A/N: I am SO SO SORRY for the late updates. I simply could not find the inspiration and now that I did, I hope I did a good enough job for all you readers who appreciated my effort in this fanfiction. My schedule and workload and lack of inspiration just did not make regular writing possible the past five months I have been idle here in this fandom. But, now I hope I can make it up to you.

I appreciate any review/opinion/criticism; I want to know what you think of my writing skills or the story itself. Now, I won't keep you too long, thank you for the time! Akane loves you all.

Disclaimer: Hunter X Hunter (c) Yoshihiro Togashi

OWC: 4,876 O_O

RESCUE MISSION

"YOU WON'T LAY A HAND ON GON!"

Her head was spinning, and she felt her knees buckle underneath her. Somehow, she couldn't piece the events together. Everything was mashed up like scrambled eggs in a pan. There was an echo of her old thoughts ringing in her mind, promises that she didn't quite fulfil completely. Something strong caught her before she met with the floor however, and suddenly the blackness enveloped her. The thumping in her skull became louder, and she didn't know what to do. The scream that lingered in her throat started to fade into a soft murmur and tiny cussing as she saw the dark.

"I WON'T LET YOU!"

She could hear her voice but how she could was out of her bounds. She passed it off as maybe a memory that decided to stay and be her companion. She blocked off the thought and listened, listened so hard until finally she realized the thumping had the same rhythm as her heartbeat. It was frantic; it turned even more frantic than earlier. She wondered if she passed out. She wondered if she was dead.

"DON'T TOUCH THEM! I WILL NOT LET YOU LAY A SINGLE ONE OF YOUR DIRTY FINGERS ON THEM!"

A different voice went on and went to work with her against the enemy. The warmth was flowing out, and so was her energy, even if she wasn't doing anything. She fisted her right hand that was clutching her hurting head, and she felt it turn sticky, really sticky that it irked her. The smell of iron permeated her senses and she crunched her nose in annoyance. She did not like the smell, and the pain was bad as well. It attacked her like knives stabbing through her entire back, from the top right on her shoulder, to the bottom left by her waist. It was a diagonal line from hell of nothing but utter pain. She wanted to scream, but everything that was in her throat was eaten away by the ugliness of that preview of death that stood behind her.

"AKANE!"

The voice seemed real, all of a sudden. She did not know if she was floating in reality or in a dream. Something hard hit her right side and she felt herself fall on something cold, cold like cement in an underground dungeon. Thoughts were starting to disappear from her, and her throat felt like it was closing.

The thumping started to decline, only a tiny "thump-thump-thump" remained, only one rhythm and not ten. She felt better, but she did not know if it was for the better.

Akane very much hated fights. But somehow, she always ended up being in one. She knew for a fact that in the handful of fights she'd gotten in the recent past, she'd always hate them and even despise them in the rest of her life. She had learned those hardest lessons when she fought twice in the Hunter Exam. But it wasn't the physical damage that was almost always inflicted on her that made her dislike fights and fighting so much. Physical damage was something relatively bearable to her. She could manage with them, since her strong will—otherwise known as stubbornness, as Killua said—somehow made her just want to keep pushing on. Wounds and scratches and bleeding were nothing, but the psychological shakings (and emotional trouble) that it always brought along was the one that actually managed to hurt her worse.

She admitted once (if more to herself) that she was really sensitive about life and death matters. She knew how hard that would be a barrier to her at times where she needed to rise and use violence, but she stuck to her morals and she promised herself she would not kill unless needed and the result will be used for the greater good. The reactions she got were interesting—Killua scoffed at her remark, Gon smiled warmly at her, Leorio adjusted his sunglasses noiselessly, and Kurapika remained cold and unresponsive.

