Thanks Shaoli, purplehotagi, and everyone else! I really appreciate the support. Now to answer some questions:

Yes, I do have mysterious innuendo syndrome. It's a bit annoying but it usually clears up by the end. And I know everyone is wondering about Kuroro… *runs off to come up with a plausible explanation*

…Hmm, to answer Shaoli's question, how is marriage linked to protection? Well… erm… *thinks hard* If people share a room, I would say they take up less space so that would be cheaper. And they're easier to monitor and protect. (Oh, and this doesn't apply to Feitan and Phinks, who work at a different Mafia place.) But of course there's another reason. What if it's not related to protection at all?? *runs away before is scolded for the mysterious innuendo, which has –gasp- shown itself yet again *

^_^

~@@@~

Franklin did not go to sleep.

He had become just recently an insomniac with incredible endurance. He had taken a brief, ten-minute nap three days ago but had warded off sleep since then like a plague. He was weary, bothered, and unable to complain because the habit of distancing himself from his troubles was well-established.

Kurotopi dozed in the corner and Boreneorolf sat, legs and arms crossed and head bent to chest. As he kept guard over his slumbering teammates, Franklin wished that he, too, could experience the tranquility of nothingness. But he knew better than to close his eyes for what laid in the darkness was not rest but pain.

It was laughable. They were not nightmares, they were not even dreams. And yet, he was as afraid as infant fearing the dark.

"Franklin?"

He raised his head to stare at Nobunaga, who stood leaning against the wall across the room. Between them, Pakunoda's grave stood as a shrine of candles that glowed softly.

"Can't sleep either, eh?" the samurai said.

"No." And the word tasted like defeat but he would not yield.

"Is it because of her?"

"Her?" Franklin repeated, confused.

"Her," and he jerked his head in the direction of the lit monument. 

…So he knew. Franklin suddenly realized that Nobunaga was in the same situation. Did he fear it as well?

"Does it frighten you?" the giant spoke carefully, trying to lessen the implications of his words with a nonchalant tone. Talking with Nobunaga was like being trapped in a cage with a panther. The samurai was easily angered and as weariness was gradually working its way into his bones and dulling his senses, Franklin found himself in no mood to deal with Nobunaga's temper. Best to tread lightly and avoid offense as Nobunaga was prone to retaliation with his blade rather than his tongue. 

"Frightened?" the other man scoffed, "They're nothing to be frightened of."

The giant raised his eyebrows. Was he lying? Nobunaga seemed composed but it was apparent that he was clearly avoiding his gaze. And the fact that he, too, could not sleep was more than enough evidence.

He remembered the first time he had experienced it. The horrible, aching pain that was more internal than external when she discovered what it meant to fight and kill. The buried sympathy for the victims that made themselves known only when she had been alone. He had awoken with a horrified cry as emotions that had been buried suddenly revived themselves in a brilliant resurrection. 

"They're just memories, Franklin."

"I know that." But…

"Then go to sleep. You won't be ready for battle if you haven't gotten any rest."

Part of Franklin wanted to argue. They weren't just memories. They were too real, too vivid. He didn't want to feel the way they made him feel. But his body complained of increasing fatigue. And if Nobunaga was right, if the chain-killer took this opportunity to surprise them rather than go after the other six, he would be in no shape to withstand the attack. There would be no chance for him, especially if Kurapica could take down the Dancho by himself.

"Go to sleep, Franklin."

Better safe than sorry. Better to die a death a million times in sleep than one in real life…

"Hai," he finally said, allowing his eyelids to shut, "Just for a few minutes…"

The sound of his own breathing lulled him away… He could hear all his other senses dulling just slightly, but it was enough to send him miles and miles away… There was nothing… Not even his own thoughts… Quiet peace more beautiful than anything the living world had to offer…

For a moment, he slept in ecstasy, content to rest in himself.

It lasted only briefly until he was in too deep to wake up and then, she was there and he was gone.

"I'm a sinful woman…" the words escaped her lips like a flood. There was no anguish, no regret, but rather a simple statement of facts. More often than not, she felt like she was dying these days. Her heart was light from emptiness and there was nothing more she wanted than to feel. Happiness was too much to ask. But pain, sorrow, regret --  anything to tell her that she was still human. That's why she had come. "But the sin on me does not weigh me down… Rather, it lifts me up and down at the same time… Because I feel like I'm drifting my way down to hell…"

"Don't say such things, child—"



"I'm not a child," she had said, "I've never been one."

"In the eyes of God, all are His children."

"I know no God," and the only one she worshipped bore an upside cross on his forehead.

There was a shocked silence and then, with annoyance, "Then why did you come here?"

 "They're looking for me… I need a place to hide for a few days before I can strike back…" 

And the priest had taken a deep, shuddering breath and had said with an audible tremble, "Who are you?"


"Pakunoda," and her hand shot through the wooden wall separating them. It was over in seconds. Before he even had time to scream, she had crushed his throat and choked him. His eyeballs rolled heavenward in death and the sparkle of life in his eyes vanished abruptly.

