A/N: I'm back and rusty but I bring cuddles to the sad. I present you: two idiots who love each other but don't know how to say words.
Killua doesn't sleep. Not really, at least. He did drift off initially when the adrenaline had first faded, but just as he was about to cross over the threshold of unconsciousness, in that place between sleep and awake, he sees Makoto tip over the edge, the crimson of her blood splash over the pristine white snow, over and over and over.
He shoots awake, gasping for air. But his strangled cry is silent as his lungs burn, and even in his bewilderment, he is dimly grateful in that his body's reaction had not woken the sleeping girl.
Chest heaving, Killua swallows and glances over. Makoto hasn't moved an inch since she had fallen asleep, her now chestnut hair draping over her face, tickling her nose every time she inhales. The former assassin resists the urge to push it out of her face and risk waking her, so instead, he diverts his attention elsewhere. The broken mirror in the room seems to be as good a start as any. His gaze traces the web of cracks and ends up on the lamp on the ground, clearly having fallen after it was hurled against the glass.
His reflection stares back at him through cracked panels, as though there is another him in a mirrored universe, silently judging. This isn't the first time the ex-assassin has had these illusions of duality. No, the specters usually appeared when he used to kill people – either before or after – either convincing him to do the deed or assuring him that he had done no wrong. This time, however, his mirrored self says nothing, just looks back at the abyss that is his soul. In the glass, an eye bulges from one panel, a drop of sweat drips from another. This time, his reflection neither comforts nor denigrates.
It's just him.
And there is nothing more terrifying.
Makoto blinks awake; there is a dull ache pressing at the base of her skull, and she winces at the thought of an impending headache. She swallows dryly, acutely aware of the distinct sour taste on her tongue. With far more effort that she would have liked, she pushes herself onto her elbow in an attempt to sit, but the sight before her halts her in her movement.
Crouched over, with droplets falling delicately from his silvery locks onto the cheap carpet, Killua bows in concentration over a curved palm that cradles the collected pieces of broken glass. The room is otherwise spotless, objects returned to their original positions, like nothing ever happened. Onyx eyes return to him, and from his hunched-over form, Makoto notes that her companion had showered, too, in freezing cold water it would seem, for the boy is two shades paler than his usual hue. His damp skin against the soft white cotton renders his thin shirt all the more transparent, and it isn't hard for Makoto to remark the black and blue that travels down his torso. Guilt unfurls from the cavities of her chest; Killua must have taken the brunt of the fall.
Killua hasn't noticed her yet. The huntress opens her mouth then bites her lips again in an aborted movement. She wants to say something so badly, but what? As of a few nights ago, she was sure they were no longer... And yet…
The next droplet falls from his silvery locks, sliding down his perfect jawline, and Makoto finds that she can no longer contain herself.
"Put on something warmer. And you'll catch a cold if you don't dry your hair properly." Rough words tumble out of her mouth, her voice crack from disuse. It's enough to distract Killua, though, for in his aborted movement, she sees his breath hitch. If she weren't watching him so closely, she would've missed the wince in the imperceptible press of his lips. Killua doesn't make silly mistakes like that. She almost asks after him, too, but the ex-assassin beats her to the chase.
"Good morning to you too," he exhales slowly, eyes closed, as though he were gathering himself. There is a strange tension about his shoulders, mixture of relief and worry, as he empties the glass into the trash.
It's hardly morning anymore, she thinks offhandedly, but the drop of red pooling at the tip of the boy's finger refocuses her. The ache in her skull takes a momentary backseat.
"C'mere," she gestures, just a slow flick of her wrist, because anything else is too much effort right now.
Killua suddenly finds that, bloodshot eyes and sandpapery voice, she still draws him like a bee to honey, always. Set to autopilot, he rights himself with a push off a knee and lets himself be beckoned. Her fingers encircle his wrist once he's within reach and, in the same motion, she takes his bleeding finger into her heated mouth. His first instinct is to yank his arm back, but her hands are warm shackles around his wrist. And really, the way his knees buckle beneath him should be worrisome; had the bed not broken his fall, his kneecaps would've certainly smashed into the thinly carpeted flooring.
She only gives his index a quick suck to seal the wound, but when Killua's mouth drops open just the slightest bit, Makoto suddenly becomes aware of her disposition. "Sorry I- habit I just-" she turns, "um- band-aid?"
