A/N: This is the sequel to A Series of Politically Inappropriate Happenings. This story will be a little different from the previous two (which were quite different from the first installment of The Series). It was inspired by two things: first, a desire to try a slightly different genre other than Humour (a more serious one, one might say) and second, the criticism that Kuroro's relationship with Midoya is a little too perfect. So, this story took a while to come out.

Disclaimer:I do not own Hunter X Hunter and all the characters affiliated with the manga/anime. All OCs are mine and mine alone. The views stated by the characters do not always reflect the views of the author either. All characters and settings in this story are fictional.


Countdown: Sped Up

Just about the time Kuroro was going through his customary readjustments to sleeping next to a corpse (always necessary after not meeting Midoya for an extended period of time), Kikita was busy hiding in the attic of her house, trying to decide if it was possible to take out the five Nen-users that had broken into her house without breaking those fucking vases John likes so much.

Scowling fiercely to herself, Kikita cursed Kuroro Lucifer and Midoya June Kito vehemently even as she sent her senses out to keep track of the intruders in her house. It was their fucking fault that Kikita was in this mess. After the fight with Kuroro Lucifer, during which, she had to admit, she had gained some respect for Midoya's newest fuck-toy, Kikita had, as planned, driven Decimal's car off to hide it. Blame the late night or her tiredness from the fight or PMS or whatever, she hadn't been paying much attention to the roads when she drove, which was just fucking stupid in hindsight given how she was driving the car of a dead serial killer. Either way, her mind had been wandering off on this and that… and the next thing she knew she had driven past a group of Decimal's buddies. She hadn't even fucking recognised them until a split second after she had passed them.

Then her mind had gone into freak-out mode. Had they noticed her? Had they recognised her? Had they recognised the car? Fuck, had they called for reinforcements?

She got her answer ten minutes later when a pair of headlights started to tail her. So they had recognised something. Shit. Maybe Midoya had a point about wearing disguises, as ridiculous as her disguise made her look. Blonde just did not go with her naturally bloodless complexion. Argh, mind wandering again. Are you not capable of learning, woman? At any rate, Kikita had decided that there was no use trying to drive Decimal's car off to an abandoned junkyard like she had initially planned. She wasn't sure how many men had been in the group that she drove past, but she was pretty certain it was a fucking lot more than one. Any girl going somewhere isolated with a bunch of men just wasn't going to have a good time. Still, it was inevitable that she was going to have to play their game. She knew she needed to kill those bastards. As far as she knew, no one knew Decimal was dead and it was best to keep it that way. Kito's fuck-toy had gone on about it enough for her to get that. She needed to get onto familiar turf then; somewhere she knew very well, somewhere she could defend from.

And fuck it, though she was regretting the decision now, home had seemed like the best idea at that time.

So here she was now, hiding in her house, Decimal's car (with a dead prostitute still in the trunk) in the garage, and hoping that these men didn't know for sure that Decimal hadn't been the one to drive to her place. The only fucking silver lining in the bloody, gloomy sky was that John was working overnight tonight and wouldn't be home for another three hours.

Not for the first time, Kikita glanced at her phone and wished she had remembered to charge it before she left home. The battery life was all but gone, so there was no way to let Midoya know she needed help. Hell, forget Midoya. At this point, Kikita would have called the fucking cops if she thought they would be of any use.

But hey, all was not lost. Kikita had gone straight to the attic the moment she reached home for a very specific reason. It was her area, the one room in the house John never came up to. Her husband thought it was her 'girl' room, the place where she went to have alone time with her and her romance novels or dolls or whatever it is girls do these days. He was only half-wrong; it was her girl-room, just not in the way he imagined it to be.

Kikita took a long, loving look around the stacks and stacks and stacks of weapons that filled the room, each well-oiled, sharpened and personally cared for every single fucking day of the week. At the last count, she knew she had something like fifteen different types of weapons up here. The actual quantitative number was a lot larger. Why settle for one kama when you can have two? And one can never have too many swords after all.

A grin spread over Kikita's face as she soundless walked up to a crate and pulled it open. Should she go with the spear or the katana? Maybe the broadsword? How about the morning star? Perhaps the club would be a better choice in the close confines of her house? Oh, she had so many babies and she was never one for favouritism. But there was no time to linger over them. She had to choose now.

Ten seconds later, Kikita felt that she had enough weapons to deal with the intruders. Strapped to her back were twin axes, short enough to be used in close quarters. Hanging from her waist were a collection of throwing knives, a brass knuckle and, her favourite, a genuine sixteenth century claymore.

