After a longer wait than usual (sorry guys) here's another chapter! Leopika angst for the win!

Shout out to bledrakon for reviewing nearly every chapter up so far. Thanks so much! It means the world to see that someone is actually liking this!

Disclaimer: HxH is not mine, honestly, I'm no mangaka in disguise.

He wondered if he'd forget the feel of sunlight on his skin.

It had been days, weeks, a month of walls.

Two weeks had passed within the old man's home, not that Kurapika could remember much. Leorio had disappeared the day after his outburst, returning late in the day with a bag full of herbs. The Kurta had been wary to say the least when the other explained that they were a natural sedative that grew around the edges of the city, where jungled swamp began, most likely keeping the natural predators at bay. He'd suggested, gently, that he brew them with the blond's tea to help him with his recovery, as he was finding it difficult to sleep restfully. It was only that he knew his sense was impaired, by the open longing for a touch of skin, and that he needed to return his strength that he agreed, letting the doctor does him twice daily and drifting into blissful unconsciousness. His waking moments were fuzzy at best, but he allowed himself not to care, enjoying the dreamlessness that came with it.

Leorio had prepared for their journey back while he slept; giving the other with a couple of days without the aid of his brew to re-acclimate to full consciousness. Kurapika could feel the stark difference in his condition as the clouds cleared; his mind was sharper, and his body itched to move. The bruising along his chest and leg had darkened, as it would with time, and his leg felt stiff, but more willing to move than it had just days before. Leorio examined him quickly before they left, almost rushed, Kurapika noticed, and informed him that he needed proper care before it atrophied.

The blond had only nodded, keeping himself emotionally distant now that he felt a sliver of control.

He didn't argue when the other carried him outside, knowing that it was a necessary evil. He was, however, surprised to find a small canoe waiting for them. It was carved roughly, the edges unsanded and sharp, leaving small splinters in the blond's hand when he gripped the side after being abruptly lowered in. Though the older one didn't say anything, his face hard as he dragged the boat on hand rounded wheels through the muddy streets of the city, Kurapika knew he had built it. The bandages wrapped around his hands spoke of sleepless nights spent hollowing out one of the large trees nearby, shaping it and cutting away at the sides with his small knife, piece by piece. The Kurta clenched his fist, wood shards and all, at the thought of the other working tirelessly while he slept, helpless. Still, he didn't speak on the matter, didn't verbalize his thanks.

Being grateful would have showed that he cared.

The journey was as close to silent as they could make it. Kurapika played the role of lookout, notifying the other of dangerous animals nearby and pointing out edible plants while Leorio rowed, quiet and contemplating. They camped out in the boat, taking watches for sleep, though Kurapika knew that the older one was taking on uneven shares of the work for his sake. Again, he didn't argue, as focused on recovery as he could be. It took another week, surrounded by dark trees and lurking predators, before they hit recognizable land.

Leorio carried Kurapika on his back from there, mindful of the brace on his leg as he did. The nearest city was a day's journey, not too far off of the edge of the trees. Kurapika could read every line of relief in the other when they reached the hospital, with its proper physicians and supplies and machinery. He accepted the immediate care that was offered him, being dragged off by doctors for imaging and initial reports, away from the other's sight. He spoke only when asked a direct question, letting them poke and prod him until he was whisked away for surgery.

The first thing the older man did was pull out his phone, connecting it to the nearest charging unit and flipping through the hospital's directory. He immediately recognized the name he was looking for, dialing the number, his foot tapping impatiently against the cold tile floor. Practical Medicine Hunters were an unusual subgroup within the Hunter Organization, but did exist. Most of them went by other titles: the idea of a Hunter being a physician not seeming as exotic or dangerous as the other professional types that existed, but they were there nonetheless. Leorio had done his research before seeking out the location that the Kurta had gotten himself stuck in, mainly finding the best care close by. He'd been fortunate enough to discover that the director of the hospital, the one he'd gone out of his way to bring the other to despite the city having four others, was one of the most sought after Practical Medicine Hunters in the business. He left a message with the man's secretary, a clever lad who had asked for his ID number, and within minutes he was being escorted into a dark, window lined room and handed gloves, being asked if he was planning on scrubbing in on his friend's procedure.

He didn't, only watched from the adjoining room as the blond was put under and his chest was cut into from the side, his hand stitching torn out as they went. Another unit worked on his leg simultaneously, something the young doctor had never seen done but knew was possible if they'd removed the blond's dependency on his own internal organs. He was hooked up to every machine known to man; an artificial heartbeat taking over and redirecting his blood flow, low wave electricity flowing through his nervous system to simulate conscious response when it was needed, tubes extending from his mouth which acted as makeshift lungs while his was being worked on. The young man he had spoken to on the phone snuck into the room he was watching from quietly, checking both of their Hunter's licenses and having Leorio sign a few papers before handing him a portfolio case, then disappearing as if he had never been there to begin with.