Cold. She hugged her shoulders, feeling the warmth that stayed in her hands with all the rubbing she'd done to get them heated up with friction. Physically, she wasn't that cold—she was shivering a little, but she knew better than to blame to faulty air conditioning units in the Butler's Quarters. She knew what kind of cold she was feeling, and she knew that the cold was familiar. A cold that made her shiver to the bone. It was emotional, mental even, and Akane loathed every single second she spent with that cold twining of fear that wrapped inside her heart.

"Hey Akane. I suppose you've found the other three coins?"

Akane twirled around to face Zephyr, her thoughts broken up, much to her relief. Zephyr's light-brown hair was wild and uncombed, and he was looking at her with a really comfy look and smile as she stared at him. She had an inquiring look on her ocean blue eyes as she looked intently into Zephyr's hazel ones. Zephyr was smart enough to catch the underlying question, and proceeded in answering it despite it remained having unsaid.

"Oh. They're over there. The southern corridor," Zephyr said nonchalantly. He stretched out an expecting arm. "So…? Where are my coins?"

Akane couldn't care less. She tossed the three heavy golden coins to him, and he caught them agilely. Zephyr started to wonder why she had not spoken a single word to him, and why she decided to be like that. He stared at her curiously. She was looking—no, glaring would be a better term for it—at the dark recesses of the southern corridor with suspicious eyes. He couldn't read her thoughts to the word, but he had a good idea on what those thoughts might be.

"You don't need to get messed up in the bad fight," he said, and its caring tone immediately caught Akane's attention. She narrowed her eyes every so lightly at his words, but she wanted him to continue.

"How do you know this?" she asked, not really clarifying on what 'this' is.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I just know. I'm going to be leaving in a while to watch the show anyway." He grinned, but Akane couldn't tell why he did. "Do you know how much I love the colour of blood, little girl?" He snickered. "The colour of fresh, sticky, warm blood… I heard a lot of stories that you and your people… your eyes take on the colour of that when you are brought to dwell into 'heavy' emotions like sadness and anger, right?"

Akane glared at him, her left eyebrow twitching in irritation. How come he knew when somehow she wasn't so sure herself? How can people know her better than herself? Her hesitation masked by a voice low and threatening and angry, she murmured, "So you know."

Zephyr suddenly broke into a cackle which was very odd to see in a man dressed like him. Somehow he saw through her. "And you don't? You, little girl, are a hilarious joke. You're pathetic and helpless! What kind of lie have you been living since your birth?"

Akane felt downgraded. She looked at Zephyr's laughter and she wanted to sob and cry—right there and then. She could pass it off as a regular teenager kind of mood swing, but no. She knew and saw the truth in his words, and she couldn't face it. He put it so bluntly in front of her, and she felt like the grand piano of truth was carried into the air by a crane of consequences, and it just hit her head-on.

For the first time of her life, she felt like she would not survive the collision.

But she held fast. She held fast and stayed strong. She remembered Anil. Anil and his sister and the promise she had made to him without words. It helped her get a hold of herself. She settled everything that had messed up her brain for a few long seconds in a single breath. She closed her eyes and with a deep frustrated sigh, she let go of all the mental and emotional strain that Zephyr had ever so politely handed to her in four sentences.

"Yes. So I HAVE been living a lie. At least I know that I already want to stop lying. Unlike you," she said, stressing the final word. "I can fight a battle. I will fight a battle for them, if I have to." He looked up to her to see if she was joking, but a thin smile had already made its way on her face. "So show me all that you've got, Zephyr. Bring it on."

Zephyr closed his own eyes, a sadistic grin appearing on his lips as he made a sarcastic bow of courtesy to her. "You've got my word for that."

And then Akane ran. She ran across the corridor, hearing the thump-thump-thump of her shoes hitting the cobblestone floors (When did it change? she wondered) and her heart, bearing the same sound, albeit a bit faster. With a quick jerking of her hand, she successfully grabbed a thick rubber band from her pants' pocket and tied her hair. For some reason, she realized as she started to rush, she had actually believed Zephyr's every single uttered word. She frowned at her gullibility—and promised to herself that she wouldn't do that anymore.