She let the corpse slump down and the eyelids fluttered downward, answering the call of gravity. The terror on his face slowly melted away into serenity as death wiped his expression clean. She was envious but the jealousy disappeared when she touched his cheek.

A memory of a family. A love that had promised to wait until he returned. The joy he received from serving the One above all.

'I will live to the purity of my soul,' he had declared with the fire of idealism burning in his heart, 'and I will love all equally, showing kindness to my enemies and my friends… I will bear none ill-feeling…' 

She withdrew her fingers from his cold skin.

"I am sorry," she whispered and she wondered, would he forgive her when he reached Heaven or would he miss the one he left?

He had been so young, so pure, so happy… She could not bring herself to hate him for what he had… But… for what he had lost… she could not help…

 It took her a while to realize that she was weeping.

Franklin awoke with a gasp, sweating profusely. He looked at Nobunaga accusingly before settling to wait for the sun. Hours would pass until it rose but they did not speak again for the rest of the night.

~@@@~

He found his target at the café, sipping a mug of black coffee and reading the Yorkshin Times. As he approached, the paper was put down and he was met with a cordial, if formal smile, "Ohayou. You're five minutes late."

"Gomen. But it was hard leaving the room without being noticed."

"You share a room? I'm surprised. Didn't think she'd put up with it."

Hisoka smiled to himself. Neither had he, in fact. Life was full of surprises.

"I'd be careful if I were you, who knows what she'd do to you in your sleep," came the warning.



"Oh really, I'm rather looking forward to it," was the wicked response.

Kuroro took a sip of his coffee, studying his companion with a thoughtful gaze. The joker was dressed different from usual, clad in a neat, uniform suit of black. With his chin tilted at an angle and red hair that was slicked and elegant, he resembled a wealthy playboy. Indeed, he was receiving more than his fair share of naughty winks from the waitresses. But more than that, he looked awfully pleased with himself.

Odd, thought the leader of the Spider.

But Hisoka's next words pushed his curiosity away and focused him back onto the matter at hand.

"Alright," said the clown, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on the table and his face in his hands. He wore an hungry, excited look, "Let's talk about business."

~@@@~

Hisoka was gone. She knew it instinctively before she even opened her eyes. Outside, the sunlight was glaringly bright. She stared for a moment, trying to avoid last night's memories. Unsuccessful, she didn't know whether to be grateful or furious with her comrade for breaking his promise.

"Hisoka no baka," she said aloud but the insult was half-hearted.

Finally, glancing at the clock and remembering that work began only in a few minutes, she pushed her conflicted emotions aside and headed toward the closet. The outfit that laid inside made her grimace. Apparently maid attire, it was plain black and white with a little lacey hat to match. She snorted to herself in disgust and tossed the offending headgear aside.

A knock came at the door after she finished dressing. And then another. Machi ignored both – she was in no hurry to begin -- and proceeded to check herself in the mirror. Scowling openly at the petite and subdued figure before her, she could not help but feel as if she were being demeaned.

"There's no need to hide. Just come out," she said sharply, turning abruptly to the door that had been creaking open ever so slightly since the first knock.

A little boy of tousled brown hair peeked out sheepishly, "Gomen, but you didn't answer and I don't want you to be late on--" His statement was cut short by an irrepressible comment of awe, "Oh, you're so pretty."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Ryo, the messenger," he said proudly.

"You look too young to work for a Mafia boss," she said coolly.

"I'm seven!" he returned somewhat defiantly, but the blaze died as he asked, "So what's your name?"

He hadn't given a last name and she wouldn't either, "Himiko. I'm the new seamstress."

"Hai!" he said, nodding in acknowledgement, "I'm supposed to show you to your workroom. This way, Himiko-san!"

The little boy ran out of the room and she quickened her pace to follow. After a few corners, they came to an elevator. "Your workroom's on the eightieth floor," Ryo informed her with a know-it-all-air that was both irritating and unexpected coming from someone so young, "So go up and when you get off, it should be the first door to the right."

Machi nodded complacently. He was just a kid. The less she had to deal with him, the better. The elevator door opened and she stepped in, already bored before the job had even begun. If she was lucky, she would be done in a few hours.

"Ja!"

She turned just in time to see Ryo's cheerful face before the doors closed. He was waving with a warm, sincere smile, "And good luck!"

~@@@~

"Ohayou," she said upon greeting him. She was looking exceptionally pretty, dressed in a sunny yellow dress. Gold and silver in one. Such a contrast to the darkness that surrounded him but he didn't mind it as much as he thought he would. He offered her an arm, which she grabbed lightly.

"I'm to be your guard for the whole day today. Your piano lessons will be first, followed by an afternoon tea, and then a trip to the dressmaker," he said mechanically.

"The dressmaker?" her face had lost some of its cheerfulness at that.

"Hai, let's go."

The room they entered was the same as yesterday. Though fancily decorated and full of interesting displays of ornamentation, Feitan sighed unhappily to himself. He was certain he would be spending many a hour in here.

