Chapter Text
“I want you to retrieve something very precious to me.”
Gon looks at the old man in the wheelchair, his white hair shining like snow in the afternoon sun and the thick blanket on his knees to keep out the early spring chill dusty.
They’re in a big, fancy office, the oak desk huge and heavy and the leather chairs an unusual shade of aubergine. There’s a beautiful Pearsian rug on the floor, and Azian vases and bowls on pedestals around the wood-paneled walls. All the trappings of wealth and power, the office of a wealthy businessman or magnate. But the old man sitting in a strip of sun by a crackling fire is bowed and wrinkled, clinging to life by his fingernails.
“Oh?” says Gon, meeting his milky blue eyes. “What?”
“I married young to the wealthy daughter of an excellent family. She was a good wife to me, but we were never in love. That came later, when I took a tour of the Mankutta region to see their oil refineries. My guide was a beautiful local girl named Mei. We fell in love, but I couldn’t leave my wife – she was the backbone of my business and a shrewd investor and board member. All I could do was treasure the time I had with Mei. And when it was over and time to come home, I promised myself I wouldn’t think about her anymore.”
The old man sighs, a sound like a door closing somewhere deep inside a castle, dark and dusty and long-forgotten. “It was a foolish promise, but I held to it for years. My wife and I had children, and expanded our business, and prospered. She died last year, and my children are living abroad running the business. I’m all alone now, and I find myself thinking of Mei. We had keepsakes – just little things, but they were precious to us. She said she would leave them for me, if I ever wanted them back. Well, now I’m old and crippled and too weak to make a journey to Mankutta. I want you to go and get them back. I’ve marked the location on a map. There are local dangers, of course. Huntsmen and harsh terrain, treacherous drops and dangerous beasts.”
Gon smiles. “Sounds fun.”
The old man looks up at him and laughs, a dry sound like paper crinkling. “I was young like you once.” He smiles with his chapped, pale lips. “I’m sure you’ll bring my treasures back to me. But I like to be certain, and I have the fortune to afford it. I’ve hired another Hunter as well. He will meet you tomorrow at the airfield. Now, now, don’t protest,” he says, when Gon starts to object. “Allow an old man his peace of mind. I don’t have many days left to me; I can’t afford your trip to fail.”
In the fireplace a log cracks, sparks shooting upwards and dying even as they fall. “Yes, I can’t afford it to fail,” he repeats quietly. Thin, spidery fingers reach out and point to the desk; Gon crosses over to it. A map is folded up on its surface. “The location is marked on that map. All you have to do is get there and retrieve what Mei left for me. The reward is 2,00,000 Jenny.”
Gon picks up the map and nods. “I’ll bring your treasures back,” he promises.
***
He’s at the airfield before dawn the next morning, the eastern horizon almost frost-white with the slow-rising sun. The large departure lounge is mostly empty, just a few bleary-eyed travelers sitting in their seats clinging to their luggage like pillows.
Gon finds his departure gate and takes a seat, easing his backpack off. He usually travels light, but Mankutta at this time of year is cold; he’s had to bring a blanket and coat, as well as some extra warm gear. He’s always been more comfortable with heat rather than cold, Whale Island semi-tropical and never seeing snow.
Here in York Shin City, though, he’s too hot in his heavy down-lined knee-length coat; he shucks it off and tucks it through the straps of his backpack, ready to go as soon as they start boarding the airship.
Without his nen, Gon can no longer sense approaching auras. But when he hears the heels clicking on the lounge’s tile floor a brief burst of excitement and fear floods through him. He knows that sound.
He cranes his head upwards and sees Hisoka come around from behind him. The magician is wearing a brown leather bomber jacket with white sheep-fleece lining overtop his usual colourful outfit. His boots are ankle-boots with low heels, fashionable but also walkable. His yellow eyes shine as he comes to a stop and stares down at Gon.
