A/N: Oopsies. This was shorter than I originally planned.

Chapter 13

Present Day

Illumi was undecided whether or not he would watch Killua's matches. He couldn't pretend to be too interested – these initial fights would be no spectacle, wouldn't even mean much as games to Killua. Quite frankly, it was a joke that he had decided to linger alongside his little 'friend' rather than progressing straight to the two hundredth floor. Had he gone ahead, Illumi might have bothered. But alas, Hisoka had omitted that this trip would be a waste of time.

"Aww, don't be like that~" Hisoka cooed over his drink. The bar at Heaven's Arena was beginning to fill for the evening, honey-hued and smoky. The two of them lingered at a table near the windows, well on the outskirts of the crowd where they were largely left alone – that is, apart from the stares Hisoka's appearance and reputation attracted. Kicking his legs out to cross them, Hisoka smirked. "I would have thought you'd be grateful to me. Stick around. Killua-kun will get to the two hundreds soon enough."

Illumi did not look up from the remnants of his drink. "I have other things to attend to in the meantime."

"Oh~? Like what?"

"Family matters."

"Hmm? Is that what's got you looking so distracted?"

Distracted.

Chiara.

At best, Illumi avoided thinking about her while he was away. He fenced her off in tightly barred corners of consciousness, only allowed himself moments of daydreaming when his job was done – Mission complete. Now he could go home to her. Even so small a thought always set Illumi's chest quivering.

It was better to forget about her for a few weeks, when assassin-work called for it. There could be no place for distraction. No pointless aching and pining over domesticities. Illumi had even gone so far as to ban Chiara from accessing any communication device. She'd had a personal transmitter for a little while, when they'd first gotten married, but the temptation of her voice had reared itself at invasive, inconvenient moments – Chiara. Chiara. Chiara. Curls in soft purple. Smell of hyacinth and bedsheets. Hello, Lumi! My love! Why are you calling so late? Are you okay?

Was she thinking of him? Was she waiting for him? How easily he could ask her, remind her and reassure himself that she was still all his. How anxiously he wanted to hear her say it! It wouldn't do, such maudlin cravings. And so it was better to forget about her for as long as was necessary.

It also kept the likes of Hisoka, who knew nothing of Chiara, from seeing through the fissures in the self-control Illumi so diligently maintained.

Standing from his seat, irritated by Hisoka's pressing gaze, Illumi gestured to their empty glasses. "Another?"

"Ooh, don't mind if I do. Make it another double."

He went to the bar, ordered two more whiskeys.

Distracted, indeed.

The butlers always kept Illumi informed about the situation at home. The spats of passive aggression between Mother and Chiara. The doctor's visits (though Chiara often managed to sweet-talk the butlers or the doctor himself into omitting certain details). Sometimes, there would be the tinge of a reprimand in Tsubone's voice over the phone – "Chiara-sama asks often when you will be returning home, Illumi-sama," she'd say. "She has been sullen the last few days, and hasn't been sleeping well."

Now, she had stopped eating again. She refused to listen to reason. Nobody seemed too sure whether or not they were supposed to force-feed her.

When it came to matters of Chiara, nobody in the family or staff seemed too sure what to do at all. Grandfather and Father treated her as a plaything, a doll, and let her get away with what she pleased. Mother could only do so much. The butlers could do even less. Chiara was, after all, Illumi's wife. That didn't change when he went away. And as much as he knew she needed to be disciplined in order to become the proper Zoldyck, he wouldn't allow anyone else to lay a finger on her.

Until then, he'd hardly been able to do it himself. He knew what was necessary, and he should not have hesitated. But he did. And she was taking advantage of it. She was getting bolder than was acceptable, and it was only a matter of time before–

Illumi stiffened.

Something like a breeze. A gentle, thrilling prickle down his neck, his spine.

He turned away from the bar, and for a moment refused to register what was before him. It was an illusion. The trick of a wanting mind. But as much as Illumi stared, the illusion, the specter, did not go away. Powder purple dress and puffed sleeves. High-heeled shoes, ribboned and pointy-toed. No – it was her. She was real, curls in soft purple, cheeks glowing faintly with blush in the bar's evening light. She smiled up at Illumi with all the sparkle of rain on wet leaves, deliberately oblivious to his dismay and the force of Hisoka's stare from across the room.

Chiara cocked her head at him. "Buy me a drink, Lumi?"