The first thing that had caught her attention was the constant thick dripping of some kind of liquid to the floor, the sound echoing in the walls that started to shrink from being part of a grand quarters to a tunnel like in a mountain. It sounded like blood that fell from the crevices in the ceiling… or maybe something hanging from the ceiling. Akane wondered if she was going underground, deeper into the soil and earth of the famed Kukuru mountain. She wondered…if she went deeper underground their lair, would she be able to see into the hearts of the Zaoldyecks better?

She wondered, what truth was hiding behind that thick face of deceit of the one named Illumi? She had taken a rare, different interest in him, not in the romantic way but in the way that one would like to learn of one's opponents. What was that thing about his older brother that made Killua—the oh-so-fearsome and awesome Killua that Akane knew from the Hunter Exam—fear him so much? What could he do?

Somehow, Akane wanted to know but she didn't want to know. There was a bad, angry thumping in her chest as she thought merely about him. His eyes, his long hair, his pale skin. That murderous stare in his empty eyes. That sudden moment, she felt like a bird he held, suffocating, dying, in his hand. What more could she do?

And then she reached the end of the corridor. And at that end, there stood a giant maple-wood door that was probably thrice her height. There were nightingales and jasmines carved onto its frame, and she wondered what they meant. With all her might, she pushed the doors open—it was already slightly ajar—and she gasped at the sight she saw.

This couldn't be good.

"Illumi."

His voice, no matter how strong and sure it sounded, was laden with slight ripples of infinite fear. His hands, tiny and shaking and trembling, betrayed what he really felt inside. And although his eyes shone with bravery in its every hue, his anxious nibbling of his lower lip and the shivering of his legs showed what he really felt inside.

Fear.

An echo of silent, hushed murmurs filled the room. Was that a familiar 12-year-old voice screaming "Gon! Gon! Don't!" even when he was held down by a trance? Gon could imagine the agony and he winced. His best friend stood there; sweat pooling in pearlescent drops across his scarred, aching body; blood racing to his head as he used all his physical strength against something much, must stronger than physical 'magic.' Pitiful. They were both fighting something they could not beat.

At least, that was what the panicking Killua believed.

The long finger with sharp nails felt like ice against his burning neck. "And so you're here to… save my younger brother, am I right?"

Gon gulped. Did his saliva taste of fear, too? He knew it was too dangerous to show fear in front of an enemy like Illumi—Killua's older brother, of all people—and he narrowed his eyes, trying to look angry. He felt the keratin blades dig a shallow trench through his skin and draw blood. He tensed his muscles. He wasn't going to give up in the middle of a fight like this.

"I'll save him from your hands," Gon said, trying his best to remain calm despite that doubt nibbling at the tips of his voice. "You have no right to tell him what he is to be. That is his decision. You can't force him…"

Gon actually had so much more to say than that. If anything, he was close to tears and ranting about his joyous anger toward Illumi. But he was stopped by the strangled choking noises from the far end of the room. He barely managed to stop that lame tear that tried its best to squiggle its way down from the corner of his teary chocolate eyes. He didn't want to get his best friend hurt.

"Do you think I will allow this?"

A mighty shudder ran up—and even down—Gon's spine. He wanted to run away and save himself but he knew there was more than himself that he had to save. He knew he had to save his best friend too, more than anything. And although his heart was thumping violently against his chest and his brain was starting to pulse, he couldn't show it at all. Not to Illumi, of all opponents.

The fight had barely started.

No hero can enter battle and leave without a single battle scar that will remind him of his success.

When Kurapika came to interrupt the battle, a murderous aura immediately came over to eat him up to the very back of his skull. He could tell, as immediate as it came, who the aura was from. He went to one corner of the room, tanto in both hands secretly hidden behind his back, as a silent surrender that was not quite.

"You do know what I can do, am I correct?" Illumi's thick, venomous voice asked, addressing to none other than the blond boy. The teenager nodded, but there was still a defiant stare in his eyes as he looked on at the battle scene that was shrouded in the dark. "Then you'd better just sit there and be quiet."