“A pleasant surprise,” he comments. He has a sail-cloth bag slung over one shoulder, the coarse cord holding it wrapped around his left hand. “The old man refused to tell me who my companion would be, and it would be so wearisome to be stuck with a bore.”
Gon smiles up at him. “I think you could handle it,” he says.
“Mm. But how troublesome to have to kill a companion before even leaving on my trip.” Hisoka glances down at the seat beside him. “May I sit?”
Gon shuffles over. “Sure.”
Hisoka swings his bag down to sit on the ground at his feet and takes his seat gracefully, long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. In the harsh lounge light his pale face looks strange, ethereal. Up close Gon can see that the fabric of his clothes is thicker and stiffer than the light-weight cotton he usually wears; the colours a little faded. Hisoka turns to consider Gon, a slight smile on his lips. His nails tap on the metal armrest that separates them; they’ve been painted poison green.
Hisoka is unlike anyone Gon has met before, and while the most obvious differences lie in his thirst for violence and cat-like self-indulgence, there’s a lot that’s much simpler about him that Gon finds fascinating. None of the fishermen on Whale Island had painted their nails or wore make-up or jewelry other than the storm charms their wives wove for them out of leather. None of them had moved like Hisoka, with sly grace and sensuous elegance. And none of them had ever made his skin prickle with excitement, a sensation like static electricity dancing on his forearms.
The magician reminds him of a feline, capable of intense affection one moment and bloody violence the next. His unpredictability, his strength, his grace… they make him interesting. Make him fascinating, pulling at Gon as the moon pulls at the ocean. Hisoka may be close or far, his influence over Gon ebbing or flowing, but it never entirely disappears.
Without otherwise moving from his relaxed posture, Hisoka stretches out his long, clever fingers and scrapes his nails along the back of Gon’s forearm. The sound is whisper-quiet; it sends the hairs on the back of Gon’s neck up.
“Tell me, Gon. Why do you use zetsu in such a mundane setting?”
Gon swallows, looks at him. Hisoka’s eyes are curious, unblinking.
Gon hasn’t kept his lack of nen a secret, despite the urgings of Morel and Knov for caution. He’s been taking jobs anyway, working to keep himself distracted. Hunter work is closely vetted to ensure fairness in remuneration; it’s easy enough to pick out tasks that don’t require nen.
“It’s not zetsu,” he says slowly. “My nen is gone.”
He watches the surprise draw over Hisoka’s face like the sunrise, his features brightening, sharpening. “Oh? And where, pray tell, did it go?”
“I used it all up. Through a covenant. All the nen I would ever have, all at once.”
Hisoka’s eyes narrow in pleasure, his bloodlust flickering slightly, washing over Gon like dead desert air. “What an amazing sight that must have been,” he breathes. “And how awful of you to deny me the pleasure of it. Who could have deserved it more than me?”
“Someone who tortured and killed a friend of mine. His name was Pitou. I killed him.” Gon spits the words out like marbles, curt and hard.
“A good friend?”
“The first Hunter I ever met. It’s because of him that I’m a Hunter today.”
“Hmm.” Hisoka tilts his head to the side. “Not your father? I heard about your reunion at the Chairman Election. So emotional.”
Gon blinks. “I guess. And my Dad is the reason I became a Hunter. But without Kite… I would never have known anything about him. I’d probably be a fisherman on Whale Island now.”
“And what a waste that would be,” purrs Hisoka. He opens his mouth to say something else, but the overhead pager announces their flight is loading. They stand, hauling up their bags. “Well, whatever has happened, I’m glad you will be my companion. It should prove an entertaining job.”
Gon nods. “Un! Let’s go!”
***
They watch the sunrise from the air, honey-gold light pouring over the ugly badlands surrounding York Shin City and painting the arid earth red.
There’s a cafeteria serving breakfast; Gon had only an energy bar before leaving his hotel room, and is already starving. Hisoka accompanies him and watches with amusement as he loads his tray up with eggs and bacon and a fruit salad and maple sausages and toast and marmalade and tea.
