"Peter!" Yondu yelled from somewhere below deck, probably in the boarding port of the ravager ship. Peter scurried down to him, it didn't take long to find him. Peter had spent the last four years learning every crevice of this ship, he had even found a small bay, more like an empty space probably used to hide contraband that Yondu hadn't noticed when he stole the ship all those years ago. Peter decked out his little space, calling it his 'hideout' (he thought it sounded cool). It was accessed through the floor of the pantry in the kitchen. The floor opens to a little space only about 2ft by 2ft, but that's just a decoy. Hidden under the floor of that space was a ladder that leads to the hideout. All of that means one thing, it's a miracle that Peter had gotten a couch, three blasters, and various other objects Yondu has been looking for for months down there without anyone noticing. It's practically impossible but hey, Peter was King of the impossible. That whole impossibility thing was the whole reason Yondu had called him down.

"What's up, Yondu," Peter said, trotting in front of him, a smaller ship behind Yondu being filled up with fuel. It was the ship Yondu regularly used on missions that required more stealth or just random adventures that required fewer men. Peter was really hoping it was the former, he had only been on little trips. Catch some guy, steal more fuel, get groceries. It's not fun, but Peter was 12 now! He could handle a big mission, Yondu said it himself 'you're skinny, good for thieving'. But maybe Yondu was lying since he had yet to take him on a mission that requires any thieving, only point and shoots.

"My boy, I need a bit of a hand on the next one," He said, placing a hand on his shoulder, Kraglin watching the whole thing, "There's a vault, one with walls that none of my boys can crack. You thinking' you can bust it down?" Yondu was asking, but he was already loading Peter into the ship and tossing some spare supplies in. Everyone in the crew had a healthy respect for a hungry Quill, ever since that incident with 'Peter's special freezer' being unplugged, and they choose to avoid that to the best of their ability. So more supplied where added.

"I can crack It, let's go-" Peter looked back at Yondu, quirking an eyebrow and crossing his arms in that odd manner only a kid could do, "You said I can't use my powers,"

"This is an exception, kid," Yondu said, patting him on the head as they boarded the ship, "Only use them in emergencies, or if I tell ya you can. If word gets out I think it might be a bit more difficult for us to get around," Peter nodded than ran up to the co-pilot's seat. With a glance from Kraglin, he trotted out of the seat and into one of the back rooms that had the best views of the stars.

Time for his first mission

After the first one, each mission came more often. Most of them were actually utilizing his natural thieving skill, a few had required a hand from his kagune. At the age of 15 Yondu had given him a bit more leash. Letting him choose which missions he partook in, even starting a few of his own (with the addition of a few trusted crew members). One of those missions led to him acquiring a ship he named the Milano that he stole from a very uptight criminal. Peter loved that ship like a baby, forgoing his usual time spent in the hideout for his ship. When he was 20 his ship was one of the best ships in the reachable galaxy if he did say so himself. It even had a second 'special cooler' filled with various alien meats. All of them perfectly organized by color in terms of taste. Naming the packets 'Kree bicep' might have been off-putting to any toll booth inspector to happen by. He was actually quite proud of his spectrum of meats, he was like a ghoul chef. It was almost impossible to find an alien he hadn't yet sampled, but there was still more galaxy he hadn't seen and he was excited to see the rest of it. So he kept thieving

At 25 and 2/5 he had run into a bit of a snag. That snag being some idiot not telling the crew Yondu had set up that the fricken building was being monitored by the Nova Corps! What were the million units in weaponry worth if a third of the ravager team got caught doing it. That was what Peter was thinking as the platoon of Nova corps approached. He was running out of options. He and his comrades had been forced to drop their weapons. Handcuffs were approaching quickly. A life behind bars, starving to death, was approaching quickly. This was an emergency. There was only one thing he could do.

His eyes turned back, all the ravagers around him pailing at the site and leaning away. They had all seen portions of the carnage he could do and they weren't too keen on getting in the away.

Within a minute 30 Nova corps officers where dead. On the good side, Peter got to figure out what a new alien species tasted like. For the record, Xandarians tasted slightly sweet.

On the bad side, a bounty of about 100k units was now on Peter's head along with a picture of his appearance being sent out across the whole entire Andromeda Galaxy.

After another five years, his taste for treasure and blood had become well-known throughout both most intergalactic police force and the underbelly of the space. His name was whispered in fear or awe. Officers were trained on how to detain him and cells where made in some of the larger prisons just in case after his first escape. After that, another 100k was added to the bounty and it kept growing. Yondu gave him a clap on the back each time units where added, telling him someday he might reach the million Units Yondu has if he got lucky. Peter would laugh and say someday he'd double it.


