Kurapika woke up to his alarm's staccato beeps. His neck felt stiff and his head felt like someone took sandpaper and then salt to his sinuses. He dragged himself off the couch. He had an early morning class and scrambled to get ready. When he opened the door to leave, two envelopes fell out of the doorway.

Did someone tuck them in there? Kurapika frowned. "Leorio?"

"Hm?" Leorio stumbled out of his bedroom and into their tiny kitchen. He dropped a mug on the floor. "Drat!"

"These arrived." Kurapika waved them around.

Leorio's eyes widened. "They must be the wedding invitations!"

Oh. Kurapika let out a sigh of relief. He tore open the royal blue envelope.

"I wonder what Illumi had to promise Hisoka to get them to be so proper," Leorio mused. "I'd have expected, like, jack-in-the-boxes."

"Nothing I want to know about," Kurapika responded.

"Ooh, I get a plus one," Leorio said.

"Really?" Kurapika frowned. "Do you actually plan on using it?" He remembered the one time Leorio was dazzled by that girl on the streets, the one with bright pink pigtails, and then she stole all the money off Leorio and Kurapika too. Since then Kurapika didn't trust Leorio to date.

"Of course!" Leorio threw his arms out. Dressed in plaid pajama bottoms and a stained t-shirt, hair rumpled from sleep, he looked hilarious. Kurapika couldn't keep from smiling. "I'll just have to think about how to pick the right girl."

Kurapika rolled his eyes. "Do you have your internship tonight?"

"Yeah. I'll be home late." Leorio was interning for Dr. Cheadle Yorkshire, a therapist. "You have babysitting?"

Kurapika shook his head. "Tomorrow."

Leorio pulled out his laptop, an old beast of a machine he got secondhand, and turned it on. Kurapika caught a glimpse of the front page of the news, and instantly his mood soured.

They got off.

Everything was futile. It wouldn't matter how hard he worked.

He had to get these rubies. No matter what. Otherwise, for what purpose had he not been in the car that night?

He was supposed to be with them. He was supposed to die. But he was avoiding home, because his parents had been fighting lately, fighting ever since the police started investigating them for insurance fraud. And when his cousin Pairo called him and Kurapika mumbled something about being on his way and Pairo read through the lines as he always did, picked up on how stressed Kurapika was, he told Kurapika's parents Kurapika had to help a friend with a project at the library.

He got home and he waited and waited for them, and then the police called.

Pairo, too…

Why?

He'd screamed that question so many times to any god that was out there, and none deigned to answer.

The air in his lungs felt robbed from someone else. Kurapika flexed his hands. He slipped into his lecture hall, sitting down next to Melody. She smiled. She'd survived a car accident, too, on her way back from a concert with a friend years ago. It left her disfigured and her best friend dead, but she seemed to have less guilt than Kurapika. And she shouldn't feel guilty. She never thought her friend was making her life difficult, like he thought about his parents and their scandal.

I didn't deserve to be their son.

No. That wasn't true. If it weren't for those damn bastards, he would still have parents. And a home. Kurapika bit his lip so hard he drew blood.

The lecture droned in one ear and out the next.


"Kalluto said what?" Machi pushed her coffee across the counter. Feitan scowled next to her, scarf pulled up like it was frigid out when in reality spring was starting to bleed through.

Chrollo relayed the story. Phinks rubbed his head as if he was hungover from the night before. These three would be enough.

"I mean, it's not much to go on," Phinks mumbled.

"Kalluto's instincts good," Feitan said, adjusting his rumpled shirt. He looked as if he'd slept in his clothes. Which he probably had. Chrollo remembered the days where they only had the clothes on their backs, when the four of them, Paku, Shalnark, and Uvogin ran through Meteor City together.

"Kalluto's eleven," Machi said, crossing her arms over her chest. "He's smart, but he's eleven."

Feitan glanced at her.

She glared back. "What? He's a kid."

"Fair," said Chrollo. "But I would love to go after Nasubi and his son."

"Tserriednich is a bastard," said Phinks. "I heard he has a habit of paying off bouncers at strip joints around the city. So then he can do what he wants."