The second that it takes for the daze in Killua's eyes to clear is a second too long, and Makoto grimaces.
The misery on her face sobers him, because for all that is good on this Earth, Makoto had no business looking so embarrassed. And for what? Still worrying about Killua when she was the one who literally got shot off a cliff?
"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffs instead, with an edge to his voice that Makoto doesn't quite understand, "don't get so worked up about my papercut when you're the one who woke up screaming four different times during the night."
"Oh," Makoto exhales sharply "sorry, did I wake you?"
"Sorry did I wake- what did I just say about-" the mocking dies on his lips when her hand comes up to rub at her scrunched-up forehead. That backseat thudding at the base of her skull is slowly creeping front and center.
Electric blue orbs study her for half a second, their intensity making her cower. And then he's reaching out, pressing a cool palm to her forehead, down to her flushed cheek. "Is it your head?"
"M'fine." She shudders.
"That's not what I asked. Is it your head?"
Makoto groans in affirmation and attempts to sit up despite the sharp stab at her ribs. Her elbow catches the sheets, but before she could buckle under her own weight, the silver-haired hunter is behind her, a steady hand between her shoulder blades.
"Don't get up," he orders lowly, and that is definitely Killua's I'm-serious voice, Makoto would know. She actually finds it funny that he only ever seems to be so terribly strict with her, and it's kind of unfair because he's most definitely not her father. "You lost a lot of blood, you're dehydrated, you also vomited yesterday. Twice." That explains the taste. "Which, by the way, was all just liquid. Do you know how long you'd have to go without eating to throw up nothing? Are you trying to starve yourself?"
His tone is accusatory, but even through the whisper-yelling, she can see the concern in the lines of his face. So maybe that means that she still has a small place in his heart. Something akin to relief nestles in her chest then, but Makoto can't concentrate on it, for the headache is pounding now, and she is feeling too much, and she can't find it within herself to be remorseful about not eating, too. If she were being honest, food was the last thing on her mind in days, but she sure as hell is not going to say that out loud.
Sighing deeply, Killua shoves all the pillows he can find behind her, then makes his way to the small desk in one corner of the room where, Makoto notices for the first time, sits a now-lukewarm tray of food. When Killua returns with it, the huntress' eyes follow the curl of his form. Damn it, he's hurt and he can't even hide it.
"Eat."
For someone staring at him the entire time, Makoto should not have been surprised when he plopped the tray down on her lap unceremoniously. She looks down, then up again to study his face. "I'm really not hun-"
"Eat." His frown deepens when she makes no move to obey. "You'll feel better."
He gestures at the tray emphatically. Makoto looks down once more, perusing the bowl of stew and the side of bread warily. Her stomach gurgles, but the nausea completely destroys her appetite. Still, Killua remains unmoved, and with his watchful eyes on her, she plucks a piece of bread and dips it into her soup, then carefully pops it into her mouth.
The ex-assassin watches his friend swallow, the half-chewed bread going down painfully from the way her throat bobs, as though the muscles had forgotten how to behave. She tries her best to choke down the cough that follows.
His eyes soften. Maybe this is too much.
Swiveling to find the abandoned water on the nightstand, he tips the glass to her cracked lips. "Here." The water, Makoto takes greedily as her fingers come up to wrap around his, and Killua has to quash the surge of guilt that surfaces when he pulls the cup away, but only to press two painkillers to her mouth before letting her gulp down the rest of the liquid.
"Sorry," she murmurs when she's finished, eyes downcast, chagrined by her own weakness as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. He raises a questioning brow. "I just-sorry-" she gestures vaguely, "For all this. You're meant to be with your sister and now- now you're stuck here playing babysitter and-"
"Are you done?" The former assassin was always notoriously irritable, that's no surprise, but the tightness of his voice forces even Makoto to raise her head for once. He sounds…angry. "Don't even say that. You of all people don't get to say that."
"What do I get to say?"
"Nothing until you eat."
She turns to him in defiance, but the now-incensed Killua cannot be negotiated with.
"I'm not hungry."
"Then you're not that sorry."
Makoto frowns. "I-" She stops, thinking better of her retort, then starts again. "That's not fair."