“You’re working with Silas?” Elena asked, disbelief coloring her voice. Her dark brown eyes flicked between the two. “Bonnie, he killed  Jeremy .”

“‘Bonnie, he killed Jeremy,’”  Silas mimicked, rolling his eyes. “Please. Do you even hear yourself? So whiny? So nasally? Save you fake moral outrage for someone who cares.”

Elena glared at him. “You’re a monster.”

“Well, duh,” Silas countered. “So’s your boyfriend. So are you. Or have you forgotten that?”

Elena shook her head, disgust curling her lip. “We’re nothing like you.”

“Agreed,” Silas replied easily. “You’re so much worse. Sure, I’m an evil bastard, but at least I admit it. I don’t go around pretending to be something I’m not. While you, dear doppelganger, live in some delusional fantasy where you never switched off, never attacked people that you claim to care about, and never murdered an innocent waitress just to to prove a point. And let’s not forget that  Signor Salvatore  over there not only murdered Bonnie’s mother, but he also caused the death of her beloved Grams, and systematically raped and tormented one of your so-called  best  friends. Not to mention the  countless times he’s betrayed his own brother. And for what? A woman? Women? Honestly it’s hard to tell if it’s you he’s hung up on or Katherine. Kind of murky in there.” He tapped his index finger to his temple.

“Back off,” Damon snapped, moving in front of Elena, his shoulders drawn back. “All that shit, it’s in the past.”

“Ah, Damon. So eager to play the hero. Even though everyone here knows that’s not your role, is it? Nobility was never your strong suit. It’s not a good look on you.” Silas leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Besides, you don’t have the hair for it.” He cocked his head a bit, turning towards Stefan. “Speaking of people pretending to be something they're not– do you have any commentary on Bonnie’s choice of allies here, Ripper?”

Stefan shrugged, placid despite the taunts. “You’re a dick, but that’s not her fault.”

“But that is her type,” Silas responded with a grin. “Something Bonnie has in common with her  besties . Each one of them is a sucker for a bad boy, right ladies? Hell, you even shared some of them.” He flashed a grin, gesturing towards them conspiratorially, turning to face Bonnie.“Wanna compare notes with Caroline?”

“If there is a point to your being here, I suggest you get to it.” Klaus interjected sharply, stepping forward. This was a conversation not worth having, in his opinion.

“What’s the matter, hybrid? Afraid of a little gossip?” Silas tipped his head. “It’s not a secret anymore, is it? I mean Tyler already knows about you and Caroline. Caroline now knows about you and Bonnie. Elena tapped danced all over the brothers and Damon has dipped his wick in just about everyone in Mystic Falls. I, for one, am dying to get the juicy details on which one of you is the better lover. My money’s on Stefan…he is my doppelganger, after all, so here’s hoping he got some of the talent–”

Bonnie watched the exchange, drowning out the words as the voices around her rose and tempers flared. Tyler and Klaus in one another’s faces, fangs bared while Silas continued taunting Damon, and Elena and Caroline ineffectually trying to reign it all in. Bonnie could feel her own burning anger coil in her gut. Her daughter was in danger. Hope’s very life was at stake, and all anyone wanted to do was throw around petty insults and play into Silas’s hands.

It hurt.

To feel insignificant again.

But more than that, it forced her to make a conscious choice–right then and there. Hope would not be some incidental in their lives–overlooked and neglected in the face of their petty jealousies and fragile egos.

 No.

She wouldn’t allow that.

 “Enough.”  The word cut itself from her mouth–sharp and final. Power pulsed around her, the shockwave of it enough to throw the squabbling vampires, with the exception of Klaus, through the air and tumbling across the drive. The vehicles rocked on their wheels, teetering just shy of tipping over.

Beneath her feet the soil cracked.

Overhead clouds writhed across a darkening sky.

Dazed eyes blinked up at her as her friends slowly picked themselves up off the ground.

Silas gave her a slow smile as he rose, dusting himself off. “That felt like Expression,” he commented, watching her.

Bonnie didn’t bother to respond. He wasn’t entirely wrong, she surmised. Where once before Expression had felt like a completely separate magic to her, it was now blended with her own–as much a part of her as nature was.

“I’m assuming you’re here with something useful,” she said in return, pointedly ignoring the questioning looks her friends were giving her. She did not have the time nor the inclination to soothe or reassure them at the moment.

In response to her question, Silas simply smiled wider. “You’d be surprised how  useful  I can be when I want something.”

Bonnie shook her head, turning away from him. There was something almost predatory in his eyes that made her slightly uncomfortable and flustered.