The portfolio consisted of a thin screen, no taller or wider than a novel, which flashed through the other's scans and blood tests at an alarming rate. Being well versed in what he was reading, Leorio flicked through the files quickly, lingering only on the scans of his chest and leg. The damage to the lung was better than he had hoped, though the other's ribs would certainly need metal fixings, he noted, scanning the operating room with his eyes until they fell on a tray with metal parts. The images of his knee showed brutal fracturing throughout, but the pieces seemed to be held together well, his Nen stitching having held up despite his inability to visualize what he was working on. For that, he was thankful, watching as the doctors circling the blond's feet added a screw, but not much else.

It was a quick series of procedures, surprisingly, lasting only around six hours in total. Somehow, Kurapika managed to make it back to his assigned room before Leorio did, the doctor finding him already there upon swiping his key card despite having left surgery at the same time. He lay there, asleep, looking bright, clean, and peaceful. Leorio let himself gaze openly, taking in the sight, before curling up on the cot that had been wheeled in for him and drifting into blissful unconsciousness.

Kurapika woke, just once, his eyes falling on the other, before drifting back to sleep.

The next days passed in a blur of innocuous doctors roaming in and out of the room, nearly insufferable amounts of physical therapy and checks, dozens of cups of coffee, and most importantly of non-interaction between the two. Leorio made it a habit to sleep when the other had a doctor at his elbow, working his way around the halls of the hospital in a wheelchair, then with a walker, and then on crutches. His exercises would be followed by innumerable appointments: meeting with a nutritionist, blood work, daily muscle fiber sampling, and so on. The blond would return hours later, recovering but albeit exhausted, only to drift to sleep directly after eating. Leorio stayed by, sometimes, while he slept, but more often than not found himself roaming the halls to check random charts, or dropping into the director's office for a chat. Every once and a while, even, he found himself offering his services as an aid when the physicians were shorthanded, happy to earn his keep with labor. More often than not, Kurapika woke to the smiling face of a doctor, but none of them were his.

The days melded into weeks, the blond's recovery quickening. He was relying only on a single crutch now, walking freely as he pleased. Leorio had taken him from the hospital, though they often made trips for his rehabilitation exercises. The hotel they shared a room in was on the same block as the medical facility, giving the doctor peace of mind that he wouldn't have had otherwise. Despite the change in scenery, Kurapika found himself just as alone as he had been before, the other's company rare and heavy in the air. Besides times of sleep, their beds seeming uncomfortably close but the distance palpable, Kurapika lay in wait, just him and his thoughts.

It was inevitable, really, with the tension between them so high but no one was willing to speak, that one of them was bound to lose their cool. It had been a test of time, and of patience, but an unwinnable one for either of them. Being apart had been difficult for each of them, in their way, but being together was a hundred times worse. Being together only reminded them that it was bound to end.

He'd been reading calmly and quiet when Leorio entered the room, sitting on his unused mattress and staring at the other with weight in his glance.

"What are you waiting for?" Kurapika said mildly, not lifting his gaze from the volume in his hand. Leorio let his eyes fall to the hands in his lap, but did not loosen the tension in his shoulders.

"You to leave."

That had been unexpected. The Kurta lowered the book slightly, looking at Leorio from the corner of his eye. The other didn't seem to notice the movement.

"Did you really think that I would?" The doctor looked up at this, his eyebrow raised as if the answer was obvious. The blond let his eyes take in the page again, but they did not move across the line of text he had been reading. His ears were much too attentive for his eyes to focus properly. "I'm not fit to leave yet. Perhaps in a week or so-"

"That's never stopped you before," the other interrupted, his voice shaken. Kurapika immediately closed the book, marking his page with almost unconscious practice and setting it on the bedside table. Though he gazed openly, the doctor refused to look directly at him, his head turned to the side. Kurapika stared, the sight of the other angry blindsiding him. Though they usually butted heads, this sort of silent frustration was something he knew to be wary of; he hadn't seen it since the night he'd woken up, and before that…

He didn't want to think of the "before that." That argument had displaced him from the other for two years. As much as they hated each other sometimes, he hated more the thought of reliving that spiteful separation.

"What are you saying, Leorio?" The genuine confusion that he was feeling was muffled by his defensive nature, though he had a feeling that the corner they were about to turn was one he'd been careful to avoid.

"If you're going to do it, just do it already!" He'd raised his voice, but shut his mouth immediately, his jaw clenching tightly as he did.

"You… you want me to leave." His voice was bewildered, but it wasn't a question. A part of him expected Leorio to turn to him, to tell him it wasn't true, but the other only gripped his hands in each other more tightly.

"No. I never want you to leave, Kurapika, but you always do. You always leave, going off somewhere to get yourself killed. If I had it my way, I'd lock you up like this for the rest of your life." He trailed off, his voice going soft and face contorting in a pained look. "But what I want doesn't matter, does it?" He tried to smile up at the other, but it fell flat, too tired and worn.

The blond looked up at him incredulously, unsure how to treat the sudden outburst. Had he been in any other state, he'd have walked out, ignored what was being said to him like he always did. It had certainly worked two years ago. He wasn't given a chance to, though, as the doctor continued.

