Alex:I'M NOT DEAD! Apologies for the long delay, this chapter went through like 5 rewrites and my best friend was helping me write this. Through team effort chapter 10 is finally here!(Thank you Necho for helping me with the Mukuro bits/making sure the overall writing flow was beautifully done!) Ahhhhh so excited to finally post. Been so busy lately and I started the watching the Fruits Basket reboot(It's soooooo good!) I'm almost done with season 1!

But that's enough of that! A friendly reminder that Mari's KHR knowledge is second hand knowledge, she doesn't know everything. She only knows what her friend in the first life told her. Important detail.

ENJOY THE NEW CHAPTER!

XxxXxx

Chapter 10:Dance with the Devil

Through a thick and unrelenting haze of grogginess, Mari became dimly aware that she might be awake.

Someone's talking. It's faraway and indistinct, and quite interrupted by the familiar echo of hard-soled shoes clacking against solid ground. Damn, I'm cold. Clack, clack, clack, the shoes went, their echoes strangely muted as if she was hearing them from underwater, her fingers numb and frozen and her body stiff and uncomfortable lying on something hard and cold. Why is it so dark? Her eyelids fluttered open, just for a second, but she didn't register much more than an old wooden floor. Clack, clack, clack, the shoes went. Why does this feel so... familiar? Mari sluggishly recognised a strange and uncomfortable sensation of déjà vu. The darkness, the cold, the sound of hard-soled shoes coming closer and closer towards her across a cold, hard floor - she'd been here before. Clack, clack, clack. The shoes stopped. Something hard nudged her head. The spinning dizziness began.

Mari's mind was set adrift upon a rough, rough sea, carried up and down, up and down, in and out of focus. Which was a shame, really, since the faraway voice from before sounded much closer now and she'd rather like to make out what it was saying. She wasn't quite sure where she was. Perhaps the voice would be able to tell her. Or perhaps it's the reason I'm here. It had been that way last time, after all.

The voice is rough and young - not familiar - and spoke with a mocking tone - definitely familiar. It laughed with glee. I remember that. It made a strange 'byon' sound. Maybe he got a new pet. It says, "this bird," and "hit" amongst other words Mari wasn't able to make out. That happened last time, too. He called me a bird. A dove.

The voice stopped, and suddenly all was silent. Mari struggled to open her heavy eyelids, expecting to see a pair of shoes before her where the steps had stopped earlier, but all she sees is a deep and inky darkness. Just like the basement. A tiny pit of unease settled itself into her stomach as Mari groggily made to push herself up off the floor. She vainly hoped that her eyes just hadn't woken up properly. Don't be ridiculous. She tried to shift her lethargic arms where they lay so uncomfortably behind her back.

But she can't move them. Something's bound them together, something rough and tight and twisted, restraining the movement of her thin wrists like a constrictor coiled around its prey. She struggled against the rope but it only bites and burns and digs further into her skin. And then she heard it - a single word, barely discernible over the empty silence, whispered caressingly and assertively into her ear: "Dove..."

I told you. I told you it was the same. She knows how the rest of the line goes, felt her lips mouthing the words automatically as numb fear creeps slowly down her spine, her shoulders tensing and her blood turning ice cold. "Sweet little dove, all caged..." whispers the doctor, endearingly and invitingly and mockingly, concealing an undertone of dark warning the same way he conceals his sharp silver scalpels beneath his coat, "Can you still fly?"

Rachel had awoken in the basement. She realises, slowly, chillingly, that she's never left. She knows what will be coming next - a bright white surgical light shone in her face, and the glint of cold steel. As it always used to. As it always will be.

Click. Rachel reflexively scrunched her eyes shut as the harsh white light flared down upon her. She's muttering things under her breath, though she has no idea what she's saying. Eyes squinting, body frozen, Rachel can do nothing but whimper as surgically gloved hands emerged from the darkness. It hadn't been real. None of it had been real. She winced as the cold hands gently grabbed her by the shoulders, lifting her up and propping her against a hard wall. It was just a wishful dream. Rachel choked back a sob. Mariko Himuro was nothing but a dream.