"I heard he pushed one of his sisters down a flight of stairs," said Machi. "Paid off her mother, though. Who isn't his mother. The girl died."

"He also has rubies," said Feitan.

"Hm?" Chrollo's eyes widened. That couldn't be. That—unless—

Well, that explains Kurta's presence.

"I track them," Feitan said. "When they were arrested. Uvo. Shalnark. Kortopi. Paku. Through underground channels. He has them."

"Well, I suppose we might have an interest in this job after all," Chrollo mused. If they could create a blackmail situation for Nasubi and expose Tserriednich, that would help Paku, Kortopi, and Shalnark get back on their feet. And the world would be better off without Tserriednich. Uvogin would like that. And maybe if the police got those rubies back Kurta would call off his crusade against them, because Chrollo was not stupid enough to think the man's sense of justice would let him rest. He knew his type. Warped with self-righteousness, they became the monsters they feared. It was one of Chrollo's favorite types of tragedies to read. Hamlet, etc. But he wasn't going to give the Kurta bastard a chance to lock any of his colleagues up, or worse. He needed all of them to keep his news site running.

Not one was unnecessary. Not one was someone he could afford to waste. Especially not when he just got them back. His chest tightened at the thought and he did not like that sensation at all.

"Why don't we investigate the situation?" Chrollo suggested, leaning forward. The pressure in his chest eased. "It sounds like the wife might be more than willing to talk."

Phinks did some quick work hacking, and with a copy of Nasubi's work schedule and the promise of a lengthy meeting tomorrow afternoon, Chrollo marked it on his calendar to find Oito Hui Guo Rou and pick her brain.

They rode over on the subway together the next day, crowded with sweaty workers rushing to and from their jobs. Chrollo paged through The Brothers Karamazov. A decent book. He rather liked Ivan. Dmitri reminded him too much of Hisoka, only far less intelligent.

The Hui Guo Gou mansion loomed ahead, sprawling and larger than Chrollo's house by seven times at least. Phinks's eyes lit up as he took in the gardens. Chrollo knocked on the door a pen behind his ear and a cloth wrapped around his forehead to cover up his tattoo. Not that he would try to hide his identity, but these types of folks tended to take him more seriously when—

The door opened, and Kurapika Kurta's face greeted him.

"Oh fuck," said Feitan.

The door slammed in Chrollo's face.

This dropping feeling in his stomach—was this shock? Chrollo tightened his jaw. So Kurapika was there. Was Kalluto wrong? Was—

He rapped on the door again.

"What are you doing?" hissed Machi. "We should go—it's—"

"We could write a very interesting story on this itself," Feitan mused.

It wouldn't be enough. Chrollo wanted to see his face, see his face now that he knew that his efforts were in vain and his friends were—this had to happen for a reason, a purpose, and Chrollo would not see it wasted.

The door flung open again. A woman with wide oval eyes and designer clothing blinked at them. "Can I help you?"

Phinks drew in his breath. A baby giggled in the background.

"Oito Hui Guo Rou?" ventured Machi. She stuck out her hand, stepping backwards onto Feitan's toes as if to chastise him. "I'm Machi Komacine, a reporter for—"

"Yes, my babysitter just told me you all work for the Spider," Oito said, worrying her lip. "I'm afraid I can't help you—my husband isn't at home right now, and I'm trying to study for a class I'm taking."

"What class?" Phinks asked.

Oito frowned. "I can give you my husband's number if you'd—"

"We don't want to talk to him," Chrollo said, heart still beating fast. Where was that rotten Kurta? "We'd rather talk to you."

Oito wrung her hands. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Ah. Chrollo could see the telltale signs. Bags under her eyes, carefully smeared with concealer. A sag to her lips brought on not by age but by sorrow. Not a hair out of place. The woman was terrified.

"You tryin' to leave your husband, aren't you?" asked Feitan, cruelly. Chrollo bit his tongue. That was not how he would have gone about it.

"You can't possibly report that!" Oito's jaw dropped.

"We wouldn't," Phinks assured her. Machi's brow drew together. Feitan cocked his head. "I mean," Phinks stammered. "We—we're—we've heard things—about your husband—"

"Please leave," Oito commanded, her voice wobbling.