"Don't get me wrong, Kurapika; I'm not telling you to stay. I know that you've got this ridiculous plot for revenge and fine, I get that, but you're going too far." He stopped, looking at the recovering blond with a gaze that spoke more than words could.

The Kurta could read it all in his eyes

Your quest is nothing more than a glorified suicide mission. You don't only hurt yourself when you leave. Your people wouldn't want this; they'd want you to live. At some point you can't justify the killing.

He didn't have to say it for Leorio to know what he'd been hoping, in his last job. He was so much keener than the blond gave him credit for; it didn't need to be said.

Hunting Kalluto will do nothing to aid in your goal; it will only make an enemy out of one of your closest friends. Would you kill him if it meant finding the others? Would you kill him if it meant saving your own life? He's Killua's brother, Kurapika, don't you dare hurt that boy any more than you already have; he's already so damaged… Just like you.

The younger man's mind swam, all rage and desire for action and incredible suffering. Of course he knew that capturing the boy was a longshot, and perhaps the thought of turning him from the Ryodan had been but an afterthought, but he knew what he was doing. He had to. He needed to survive, to hunt, to make them pay for what they'd done. There were still living members of the original Troupe, and as long as they breathed he wouldn't have any rest. He couldn't, it wouldn't be right-

"I'm not waiting for you anymore, Kurapika. It was different when I thought you could stop, but I… I don't want you to leave, so I'm doing it myself."

The blond's eyes widened as Leorio stood, the last of his resolve in the action, collecting his briefcase as he did. The deafening calm of the last few weeks suddenly faded, replaced with an immediate sense of urgency. Leorio was leaving, kind, caring Leorio, and his patience had run out.

Kurapika was on his feet faster than he thought it possible to move in his condition, not even wincing as the foot of his injured leg hit the ground gracelessly. He reached for his single crutch hurriedly, the book clattering to the floor as he did. The doctor blinked as his path was blocked by a blur of gold, huffing angrily as he reached out to move him, unprepared for the reaction it brought.

His first instinct had been to reason with the other, but Kurapika knew how much thought and agonizing had gone into the decision, and thus knew it a worthless effort. His second thought was a conjuring of anger; how dare Leorio leave him, strand him while injured, pretend not to care about his wellbeing anymore? The anger was immediately replaced with guilt: guilt for forcing the other into emotionally straining rescues, guilt for having turned up half dead yet again, guilt for using him for healing but never once being honest about why he wanted to see him, never once being honest about why he hated leaving in the first place, never once being honest about how damn hard it was when Leorio was there and warm and safe. Because Leorio was there, he was always there, with the promise to wait for him until he was needed, until it was over, and if the thought of the life he could have, the life they could have didn't get him through the more horrible days he didn't know what he would do. It was never spoken, but he needed Leorio, he depended on him, was tied to him by fate and-

Kurapika's mind was too busy buzzing with panicked thoughts to register that he had fisted a hand in the other's shirt, his tie caught between his fingers, and pulled him into a kiss.

It was horrible by any normal standards; Leorio standing stiffly, entirely nonresponsive as Kurapika leveraged him down in a nearly choking hold while keeping himself balanced with the other arm. The blond's eyes were shut tightly, his lips pressed into a hard line against the other's, as if he had learned the gesture from children's storybooks. It lasted for far too long, the seconds ticking by in a seemingly endless rhythm as neither made to move, both too stubborn and shocked from it to do anything about it. It wasn't until he realized what he did that Kurapika trembled. Leorio didn't move at all.

Kurapika finally pulled back, his hand sliding away weakly. His eyes opened only for him to immediately regret his actions.

Leorio was entirely unmoved, his face completely blank, eyes open but looking away from the blond. His entire body was taut, as if he had been instructed that movement would result in serious injury, his posture utterly wrong for a man who usually stood so casually. When Kurapika took a step back, he could see that the man's fists were clenched, the one around the briefcase rattling ever so slightly.

There was no warning when his fist came flying out, the broken cry that escaped from his lips coming belatedly. Kurapika couldn't help but wince at the sound of small bones cracking as his hand met with the wall, having not bothered focusing his aura into shielding the point. Chips of paint showered the floor under the spot of impact, revealing a hole as he pulled his mangled hand back, shoulders quaking with the movement. Kurapika floundered, never having seen Leorio looking so desolate. So dangerous.

"This," he began, his voice low and dark, "is why I have to go. You're reckless, Kurapika. You're not yourself. You're acting out because you're angry and vulnerable, but I can't watch you do this anymore. I can't be a part of this."

He moved to the door, the other making no effort to stop him, entirely shaken by the scene. Leorio stopped with his hand around the knob, almost turning back. The Kurta expected him to offer an ultimatum, his usual "call me when you're done with this", but nothing came. Winding the tension in his shoulders, the doctor swung the door open, slamming it shut behind him without looking back.

The wooden cane toppled over as Kurapika sank to the floor, wondering how he had gotten so far from the man he used to be, and let himself fall apart.

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