"Sweet little dove," cooed the doctor, one gloved finger gently caressing her cheek, "Did you enjoy your rest?"

Rachel bit back a scream as a tear slid down her cheek. He didn't like screams.

"There there, my dear, no need to cry," the doctor said consolingly, wiping the tear from her cheek. The surgical rubber felt different, smoother against her skin, than she remembered. "I'm not done with you yet. There's still so much more fun for us to have!"

The doctor laughed delightedly, and flicked his wrist - a flash of cold steel appeared suddenly in his hand. Rachel whimpered as he dragged the tip of the scalpel across her skin as lightly as a feather. The sharp edge of the scalpel was eager to cut through her skin and draw blood, but the doctor's steady hand kept it easily at bay. He traced from the corner of her nose along the edge of her cheekbone, slowly and steadily, the cold metal edge leaving behind a tingling trail along her skin. He traced down the side of her face, chuckling charmingly, as Rachel did her best to hold her head still. He didn't like it when she flinched. He traced along her throat beneath her jawline, and suddenly Rachel was keenly aware that she was no longer able to desperately gulp down air for fear of the sharp steel piercing her throat.

"Strange little dove," The doctor mused. The scalpel's tip rested upon her voice box. "Will you tell me about your dream? You were muttering the most peculiar of things in your sleep."

Rachel's wide, petrified eyes - stinging from the bright white light - stared with mouth agape in the shadows beyond the light that was the approximate location of the doctor's voice. Hot tears streamed down her face as memories of her life as Mari - that wonderful, wistful dream - flitted past her eyes, fleeting and ephemeral and swiftly replaced by familiar fear. "I-it w-wasn't real," she sobbed softly, her voice coming out as barely more than a whisper.

"Of course not, my dear, that's why they call it a dream," the doctor laughed genially. "Now, why don't you tell me about this 'Vongola'? Are they a person? I couldn't have my little dove dreaming of anyone other than me."

Some small part of Rachel longed for Tsuna's comforting presence. But of course, that small part was merely the foolish hope of a foolish girl from a foolish dream. "N-no," she choked out, as the scalpel began to dance nimbly up and down her throat. "I-it's from this m-manga my f-friend used to t-tell me about-"

"Manga?" said the doctor curiously. If Rachel hadn't been so paralysed by fear, she might have noticed the uncharacteristic tone of surprise in his voice. "Do go on."

"The V-vongola are a m-mafia family," Rachel said, her voice small. She didn't want to tell him about this. Even though it was just a dream, it had been her dream. But the scalpel began to slice a thin, shallow slit on its journey down her throat, so she continued. "The m-manga is about the b-boy chosen to be the next head of the m-mafia." Perhaps she should have lied. Perhaps she could have lied. But her thoughts were so full of her life as Mariko and her reality as Rachel that her mind became blank when she tried to think of anything else.

"Fascinating," said the doctor, sounding genuinely intrigued. "This boy. Does he have a name?"

Tsuna. She'd almost said his name aloud. God, she wished he was here right now, that he'd bash through the basement door barely clothed and with all the usual ridiculous bravado brought about by the dying will bullet. But he wouldn't, because he wasn't real. And the doctor was.

The scalpel started to slice a symmetrical slit up the other side of Rachel's throat. She'd been silent too long, but should she tell him? I don't want to. Would it matter if she lied? There was no way the doctor would know. And surely Rachel would be able to come up with a name-

"Marikoooo," the doctor crooned softly, and the name stopped Rachel dead in her tracks. Did he just-? Did she mishear something? "You know better than to keep me waiting."

Suddenly, the memory of a familiar girl with Rachel's same long hair talking to a baby in a fedora fluttered past her eyes, and she knew exactly what to say. "Omertà," she whispered softly. Then, more confidently: "His name's Omertà."

"Are you sure about that answer, my dear?" The scalpel pressed deeper into her neck; warm rivulets of blood were beginning to congeal on the top of her shirt. "I won't be happy if you're lying to me."

