Book 2: Malum

Chapter 22: Benedict Arnold

"This world revolves around two views on the same thing. In addition, it's about laughable miseries."
- Himura Yuu (ef - a tale of memories)

The slight illumination of Pariston's watch from his wrist alerts him that the time is about a quarter past midnight. He slowly rises from the chair he has been occupying and stretches noiselessly, like a feline. A dangerous gleam is present in his eyes.

The blonde three-star Hunter briefly considers calling Rita for an update, but he remembers the threat he made last time.

The next time I call you, I'll expect some information from you, Rita…

And that had been right after she had completed the Hunter exam. She had informed him she would be tagging along with the Boar's son and a certain scarlet-eyed blonde to fetch the young prodigious assassin.

He takes in a deep breath and makes an effort to quell his impatience. The month is June, and his deadline is September. Perhaps around August would be the best time to acquire his item by…

"Tch."

Against his better judgement, Pariston flips open his phone and presses his number 2 on speed dial.

It rings itself out, and then the expected voicemail comes on…

It's Rita. I'm obviously not available right n-

Quickly, he hangs up and dials again.

On the third dial, the customary, angry, gruff, "Hello," comes crackling through the receiver.

Before he can speak, the female rushes at him. "I can't exactly talk freely right now."

"I'm well aware," the three-star Hunter says pleasantly, "but you can accommodate, I'm sure. I need an update."

There is a very tense silence that lasts for several seconds. "I'll call you back in thirty seconds. Let me get away from them."

The dial tone signals that she has hung up.

He decides to sit down on the couch in his office. He doesn't like to keep the lights blazing, especially not this late at night, since he doesn't need to be any more conspicuous than he already is. Not that it matters, since any experienced Nen user could easily tell that he is present in the room with a quick once-over but…

His shrill ring tone cuts through the air.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't call back."

"The one thing I try not to do is piss you off, Rat." He doesn't need to see her to understand that she is either grimacing or sneering.

"Now, about that information update…"

"On the little Kuruta boy, right?" She sighs. "Well, let's see. I think our relations have improved by at least a little. On our trip here, we had a rather heartfelt talk."

"Any indications on his long-term goals or plans?"

"Not particularly… But I think he has some sort of vendetta…. against the Phantom Troupe. They apparently killed his entire clan some six or odd years ago."

"Is it jogging any memories, Rita?"

He hears her shift uncomfortably on the other side of the line. "Triggering headaches yes, but not really any memories. I'm running into all these people that say they've seen me before but I have no idea who they are."

"Oh? Like who?"

"Like the Lady of the Zoldyck household."

"Hmm… You might have met her before… Though I'm not entirely certain. Ne, Rita?"

"What is it."

"Are you sure it's okay for you to be waltzing around with the same hairstyle as you had before your amnesia?"

"Do you want me to change it?"

"No," he laughs, though the sound of Pariston trying to do anything remotely good-natured makes Rita sick to her stomach, "I wouldn't dream of trying to tell you how you should look physically. All I need is your services. I'm merely looking out for your well-being."

"Don't be so fake Pariston, it won't get you anywhere."

The Hunter reminds himself that this animosity she bears toward him can only be natural, since she has no other outlets, and of course, to her, it must look as if he is the antagonizer.

"People are recognizing you, is all I'm saying."

"Maybe it's not a bad thing."

"Hmm…" He contemplates this possibility before switching the subject of their conversation. "Is there anything else you know about the Kuruta?"

"No." There is a brief silence. "Why are you so interested in him anyways?"

"The same reason why I'm always ever interested in any subject matter."

"Your… patrons…" And she mutters this with a certain degree of disgust he can feel through the receiver. "Am I getting myself involved with a patron who dabbles in the black market? I don't agree with leading the last survivor of the Kuruta Clan to his death with my own hands."

"Don't worry Rita-chan," he sing-songs, and then his voice suddenly turns very grave: "I'll be doing all the leading."

"Tch." She spits. "Is there anything else you needed from me?"