Kurapika, of course, did not want to do that. But before he could utter a single word of protest, something—whatever that thing was—came to grab at his arms, almost impaling him. His tanto fell to the floor with a clatter. He didn't know what to do as that invisible force pulled him farther into the corner, sending him to his knees. As a warning signal, a message delivered through implication, Illumi even sent a pin across the room, only a hair's breadth away from Kurapika's face.

And then, it felt like two rubbery hands held him up, leaving him unable to do anything but watch, the warrior who had to raise his white flag a bit too early.

When she entered, blood raced to her head and immediately it seemed she couldn't think. When she entered, she felt three—or four?—pairs of eyes stare back at her, her shivering and fearful form despite all the adrenaline rushing through her veins.

"Illumi! Let go of Gon and Killua! NOW!" She demanded, and she started to wonder where all that confidence she had of herself came from all of a sudden. Her voice did not even waver as she stood in front of her enemy and she was proud of that.

"Like I will," Illumi said, tucking Gon into a deeper, tighter chokehold. Gon made choking noises—in a few, if that hold lasted long enough, he would have grand troubles breathing, and that could lead to his losing consciousness. And Akane couldn't risk that. She had to keep Gon and Killua—oh, and is that Kurapika in the corner? Shoot…—safe. No matter how much it took her, because she promised to herself. She would've called it a blood oath, if that was possible to be done with only herself.

"I will make you pay for what you did!" Akane said again, trying to distract Illumi as she got closer by a step and few more. She was either starting to lie to herself about that confidence, or she was being naïve about the battle. Illumi moved a step back, trying to lure her in the shadows. Gon was dragged by the neck, and Akane winced.

"Like you're strong enough." He tossed two or three pins in her direction and she avoided them—one almost not, but she managed to. The pins hit the wall, and the wall cracked slightly. Illumi's eyes narrowed ever so slightly in annoyance. "What kind of mediocrity is this recklessness in attacking an enemy you know you can't beat?"

"AKANE YOU STUPID GOLDIE!" Killua's familiar voice pierced angrily through the darkness. "GET AWAY! YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO BEAT HIM! LET ME HANDLE THIS MYSELF! I CAN DO THIS ON MY OWN! RUN! LET GO!"

Akane glared to the initial direction of the voice in the shadows. "Idiot! AS IF I ACTUALLY WILL! I'll do my best!" She said, and with that, she collected all her strength as she rushed at Illumi. She knew there was little chance with her winning in a hand-to-hand physical combat but what else could she gamble but that?

"ILLUMI! YOU WILL NOT TOUCH HER!" Killua demanded angrily, fighting back at whatever was holding him captive. "I AM YOUR ENEMY!"

But Killua's screams were only ignored. Pathetic, Illumi thought as Akane continued to fight. Illumi didn't even need that much strength to fend off her weak—compared to what he could handle—attacks. A punch here, a kick there, what could hurt him in that baby-strength fight?

Illumi decided to finish it off before he even ran out of patience. He smirked. "Don't worry, my little brother. I'll keep this simple."

And agilely, he threw his favorite pins, them flying in the air quicker than how a bullet flies from a gun, and those pins hit bull's eye to his target.

"I WON'T LAY YOU LET A HAND ON GON!"

"DON'T TOUCH THEM! I WILL NOT LET YOU LAY A SINGLE ONE OF YOUR DIRTY FINGERS ON THEM!"

Killua's scream bounced and echoed through the damp walls of the cavern. He wondered how much longer he would last under the pain. The pressure that crushed his wrists and his ankles and his neck was starting to make him dizzy. Surely they would make a mark or worse a bruise the longer he spent there, tied up to his joints. He wondered what she—they—would say when they would see those bruises. He didn't like a single second of that thought.