There, Kikita beamed, stroking her babies lovingly, now she felt complete.

Grinning like a maniac, Kikita sidled to the attic trapdoor and pressed her ear to it. Her eyes closed as she listened intensely. Footsteps. From the sound of it, three were in the first floor… in the living room. Two were walking about in the second floor, searching for her, was her guess, given how they were keeping their footsteps light. Idiots. She couldn't believe they had separated like that. Their advantage was their numbers, and they had just given that up.

Sitting back on her heels, Kikita chuckled darkly as excitement coursed through her veins. It would be nice if she could just charge downstairs and beat the shit out of them, but she wouldn't. She was a berserker, not a fucking moron. There were five of them and one of her. It was time to change tactics to something she was pretty darn good at. After all, being a Poacher Hunter, sneaking through forests and jungles, single-handedly taking on forces that vastly out-numbered her, had made her a fucking expert in guerrilla warfare.

Instead of exiting through the trapdoor, Kikita moved as silent as a shadow to the tiny window in the attic and pushed it open gently. It was well-oiled because she made damn sure it was. Sticking her head out, Kikita took a quick look around just to make sure the coast was clear. It was, so Kikita stuck her arms out and started to pull herself through, cursing her big bones and breasts every inch of the way. It was a fucking miracle how she could squeeze every part of her anatomy through most tiny spaces except her fucking boobs. For parts that were generally soft and squishy, one would have thought they would be compressible or something, but no… Even blouses and dresses… Seriously, why did they tend to fit everywhere but her boobs? And it wasn't like she had large boobs or anything like that. They just didn't want to fit into anything nicely. Oh, the dress fits your shoulders and hips perfectly? Then the boobs will do everything but fit because they're boobs, fuck you very much. Seriously, what the fuck…! It made buying dresses so difficult, and even if she didn't necessarily like wearing dresses, it was nice to wear them for John once in a while and…

Despite the difficulties, she managed to squeeze through nonetheless. She knew she would have been able to; she had tried this window multiple times before they bought the house. She had a five pound leeway; as long as she didn't gain more than five pounds, she would be able to fit through it if she held her breath and thought tiny thoughts.

Eventually, Kikita managed to manoeuvre herself out of the window. Clenching her core muscles, she slowly rotated her entire body, strong fingers gripping the ledge of the window, so she was lying flat on her stomach on the roof of her house. With great caution, she let go of the window ledge and started to inch her way towards the edge of the roof. At the edge, she paused again and listened hard. The two in the second floor were still moving stealthily about. In fact, one was coming her way.

Grinning in anticipation, Kikita lowered herself over the edge of the roof, eyeing the window ledge directly below her. Then she let go.

Her fingers almost skidded past before she gripped the window ledge in a death grip and her heart pounded with excitement. God, this was fucking fun.

Kikita took a risk and peeped over. Ah. Guest bedroom. As good a place as any. In silence, Kikita hung by the window ledge, her eyes closed as she listened carefully. Patience… patience… patience… There! He was in the room!

Gently, Kikita tapped her fingernails against the window ledge; a small sound, enough to make him curious but not enough to alert him. Footsteps… closer… closer…

A dark shadow fell over Kikita's face. She barely got the impression of a bulldog-like face before she lunged up, letting go of the window ledge to grab that thick, sinewy neck and twist hard. As she dropped, she pulled the body over with one hand and grabbed the ledge with the other. The heavy corpse, smelling strongly of sweat toppled over and landed with a surprising lack of sound on the soft lawn below. Kikita grimaced at the sight it made, sprawled right next to a bed of roses. Oh god, she had to clean this all up before John came home. Poor John would get a heart attack if he saw that ugly thing lying beside his roses; he spent so much time cultivating them.

"Hey, Spike," a male voice said from within the room. "You there, bro?"

Oh good, her prey just came over himself. No need for Kikita to deliberately hunt him down then.

"Spike?"

The voice was coming closer. Stealthily, Kikita slipped one of those nifty little throwing knives out of her belt and held it loosely in her hand. Midoya had custom-made these for her for her birthday. They were perfectly-balanced, tough as titanium, and were as good for throwing as they were for stabbing things. Each individual blade cost a damn fortune to make too. Being friends with that rich little bitch sure came in useful sometimes.

"Spike?" Now the voice sounded alarmed. "Dude, this is not funny. Reply, damn it."

Yet again, a dark shadow fell over her and Kikita leapt up again, knife flashing.