Hisoka has coffee and a pastry. It’s light and fluffy and comes apart as he eats it, flakes stuck to his fingers by sugar. He licks them clean, watching Gon all the while; it makes Gon’s skin uncomfortably hot. He stares for a minute, Hisoka’s pink tongue lapping out over his white hands. Then the scent of his meal pulls his attention and he looks down at it, concentrating on the food and nothing else as he gobbles down his breakfast.
Afterwards they take their drinks and look for somewhere to sit, the airship boasting several lounges as well as private rooms that can be reserved. The red-eye flight isn’t very popular and they find two seats beside a window easily, settling down. Gon sips his tea while Hisoka slowly tips his coffee back and forth, watching the black liquid wash up against the white porcelain cup.
“I confess I’m surprised that you’re taking jobs,” he says at last, just as Gon gets down to the dregs of his drink. He looks up, eyes like old coins, glittering in the low light. “I would have thought you would be working to regain your nen. Probably with darling Killua in tow.”
Gon takes in a deep breath, feels his ribs stretching with it, his spine popping. He lets it out slowly. “Yeah. I can understand that. A lot of people thought that. My friends all offered to help. But… you can’t go back on a price you paid. That’s cheating. I chose to use up all my nen to defeat Pitou. Trying to get it back feels unfair. Feels wrong. What would be the point of that sacrifice, if I just undid it?” he looks out over the landscape; they’ve passed the badlands and are over open fields now, spared from the blight around York Shin City. The grass is verdant, fields marked out like a patchwork quilt, all different shades of greens and browns. Here and there fluffy white sheep graze, or big dark cows.
“You never cease to surprise me,” comments Hisoka. “That’s what I like about you, Gon. You’re so fresh, like a sea breeze. You make me long for…” he trails off, lips curling secretively.
Gon looks over, curious. “For what?”
“For your attention unbridled. For your pleas or your curses or whatever would convince me that you see me, only me before you.”
Gon blinks. “I do see you, Hisoka. You’re right here.”
The magician smiles. “Yes. But your mind is in part elsewhere: on your next meal, or the weather, or searching your surroundings. Right now, even as we talk, you’re thinking about your nen, and your sorrows, and your friends. Very rarely do you turn all the focus of your being on one person. But when you do, it’s exquisite. That’s the Gon I want to see.”
“You’re kind of strange, Hisoka.”
Hisoka brushes his knuckle up against his smile. “It has been said.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Now. Let’s see this map, shall we?”
***
They land in Mankutta a few hours later. The sky is grey with storm clouds, while in the fields the first green shoots are struggling to sprout, leaves budding on trees. It’s not below freezing but it’s chill; the wind has icy teeth.
Gon pulls on his coat and backpack and follows Hisoka down the ramp. Mankutta is a village surrounded by pine forests, distant mountains rising jaggedly to take bites out of the sky. Their target lies away towards the mountains at the base of a waterfall. There are paths into the forest but no roads, and few vehicles to rent; Mankutta is resource-rich but cash-poor, its oil stolen by tycoons from the southern part of the continent.
He and Hisoka cut through the village and out beyond its stockade fence. There’s about a mile of open fields, and then the trees start. Tall and dark and evergreen, they blot out the sky and turn the earth orange with dried needles. The ground here will be acidic for generations, Gon knows, won’t grow crops even if the trees are forested.
With little sun cutting through the thick branches the underbrush is thin, almost non-existent. It’s easy to cut a path through the trees, up and down gentle slopes between the reddish boles. The bark is rough and fibrous, and the local women use it to weave baskets.
Following the map they pick up on the river that descends from the waterfall they’re making for, and from there it’s a simple matter of following the riverbed. The water flows fast and cold, sun dashing rainbows through the spray over rapids.
The forest smells of cedar and damp earth; rich, clean scents that Gon soaks up. It’s wonderful to be out of the city, out of the fumy pit that is York Shin City, its streets packed with cars belching exhaust and its air thick with smoke from coal-burning stoves. There’s plenty of money to be made there, but little joy to be had.