"When have I ever been fair?" He asks, a humorless little smirk on those perfect lips, "I kill people from the shadows, blackmail, wipe out entire houses without them even knowing I exist. So if you thought I was fair, that's on you. Now eat."
She hates it when he says things like that, hates the haughty words that do the most terrible job at covering up the self-loathing underneath. Those blue, blue eyes avoid her gaze just enough, but Makoto brings them back to her with two gentle fingers below his chin. "Say that again while looking a little less sad and I just might believe you."
His shoulders drop. God, he's so tired. He doesn't have the energy for her insubordination too. "Please." And the edge to his voice is back, his hand coming up to grasp her leg. "Maks. For me."
Oof, bad move.
Usually, this tactic would've worked -worked wonders, even- but today, all it does is touch a nerve.
"You know what? No. You'rethe one who wanted me gone. You don't get to say that." She bites, cracking voice like a stake through his chest. "Who cares if I eat or not? You didn't even want me in your life."
"I can explain," he offers. The words are a meager thing, but it's all that he has.
"Can you?" She breathes sharply, rubbing her temples. Thankfully, the headache seems to be subsiding (bless the pills) for she doesn't think she could handle this conversation otherwise.
"I can." He affirms, a surety in the hard set of his jaws. "It might be the shittiest reason in the world, but I can and I will. Just as soon as you eat something."
Makoto almost smiles; she must look all sort of frail right now for Killua to be so insistent. And God forbid she goes and dies from low blood sugar after surviving this bullshit.
Killua takes the tray from her and slowly lifts a spoonful of stew to her lips. She looks at him skeptically. "I can explain," he repeats, "so come on, hm?"
And the way his shoulders slump with relief when she accepts renders her a little breathless.
"Don't you hate me? " She asks tentatively after a few bites.
Killua's movement stutters for just a second before he returns to mashing the ingredients into the broth."No, Maks." He whispers, a ghost of a voice. "Never did."
'You can disappear the fuck from my life.'
It's not fair to take it back. She wants to say something mean and petty too. She wants to record those words and replay them back for him, to hurt him like he did her. However, the haunted look on his gaunt features tells Makoto that she doesn't need to, because Killua remembers exactly what he said. The guilt gnawed at him like poison in his veins the second those words left his mouth. He only wanted to shield her from Alluka, his all-too-powerful and unpredictable sister who has the ability to eliminate half a city. There were too many risks, and no matter how calculated, it was inconceivable that he would stake Makoto's life on it.
"Then why?" She whimpers, the exasperated anguish makes him want to bundle her up and never let go. He doesn't have that kind of privilege anymore, though. Instead, he sets the tray aside and reaches for her hand hesitantly. She lets him.
"It's Alluka. She is special. Ever since she was young, she shared her body with this creature - I call it Nanika." He begins, hesitant.
"What… does that even mean? And what does that have to do with me?"
"Just listen, alright?" Killua grimaces, praying to whoever is out there that she doesn't interpret the truth as some badly thought-up excuse to placate her. "I don't know where Nanika came from. My family isn't sure either. All we know is that Nanika grants wishes."
Makoto, previously attentive, deflates. "Ki, come on."
"It's true." He defends, "I swear. I promised you the truth."
Makoto considers him for a moment. He is tense, shoulders squared and pupils trembling. Nervous, but not lying. "Okay." The huntress concedes with a sigh, forcing herself to sit up a little straighter, body turned towards him. "Okay. Please continue."
Killua exhales the breath he doesn't know he had been holding, and lets his eyes flutter close when Makoto's thumb rubs across the top of his shivering knuckles, just for a moment.
"She- it- Nanika assumes control of Alluka's body once the conditions are met. Alluka will make 3 requests. And if you meet them, Nanika takes over and grants you a wish. But to keep balance, the more you wish for-"
"-the greater the consequence." Makoto finishes softly. "Mito-san tried to explain this part to me. I think. She wasn't very clear." Killua nods in understanding.
"The difficulty of the requests also increases after every wish is granted." The ex-assassin adds. "The unfair thing is that it falls on the next person to fulfill the requests, not the person who made the previous wish."
"Oh- but doesn't that mean-"
Killua nods again, "Yes, the previous wisher can get whatever they want with no consequences to themselves. They fulfill the easiest requests and then wish for something outrageous. Milluki found out and exploited this - he makes other people complete the requests on his behalf."