"I don't want to hear that coming from you," she shot back. She'd intended for her voice to sound snarky, but unfortunately it instead came out shaky and unsure. And maybe just a tiny bit hopeful. "The doctor would never call me Mariko."

The doctor was silent. The hand holding the scalpel dropped back into the darkness, and suddenly the shadowy space around her was echoing with a strange, iconic chuckle that started softly and subtly and built swiftly into a cackle. And the shadows danced with the musical laughter - swirling and swelling and fading - and the bright surgical light shining into her face bulged bizarrely until it burst - until all darkness and all hint that this was the basement was gone from her view. She could see now that she was propped against the wall inside an old, old room with tiered wooden floors like a lecture hall or movie theatre. The room was completely empty, save for the boy who stood before her; tall and thin for his age, dressed in Kokuyo green with brightly coloured heterochromatic eyes, and somehow managing to look vaguely menacing with the trident he held casually clutched in one hand despite the fact that his blue hair for some reason resembled the shape of a pineapple.

Mariko blinked. "Oh," was all she could think to say.

"I hadn't expected you to know the Mafia code of silence," said Mukuro, casually appraising her with his strange, mismatched eyes.

"It's just the idiot with the reverse mullet," Mari giggled softly, too busy being relieved to care about what Mukuro had said.

Mukuro's red eye twitches ever so slightly at the comment. "Reverse-?" he mutters darkly, before slipping easily back into his carefully crafted confidently nonchalant smile. "Is it wise to so casually mock your kidnapper? I could very well be worse than your doctor friend."

Mari burst out laughing at that - loud, nervous, confident laughter that echoed throughout the wide expanse of the theatre room, which slowly began to wash away the fear that had kept Rachel paralysed. "You're not," she said bluntly, barely able to keep a giggle from her voice. "You're really not."

The carefully crafted smile was gone, replaced with curious consideration. "You're quite confident in your judgment of my character."

"Yeah, well," Mari said. Determination began to build inside her, as the fear drained away. "We're not so different, you and I." It was true, based on what she could remember from the many times her friend had gushed about this character. She smiled innocently at Mukuro, taking deep breaths to calm herself and clear her head of Rachel. She needed to find a way to escape.

Mukuro examined her more closely. "You've died before, haven't you?"

"That's my secret," Mari said, as she tugged subtly at the rope tying her hands together. "I'm always dead inside." The rope held tight.

"That doctor must have been the one who killed you," Mukuro mused. Mari felt a brief and familiar stab of fear by her throat. "What name did you go by, I wonder?"

Yeah, no. Pretty sure he'll just use that information to make his illusions more terrifying. "Bob," Mari said instead as she tried to wiggle her fingers in the vague direction of the rope's knot. "Short for Kate."

"Kufufufu," Mukuro chuckled. "Well Bob, short for Kate, otherwise known as Mariko, it's been... entertaining, to say the least. And as much as I'd love to continue our little chat... Well, if you won't give me the information I need, I'll simply borrow your body instead."

That stopped Mari dead in her tracks. Mukuro was staring intently at her now with a crazy glint in his eyes that she didn't particularly like, and his smile was unnaturally wide. "Nope," she said, her mind completely empty save for two thoughts: There's no way in hell I'm dying again. There's no way in hell I'm letting him use me against Tsuna. "Not happening." She was going to get the hell out of this place, and she refused to die trying.

Was it just her imagination, or were her bonds suddenly looser?

"Kufufu," Mukuro laughed. "Do you really think that feeble flicker of an aura will be enough to save you?"

Aura? Mari pulled her hands free of the rope, just in time to see a small orange flame flare and gutter out on the tip of her finger, like a candle snuffed out by a sudden puff of wind. Oh. shit. She gracefully leapt to her feet, twisting her way out of reach of Mukuro's trident and towards the exit at the base of the theatre. "It's apparently good enough to break me free of the ropes," she shouted behind her, as she pelted down the empty theatre tiers. Escape first, worry about the flame later. Mukuro's cackle followed her out of the theatre and into the exit hallway, dark and narrow and ending in stairs. I absolutely can't tell Reborn about this. He'll never shut up about it.