"We have no intention of risking your safety," Chrollo said smoothly, adopting the same tone he used with Neon, with all those other people. It put them at ease.

"I'm afraid I don't—"

"We can help you," Machi said, picking up on Chrollo's cues because her emotions were not useless unlike Phinks's and Feitan's. "Let us help you, and your daughter."

So Machi did her research. Of course. Oito swallowed, and then stepped back to let them inside.

"Oito?" Kurapika looked up from where he was sitting on the living room floor. A baby sat in his lap, a picture book open in front of them. "What—"

"They said they were going to help," Oito said.

Kurapika's mouth opened and closed like a fish's. "They're reporters. Are you certain you can trust them?"

So Oito didn't know everything about her babysitter, and he'd like to keep it that way. Chrollo nodded to himself.

"We want to write a story on your husband, and your stepson," said Machi. "Tserriednich. We've heard things and plan on—"

"Do you want some tea?" Oito blurted out. Kurapika started to rise, but the baby let out a screech. "Kurapika, it's okay."

Kurapika looked as if he had swallowed a grenade. He settled back down. The baby reached up her arms, patting his face. He smiled at her, though his spine remained stiff.

"We're fine," Feitan stated. Machi again crunched his foot. He glowered at her.

"I see," said Oito, gesturing for them to sit down at the table in the kitchen, glamorous with new appliances and decorated with statues and paintings of all sorts of curious—and occasionally grotesque—beasts.

Kurapika's voice echoed in the background. He was reading a story to the baby, about a king and queen. His voice changed inflection to highlight the exciting parts. The baby chortled, though she wasn't yet at an age when she could understand any of it.

Books had always been Chrollo's escape, too.

He focused on Oito. "We've heard rumors of your husband and stepson, and rumors that you plan to leave him, but you need to support yourself. If he goes to jail, you'd get all his money, and—"

"No," said Oito. "I wouldn't. Because he's massively in debt right now."

Machi's mouth opened. She pressed record on her phone. Kurapika glared from the living room as he sang a lullaby.

"I can't say more. I shouldn't have said that." Oito clamped her hand over her mouth.

"We won't report anything unless you give us permission to," Phinks assured her.

"We won't?" asked Feitan.

Phinks glared. "Of course not."

"From my understanding," said Oito. "That's not how you usually operate. Yes, I do pay attention to things. I'm not merely a silly shallow woman—not anymore." She glanced over her shoulder at her daughter, whom Kurapika was now lifting in the air and twirling around.

So you're truly desperate to talk to us. "Why don't we avoid questions about your husband?" suggested Chrollo. "We can discuss your stepson instead."

"I don't follow his whereabouts much," said Oito. "He comes and goes as he pleases, but he doesn't—after what he did to Momoze—I don't let him near Woble."

"What did happen?" asked Chrollo.

Oito launched into the story about him throwing the middle school girl down a flight of stairs, how she called for an ambulance, how he claimed she'd tripped. "He was charming when I first met him, when I was dating his father."

"How long have you been married?" Chrollo asked.

"Eighteen months." Oito looked at her hands, which she was wringing. "I would say it was the biggest mistake of my life, but it wasn't. I have Woble now."

The baby reached for Kurapika's puffed-out cheeks, pushing them in. She giggled as Kurapika made another face.

"Kurapika," called Oito. "My stepson threatened you the other night, didn't he?"

Kurapika stiffened. "His demeanor was a bit—threatening, yes, but he didn't actually say anything." His face reddened.

Chrollo remembered what Kalluto had said Kurapika told Leorio. He leaned back in his chair. "So tell me, Kurapika, what did he say?" Will you lie? Will you tell the truth? He tapped a pen against his chin.

"He asked if you planned to leave Nasubi," said Kurapika, hoisting Woble up on his hip. She grabbed a fistful of his hair. "Woble was upset and he wanted to hold her, but she seemed afraid of him." He removed his hair from Woble's mouth.

"Anything else?" Chrollo asked sweetly.

Kurapika's eyes narrowed. He studied his shoes. "He insulted you."