The huntress considers this, nodding thoughtfully. "Mito-san said bad things happen if you don't fulfill her wishes."
"People die. Crushed. Wrung dry." Killua affirms, a certain dread settling darkly in his eyes. "You, the person you love most, then all those closest to you, maybe more, depending on the size of the previous wish."
The image of the small girl asking for her heart flashes through her head, and the idea of her and her friends being crushed into nothingness makes her recoil. The fear on her face must have been palpable, for Killua moves to take her wrist with a soft "Hey." Makoto looks up at him, swallowing dryly, uselessly willing her heartrate to slow. "You're okay," Killua promises, rubbing the pulse point on the inside of her wrists, and the slight pressure reminds her that she is here. Alive. He keeps the pressure until the ghosts of the what-ifs gradually start to fade.
She takes a moment to collect herself before continuing. "So…when people die, she starts again from scratch?"
"Mhm." He hums in the affirmative. "And that is the best time to make a wish. The request go back to Easy."
Makoto seems to ponder this, absorbing the flood of information. She is grateful that Killua neither speaks nor pushes; instead, he seems to find either comfort in massaging the flesh of her hands. The pressure feels good, but she dimly wonders if the gesture is meant to soothe him rather than her.
"But if she's so dangerous…why bring her to Mito-san? She and baa-san wouldn't be able to defend themselves. Wouldn't she be safer with your family?"
That sobers Killua quickly, and his fidgeting stops. "My family doesn't love her. They can't. To them, she is a tool and a monster, something to be kept locked-up so she doesn't fall into the wrong hands. Literally." The memory of Illumi's threat looms over him, but he keeps that to himself. There is no need to bring Makoto into that mess too. "Anyway, it just works out because Mito-san was missing a child, and Alluka was missing a family. Whale Island is safe, and Mito-san knows the rules and what to do if Alluka starts making requests."
"There are safety measures?"
"Of course. Alluka can only make requests to one person at a time. She can't change person midway, so as soon as she makes the request, Mito-san will lock her in a room and call me. As long as the requestee is absent, Alluka can't make her requests."
"Okay, I guess that makes sense."
A companionable lull falls over them, and Makoto watches as Killua resumes to knead her hand in gentle, small maneuvers.
Suddenly, a thought occurs to her, and she rips her hand from his grasp. "Wait! But you- and Gon? Wasn't that a huge ask? That kind of power- I felt it from the rooftop. Was I the person after you that she asked questions to? Did I- Oh my god, Killua, did I kill like, a million people-"
"No! No, you didn't." He cuts her off quickly, a tight squeeze on her wrist grounding her. "You didn't, I promise. You're here. We're all here. Okay?" She blinks. "Makoto, okay?"
She stares at him dumbly for a few more seconds before nodding. "Yes," she whispers. "Yes, okay."
He looks at her warily before releasing her wrists. Then, in gentle circles, he rubs away the impending redness. "Look, Nanika is not a bad creature. It doesn't just grant wishes. It heals without asking for anything in return." The Zaoldyeck reassures. "And besides, Illumi doesn't know this, but I can 'command' Nanika. No consequences. No one knows what I'm the exception, but still…it's the truth."
He gauges her reaction, taking in every breath, every crease on her forehead, every narrowing of her eyes. It's a lot to take in. Unbelievable, even. That's what he's afraid of. Makoto seems to mull over this, but it doesn't take her very long to come to a conclusion.
"Because you love her. And she loves you." She answers, simple, sure, matter-of-fact. It's also a little naive, and maybe there are aspects of her and Gon that overlap more than he realizes.
"Is that enough?" Killua is a skeptic, always has been, but the girl does hesitate.
"She'll make any exception for you. And you, her." And then Makoto smiles, a sad, brittle thing. "It's not a new concept. The lengths we would go to keep someone loving us." Then she looks up at him as the realization dawns. "Wait- is this why she asked me? Because you and I were fighting?"
Killua sucks in a breath then, dropping his hands in favor of wrapping his arms around himself. It's as obvious a self-soothing gesture as any. Something's wrong; if he bites down on his lip any harder, he is going to draw blood. "I-It was a test." He forces out. "Alluka wanted to see how you would react."