But despite that, he needed to fight back. He fought and tugged angrily at the invisible chains that tied him to the wall. Oh, was that stabbing pain a wound by his wrist? …no. Nevermind. His neck started to feel numb, he was having trouble breathing. Another shriek escaped his throat as he took a final lunge out and away from the grasp of whatever was holding him captive.

Illumi's left eyebrow rose. There was a question lingering in his empty eyes, but he didn't voice it out loud.

But besides, Killua didn't care. Once he was out of the grip that he was almost sure would kill him, he ran toward Akane. She was sprawled on the floor like a newly-born baby, doused in blood that was also hers. Killua tried to shake her awake, or something, or into consciousness. Anything that would assure him that, yes, she was still alive and well and could breathe.

"Akane! Akane for god's sake wake up! Akane!"

If only Killua was man enough to accept that, he would have noticed that a tear had ever so silently made its way down his cheek. His purplish eyes shined as it got moister with tears that he would never have accepted to be the creator. He was still badly panicking as he tried to shake Akane 'awake.'

Gon, who Illumi had finally decided to set free to watch the show instead, had made his way to Akane and Killua as well. There was a frown in his face. He gripped Killua's and Akane's hands, a silent message of You'll make it through.

Killua, angry, distressed, frustrated, aching, pained, and anguished, turned to his older brother with one of the iciest glares he'd ever made in his entire lifetime. No, he was serious; Gon could've sworn to have felt a part of Antarctica seep out of Killua's eyes. They shared a ten second staring contest, where Killua was spilling out his anger into the thin air. He didn't want to argue with his brother anymore. He'd had enough. His friends had enough.

"Gon, we're leaving."

Killua picked Akane up like he had done so many times in their journey together—like a sack of potatoes. He nodded his head to Kurapika, and Gon silently tried lifting the teenager—still held in a trance—up and went on to follow Killua to the door, out and finally away. But Illumi's dead voice stopped them from moving from where they stood.

"I will not answer to Father."

Killua glowered at his brother—or rather, at the maple-wood door that stood between war and peace. At least, it was supposed to be directed at his brother, but he didn't turn around to really give it to him because he knew when he had to stop.

"Then they should try and catch me."

Silence impregnated the room, and Killua took a step. They were leaving. For real, and nothing was stopping them.

(But somehow, despite that, the question hung in the air. Killua could almost taste it, feel it, hear it ring like he had actually spoken the words "Why set me free?" even if he didn't.

And, the same with his brother, despite the silence being the only words coming out of his mouth, he answered Killua in their own special way. The Zaoldyeck way, probably?

I'm thinking of Alluka.)

"Why exactly did you let him go?"

A hair-raising laughter rang through the room as from the shadows came out a figure no one from the earlier group would've expected to be there. That figure went closer to the elder Zaoldyeck and giggled another time. Silence answered Illumi, but he could wait. He could wait forever, for a long long time if he needed to. He just needed the answers from that person he trusted so much to hold his brother long enough, but didn't.

"Answer me."

And as yet another laughter rang across the damp room, Illumi's patience—no matter how long it had been before—wore thin. He was starting to wonder how long this play would last, as this man loved playing, but he didn't need to wonder too long as the only response he could get was given to him.

"Heehee…darling, today was a good day~ ."

The room was like a box. The room was like a shaking brown wooden box. Her numbed ears could barely hear the noises of steel meeting steel over a powerful engine that spew out smoke to the cleanest of airs. She could smell the smoke too… and was that the faint trace of childhood in the wind?

The world spun as Akane's mouth struggled to find her voice. "Ugh—It feels like a hangover—" She grunted a groan of pain as she held her forehead with both her hands. "Drugs…? They must've put drugs on me—"

"They sure did," another voice answered her.

She was a bit surprised at that extra presence, but she pushed on. She could tell who it is, even with her eyes closed. "Killua?"

"Morning, sunshine," he said, and she could almost 'hear' the smile in his voice, if such feat could be done.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was his pair of beautiful shining purple ones.

"Are you okay now?"