"Just a request for you to hurry back. Though I won't hesitate to call you if I do require something."

"Try to keep your needs to a minimum," she hisses coldly. "I'm with Ging's kid, and I swear to god, he has the senses of the devil; nothing gets by him."

Not surprising… If a bit irksome… Pariston thinks to himself. "I'll keep that in mind. Well, until next time."

Rita hears the dial tone, and removes the phone from her ear. She stares at the phone for several moments and then releases an exasperated noise. Throws the phone into her backpack and rolls her eyes.

"The Devil's finest trick is to persuade you that he does not exist."
- Hachiman Hikigaya (Yahari Ore no Seishun Love Come wa Machigatteiru. Zoku)

Kurapika had been the one to suggest that they stay the night in the forest. At first, Leorio had called him bat-shit crazy, or some other uncultured insult, and Rita had nearly joined in. However, upon listening to the logic of the blonde, she had a hard time disagreeing afterward.

The Kuruta was smart, and perceptive. He was intelligent, observant, and often reticent. He was everything Rita had wished she could have become, except a bit more secretive and a little more hostile.

They were strained, especially Gon, who refused to admit any sort of sign of weakness. Gon wanted to get to Killua as fast of possible of course, and so he too was upset, but no one could deny Kurapika's logic.

They needed to rest, Gon and Canaria, after their brief spats, and Kurapika and Leorio as well; the mental strain they had taken after seeing Gon hurt repeatedly was not one to be taken lightly.

Rita offered to stand watch throughout the night, declining repeated offers to switch from the rest of the four. "I didn't really do anything, whether it was opening the Testing Gate or taking on Canaria; I'm the most rested so I'll stand watch. Get some rest."

And that had been that.

Except it hadn't because Pariston had decided to be an annoying prick and call her. Leorio had been dead to the world, but there was a restless and groggy shift in the other three when her phone buzzed noisily from within her bag.

She tsked and moved to open it. She'd had to move locations for a brief moment because she was scared of how perceptive Gon could be, even in his sleep. The phone call was extremely short, partly because Rita had pushed to keep it that way and also because there hadn't been much to report, so she thought she would be fine.

Imagine her surprise when she returned to find Gon sitting in her watch spot, wide awake on high alert.

"Do you know my dad?" The child asks before she can spout excuses, lips set in far too stiff of a smile.

Rita sucks in a deep breath, realizes she's screwed up, and moves to sit next to him. How much pain, she thinks to herself as she closes her eyes, fits into a person?

"I won't ask who you were calling or whoever, but I heard you mention his name once." He looks into his lap intensely and Rita doesn't need to try to see his face to understand the poor kid is probably fighting back some wave of emotion, whether it be tears or something else.

She's relieved that he won't be questioning her about Pariston, whose name she definitely said out loud, but the topic of Ging is always awkward….

Perhaps to Gon it is not really pain so much as confusion. He is not bitter, and she knows this. In fact, there's not a bad bone in the child's body. But he is dizzy, disheveled. After all, what could be so amazing that a father would leave behind his own son for it?

She's mad at Ging; she has been for quite awhile. Gon is perhaps the sweetest boy she's ever met, him and Killua, though Killua in different aspects. If Ging had just had the balls to man up and speak to his own son, maybe Gon wouldn't have had to have been put through so much confusion. It was relieving to Gon sometimes, given the amount of blind faith Ging put in him but it was also burdensome, and that wasn't a word a twelve-year old boy who had yet to lose the light in his eyes should have had to be so familiar with.

It will be a long and emotional talk. She draws out a cigarette, puts one in her mouth and offers one to Gon. He makes no move to take it, only stares into the distance before him. Rita puts the pack away. "I do. I do know him."

"People say he's an amazing Hunter." Gon begins, voice slightly unsteady. "He must love what he does a lot. One day, I want to be like h-"

She can't bear to hear him finish the sentence. "Gon!"

"E-Eh?"

"Your father…" She takes a deep inhale. "Your father is probably the only one of his kind." A smile stretches her lips. "Ging is definitely something else. He's really cynical actually. He hates being around too many people at once. In fact, I'm pretty sure he hated being around even just me 99% of the time."