What?
"I don't know how she knew, but she could sense that we were- that something wasn't right." The silvery fringes fall over his eyes. Makoto's eyes widen.
"But that's-" Absurd. Crazy. insane.
"I didn't know she would - could - do something like that. She's not like the rest of us, so I don't- I didn't expect- " He shudders at the innocence in Alluka's eyes that day when she explained to him why she did what she did. "Alluka is a good person, I swear. She just doesn't know any better. But that's my fault, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."
Makoto breathes, "even so, why were you so mad at me?"
"Because! Because Alluka also can't make requests to someone she doesn't know the name of - that's why I didn't introduce you. It wasn't because-" He shakes his head.
"I didn't tell her my name."
"No, you didn't." Killua confirms, regret dripping from every word. "But she didn't need to know anyway, since it was just a test. The requests weren't real. None of it was real."
Makoto blinks a million times a minute, trying desperately to process. "But- no, you were furious. Ok, you didn't want me triggering her requests, but it happened - we thought it happened anyway - you could've engaged the safety measures."
Killua finally lifts his head to look at her for what seems like the first time in a long time, a brittle little smile dangling at the curve of his lips. "Damn it Maks, the second I found out you were the target, I couldn't think straight. My temper just flared, and I barely knew what I was saying. The only thing I knew was that I had to get you out of there. I-I don't know what I would've done if Alluka had-" He swallows tightly, shaking his head as if he could shake the thought away. "It wasn't until later that I realized what I'd said. I just had to get you away."
The words seem like discombobulated syllabus at first, but they trickle in, taking shape. And then-
"A-Are you… Are you serious? Are you fucking kidding me?!"
Killua visibly flinches as Makoto whips around to face him, injuries be damned.
"You wanted to protect me?! You 'barely knew' what you were saying?!" She spits, air quoting. "You pushed me away, rejected me in front of the only family you have, and then you told me to fucking disappear from your life." She shouts, shoving him roughly with every pause. He blanches as the pain shoots up his ribs, but he lets her. "Why. Would. You. Put. Me. Through. That!?"
"I-" He starts, arms tightening around his frame.
"Fuck that! I don't care if you were mad at me. I don't even care about why you feel like you needed to protect me, but just tell me! Fucking communicate! We could've avoided all of this!" Makoto wails on him, tears beginning to sting the edge of her eyes. "Tell me that's what you were doing! You let me think- You- I thought you wanted me dead! What the hell is wrong with you?!"
She shoves him until he's at the edge of the bed, then shoves some more so that he falls. He doesn't resist, and it only makes her angrier. "Get up, you coward! God, you're just- you're insufferable!" the raven yells, dropping to the ground when he makes no moves to get up. "Get up and fight me, you bastard!" She heaves, crying, panting, screaming abuse at him until eventually, all that is left is a shell of a person, sobbing so pitifully that he fears she might cave in on herself.
Although she is probably going to break his jaw if he gets too close, Killua pulls her in against him despite his better judgment, the heat of his fingertips like electricity against her skin. Pressed against her, the sob that wracks through her body reverberates within him too. He feels her erratic heartbeat drumming against his, a cacophonous, unrelenting thing that makes her gasp for air. She is an eruption he can't fight, but he curls around her anyway in hopes of containing it.
"Slow down Maks," he whispers into her hair, arms tightening impossibly around her, quiet words veiled by a façade of calm. "Slow. Breathe. Good. That's it."
It works. It works how a weighted blanket works. The cries soften into hiccups first. Then the trembling eases. Finally, the erratic heartbeats slow into a predictable rhythmic sound, enough that Killua finally loosens his grip, opting instead to palm soothing circles up and down her spine.
"You're the fucking worst." She mutters when she catches her breath. Her voice is small, at least it's steady.
"I know."
"You could've told me. You fucking could've. You chose not to." she bows into his shoulder, and if his shirt gets nice and snotty then she doesn't see how it's her problem. "God, I hate you so much. You should've just told me."
"How could I?" He chokes out, "What kind of monster leaves their sister to rot in a hole while they run away to play some stupid hunter game? Who does that?"
Makoto ignores the question and presses, "But Gon knew. You told him."