Here Gon runs along ahead of Hisoka so he can climb trees and see the bird nests, tiny spotted eggs nestled in downy beds, and can jump across the river on rocks and look for silvery fish. He feels alive in a way he never does when he’s in big cities, feels the vibrance of nature surrounding him.
There are tracks of iron-claw lions and dire wolves in the forest, old tracks but reminders that this place isn’t a safe paradise – not that anywhere is. He can smell old urine markings on some of the trees, some wolf pack carving out its territory. He drops back to Hisoka, who is shuffling cards between his hands.
“There’s a lot of wildlife here. Some of it’s dangerous,” he says. “The females will have their babies at this time of year; they’ll be very protective.”
“Thanks for the warning,” hums the magician. “It’s good to know you’re looking out for me.”
Although they seem genuine his words make Gon flush; Hisoka’s undoubtedly the stronger of the two of them, had trampled Gon in their last fight. He doesn’t need protecting.
They walk together for a while, feet padding quietly on the fallen pine needles, the only sound that of birdsong and the river running over rocks. “Hisoka?”
“Hm?”
“Are you disappointed? That I lost my nen? Do you think I should be trying to get it back?”
The magician turns, his expression one of quiet interest. “Are you asking because you value my opinion? Or to make yourself feel better?”
Gon swallows. “I care what you think,” he says, eventually. “Because – I was supposed to fight you! When I got stronger. And now I’ll never be strong enough to fight you.”
Hisoka stops so suddenly Gon nearly bumps into him. “Nen has wonderful advantages. And it’s much prized by the Hunter Association – prized unduly, in my opinion. Don’t make the mistake of thinking it’s everything. If you’re strong and sharp and talented, you can defeat a nen-user without nen. That kind of challenge should appeal to you, I think. As for me… it’s you I want to fight, not your nen. I still believe that someday, you will truly impress me. I haven’t given up on that belief.”
“You really still want to fight me?”
“Oh yes,” purrs Hisoka. “And you?”
“I want to! Really! And if that means I have to get stronger without nen, then I will!”
The magician smiles. “Good.”
Gon nods. “Un! Thanks Hisoka!” He hitches his backpack up on his back and blows past the other Hunter, dodging up along their route through the trees. “I’m gonna scout ahead!”
He jogs onwards, smiling, the breeze blowing in his hair.
***
They reach the first obstacle later that morning: a sudden jagged cliff rising into the sky above them, its wall straight and solid. The river tumbles down it in a waterfall, although not the one they seek. It’s at least a hundred yards tall and very sheer. Gon smells the breeze coming down from above, nose twitching.
“It’s colder above,” he says. “And wilder. This is as far as people from Mankutta ever come, I think.”
“How exciting,” croons Hisoka, looking upwards. “Although I fear this will be hard on my nails.”
“They’re not too practical for the outdoors.”
Hisoka’s eyes glint like sparks. “Perhaps not. But I do enjoy making a statement.”
“Out here, there’s only me. And I already know how pretty you are,” says Gon, looking up plainly at him.
“Mm, flattery. I could do with more of that,” purrs the magician, twisting a stray lock of crimson hair behind his ear. “Tell me, Gon, do you admire beauty?”
Gon looks up at him, at his beaten-gold eyes and his seductive lips and his elegant cheekbones. He nods. “I like pretty things. And I like you, Hisoka. But not just because you’re pretty.”
One fine red eyebrow rises. “Oh?”
“You’re strong – really strong. You could break me if you wanted to, but you don’t and I can feel you holding back all the time. It makes me scared, but it makes me want to get stronger, too.”
Hisoka lets out his breath in an audible sigh. “You should be careful, Gon. Too much praise and I may lose my inhibitions. And then anything might happen.” His voice is throbbing, lustful.
“It’s okay; I trust you.”
Hisoka blinks. “Why ever would you?”