“Enough games, Silas,” Klaus snapped. “You may be immortal, but answer me this: do your limbs grow back?”

“You’re no fun,” Silas replied, hopping onto the hood of the nearest SUV. He leaned forward, placing his elbows onto his knees. Suddenly one hand clutched his stomach as he doubled over, gasping. His eyes squeezed shut as a low voiced, “Fuck,” was exhaled between his teeth.

“Silas?” Instinctively, Bonnie reached out, placing her hand on his arm to steady him as he swayed dangerously.

A few deep breaths later and he was sitting upright again. He blinked a couple of times. “Good news is that wasn’t anyone you know,” he said, wiping his lips. He glanced down at the hand on his arm, raising a brow.

Bonnie snatched it back quickly.

“And the bad news?” Klaus demanded, pulling Bonnie behind him.

“The covens are up to something.”

“Care to be more specific?” Klaus questioned.

“Secret midnight meetings, sigils showing up all over New Orleans, children going missing. You know, generally not good shit where witches are concerned,” came Silas’s impatient response.

Bonnie felt something sick and clammy in her throat hearing that children were going missing. Of course she wanted to protect Hope above all else, but knowing that there were other families suffering through her worst nightmare…she swallowed hard.

“The Hollow is enjoying her vampire body,” Silas continued. “But it is limited. She's feeding–but her host is fading and she can’t access much magic. What she does have is borrowed, being transferred to her from her acolytes. If I was the wagering type, I’d be betting that right now she’s looking for a way to fortify herself. She expected you,” he gestured to Klaus. “She wasn’t expecting you.” He gave a matching gesture toward Bonnie. “Now she’s scrambling.”

“And in doing so, she is causing some collateral damage,” Elijah provided.

“If that’s what you want to call a bunch of dead people,” Silas shrugged, unconcerned. “Sure.”

Over Bonnie’s head Elijah glanced at his brother. “Scrambling could be good for us. It may be time to check in with Marcellus.”

“Agreed,” Klaus nodded.

“What can we do?” Caroline asked.

Bonnie glanced at her friends, seeing them exactly as they were nearly a decade past. So much of her life back then had been fragmented by the choices she had made.  Her  choices, her consequences, but the reasons…well, they all stood before her now.

She couldn’t make those same choices anymore.

“You should go.” The words were said quietly, but Bonnie knew they all heard them.

Caroline blinked, uncertain. “Bonnie…?”

“You should,” she confirmed, lifting her chin. “You all have your own lives and you should get back to them. This fight–it’s not yours.”

“Bonnie, no,” Elena shook her head, joining Caroline. “We lost you once. We’re not going to walk away now.”

Bonnie’s smile was fleeting and edged with sadness. “You didn’t lose me, Elena. You let me go. There’s a difference.”

Klaus felt her words heavy in his chest.  “You didn’t lose me. You let me go.”  While meant for her friends, he knew they were just as true for him. A truth that he regretted to this very day, but one he had not ever acknowledged–at least not to the person that needed to hear it.

Exhaling, he turned to the interlopers in his yard. One issue at a time.

“Well then, it would seem that your invitations have been revoked. If you all would be so kind as to immediately vacate the premises. I’d hate to get blood on my shirt. It was a gift.” Klaus smiled, motioning them along.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Caroline countered.

“I believe the request was clear.” Elijah commented idly as he unbuttoned his suit jacket.

Caroline inhaled, but didn’t move from her spot. “You’re going to have to make me.”

Elijah smiled easily, his eyes crinkling at the edges, giving him an almost approachable appearance despite the clear threat he presented. “You think I won’t?”

Caroline’s gaze flickered to Klaus, her brows furrowing. A small part of her expected him to intervene, but his face remained impassive.

“We’re here to help.” Stefan spoke, coming forward. He ignored everyone else, keeping his eyes on Bonnie. He stepped closer, so close that she had to tilt her head up to look at him. He gripped her arms gently, holding her gaze. “After everything you’ve done for us, after every battle you saw us through, it’s our turn. We failed you before. We won’t fail your daughter.”

Bonnie blinked at the sudden, unexpected sting of tears in her eyes. “Stefan…”

“Let us help you,” he urged quietly; sincerely.

Bonnie looked up into Stefan’s face. He stared back with openly, without expectation. Whatever she decided, he would honor. She could see it. Slowly, she nodded. “Okay.”

“Good.” He smiled at her, rubbing a hand along her arm.

Klaus’s eyes narrowed on the gesture. "I assume you know of the enemy we face?”

“Only that it’s a malignant dark force and that you’re going to need all the allies you can get,” Stefan provided, stepping back. “Tyler knows more.”