"Oh sh…" The man didn't even manage to finish his last words before Kikita plunged the knife deep into his throat. Leaving the knife in to reduce the amount of arterial spray she would need to clean up later, Kikita tugged the man over so he fell next to his bro.

Fantastic. Just three more. Now, she just needed to…

"Kikita?"

Kikita froze in horror. Fuck, no way! She was supposed to have another two hours at least! Oh fuck! Oh fucking fuck, fuck! Oh fucking fucking fuck fuckity fuck. She couldn't look down; she couldn't look down now. She didn't want to see the look on his face…

"Kikita? Honey bun?" the same voice repeated, just a bit louder.

Swallowing, Kikita looked over her shoulder and down onto the lawn.

John Smith, accountant and \ overweight stared at her in bemusement as he asked the question she dreaded the most, "Gosh, sweetie, what are you doing hanging out the window like that? You're gonna get a cold is what you're gonna get."

Oh dear god. "Hi darling," Kikita said weakly. "Oh… uh… I'm… I'm falling out of the window…?"

"By golliwag-gall! Why are you falling out of the window? Gosh, this is quite a scare. Don't worry my sweetie, I'm going to get a ladder… Are those… what are these two drunks doing, lying on our lawn like this!" John Smith's eyes widened in horror. "Oh no! My precious pipsqueak, are we being robbed? Are you hiding from burglars? Well, I'll be a doddly-doddled-do! I'm going to get rid of them now. Just let me call the police and they'll be right here."

"Hush!" Kikita hissed. "Be quiet!"

John, dear, precious, innocent John, stared up at her in confusion. "Pipsqueak?" he asked querulously.

"I… I will explain," Kikita whispered, regretting the promise even as she made it. "Just… be quiet, babe. Give me your hand." Letting go of the ledge, she dangled a hand down, still gripping the ledge with the other. "Come on! There are more in the first floor. You can't get in through the front door. I'll pull you up here."

"But… sweetie-sweet, are you sure? I'm quite heavy… ohmygoshigoshgush!" John blinked at her from behind his glasses as she swung him off the lawn and deposited him in the guest bedroom. Nimbly, Kikita scrambled over and dragged him quickly into the attached bathroom.

"Hush darling," Kikita repeated nervously. "There are three more men in the living room. They probably already know we're up here, but not where exactly. I'm doing my best to mess with their Nen… uh… sensors… like radar. Anyway, just be quiet. We need to be quiet."

John stared at her then at his hand, the same one she had used to lift him into the room. "Sweetie…" John's voice trailed off hesitantly. "Sweetie… when did you… have you always been that goddily-wag strong?"

Kikita cringed. "Uh… yeah," she mumbled.

"Well… I never knew! How odd is that?" She saw when another thought occurred to him. "And… those two men on the lawn. They were… they weren't drunk… were they?"

Oh fuck. "No babe," Kikita sighed. "I… uh… I killed them. In self-defence, I meant."

With almost painful gentleness, her darling John took her powerful hands in his soft ones and turned her so she faced him. "Darling. My cupcake. My sweet Kikita," he said softly. "Just… what on earth is going on?"


Three heavily armed and powerful Nen-users were probably on their way up, ready to hack her and her husband to pieces. They were strong, they out-numbered her, and she was trapped in an enclosed space with her non-combatant husband. Things couldn't have been any worse, and Kikita Timbal couldn't care less; she had a greater crisis at hand. A prolonged, torturous death could wait. She had to explain her dangerous job to her husband first.

"So," John said thoughtfully, "when you say you are a 'Poacher' Hunter, you meant it quite… literally?"

Kikita took a deep breath. "Yes, I hunt poachers for a living. Literally."

"So…" John gave her a miserable look, "you didn't really raise a baby lion from cub to adult?"

"I did!" Kikita protested. "I did raise a baby lion. Fluffy is real! I just… it's not my only job. It's not even my main job. I just like… I liked raising Fluffy because I have a soft spot for him. He clawed out the eyes of the poachers that killed his mum."

"Oh, I see," John said, brightening up. "That's a fine thing to hear! I've always liked the pictures of you with Fluffy. You always look so happy in them."

"That's sweet of you to say," Kikita said hopefully.

"Yes, of course, my sweet… who is… well… you're more tough than sweet, aren't you?"

"Uh…" Kikita tried to school her face into a look of pure sweetness and failed entirely. "Yes, I am," she finally admitted in defeat. "I can shoot out a man's eye from three hundred feet away with a pebble." She gave him a doleful look. "It's not that difficult actually if you find a good pebble. Anyone can do it. I'm not freaky."