"Yes, but Gon doesn't think," Killua shoots back without missing a beat. "He just accepted it, like I knew he would. He didn't ask questions."
And if that isn't the biggest cop out in the world. "Wow. Fuck you, Killua." Makoto spits, straightening and pushing off of him in the same fluid motion. She is so tired of Gon Freecs getting special privileges for being simpleminded. "You know what, I'm so fucking sorry for asking questions, for trying to get to know you better, even after all these years. I used to think you don't let anyone in, but that's not true, is it? You do let people in. In fact, you worked very hard to let people in. It's just me that you keep out."
That got him. The shame that he previously wore gets replaced by an icy sort of anger, a look Killua carries well and with practiced ease. He isn't using his aura, but his dark blue eyes command the electricity in the room, his voice practically shaking with it. "You think I jumped after you off of a fucking cliff to keep you out?"
"Shouldn't have done it; that's a mistake on your part. You should've just let me die."
Never has Killua had to fight the urge to slap someone so hard across the face. It was better when she hated him. Anything was better than her thinking this. It's even worse knowing that she would have gone through with it too, had it not for her instinctual desire to save him.
"Fuck, Makoto, FUCK!" Instead of doing something he would immediately regret, he runs his fingers tragically through his hair and takes a lap around the room. And then another. And then another. And another until it has sufficiently taken the edge off; until her words no longer seemed so raw.
He ends up back before her and kneels so he can find her gaze. "Never say that again. Don't even think it." He hisses, the blue in his eyes a promise and a threat. "You can hate me, beat me up, I don't give a shit, whatever you feel like you need to do, but never say that again."
The intensity of it all, of him, stuns her into silence. Makoto wasn't expecting this response, and she most certainly wasn't expecting the words wash over her like the warmth of a fire on a winter day. She would be lying if she says she isn't a little confused. She would also be lying if she says she believes them 100%. But the words are warm and they soothe her, and she allows herself to relish in them for just a little bit. For now.
She takes his face into her hands, brushing away the dampened tendrils hair sticking into his forehead. There is a scar under there, just at his hairline. Her hands are cold against his flushed skin, and his eyes flutter shut as she studies him with a long, hard look.
Then she lets him go. "Thank you. I just… can't bear to look at you right now."
He smirks bitterly, eyes still closed, "I know how you feel; I don't blame you."
"You have no idea how I feel."
"Sure I do," he murmurs. He wants so badly to reach out, to touch, but he shuts down those desires. She wouldn't want that, he's sure. "You're disgusted by me. It's ok, you know. I am too."
His eyes are the color of the sea after a storm, the blue washed out by the gray or the skies and the green of the seas. Makoto has expected the shame he had been wearing since the start, but what she isn't expecting is the resignation in his expression. It makes her inside twist. "Don't get me wrong Killua, I still hate you," her voice cracks, hoarse from use, "but I'm not disgusted."
His smile is fragile then, echoed by a discordant little laugh. "You don't have to try to make me feel better."
She tilts his head back up with the flick of her index finger on his chin. He catches her eyes for only a second before dropping his gaze again. "Trust me, that's the last thing I want."
Killua nods, accepting. "Let me take care of you now. And once you're better, I promise to stay away for a while." He murmurs, staring resolutely down at his hands.
There is nothing she would like more than to clock him over the head.
Instead, she snorts indelicately, "what, only a while?" It comes out mean; she hadn't meant for it to. Well, ok, maybe a little.
The sad little smile drops on his face then, and Makoto feels like she's just kicked a dog. "I don't know how long I'll be able to, but I'll try-"
"No, no," she interrupts, "that was me. I didn't mean that, I'm sorry." He doesn't look up at her though, scared at what he might find.
"Look, I know I've been a selfish asshole." He shuts his eyes tightly, "but I can try, you know. To stay away. I owe you at least that much."
Makoto entertains that thought blandly. And then she does clock him, just a light tap to the side of his head. It didn't hurt, but it was enough to finally make him look up.
"God, you just can't help yourself, can you?" Killua opens his mouth to respond, but she is already pulling him in, arms tightening around his neck. "Just- shut the fuck up and stop being an idiot for a whole second. Please."
A/N: Like I said, a little rusty, but hopefully it's not too bad. Anyway, I read it like a thousand times so I honestly don't even know what words are anymore. R&R!