"Not surprising," Oito said wryly. "He doesn't like many people."

Chrollo considered pressing to ask for details. Not a good idea. He might just alienate Oito then. But at least now Kurapika should be worried that they were watching him. Back off, Kurta. "Who else could we speak to?" asked Chrollo.

When they left, Phinks fumbled to give Oito his card. "In case you need anything, or have anything else to chat about. We'll leave you alone for most of the investigation."

"Thank you."

Feitan side-eyed Phinks. He tugged up his scarf again, covering his mouth and nose.

Chrollo bid them farewell and headed to a local cafe, pulling out his laptop and getting to work. His favorite coffee shop had a musty smell to it from all the old books lining the walls. Heavy drapes covered the windows, and wooden beams gave it a rustic feel.

A clank echoed.

Chrollo lifted his eyes. "Oh?"

Kurapika stood there, glaring down at him.

"Do you have something to say?" Chrollo asked. "Because this table is taken."

Kurapika yanked the chair back across from him and sat in it. He gripped the cup of iced tea in his hands, looking as if it was taking all his self control not to stab Chrollo right there, in this dank cafe.

"I won't even ask how you know this is my favorite cafe," Chrollo muttered.

"I don't trust what you're doing," Kurapika said. "Whatever you're up to—if you hurt Oito, I hope you know that there's a child at risk too, in this situation. A child. A baby. And if you tell that stepson that she wants to leave—"

"Awfully protective of her, aren't you?" Chrollo taunted.

Kurapika's eyes and face turn scarlet. They said the Kurtas were given rubies centuries ago because of the hue in their eyes. People used to think they were gods. And now, the gods were six feet under, rotting. "I resent that implication. It's demeaning even for you."

"It's not even her you want to protect, is it?" Chrollo asked. You care about that kid. Okay, Woble was cute.

"She doesn't know anything," said Kurapika, azure shirt setting off his golden hair. "About me, about you, so don't go after her to get back at me, okay?"

Enough of this brat's pretentious double standards. He slammed his laptop shut. "You seem to be assuming I'm you," Chrollo retorted. "Assuming I'd go after someone else close to someone because of something they did to you."

Kurapika's face scrunched up. "You're the worst. You thought nothing of what you did would do to my family—"

"Your family had choices."

"So did your friends, and don't pretend they weren't involved!"

"Uvogin," Chrollo snapped. "Is dead because of your pathetic attempt to use Hisoka's bitterness to enact 'justice.' Tell me, what exactly is the difference between what happened to your parents and what happened to him?"

"Don't pretend you know a fraction of what I feel," Kurapika hissed. His knuckles whitened.

"Please leave," Chrollo stated. He felt tired.

"Not until I know you won't hurt—"

"And what exactly do you want to prove that I won't hurt them? A contract?" Chrollo opened his laptop again. "I'll email you one, though we all know it won't mean anything to you or to me. But tell me, Kurapika, do you plan on stealing those rubies?"

Kurapika's jaw fell open.

"Did you really think we wouldn't know?"

"You don't know half as much as you think you do," Kurapika snapped. "I plan on—on—" He swallowed.

"What, is it not stealing if you already owned them once?"

"I'm not like you! I'm not going to steal anything!" Kurapika dropped his voice.

How interesting. "So you're targeting Nasubi and Tserriednich too," Chrollo concluded. "How lucky for you that she seems to support that idea. What if he was a nice guy and she loved him and Woble adored him?"

Kurapika stood. He held up his middle finger.

"Classy," commented Chrollo. "If you find anything useful, be sure to let us know. If it will benefit you, that is, I'm sure you will."

"Fuck you."

"Now, between that and the hand gesture, you're just being redundant."

"You know nothing about me but I know you're a thief and—"

"I know you're someone who got four of my friends put in prison because of something they did back in college," Chrollo snapped, eyes meeting Kurapika's. "That's all I need to know."

Kurapika swallowed. His face grayed. He turned and stormed out.

His iced tea stayed on the table. Chrollo shrugged and grabbed it. If he thought Chrollo was nothing but a thief—well, it'd be a shame to let good tea go to waste.