"Oh." John was looking at her like he had never seen her before. "Well… that's… well." He blinked at her. "Do you… work alone?"

"Mostly," Kikita confessed, "though I do have colleagues I tend to team up with."

"Ah. Uh… just let me clarify one thing." John took a deep breath. "You know. Um. I assume most of your fellow… hunters are… are male, are they?"

"Uh. Well, some are. It's quite an even ratio actually. Why are you asking, babe?"

"Oh. Because, the last time I met one of your fellow hunters… this… ah… Kite?'

"Oh, Kite. Yes? What about him?"

"Well. He's… he's a very dashing lad that one, isn't he?"

Kikita stared. "Kite is a colleague," she said firmly. "And not a very close one too. What are you saying, John?"

"Well... oh goshy-gosh, this is putting me in a pretty spot, this is," John flushed. "But… I mean, I've always assumed that people working in animal conservation were female. I meant… I always thought women were more prone to uh… raising lions. So, I always thought you worked with other women. I meant… Midoya is a woman… right? Oh I'll be a dandy-dandelion! She's not a guy in drag, is she? I've always thought there was something wrong with the way she looks!"

Kikita glared then urgently turned her glare into a stare (she had learned the hard way most 'normal' people didn't respond well to being glared at by Nen-users; they tended to drop dead, normally from cardiac arrest). "John, I just told you I am a killer, a murderer and an expert in guerrilla warfare, and the things that worry you are whether I might be having an affair with my colleagues and whether Midoya is actually a man in drag?"

John blushed harder. "Goshygoo, I guess that's silly of me." He was silent for a moment, and she let him have that. There had maybe fifteen seconds before they needed to change position or risk discovery, but he deserved that moment to absorb what his wife had just told him. "Well now, how about that?" he said finally, and Kikita couldn't tell if there was any judgement in his voice. "My wife isn't an animal conservationist, at least not in the sense I imagined her to be. She's a… a hunter, in the true sense of that word. I'll be danglily-doo is what I'll be."

"Oh, fuck. Come on, love," Kikita fretted, "don't be mad with me. I'm sure you understand why I never told you. My job is dangerous and…"

"Sweetie-sweet?" John cleared his throat. "Uh… I have a confession to make."

She was sweating so hard she was sure she was going to pass out from dehydration. "Yes?" she asked nervously.

"I… I actually don't like flowers." John took a deep, steadying breath. "And… I don't really like… babies. I don't like doing indoor decorating. I don't… I don't like watching romantic comedies either. And I'm actually not afraid of blood and violence."

Kikita blinked. "But…" she stammered, "but… you're always going on about your garden! And… and… that movie about that cute boy who meets that cute girl… and…"

"Well yes," John said sheepishly, and a blush rose in his swallow cheeks, "I kept talking about them because I thought you liked them." He flushed even more. "Cupiecake… I thought you were a sweet, nurturing woman who spends her time breeding endangered animals and caring for wounded animals. I thought… I thought since you liked animals, you will like flowers and babies as well. Oh goddily-do, this is embarrassing is what it is. I pretended to like romantic comedies because I thought you liked them."

"Because… I pretended to like them because I thought you liked them." Kikita stared at him. "So… you don't like gardening?"

"No, I prefer a good ol' game of Zombie Killer, is what I do," John confessed. "I like thrillers too or a good ol' horror movie with plenty of them gore and blood in it. And… I'm not actually afraid of cockroaches. I quite like… hunting them down and killing them actually. It's very satisfying, is what it is."

"It is! I love it when they go squish!"

"Yes! Exactly! That moment when you finally get those speedy little buggery-buggers is just so goodily-good!"

"I know exactly what you mean, darling!" Kikita replied and her eyes misted over. "So darling… you… me… Now that you know what my job is really about… do you…?"

"I love you even more, my little dandy-dandelion!" John Smith replied, his eyes wet. He took a deep breath and happily said, "I can't believe I am married to a true-blue special ops combatant! I feel right and dandy is how I feel! Do I get to see the attic filled with weapons that you told me about?"

"Oh darling, of course you do."

"Fabulous!" John beamed. "Do you use things like night-vision goggles and frag grenades? Can I try the goggles on too? I mean… we could even do it… in… uh… bed. If you know what I mean, kisses."

"Absolutely, darling. Oh, sex is going to be so fun from now on. Midoya is going to be so jealous! She can keep her Dancho all she likes. I've got my own little wild beast here!"