Mari leapt over the stairwell balustrade, alighting deftly on the landing below. She spared herself a glance back in the direction of the theatre; Mukuro was still laughing, walking slowly and casually towards the hallway exit. Okay, he's way too confident. She hurled herself down the rest of the stairs, long braid streaming behind her, light streaming through the doorway at the bottom of the stairs-

"Gah!" Mari's head jerked back suddenly, pain shooting through her scalp. Someone was laughing at her, someone with a rough, crude voice.

"Seriously, Kakipi, how'd she get a hit on ya-byon? She was so easy to catch!"

Mariko turned her head, and saw two others dressed in Kokuyo green standing on either side of the doorway she'd just come through - the glasses-wearing bastard that had brought her here in the first place, and the scar-faced bastard currently tugging rudely at her plait. Without hesitation, Mari twisted and shot her leg straight up, nailing Ken right in the jaw and cutting off his stupid, annoying laugh. Just like Reborn taught me.

"Like that," Chikusa said listlessly, as Mari yanked her plait from Ken's weakened grasp. She felt somewhat satisfied, seeing the bandage on Chikusa's cheek. "She got me like that."

"Ahhhh, shaddup," Ken muttered, massaging his jaw.

Mari appraised her situation swiftly - she'd come out into what looked like the remains of the reception room for a bowling alley. Sunlight streamed through the windows behind her. She looked to be a story above ground level. There was another door to her right, past some reception desks and shelving for shoes - but Chikusa had swiftly moved to cut off that exit. And of course, Ken - now glaring at her like some sort of feral animal - was blocking the exit she'd just come through.

"She's certainly not to be underestimated," came Mukuro's musical voice. He stepped casually down the stairs, trident held loosely in hand. If I remember right, it's game over if I get cut by that thing. "Colour me impressed, Mariko. Either you're stronger than I had thought, or my subordinates are weaker." Ken and Chikusa winced at that. Mari's eyes flickered towards the door to her right. Maybe if Chikusa was distracted, she could charge through... "Such a strong desire to escape. But I'm afraid you won't be setting one foot outside that door."

A ridiculous idea hit Mari like a lightning bolt. "Okay," she said, her heart racing in her chest, "I won't set foot outside the door."

So she spun on her heel and leapt for the window.

There was a resounding CRASH of tinkling, broken glass - then suddenly, there was the ground rushing up to meet her, and Mari swiftly had to uncurl and relax her tensed body, keeping her legs ever so slightly bent - Calm down, it's just like any other landing I've done - then her sneakers hit the muddy ground and she let the force bend her knees and carry her into a roll. Nailed it.

Mari stood, brushing fragments of glass from her clothing. Her clothes had managed to protect her skin from being cut up too badly by the glass, though her hands were covered in stinging cuts. And her body just felt like she'd belly-flopped from a high-diver's board into a pool of water. But she was alive. And she was free.

Mari smirked back in the direction of the broken window - the silhouette of a pineapple was walking towards it. She turned to leave, when something purple amongst the shattered glass fragments caught her eye - Oh, the hairpin Tsuna gave me must have fallen out when I jumped.

But she couldn't bend down to pick it up. In fact, she couldn't move at all. It felt as though her limbs were suddenly smothered by a wet blanket, numb and cold and frozen. And then they moved, but not of her volition.

Her body turned, her neck tilted up towards the window. Mukuro was leaning indifferently out the broken window, smiling wryly at her. He tapped his throat.

Of course. He'd already cut her.

XxxXxx

Alex:Soooooooooo whatcha think?;) Kufufufu do I have plans for our dear Mariko. The stage is set so stay tuned to find out what happens next my dear readers. Until next time, Ciao Ciao:3

(Also I will be writing a side series for moments that didn't make the cut in the main series/other moments I'll be expanding further on. Chapter one is finished but is going through the editing phase at the moment so please be on the look out for that!)