"Yeah," the child laughs and agrees, "if having to chase him down all over the world has anything to say for it."

"Ging is also very... very kind." The last two words die down to a hushes whisper, nearly overtaken by the whistling wind that prances around them whimsically, at first taking and then giving life to the end of her cigarette. "He gave the shittiest advice in the world; told me to fight with my head when he knew I only ever knew how to use my fists; made fun of my books and choice of hair and clothing."

This does not compute for Gon, because these actions don't seem in the least bit kind. He cocks his head to the side. "I don't really…"

"Have I ever told you about my amnesia, Gon?"

"No," the boy suddenly sits criss-crossing his legs, at once eager to listen, "you never have."

"Kurapika once told me retrograde amnesia isn't supposed to last for more than four months, and the memories are supposed to trickle back slowly." Rita puts her hand to her chin and deliberated her diction. "It wasn't amnesia so much as simple… denial I guess. I repressed all those memories. They're painful. I still don't remember them but I know it can't really be amnesia at this point."

"But you shouldn't try to forget things just because they hurt!" Gon suddenly stands up, indignant. "Those memories are valuable too!"

Rita is taken aback for a second, and then she smiles. "Yes." She coaxes him to sit back down. "I know that now. But it isn't amnesia, and I understand that now because I... I'm scared to remember a little now. I was scared all the damn time, and in the midst of all that suffering, Ging was so kind. He gave me parts of a normal life I never could have asked for from anyone else." She looks up at the stars and strains to see them. "Don't blame your father. Be angry at him and be upset, but don't blame him. It's not that he didn't love you. He cared for you enough to send me after you. He just had a strange way of showing it."

"Do you really think he cares about me?" Gon asks.

She doesn't answer right away. "Not in the way you want."

At this he subtly flinches. Rita inwardly curses. "Gon, I-"

"No." He shakes his head. "I'm glad you're being honest with me Rita-san."

It's true. She has never made it a habit to sugarcoat the truth, even with children. "Like I said, it's not in the way you want, and I'm sorry about that. But I'll tell you right now, he trusts you more than anyone in the world."

"Trust?"

"He believes in you so much Gon." Rita looks up at the dark night sky again. "He believes in you more than he believes himself, I think. Maybe because you're younger with a strong, healthy conscience and blind faith. But he does."

"When did you meet him?" He asks.

"I think, six or seven months ago. Well, I first saw him four years ago, but it was only half a year ago I started spending time with him."

"Is he cool?"

"He's an absolute loser." Rita crosses her arms and puffs. "Bed-head all the damn time with this incorrigible scowl on his dumb face, insufferable potty mouth. Arrogant." She pauses. "But in the end, he's a good person. When you meet him, you'll see."

Gon thinks about this for a bit. And then: "Thank you Rita-san."

She gets flustered for a moment. "Why are you thanking me?" She blinks.

"No one ever tells me about Ging. All his information is always classified and no one knows all that much about him. Sometimes it feels like I'm chasing something that doesn't exist."

You bastard father, I can't believe you, Rita grumbles inwardly, anger churning toward the good-for-nothing Zodiac.

"I feel like I'm a little bit closer, though it isn't really by that much. So thank you."

Rita looks away and scratches the back of her head. "Yeah, no problem. Anytime kid."

"Oh, and Rita-san?" Gon sits up a bit straighter and puts his hands in his lap; and then he puts his face closer to hers, examining her eyes. As if she wasn't flustered enough already.

"What is it?" She swallows. It's like having Ging look straight into her fucking soul and that was creepy enough as is.

Gon sits back normally. "Please don't be so sad. You might not remember your past friends, but you have new ones now, so don't feel so alone."

Rita doesn't know how to respond to this, just knows that it's bad news that Gon understands this much about her and that she wants, needs to protect him from Pariston at all costs.

"You felt really sad during the Hunter Exam too. Please try to cheer up when you can. And if you need, I'll learn how to play that board game with you."