“Because I know however much you want to fight me right away, you want it to be a good fight – and right now, it won’t be. I trust you to know what you want best. You’re the kind of person who would sacrifice anything to get what he wants best.”
Hisoka’s lips turn upwards, face tightening, contorting. He raises his chin and laughs, a raucous, crowing sound. “I am so selfish I won’t allow myself something I’m saving for later, is that it?”
Gon scratches his head. “I guess,” he says.
“You are truly one of a kind.” Hisoka straightens, shaking off his humour like a dog shakes off water. “Well then. Up we go, I suppose.”
Gon nods and, reaching up, takes his first hand-hold.
***
Although steep and with few handholds, Gon is an excellent climber and Hisoka can use Bungee Gum when his grip slips. They overcome the cliff without much difficulty. At the top they can see all the way back over the forest to Mankutta village, smoke rising from cooking fires and the tall stockade wall jutting upwards like rotting teeth.
Turning around all that’s ahead of them is more forest, topped in the distance by snowy mountains. They carry on.
***
The trip should take about two days; one day to get to the waterfall and another to get back; they’ll camp beside the river overnight. Around mid-afternoon Gon scents something following them – the thick, sweaty fug of a dire wolf. It’s keeping its distance but is definitely following them as they trail through the trees. It will wait for more of its pack to join it, then attack them when they’re at a disadvantage.
“We’ve got a visitor,” he says quietly to Hisoka. “I’ll drop back and deal with it.”
“Very well.”
He hops up into a tree and leaps from branch to branch backwards, movements silent, breathing quiet. Hisoka carries on, not bothering to hide his footsteps or the sounds of his passage.
When he’s gone a little ways back he stops, finding a good perch and settling himself in. He slows his breaths and his heartbeat, calming his mind and body, letting himself fade into the background.
He finally spots the wolf – large with coarse grey fur and a black stripe down the centre of his muzzle – a ways back. It doesn’t sense him.
He waits for it to approach, its big paws padding on the soft forest floor, its nose occasionally sniffing the air as it tracks Hisoka.
When it’s right beneath him Gon drops down, falls like a cannonball right onto its back. He brings his two fists down onto its skull, braining it, and it drops. Unconscious.
It will be safe enough here – there aren’t any local predators for dire wolves. When it wakes up, they’ll be too far ahead for it to catch up.
“Sleep well,” he says, quietly, and starts jogging after Hisoka.
***
Back together again they continue hiking, stopping occasionally to drink from their canteens. This isn’t the Hunter Exam, there’s no need for them to push themselves to the breaking point.
It’s during one of these lulls that Gon strikes up a conversation again.
“Hisoka?”
The magician glances at him, in the process of taking a swig from his canteen. His sharp Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his pale throat glinting in the afternoon sunlight.
“If you lost your nen… would you try to get it back?”
Hisoka lowers his canteen and screws the top back on it. “I don’t believe the question would ever arise. I cannot imagine doing as you did, tying myself to a covenant of despair. If I am not strong enough as I am, then I deserve defeat, or must work to grow stronger. Taking what is beyond my reach for a temporary victory… that would taste hollow.”
Gon stares back at him. He’s packing his canteen back in his bag, attention focused on that task. “Oh. I see.”
“But Gon – your motives are not mine. Taking revenge for another… that is not in my nature. The dead are dead; we owe them no dues. Caring for others… it is not a sentiment I understand. I have many lusts, but no loves. In some ways we are similar, but in this we are poles apart.”
“That’s kind of sad, isn’t it?”
Hisoka looks down at him, expression bland. “A fish cannot lust after flight; how could I miss what I’ve never known?”
“But there are flying fish, Hisoka. There’s hope for all of us, I think.”
“I have neither hope nor despair,” replies the magician, hauling his bag onto his back. “Let’s keep moving; we’re losing sun.”
***
The wind is blowing up towards them from Mankutta, carrying with it the faint smells of civilization: smoke and oil.