Her eyelids fought to stay open, fluttering open and close. And when she did, a gurgle of a moan came out of her lips. She turned to her side, away from the sun, and so did he, so he was still facing her. Her voice came out dry, cracked. "Isn't it supposed to be me asking you that?"

Killua shook his head no, and just looked outside the window, trying to divert the topic. He remembered the moment he saw Kukuru mountain fading from view, away and finally out of sight. Now, it was nothing but green fields and pastures. "I'm fine," he said, wanting to drop the topic. But then, he went back on it so fast. Making a playful glare at her, he confronted her. "Hey, hey. You got a pin slashed from your back through like a whip. Does it hurt? Do you need more medicine? Or pain-killers probably—"

But Akane did not pay attention to whatever he was rambling about. He had turned mute in her ears. It was because as he was speaking, his hands went up and down in gestures she did not understand why he had decided to make. It caught her attention. Silently, she grabbed for his arm—softly—and looked at the purplish/bluish skin near his hands.

"What happened to your wrists?"

Killua snatched his hands and wrists, swollen and painful with the bruises, away from her. "…they're nothing," he said. "Nothing happened."

Silence enveloped the room. The sound of the train tracks rang through their ears like a conversation waiting to happen.

Her expression sad and her tone weary, she looked at him once more to ask, "What did Illumi do to you?" She didn't know what to say after that, but she had to ask him somehow. That was what she knew.

"Nothing," Killua said again, an excuse, before finally realizing his mistake—"err, I mean… nothing big. Nothing that you should mind…"

But Akane, the ever-so-insistent avenger-turned-victim, shook her head, not contented with his answer. Blue boring deep into his purplish eyes, she asked again, nagging like there was no tomorrow. "Killua, did they leave scars?"

Killua turned away. He didn't speak a word, but somehow he felt his wounds, laid uncovered under his white shirt, reopen and start to bleed rivers out again. Even though that was only his imagination, it felt real... he winced slightly.

Akane stood up, despite the pain stabbing her back side and somewhere near her stomach—had she been hit there too?—making her feel uncomfortable. Killua watched with wide eyes at her as she stumbled for the bedside table and the first-aid-kit she had seen. Prying it open and getting the roll-up bandage, she looked at him.

"Let me heal them."

That afternoon, Killua left Akane's room to exchange 'shifts' with Gon. The ever cheerful Gon had kept Akane awake the whole trip when he was shift, yet he left her feeling better and lighter than earlier. He had told her stories about Whale Island and how they should go there first before the next journey or adventure where they would have to part. He had told her a lot of interesting stories about anything under the sun, the Lord of the Lake, his aunt Mito, his father (whatever meagre knowledge he knew about him), his childhood, his dreams, and his (almost far-fetched) ambitions. In fact he sounded like a talking autograph book. He had also insisted that she should drink lots of water and sleep good, and all that 'get-well-soon' jazz, but Akane wasn't exactly listening to him.

When Gon had fallen asleep—his shift's schedule they had agreed on was 4 pm until 12 am—Akane enjoyed a bit of quiet. She stared at the wooden ceiling, and even out the window to the stars that would smile at them for the next who-knows-how-many-more nights, only to remember the conversation she'd had with him, the persistent 12-year-old whitehead, earlier around 2 pm, after he had (jokingly) spoon-fed Akane her lunch.

"You didn't have to do that."

"Do what?"

"Go all the way to home and 'save' me. I could go out on my own. I had a plan but still—"

"It's nothing," she had said to cut off his long and bitter explanation.

"But you really didn't have to."

"But I wanted to." Silence, because he did not respond. "Thanks for rescuing me," she said instead.

"Thanks for the rescue."

And that night, Akane fell asleep with a smile on her face because she knew exactly what he thought as well. Maybe they ran into the same thought train somewhere in between. Because she knew what happened was more than rescuing. And, either way, it was more than a rescue mission of a person, but more like a rescue mission of a person's heart.