"How do you know about that?" She's suddenly extremely concerned.

"I have sharp hearing." He gets up and stretches. "I heard you and Kurapika talking about it on the bus!"

"Ah…" Rita breathes a sigh of relief. "Well Gon." She smiles. "I think I'd like that sometimes. I think that'd be nice."

"The things we can't obtain are the most beautiful ones."
- Gilgamesh (Fate Stay Night - Unlimited Blade Works)

"Maman!" Comes the shrill cry of a 12-year-old pubescent and still slightly awkward male. "Chrollo's being a jerk!" He speaks in fervent Italian.

A loud and somewhat exasperated groan comes from about six feet within the house, using the doorway for reference. "Mari, you were probably being a jerk before he was," comes the response, also in Italian, though rough and unhoned, as if the tongue is unused to it.

Kuroro Lucifer, aged 9 years, sits stone-faced on an old crate, scanning over the works of Plato's Republic with contempt. He fights the urge to turn the corners of hips lips upward.

"I was not!" The blue-haired brat jumps up and down in rage. Marzio scampers into the household and comes back out dragging a middle-aged woman by the wrist.

"Chrollo, what's going on?"

"Nothing Maman."

They all speak in Italian for the sake of Marzio, because he doesn't speak any other languages. Maman speaks English, French, Italian, and Castilian Spanish, and Kuroro isn't too sure how many he's proficient in, but the number is somewhere around thirteen.

"Liar!" Marzio shrieks. "He threw a book at me! He did, he did, he did!" And then he runs behind the woman lest Kuroro decide to do so again.

She frowns and crosses her arms. "Chrollo, why on earth-"

He shuts the thick chapter book and does something close to pouting. "Well Mari kicked it out of my hands first so, he started it."

She groans again and proceeds to place her hands on her hips. "I've had it with you two; stop bickering."

"He started i-"

"I don't care who started it, I'll finish it!" And she's gone in a whirlwind of irritation, the curtains in the doorway fluttering behind her as she breezes past them.

The two adolescents sit in furious silence before they both stick their tongues out each other.

"And get in here, dinner's ready!"

Marzio scrambles to his feet and quickly scampers in through the doorway, doing everything humanly possible to make sure he gets there before his brother does. Kuroro, on the other hand, calmly brushes off his book and stands up slowly. When he enters through the doorway, he puts his novel on the table and sits down next to Maman.

Marzio sticks his tongue out again, but is promptly stopped when the woman brings an open palm down on his head, firmly but gently. "Mari," she says in a certain tone of voice, "when we sit at the dinner table, we're family, do you hear me?"

Maman generally acts like she's 24, even though she's closer to 42 really. To Kuroro, the amount of youth in her has always surprised him. She's scary when she gets serious, however, and when she speaks like that, both he and Marzio know better than to question her.

Marzio doesn't respond, only frowns and refuses to meet either of their eyes. "Yes, Maman." He says grumpily.

"Good." She can't help but crack a smile. "Now eat."

It's hard to make do in Ryuuseigai, in Meteor City, with the scant amount of resources, so before he had met Maman, food had been more of a luxury. It was a still a luxury, without a doubt, but it was that much more; her food was amazing, one of the few things he was thankful for.

"Maman, Maman, teach us how to fight!"

Cue the groaning.

"Mari, Maman's tired today."

"But you promised!" He pouts again, crossing his arms and stomping his feet. For a 12 year old in Meteor City of all places, Kuroro has the vague notion that he is ridiculously spoiled.

"I did not!" The woman is suddenly indignant, crossing her arms and making a face similar to the one Marzio must have made a few minutes ago. "I would have remembered!"

To Maman, promises were always something important and priceless. She never made promises unless she intended to follow through on them, and even when things fell through, she always made every effort to make sure they were kept.

God used words to make this world, so be careful with them.

Or so she would say.

Regardless, she never would have promised Marzio something so trivial. They were reserved for more pressing matters, situations that carried a bit of weight. Marzio and his penchant for gaslighting and fibbing his way through life might gain him the sympathy of others, but there was no space for it here.