Gon’s looking back towards their route home, their footprints shallow in the soft earth and needles.
He’s just turning when he sees a flash of movement some ten yards away, downwind of them and just behind a tree.
Hisoka moves faster than his sight can follow, his hand snapping out in front of Gon’s neck. He catches something between his fingers and flings it back, snarling.
There’s a moment of silence, then a soft thump. Hisoka prowls forward, Gon following, still shocked.
There’s a local huntsman lying prone on the ground behind a tree, a poisoned dart in his throat.
“Not all the local tribes are friendly with Mankutta and the oil prospectors,” he says, kicking the body. It rolls, skin already pale and lips blue. “Fast-acting poison.”
Gon looks up at him. “This is the second time you’ve saved me from a poisoned dart,” he says.
“And how will you repay me this time?”
“I’ll make dinner,” says Gon. Hisoka smiles slowly.
“Very well,” he says, and while Gon has the impression he wants to ask for more, he simply turns and continues on towards the mountains.
***
Gon lets Hisoka lead; with his nen he’s more likely to detect the aura of any other huntsmen in the region.
As they walk, Gon’s backpack starts feeling heavier and heavier. He hikes it up again and again but it keeps weighing him down. The sun is fading fast, the world around growing darker, as though lit through smoked glass. Although the ground is only slightly inclined, Gon’s beginning to feel winded, his breathing growing strained.
Hisoka slows and looks back, and Gon bumps into his shoulder. His head is heavier too, his spine bending under its weight. He can feel his heart beating faster in his chest, too fast, too shallow. He looks at his hand – it’s strangely pale, his nails blue in tone.
“What’s wrong with you?” asks the magician pointedly.
Gon looks up, and the world spins, sky and earth tumbling over one another.
A moment later he’s lying in Hisoka’s arms, staring up at glittering gold eyes. “’Soka?”
The magician pulls the collar away from his neck, traces a line with his thumb. “The dart nicked you. Why didn’t you say something?” He sounds angry, voice rough.
Gon blinks up at him. “Didn’ feel ‘nything,” he says softly.
“For poison this potent, he won’t have bothered with an antidote. There is no help nearby. Whether you live is up to you,” he says.
“’ll be okay,” says Gon, his breathing raspy. His chest feels tight, his skin hot. The world is all dark and fuzzy around the edges and blurred in the centre.
Hisoka picks him up in his arms and carries him.
Onwards, into the darkening forest.
***
His vision is dark and blurred; all he can see is Hisoka’s golden eyes dancing above him, bright and eldritch as fox fire in the shadow. Sometimes Hisoka speaks, but his ears are stuffed as though with cotton and he can’t make out the words.
He’s so hot. He feels like his skin is melting, like his bones are melting, face caving inwards as though eaten away with acid, choking him. He fights weakly in Hisoka’s grip, wants to strip off his clothes and throw himself in the river until the heat within him freezes. He’s begging, pleading for relief, for Hisoka to stop, to let him drown himself in the icy waters beside them.
When Hisoka finally does stop and lays him down in a small clearing, Gon’s too weak to stand. He tries, tries to roll over and get his legs under him, but he only twitches, pine needles scratching his sensitive skin. It’s like lying on a bed of flames, fiery and agonizing.
Hisoka strips off his colourful clothes, then steps over and strips Gon’s off, until he can feel the cold mountain air on his naked skin – it’s not enough, not nearly enough, he’s boiling, burning up, turning to ashes even as he lies here.
Hisoka picks him up and carries him into the river. It’s deep and icy and strong, pulling at him. Hisoka holds him, submerges the both of them and holds him with his head above the ripping waves, water splashing his fiery cheeks.
Gon has no sense of time; all he knows is Hisoka’s golden eyes, so bright, like beacons. They won’t let him fail, won’t let him get lost in this darkness. As his breathing slows, as the heat fades and his body grows heavy again, he stares up at them. Holds onto the sight of them, brilliant, beautiful.
As long as he can see them, he’ll be okay.