"Wild beast! By golly-gosh, I do like the sound of that. Rawr, I'm a wild beast! But hey, what did you mean by Dan…"

A footstep. Kikita froze and put her finger on John's lips. "Two people are coming up to the second floor," she told him, listening hard.

"Really?" John turned his ear towards the door. "I can't hear a thing."

"It's… I have very good hearing." Kikita glanced at the expectant look on his face and added, "I've had special-ops training."

"Goshy-goo," John breathed, his eyes glowing with excitement and respect. "So what do we do now, sweetie?"

"Oh darling, just wait here, I'm going to take care of them."

"Yes, of course." John looked at her closely. "Is that… is that a real sword on your hip?"

"Yes darling."

"And… axes."

"Yes."

"Wow." John held out a hand. "Pass me an axe. If one of those men come by, I'll give them a good ol' whacking."

"That's the sexiest thing I've ever heard you say," Kikita whispered, passing him one of her axes.

"Cuppiecake, you are so beautiful." John took the axe and waved it with more enthusiasm than skill. "Don't worry about me now. Just go out there and do your thing, my sexy Hunter. Tally-ho and away!"

Kikita giggled (and swore never to let Midoya find out; she would just laugh at her). "On it," she said and gave what she felt was a rather special-ops-like salute. "Shout if you need my help."

Grinning widely, Kikita moved out of the bathroom and towards the bedroom door. Cautiously, she opened the door and peeked out. No one around. Excellent. John had found out her secret and he was okay with it. Fuck yeah, because now, she could go all out if she wanted to. Turns out neither of them liked the décor of their house anyway so…

Clenching her hands into fists, Kikita smashed them into the floor, notifying the intruders exactly where she was. But no matter. Kikita's grin widened even more as she felt her Nen start to swell. By the time they got here, she would be fully powered up.

Fists pounding her chest, Kikita threw back her head and screamed with rage.

Come on. Come to your death. And do it quickly. She had things to do with her husband after all. Things that involved night vision goggles and her other babies. Very sexy things…


"Midoya, you can't be serious," Kuroro protested testily and was promptly ignored.

Sighing in frustration, Kuroro stretched out on the bed and watched Midoya redial Kikita's number. "Prioritise, Kuroro dear," Midoya said patiently. "Kikita should have contacted us hours ago and she still isn't picking up her phone. We need to check on her."

"I can't imagine anyone getting the better of her," Kuroro pointed out. "Besides, if she hasn't contacted us in hours, waiting half an hour more wouldn't make a difference, so why can't we have sex first?" He smiled coaxingly at her. "I could speed things up so we only take fifteen minutes if you prefer it that way."

"Kuroro dear, go take a bath," Midoya said firmly and Kuroro knew he wasn't going to win the argument.

Trying not to pout, he dragged himself into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Quite deliberately, he stepped into the freezing stream of water. Oh. Cold. He's always hated the cold.

"Ah, Kikita. Finally. Where have you been, you irresponsible little twat? You should have reported in hours ago." Kuroro looked up hopefully at that. It looked like Midoya had finally contacted Kikita. Well, maybe she would be in the mood for morning sex now. Happily, Kuroro switched on the water heater and let the water falling around him warm up.

Finally, dried and smelling of Midoya's soap, Kuroro exited the bathroom and headed for Midoya, who was sprawled on the bed, smiling to herself.

"So what caused the delay?" Kuroro asked as he climbed back under the sheets.

"Officially, according to Kikita, an attack on her house by some of Basilio's One Star Hunters and her failure to charge her phone."

"Unofficially?"

"Unofficially?" Midoya smiled. "Based on what I deduced from the sounds in the background, she was in a sex coma from awesome truth-revealed-and-accepted sex with her husband."

Which was an image Kuroro really didn't want in his head. Well, he could easily remedy that by replacing it with another image. "Doesn't seem fair she's the only one who gets to have sex," he murmured, pulling Midoya closer to him. "How about we do something about that?"

This time, Midoya agreed.


With the hours counting down to the ball, Midoya told him that it was necessary to start preparing for the assassination of Basilio. Kuroro wasn't exactly sure why it would take her such a long time to prepare for a ball, but he wisely decided to keep that comment to himself. So, while Midoya disappeared into the bathroom, Kuroro settled back in a chair to re-read the file she had prepared for him. Normally, it didn't take him long to memorise a fake identity, but Midoya had created an extremely detailed character for him to take on. Since Kuroro was not sure to what extent his identity would be probed, he decided to err on the side of caution and make an effort to truly remember very single detail of Enrico Basilio. Hence, with the shower running in the background, Kuroro flipped open the folder and started to read.

