Gon awoke with a shiver and slowly opened his eyes to see Hisoka's sleeping face. Their bodies still lay in the cool stream which was now covered mostly by the shadows of the trees on the opposite bank. He shivered again.

I don't want to wake him, but we'll have to get out of this water soon. Gon looked at Hisoka once more and restrained a sudden urge to pull him closer. Something inside him felt off.

He took a deep breath and wondered why his chest was so resistant to movement. It felt tight as though his lungs were slowly calcifying. Thinking quickly he tested his breath again, this time focusing on the expansion of his lungs. They seemed to be working properly. He breathed again, closing his eyes to focus on every cell in his chest, but the pressure remained with seemingly no cause. He opened his eyes, prepared to wake Hisoka, when the pressure increased so heavily that his heart now felt smothered. He heard his heart beating loudly in his ears which told him he was still living though he felt that he would be crushed any second.

Slowly, but with gargantuan effort, Gon brought a hand to his chest and clutched at it desperately; pleadingly. The pressure continued until he could no longer fill his lungs fully. Each breath became shorter and his heart beat faster and for some reason he was crying. The tears flowed freely and in his confusion, bordering on terror, Gon's worried eyes found Hisoka's free hand lying on top of him. Without knowing what he was doing, Gon grabbed it with his own and placed it on his chest.

It was like an antidote. From the center of Hisoka's hand grew a blanket of warmth. The muscles in Gon's body started to relax as the pressure lifted steadily, freeing him. He suddenly felt laughter bubble up and suppressed it quickly. How terrifying it is to realize you love someone. He smiled, amazed that one emotion could evoke such a physical response. Wiping the tears from his face he breathed deeply, reveling in how his lungs seemed in the best shape of his life when a curious, earthy, metallic smell reached his nose.

Blood? His reverie cut short, Gon looked toward the smell. Sure enough, a small, steady trickle of blood was flowing into the stream. He looked down at their bodies and saw their wounds hadn't closed well as they laid in the stream. Angry at his thoughtlessness he held Hisoka close and whispered an apology as he quickly lifted him up and jumped onto the only only patch of dusty grass still in a bit if sunlight.

Jarred awake by the soft voice in his ear Hisoka came to the instant the words were spoken. He allowed himself to be placed on the grass as Gon began to dress his wounds with an uncharacteristically blank face.

I fell asleep again. His eyes were watching Gon's hands work on his wounds and he struggled to push away the rage he was beginning to feel. In the past few days, no matter how often he acknowledged it, he had not been in control of himself. His face remained impassive and he kept a tight hold on his aura as he thought through his actions.

He had been close to death when Gon had appeared and his weakened state had left him soft. The bloodlust he could normally barely contain hadn't surfaced even once when they had fought, nor after. Trying to attribute it to wanting to see Gon's current potential was ineffective as he knew very well that wasn't the case. He hadn't been fighting for the feel of it; for the arousal of physical lust and his desire to kill. He hadn't revelled in the hits he took nor the difficulty of striking his opponent. He was fighting for his sanity. It was simple to understand in hindsight that being anywhere near Gon wouldn't allow that. It was all clear now.

Gon had gathered their things and built a fire. He sat across from Hisoka, creating a physical gap that mirrored the distance he was feeling from Hisoka. He knew Hisoka was again contemplating how to deal with him.

Can I kill him? The question Hisoka posed to himself wasn't whether he had the ability to kill Gon, but rather if he could bring himself to do it. He had once fantasized about breaking him. Seeing how far he had come and being the one to take it all away could have been so pleasurable. Now, as he thought of taking that life he had waited for, he felt a backlash of emotion seeking to strike the idea from his mind.

The frantic flurry of emotions that accosted him were ignored as Hisoka quickly thought of his other option: simply to leave and endeavor not to meet with Gon again until he had fully exorcised these emotions. But even that option was not satisfactory for his being. Every molecule seemed to feel pain at the thought of being parted from Gon.

Gon saw the minute changes in Hisoka's Nen. It was most likely flowing with his train of thought; now smooth, now disturbed, now hostile. He was dreading the decision. He willed Hisoka the strength to move forward with him. We can figure this out together. It would be difficult for sure. Hisoka was first and foremost a killer. Gon knew the absence of bloodlust wouldn't last long but even that didn't fill him with fear as it should have. His best option now seemed to be close to Hisoka rather than not. Even if every second his life were in peril there was no other path Gon would consider.