He led her to the grand piano positioned in the center and she sat, automatically straightening herself and placing her fingers affectionately on the keys. "Here I go," Kita said and she was off, the air filling with angelic sound.

The hours passed. There being nothing better to do, Feitan watched her passively. He was surprised by her choice in music. It was sad, whimsical. Fast and panicked. Perhaps a reflection of her feelings?, he wondered and it did not seem likely for the lovely countenance grew ever the more troubled. Beauty did not appeal to him, but pain could and it was written all over her face. Lines of doubt, fear, and resentment – not in her eyes but each crisscrossing like silk strings over the contours of her face.

Like glass, he mused, his interest aroused, Ready to break…

There was a sudden crash of cacophonic chords as her hands suddenly slammed down. Chest heaving with some strange emotion, she bent her head and clutched onto the folds of her dress  tightly. Her lips pressed together as she strained for some semblance of tranquil control. But the reality was she looked more distraught than ever.

She said, wearing a thin mask of happiness that he saw through all too easily, "I think I'm finished."

"Tea's next."

She nodded, "Shall we go?"

The place of tea was in the garden. By the time they had reached the little patio, she had regained some of her characteristic brightness. She chatted enthusiastically throughout the meal as he nibbled politely on a cookie, drowning her out. It wasn't until she issued an order disguised as a request that he brought himself back to attention.

"Would you mind fetching me a rose? Red, please."

He had no choice to obey. Shrugging at her absurd fancies, he plucked at a nearby bush and presented her with a rose whose hue matched that of a dark and red sunset. 

"Ahhh, do you like flowers? I do," she told him, accepting it with glee, "They're so easy to break…"

She brought it daintily to her nose and inhaled, fingering the petals as she sank into a thoughtful mood. He sensed a shift within her as if something had crumbled away, as if the superficial skin was peeling to reveal a deeper core. She offered him the flower, "Would you like to try?"

"No."

"Too bad. It smells really nice."

"You're killing it," he stated, gazing as her slender fingers pulled off each petal with a surprising viciousness.

"Well, I had a feeling it would be wasted on you," she replied. A naughty smile appeared, "But at least this way it's not completely wasted…"

And she stood up and leaned toward him, sprinkling the crushed remnants over him with surprising accuracy. For a moment, he just stared, not comprehending as the petals of red and scarlet fell over him like a baptism of blood. 

He didn't move. It was raining petals. Her fragrance was just as sweet and her smile, frightening and bewitching. What was this girl? Angel, demon, or a mixture of both?

"You're a killer, aren't you?" she said quietly, sitting back down. She sipped her tea and her eyes, blind as they were, were acutely sharp and cunning.

"Yes." He was unsure as to what the smirk she wore meant.

"You sound so surprised," she laughed, as if sensing his silent shock at her transformation. She maintained the innocence but for the first time, he saw that it was tainted, "I am the niece of a Mafia lord. You're not the first killer I've met…" Her voice grew distant, "Not the first at all…"

"You could say I've had a lot of experience dealing with people like you, Koto-san," she grinned, adding, "And I know that's not your real name. They never tell me their real names until I force them."

"What do you want?" He waited, amused by her girlish pride yet apprehensive at the same time. 

"I want a lot of things but right now, just a friend," she said, eyes glittering.

He snorted in disbelief, "That's all? How pathetic."

She didn't seemed bothered by his insult, "So sue me. I know what I want."

"And what do you want from me then? To be your friend?" he sneered. This girl was insane if she thought that would ever happen. He had no friends outside the Spider and even those within were not truly friends but comrades in death.

"Perhaps. Eventually, we may become friends. Who knows, neh?" she said, stunning him with a sincere smile, "But to be friends, we have to know each other first, right? So for starters, what's your real name?"

When it was all done and he could not take it back no matter how much he wanted to, he still could never figure out why he had said it then. Maybe he had been under a spell at the time. It was foolish to have said anything at all. But it was that entreating expression she had worn, the way the cynicism had melted away to be replaced with honest hope. She wanted to get to know him. Truly.

"Feitan," he said, regretting the moment his name left his lips. He would regret it even more in the future.

But Kita lit up at his admission and reaching over, she took his hand and shook it gently.

"Nice to meet you, Feitan-san," she said softly.

~@@@~

… Well, I think I'm focusing a lot on the characters without much action. But in my own defense – pitiful as it may sound – this fic is supposed to cover two weeks since that's how long the six people are gonna be working at their location. And plus, there's a whole bunch of other people like Franklin… Kurotopi… Boreonolf (Ahh, don't know if I wanna make him talk; it just seems so wrong for some reason ^_^)…Nobunaga… to include… so please bear with me. If it gets TOO boring, just lemme know. In any case, just to warn ya, this fic should focus on Machi more than the others… Or at least, that was my initial plan. ^^;;

….Oh, and please leave a comment, suggestion! Ask questions, they make me think! I wouldn't mind ideas either since my brain is rather limited. Any help is appreciated. ^^;;