After a while, he looked up and realised with no small degree of surprise that an hour had gone by and Midoya still wasn't out of the bathroom. That was highly unusual. She was never the kind to take her time in the shower. Even when drenched with blood, it shouldn't have taken her more than half an hour to scrub herself clean.

Frowning, Kuroro walked over to the bathroom and knocked on it. "Are you still in there?" he asked, because he was pretty certain Midoya was perfectly capable of sneaking out of the bathroom without alerting him.

"Yeah," Midoya's voice replied, sounding muffled.

"Oh good. Are you going to be long? I need to bathe too."

"Uh… I'll be a while."

Kuroro stared suspiciously at the door. "What are you doing, Midoya?" he asked.

"Getting ready for tonight. Just… Oh. Oops." Something sizzled and crackled. Kuroro frowned and pressed his ear to the door. The sound of sizzling continued. Abruptly, he was aware that water was seeping out from under the door and that Midoya's Nen was slightly elevated.

"Midoya, are you building Nen-bombs in there?" Kuroro demanded.

Something crackled again. "Erm…Maybe?"

Kuroro eyed the door and shook his head. That woman… His Ryodan always complained that he played his cards too close to his heart but in all honesty, he had nothing on Midoya when it came to keeping silent about upcoming missions. It made it very exciting to work with her, yes, but her tendency to not tell him her plans could get annoying. "Will it kill you to tell me what you have in mind?" Kuroro asked. "If you're going to be throwing explosives about, I would like to know about it in advance."

"Why spoil the fun?" she giggled and her voice was cheerful and mischievous. She was in the kind of mood where she would do violent things in the name of entertainment. It was during these times that Kuroro found her the most attractive because it was when she most resembled a Spider. Kuroro briefly considered joining her in the shower, but the thought of the most-likely-highly-explosive things lying about in that tiny space right next to extremely sensitive parts of his anatomy made it sound quite imprudent to do so.

"I'll leave you to your work then," Kuroro said, deciding it was best to back away slowly from the bathroom, just in case. "Maybe I'll forgo the bath."

"Sure. I have wet wipes in my purse if you want them. Oops! Uh… that was… nothing."

Kuroro eyed the water coming out from under the door which had, somehow, caught fire. "Well, please keep our room in a more or less pristine shape," he told the door. "I would rather not have to explain how our room caught fire and flooded at the same time."

"Fear not, dear. The hotel owner is head over heels in lust with you. I'm sure we can get away with a few mishaps."

"Dear Midoya, if I have to seduce our host just so you can get away with blowing up half her property, I shall have to spank you."

"Oh, don't say that. I'm building bombs here and a lustful frame of mind is not a good one to be in when imbuing bombs with Nen. It would be embarrassing if my bombs made people orgasm instead of explode into tiny pieces. It is possible you know… Nen is a pretty unstable force to mess around with."

Since she had a point there, Kuroro decided to just agree with her and leave her to her work. "I'll change just out here then," he told the door. "I assume my coat is sufficiently formal for the ball?"

"No dear, not your coat. It's too distinctive. I got you a tuxedo. It is in the closet."

Kuroro blinked. He hadn't been aware that she had gotten a tuxedo for him. When had she even found the time to do that? Well, efficiency, thy embodiment is obviously Midoya. Wandering over to the closet, Kuroro opened the door and pulled out the suit hanging in there. It turned out to be a much nicer version of the suit he had worn to the York Shin auction. It was black, expensively-cut and, as it turned out, fit him perfectly.

As he stared at himself in the mirror, Kuroro wondered when Midoya had taken measurements of his body and whether he should be worried that he had never known. Perhaps not. Midoya has had intimate access to various parts of his anatomy over the years they had known each other. It wouldn't be impossible for her to be able to gauge, with great accuracy, what size he wore.

With that interesting thought, Kuroro settled back on the chair again to wait for her.

Right around the time Kuroro was considering kicking the bathroom door down from sheer boredom, Midoya finally emerged, fully dressed with makeup on, and not a single bomb in sight. Kuroro resisted the urge to search the long, elegant black gown she was wearing. He had never been able to find out where she hid her weapons when dressed in skimpy gowns like that, except for that one rather traumatic time in bed when… Kuroro shuddered off the memory and took in the rest of Midoya's new look.

