Ahhh, should add some plot soon. Will bring Kuroro back and develop more characters but love to explore personalities and romance. So now onto the Hisoka/Machi fluff. ^_^

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"So should I call you Daisuke from now on?" Shizuku questioned before climbing into the bed.

"Just in front of the other servants," he replied, "But you can still call me Shalnark when we're alone."

"Ok then."

He laid on the cushioned couch. It was too short and as proof, his feet were hanging over the side. Nevertheless, though he had lied easily that he and Shizuku were engaged, it felt improper to share a bed with her. They were partners in death, not love. And the only reason to pretend otherwise laid in being financially conservative.

"Ten billion a night…" Shalnark couldn't help but grumble bitterly. It was outrageous! He had half a mind to raid the place just to get back at the greedy managers who ran it. Of course he was guilty of the same crime. Stripping people out of their cash was a cinch with the right technology and being apart of the Ryodan had made it even easier.

But that was beside the point. It was always different when you're the one being cheated.

He was still feeling sulky when Shizuku's clear, sweet voice cut through the air, "Neh, Shalnark?"

"Hmmm?" he turned to see the young girl staring at him. She wore a thin-strapped, light pink nightgown that gave her the impression of being younger than she looked. The absence of her glasses caused her to squint a bit and she looked adorably curious.

Shalnark smiled to himself. She reminded him of a child.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead," he answered though beginning to become slightly drowsy. He yawned and stretched, "Just one, though, alright? I'm feeling sleepy."

"Ok," she agreed readily, "Just one."

He yawned again, hoping this wouldn't take long. Shizuku reached to turn out the light on her bedstand, asking simultaneously, "Pakunoda's memories… What did she leave you?"

At that exact moment, there was a light click and a thick darkness dominated the room. Shalnark blinked, no longer feeling tired.  Looking across the room, he tried to see Shizuku but all that he could see was a brief shaft of moonlight shining down onto the coffee table next to him.

"Shalnark?"

"I heard you. It's just…" he sighed heavily, "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes." Her voice was more firm and sure than he had ever heard sound it before, "She didn't leave me any memories. I want to know what you know. At the least, I want something to remember her by." 

"Well," he began slowly, glad for the darkness for it hid the emotion on his face, "Sometimes I see through her eyes…"

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"You smell." That was the first thing Feitan said when he entered the room.

"I know that."

"You smell really—"

"I KNOW that already!!" Phinks yelled, glaring at his partner and clenching his fist, "Another word out and I'LL--!!"

Feitan crossed his arms placidly and decided to keep quiet. The truth was, he hadn't intended to rile up Phinks with his statements. But the stench was so bad that he now wore his skull bandana just to lessen its severity. Yet, some of the nauseating fumes still permeated the thick cloth. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and wished that the man before him would take a bath.

"It's not like I haven't tried washing it away," Phinks said mournfully, as if sensing his thoughts, "I've taken three showers before you came back."

As evidence, water dripped from his hair as the Spider gazed unhappily at his skin, "It just won't come off. The fertilizer they use here is modified with powerful Nen."

"What a waste," was Feitan's only comment.

"Huh, I agree. If I ever find the bastard who came up with it, I'll behead him," Phinks muttered darkly and then, as if he could hardly bear to keep it in anymore, "God, I HATE my job!!"

"…It's not too bad. A bit boring, perhaps, but…" Strangely, his mind recalled the image of Kita Toko, smiling at him as she bid him a cordial farewell.

"But?" Phinks raised his eyebrows, puzzled. He had expected Feitan to agree with him completely but the black-haired man seemed a bit odd. Just the tiniest bit out of focus.

And then, as if abruptly realizing that he had left his sentence hanging, Feitan finished, "Iie. It's nothing. But I don't think the job is too tough."

"You don't understand!" he said disgustedly, "All I do is pour this special fertilizer over the flowers… and the idiots here have humongous gardens that go on for MILES…"

Feitan let him complain and for the next couple of minutes, the bitter man raved about the injustice and disgrace of being a gardener, the revenge he would wreak on his managers once the mission was over, how his view on flowers as harmless things was forever changed…

"It'll be over once the chain-killer is dead," he said. It was a subtle form of comfort.

Phinks stopped his ranting to nod with a grudging sigh, "You're right. If it's for the Genei Ryodan, I can suffer a little longer… In any case," he let out a yawn, "the sooner I sleep, the quicker I can ignore the smell. But first, another bath."

With that, he dashed back into the bathroom. A second later, the sound of splashing water could be heard.