He couldn't, however, force Hisoka to feel the same. While Gon, as an enhancer, was basically ruled by his emotions, Hisoka, a transmuter, rarely revealed how he truly felt about anything. This was without a doubt the most feeling Gon had ever seen from Hisoka. He knew he was the reason for this influx emotion and wanted desperately for it to remain. Hisoka was uncomfortable with emotions but Gon knew it was possible to retain Hisoka's personality and keep those feelings alive. He thought of Killua, who was similar in many ways to Hisoka, and who had overcome so much because of the importance of emotion.

But, like a transplanted organ, foreign materials could be rejected. Hisoka was rejecting that part of him and so was rejecting Gon.

Looking at his hands Gon realized he was helpless. If what had transpired between the two of them couldn't keep Hisoka with him he knew he would be unstable. His mind brought back memories with a sudden jolt: realizing Kite was dead, the anguish of losing him, the ordeal he put his body through to kill Pitou.

His hands clenched into fists and he thrust one into the fire before him. As penance for what he had done to Kite, himself, and his friends he had gone through an ordeal similar to Killua's upbringing. He burned himself daily inside and out for two years. Gon opened his fist and let the fire lick between his fingers. It took two tortuous years for him to imbue his aura with fire. What had once caused him great pain now felt warm and comforting. He picked up a burning log and repositioned it.

Gon's movements were stiff when he prodded more flames out of the fire. Hisoka smiled. Gon had always had a remarkable talent for knowing what was going to happen next. His body knew it before he would process it fully.

Pulling out his cards he deliberately, meticulously, began shuffling. Each card was lovingly imbued with his aura, creating cards that were sharp as diamond. They were perfect in pairing with his Bungee Gum, as rigid as the other was elastic. When he had decided the skills he would hone it was done with the utmost attention to detail. Always a strategic thinker there had never been a situation he could not read his way through. Of course, Gon was always the exception to the rule.

Hisoka decided he would no longer spend his time building a set of outcomes based on his choices. If he could not trust his mind to give him a solution, he would trust his body although his body was giving him mixed signals. However, the urge to leave came from a place of self preservation, taking precedent over the selfish urge to stay. That alone told Hisoka that he would be able to survive the separation to come. He had to.

He put his cards away and stood. Gon's eyes did not follow. It was unnecessary to look when his whole being could identify Hisoka as clearly as it now did. "Hiso-chan," his voice was quiet, but steady and sure, "do you remember what you told me the last time we fought?"

Hisoka raised an eyebrow, making a noise of curiosity.

"You said that because of our Nen, our personalities would go well together. Your said we would be compatible… Intimately." His eyes found Hisoka then, defiant of the blush that had come to his cheeks.

Those eyes. Hisoka smirked. "What splendid memory, Gon. But I'm afraid you're forgetting the most important part of that lesson." He waited, allowing both of them to prepare themselves. "You would do well to remember this time. I myself am very dishonest, fickle even. What is treasure can quickly turn to trash."

He turned away and forced out his Ren, "If you attempt to stop me... I will kill you. If you attempt to follow me I will know... and I will kill you. And if we ever meet again… I will kill you."

Gon rose, undeterred, and tried to follow. In that same moment a playing card flew from the shadows of the trees and sunk into his shoulder. He took another step and caught the next card before it struck his face. He stopped. Tears were stinging his eyes as he looked down at the cards in his hand.

A King and a Joker.

He stumbled back and fell into the warmth of the fire hoping to heat the cold spot that had blossomed in his chest.

Hisoka walked casually toward his current destination in no particular hurry. Illumi should be back on Kukuroo Mountain, maybe he can help me find Chrollo. Or maybe someone else… His thoughts trailed off thinking of the other possibilities. He had tried a few members of the Zodiac but they never seemed to want to play and always escaped before he could make a move.

"I suppose it's my fault. I like killing my prey head on." He he laughed aloud and ran a hand through his hair.

His walk was full of musings and when the sun began to show through the trees he jumped atop a tree to verify his direction. He held his arms like dousing rods and pointed his fingers. His arms moved all directions before falling to rest on the airship fleet in front of him. Laughing at his joke he jumped down.

The second he touched the soft dirt the trap sprung.