In the spirit of disguise, she had put on her blonde wig and blue contacts to go with her black evening gown. It was strapless, long and cascaded behind her like a waterfall. It looked beautiful and elegant and extremely impractical in a fight. So did the tall heels she was wearing. But, Kuroro had to admit, the effect was pretty good. With the pile of makeup on her face and over the scars she had acquired from her time as a corpse, she looked pretty and bland at the same time, cute enough to be a mafia moll but not beautiful enough to draw attention. More importantly, she looked nothing like June Kito or Blacklist Hunter Midoya.

"It's an excellent disguise," Kuroro told her and she smiled, obviously pleased with his approval.

"How kind of you to say so." Her head tilted as she observed him critically. "But Kuroro, your disguise is hardly complete."

"It isn't?" Kuroro glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He was already wearing the tuxedo and he had his customary white bandanna around his forehead. He had no idea what else he needed.

"Dear, no self-respecting mafia boss would wear a bandanna to a ball of all places," Midoya said, going back into the bathroom and re-emerging with a box of cosmetics. "Take it off."

"But, my tattoo…"

"I know." Midoya smiled sweetly and started pulling things out of her box. "I'll cover it with makeup. I have some industrial strength grease paint in here, which I used on my Y-incision scar. If it can cover that, it should cover your tattoo. It's a good thing our skin tones are quite similar. You are a little more tanned, but not by much. It shouldn't be a big problem."

For a brief moment, Kuroro considered kicking up a fuss about having makeup put on his face, but the idea that Midoya would just look down her nose at him and tell him to stop being a child put that thought away. After all, he had asked his Spiders to do worse for the sake of a mission. He could put up with this. That didn't mean he had to be quiet about it though.

So, for the next half an hour, Kuroro Lucifer, Dancho of the Genei Ryodan, complained and squirmed and frowned in an effort to put Midoya's legendary patience to the test. To his disappointment, she barely batted an eyelash at his behaviour. Instead, she calmly lathered something thick and creamy onto his forehead with a brush, tilting his head left and right as she frowned at his tattoo.

"It's not covering well," she told him. "Your tattoo is too… blue. But no worries. I've got an idea. We'll turn it into a scar. Hold still."

Since that would make her job too easy, Kuroro put more effort into his squirming, until Midoya finally tapped him gently on the forehead with a brush and commented on how easy it would be for her to use the end of the brush to give him a real scar. Given that he had already accomplished his goal of irritating Midoya and since he didn't want her to ruin his tattoo, Kuroro sat still as she finished doing something to his forehead.

Finally, she was done, but before she let him look at his face, she pulled out another box filled with jewellery and started decking his neck with gold chains and his fingers with rings. "It's customary to show off your wealth in places like this," she explained.

"Okay," Kuroro agreed, since he might be able to pocket the jewellery after the mission, if Midoya forgets about them.

"There," Midoya said proudly once she was done. "What do you think?"

Kuroro stared at the mirror. With the faint, pale scar Midoya had sculpted onto his forehead, his hair slicked back, the massive amount of gold jewellery dangling from his neck and the expensive tuxedo, Kuroro thought that he looked like an exemplary specimen of a particular nocturnal creature. "I look like an expensive pimp," he told her, trying to decide if he should be distressed or not. Trust Midoya to make him feel like a pair of jeans.

"Excellent! Just the effect I was going for," Midoya said, beaming.

"Mafia bosses look like expensive pimps?"

"Mafia bosses are nothing but expensive pimps," Midoya corrected. "You look perfect. Now just wear a smug look or a snarl on your face the entire night and you will fit right in."

Kuroro pulled his face experimentally into a smug look. Then he tried the snarl. Neither looked good on him so he tried looking like an evil capitalist with a penchant for robbing people blind (a role that was at least, half familiar to him). It still didn't look right to him.

"Try looking like you just had sex where you actually lasted more than five minutes," Midoya suggested then sniggered when he made the face as requested. "Sorry, bad suggestion."

Eventually, after another fifteen minutes of trying out various expressions and Midoya throwing in helpful comments (such as "Why don't you try imagining you are a bulldog that just ate a squirrel it turned out to be in love with?" and "Oh! I know! Pretend you just ate a lemon and are at the moment sucking on a Popsicle to get rid of the taste!"), Kuroro settled on a slight variant of his normal facial expression: his normal blank face with slightly elevated eyebrows and a faint smile. It made him look a lot more insidious and sly than he normally did but was not too tiring to maintain for a couple of hours.