There room was medium-sized, consisting of two beds and a simple-looking bath and shower. There was also a dresser, complete with mirror. Changing out of the formal, navy blue suit he had been required to wear into a pair of plain, ebony-colored pajamas, he caught sight of himself in the glass and halted.

Answer my question the next time we meet. Onegai.

Everything about him was black. From the strands of his carelessly groomed hair to the dark fabric of the bandanna  around his mouth to the sour frown that laid hidden beneath – there was no color.

He was intimidating as well. He noted subconsciously how there was something about his appearance that inspired fear, an aura of hate and cruelty. Had he been anyone else, he would've been afraid of himself. But he met the eyes of his reflection evenly. They were black and endless to him, so deep that no light could ever reach the bottom.

The person that stared back at him had no heart.

When he could stand it no longer, Feitan slid under the covers of his bed and turned off the night with a mechanical click, wondering dimly when had it gotten so cold.

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She was reliving a memory. In the back of her mind, she suspected she was dreaming for the people she saw were years younger than she knew them to be. Nobunaga, Franklin, Feitan… all had faces unmarred, fresh, and bewildered. They even looked a tad awed. All because of the young boy before them, who spoke softly and gently, but coldly and powerfully as well.

"It does not matter whether if the head or limbs are lost. What should live is the Spider."

She took in his words with a kind of thrilling chill. She felt as if she could shiver at that moment, even if the sun was hot and bright overhead. But the feeling was not altogether unwelcome. It was if she had just had water dashed upon her, as if she had suddenly woken up from deceiving sleep to discover her past was but a dream. Whatever had happened before no longer mattered.

…He was right. Everything he said. She could feel it penetrate into the raw material of her soul. He WAS right.

 Struggling to keep from trembling, she lifted her head to gaze upon the boy – no, the man – that had given her a new purpose. It was time to cast off an old identity and take on something new. He met her eyes and held them, making her experience adoration and fear at the same time.

And then, after an eternity had passed, they smiled together for they both knew he had won.

Machi awoke with a gasp, breathing heavily. It was as if something had clenched upon her throat, cutting off her air. As if something had crushed her heart, cutting off her blood. The dawn had not yet come. She could barely see anything and that only added to her sudden fear. Distraught, she rolled blindly towards the other side of the bed to hit something hard. Somebody clicked on the light.

The sight that met her eyes was pale flesh, well-muscled and sleek. She blinked, confused. Was she still dreaming? Without thinking, she tentatively placed a hand on the bare chest before her to check if it was real.

A hand larger and stronger than her own gently grasped hers. She tried to pull away but it held, tenderly but firmly, before pulling her into an embrace.

Startled, she raised her head to stare into Hisoka's face. She had half a mind to curse at him but his unusual graveness stopped her. There was no smirk, no grin of mocking satisfaction, as he held her against him, giving her the most intimacy with another that she had experienced in years.

"Am I still dreaming?" she said at last, overwhelmed by uncertainty.

"Does it feel like you're still dreaming?"

She closed her eyes and wondered at the pleasant warmth that emanated from his body. Most of all, she wondered why she felt comforted by it.

"What time is it?"

"Just a little after midnight."

"You were supposed to sleep on the floor," she told him, opening her eyes. But there was no force in her voice, "That was the deal."

"…I lied," and the hint of a smile made itself known before vanishing, "Were you having a bad dream?"

"No," she lied instantly, "I was…" But here, she faltered. Her voice, which had always been so calm and controlled, wavered for the briefest instant, "I was…"

He waited patiently, brushing aside the strands of wild hair that had fallen into disarray. His touch was soft, she noted, and she did not pull away when his fingers came to rest lightly on her cheek.

"I was not myself," she finally whispered in tones of quiet shock. She sounded incredulous and unnatural even to her own ears and her thoughts and emotions only became more jumbled when she tried to sort them out. Her lips stopped moving and giving up, she let her words and emotions die away.

Hisoka said nothing.

In the silence, he reached over to the bed stand to click off the light and darkness overcame them again.

To her disgust, she found herself shaking in his arms from something she could not explain. But he only pulled her closer, withholding questions and offering nothing but the soothing heat of another human being.

Strangely and to her secret relief, it was all that she needed.

Outside, it began to rain. Inside, she found that she could not escape the presence holding her nor did she really want to. He clung to her, not tightly but not lightly either. In silent acknowledgement of her temporary acceptance, throughout the passing hours, she refrained from protest or complaint and did not bother to push him away. And in the dark shadows and amidst the sad music of the falling drops, they stayed that way until dawn.

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…So whaddya think? Good, bad? Too soft? Suggestions, comments, highly appreciated.