"Maman," Kuroro stands up, "you did say you would, even if you didn't promise. And I kind of want to learn too."

At this, she lets out such a long groan the boys think her to be in pain. And then she puts her face into the palm of her hand and stands very still for a few moments.

"Fine!" She explodes, all arms and eye rolls. "Fine, let's go."

"Yay!" Marzio leaps up into the air. "Yay, yay, let's go, let's go!"

There is nowhere really to go. They place they liked to do their stuff was really in the backyard, simple and clean. It was nice in Kuroro's opinion however, nicer than really going anywhere else. No one bothered them here, no matter how much of a ruckus they made, and being with just the three of them without prying eyes always gave him some peace of mind.

They take turns sparring. Maman had never been a believer in things like methodically teaching things; instead, she believes in pounding lessons into the marrow of their bones, rote repetition, muscle memory. Pain is the best teacher, experience the best mentor.

"Mari, you waste too much energy making movements you don't need to!" She easily parries his knife hand attack and elbows him roughly, but not brutally.

"This is just the way I move!" He pouts indignantly.

Indeed, she is correct in that Marzio never stops moving, is constantly scouting and switching momentum, gears; but this is also his fighting style, the flow that connects all of his separate moves.

Kuroro on the other hands, is all about go and stop, wait and bide your time, attack at the second you see an opening. Mari says this method is too taxing on his muscles and feet, to constantly rush forward and restrain himself; it is taxing on the muscles, and he's right, but once learned in this art, substantial amounts of energy are saved.

Mari fights like a killer novice, Kuroro an inexperienced realist.

They spar until the sweat soaks them through to the bone and they're all three dizzy from dehydration, and even then, Marzio screams more, more, in Italian.

"That's quite enough for today." Maman crosses her arms. She says this in a stern tone but Kuroro finds beautiful the way her eyes are that much brighter than they were a few hours ago at dinnertime. His surrogate mother, like most of the residents in Ryuuseigai, is most at ease when their heart rates are elevated.

Marzio pouts but knows when to give up. Kuroro stifles the smile that wants crawl onto his face. He-

"We have no need for the past. All we need are the present and the future."
- Ciel Phantomhive (Kuroshitsuji)

-jolts awake to the sensation that he's falling and that he might have a fucking heart attack, his heart rate is so elevated.

Shit, Kuroro's hand immediately goes to his chest as he breathes in and out very carefully, feeling intense panic sweep him off his feet.

He has felt betrayal before and hell, he's even been the one who betrayed, but the worst is when it comes from your own body, like a Benedict Arnold with a bayonet in your bloodstream.

He lays there very still and closes his eyes. Panic wouldn't help his heart rate return to normal and so he forces himself to calm down, tells himself if he really was to die at this moment, it wouldn't matter all that much.

After five minutes of laying like that, stone cold with his eyes shut and mind wandering oblivion, he thinks he's okay to move around again.

Kuroro heaves himself to his feet, gets off the bed he had been sleeping on, and goes to the bathroom in the hotel room he is currently staying in for the moment. Carefully, he open the mirror cabinet and finds the bottle he's looking for.

It spits out two pills and he downs them with a cup of water.

He looks awful, if his reflection has anything to say for it. That terrible dream hadn't helped at all. His earlier days with Marzio and Anat were days he didn't want to relive.

Well actually, he did, of course -those were better, simpler times- but it wasn't as if that could ever happen, so obliterating memories of them was the best alternative…

Goddammit… Kuroro sinks to the cold tile on the bathroom floor and just sits there for a few moments in his messy button up shirt and black pants, bringing his hand to his imprinted forehead. What's wrong with me?

TO BE CONTINUED

A/N: IM SORRY I M SO OS SO SOR RY IM SO SORRY MY CHILDREN IM SOFUCKIN SORRY IVE BEEN SO BUSY I CANT EVEN IM SO SORY PLEAS ENJOY THIS LONG CHAPTER I SORY ;^;