With his cover now set, Kuroro glanced up at Midoya who was looking at her face closely in the mirror. As he watched, she systematically smoothed all expression out of her face. Then she widened her eyes ever so slightly, smiled easily and relaxed her cheeks. Immediately, the quirky, sardonic Midoya that Kuroro knew so well disappeared to be replaced by a friendly, welcoming stranger. If he had passed her on the streets, he would have not recognised her. He wouldn't even have remembered her face except for the vague impression that there was something rather… pretty and silly about it.

With a final tweak of her facial muscles, Midoya turned to him and smiled vacantly. "Good evening, Mr Federico. My name is Misha and I am your hired company for the night," she said, her voice sweet and lilting and entirely different from her normal voice. "Are you ready to leave? The limousine is here." Even her body language had changed, becoming looser, slightly gawky and extremely unguarded.

"Of course, Misha," Kuroro replied, deciding to alter his voice so it was a little hoarser than his normal voice. Politely, he offered her his arm and she took it, tugging herself close to him. As she did, Kuroro took one last look around the hotel room. "Alright," he said. "Now that we're settled, dear Misha, let's go kill a powerful mafia boss."


In Agocchi, as in many big metropolises, the night was when the city truly came to life. Neon lights appeared shortly after sundown, flashing through the night like beacons from a lighthouse. Music, loud, disorientating and exhilarating, pounded through the darkness. Like magical creatures in a fairy tale, the beautiful people emerged from their little holes, glowing, perfumed and vibrating with life. And as they swayed and twirled to the music of the night, the predators emerged too, fangs and claws hidden in the darkness until the very last second when it didn't matter anymore.

Hisoka straightened the bowtie at his collar and smiled at the beautiful people flitting past. So sweet, so young, so full of life; he could remedy all of that for them, could chew on them till they lost their flavour, lost their vitality, lost their lives. But he wouldn't. Not tonight. Tonight, he had a date with a lovely lady with an intriguing proposal.

Smiling to himself, Hisoka slipped the fake documents she had given him into his pocket, just as a limousine turned around a corner and screeched to a stop before him.

"Good evening, sir," the chauffer said in a distinctly dour voice, coming out and opening the door for him.

"Good evening," Hisoka replied, eyes flickering over the chauffer and liking what he saw; much older than his usual prey but obviously just as delicious. "Are you part of the payment?" he asked hopefully.

The man's narrow, feral face split in a fierce smile and Nen flooded his arm, turning his hands briefly into claws before they reverted back. "No, sir," he drawled curtly and slammed the door shut behind Hisoka.

"Pity," Hisoka murmured as the chauffer slipped behind the wheel. "It would have been fun." He licked his lips, deliberately catching the chauffer's eyes in the rear mirror. The chauffer glared back then looked away.

"Are you ready to leave, sir?" the chauffer asked, an unnecessary question since he was already pulling away from the curb.

"Of course," Hisoka replied anyway, suppressing a giggle. "Let's go now. We have a ball to attend to."


A/N: Since I'm going to be overseas for the next couple of days, I decided to upload this chapter early. It's not a particularly exciting or long chapter; more of a build up to the actual event, with all the various elements gathering. Still hope it's a good read though. Next week, Kuroro and Midoya finally get to meet their enemy! Whee!

Trivial: Now that both John's and Kikita's secrets are out in the open, their lives together have become far less colourful. The flowers and vases were thrown out, the cross-stiches of babies were discarded, the pretty wallpaper was torn down and the pastel coloured furniture was sold. In short, John and Kikita underwent an entire makeover of their house such that the next time Midoya visited, she found herself standing in the driveway, gaping at the new house and wondering whether she had gotten the address wrong.

The tiled rooms have been replaced with metal sheets, the curtains with bars. The walls were now reinforced concrete. The garden had been dug up and lined with, Midoya's senses told her, Nen-mines. When she walked up to the steel-reinforced door and knocked, Kikita had ushered her into the living room filled with sandbags, army-grade camouflage, and more weapons than Midoya, with all her years of weapon experimentation, could identify.

As she had stared at the new in-door decorations, John had come down the stairs, dressed in army combat fatigues and greeted her with a "Hiddy-ho, Midoya!"

"Hello," Midoya had replied politely, staring openly. When John went into the kitchen to get her a drink, she had turned to Kikita and added, "He does know those combat boots are fake right? And that the knife he is carrying is made of plastic? And no real soldier wears pants that tight or shirts that… short?"

"Yes, yes," Kikita had replied sweetly, "John knows he is no combatant. His outfit is solely for… entertainment purposes."

And that, Midoya decided, as she sat down to a meal of army rations and purified water, was the grossest thing she had heard in a while.