visit. Today I’m here on a mission.”

“Really? You’re not just here to see my handsome face?”

Very funny. For that, Leorio deserves Kurapika’s hand smushed in his face, wiping off his grin for him. The scratchy stubble is still there on his strong chin. “You have bags under your eyes.”

“Sheesh, nothing gets past you.”

“Damn right, it doesn’t. If I can take better care of myself, then so can you.”

“Yeah! How can you be a good doctor if you’re not sleeping and you don’t eat your vegetables?”

“Don’t get me started on the understaffing and the culture of overwork in this industry. We’ll be here all day. Anyway, what’s this mission of yours?”

“Last time I was here, you asked me if I had ever considered becoming an organ donor. Well, I took some time to think about it, and I decided that if Kuroro is always going to be walking around with my eyes until someone stronger than me finally kills him- damn that man- then if I die in a car accident or some other similar tragedy, I would feel better about giving away the rest of my organs consensually to give someone else a second chance. I’m taking back agency over my body. But given the amount of time I spend on the open ocean lately, or in small villages where there really isn’t a lot of traffic, hopefully such a tragedy is very unlikely to strike. I decided that I’d like to start saving lives now, so I want to donate my blood. I know type AB isn’t exactly popular with the blood banks, but every little bit helps, right?”

“That’s great, Kurapika! Don’t let anybody tell you that blood banks only want type O blood. You’re not the only universal recipient who may need a blood transfusion at some point in their lives, and besides, type AB blood is still really useful for plasma. You can donate as often as every six weeks, and one blood donor can save as many as eight lives!”

“Awesome! Can I donate blood, too?”

“You’re not eighteen yet, so you’ll have to get consent from your aunt, but I don’t see why not.” Leorio stage whispers conspiratorially into Gon’s ear. “Every time you donate blood, you get free orange juice and cookies.”

“What kind of cookies?”

“Chocolate chip, usually.”

“I’m going to tell Killua!”

“I can’t guarantee that I’ll be here as often as every six weeks, but I’ll do my best.” It’s nice to have a tangible reason to visit Leorio more often and to do some good in the process. Kurapika isn’t in it for the cookies, of course. “If my blood helps to save anyone, would you tell me their stories next time? You don’t have to name any names, but I’d really like that.”

“Hell yeah! Those are exactly the kinds of stories I’m going to bring to life for free.”

And exactly the kinds of stories Pairo wants to hear.

*

Having
Some summers gone
Dug out
That old tree stump
That darkened my garden;

Having waited
Without planting,
(For it was impossible then
To choose the growth);

Having lost the dream,
But not the art of healing;
Having released the roots of pain
Into content
I now stir the skies.

-Rising by Jean ‘Binta’ Breeze from Third World Girl: Selected Poems