“Does he now?” Klaus sent Tyler a searching look. It was not a friendly one.

Tyler met it directly. “I do. That bone you had me bring–it’s one of the remains of a witch named Inadu. The Lockwood family didn’t just safeguard this one bone, they kept records of names, dates, and other families that were in charge of watching over the Hollow’s remains.”

“Why would that be?” Elijah questioned.

Tyler’s lips thinned. “Werewolf business.”

“It is  my  business if it relates to  my  daughter,” Klaus countered with a growl, moving towards the younger hybrid.

Tyler didn’t budge. “Then I guess you’ll hear about it when I fill  Bonnie  in about what relates to her daughter–after we’re all settled.” Turning to Bonnie, he gave her a soft, steady look. “We have a promise to keep, Bennett. No backsies.”

“No backsies,” she agreed, voice raspy. They were staying. They  wanted  to stay. It did not erase the old hurt, it did not make those choices okay, but it meant something to her that they were willing to try.

“So that’s it? We’re staying now?” Damon asked, voice incredulous. “All of us in that cozy little farmhouse? Kinky.”

Well,  most  of them wanted to stay, Bonnie mentally amended, cocking her head at Damon. He smirked at her, waggling his brows. It wasn’t quite the same gesture as Tyler or Stefan’s but she got the message. Smiling a bit in return, she nodded. He would never be her favorite person, not after everything, but he was welcome, too.

“You’ll be in the barn,” Klaus clarified. “Stablehand quarters. Or not here at all.”

Stefan snorted, amused, as he made his way to his bike, grabbing his pack. “My usual room free?”

Klaus gave a small nod, gesturing for Stefan to follow.

Bonnie glanced between the two.  Usual room ? How often did Stefan visit them here? And if he had been here before…well, that certainly explained his lack of surprise where Hope was concerned.

Elijah stepped quietly beside her. “Is this what you really want?”

She tipped her head, murmuring, “We could use the help.”

“Very well.” Elijah re-buttoned his coat. Reaching down he grasped her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips. He brushed a quick kiss over the ridges before releasing her. He watched her walk off with a curious Elena and Caroline towards the barn. Once she was a fair distance away, he turned to face Silas. “Silas, a word, if you please.”

Sighing, Silas rolled his eyes. Before he could so much as blink, Elijah stood before him, scant inches away.  Stealthy fucker.  “Is this the part when you warn me away from Bonnie?” he queried, cocking his head. “Gotta tell you, big guy, between you and Klaus, all these threats, they get old.” He reached up and adjusted Elijah’s tie. “Besides, I’m unkillable. Remember?”

Elijah smiled, an amused huff escaping as he glanced down, then back up. “While I do not share my brother’s flair for the dramatic, nor his imaginative dismemberment methods, you should know that if Miss Bennett comes to any harm, in any way, I will personally see to it that every supernatural in all sixty-four counties of Louisiana is slaughtered. Gruesomely.” Elijah placed his hand on Silas’s shoulder giving a non-too-gentle squeeze before walking away.

Silas winced, rubbing his arm. “Good talk.”


~^~

“Q.”

The Quartermaster jumped as 007’s hand snaked out and caught his, despite the fact that the agent had been sitting on the couch and apparently focused on a tense, heated phone conversation with M and Q had been just walking by behind him.

All 007 did then was tug Q forward by the wrist until he could deposit the phone in the smaller man’s commandeered hand. “M wants to speak with you,” was the brief explanation.

Cocking an eyebrow, Q brought the cell-phone to his ear. “M. This is Q. Am I correct in assuming that 007 overstepped his phone privileges?”

“He’s lucky he’s so good at his job, or I’d have dropped him in the Thames by now,” was M’s immediate and pert response – she clearly meant what she was saying. “Has Bond informed you of the plan?”

Wary of saying yes and realizing that he really had no idea, Q hummed for a brief moment as he circled the couch to sit on it. 007 would eavesdrop shamelessly, but this way, it seemed like Q was letting him. Bond arched one eyebrow. “Let’s just assume he hasn’t, for the sake of everyone being on the same page.”

“Probably wise,” the woman admitted. “While I was skeptical at first, I’ve come to agree with Bond’s assessment of your safety.”

“Which is what?”

“That stronger measures need to be taken to ensure it, and keeping you in Bond’s care might be the best option. He has extensive experience in guarding an asset – just as much as he has experience at killing marks, truth be told – and for those reasons I’m willing to put your care in his hands.”

Q was still a bit troubled that no plan had been explicitly told to him, which either meant he wasn’t going to like it, or… “What care has 007 suggested?”

“I don’t know. Bond has made it clear that he intends to remove you from danger, but the exact location is known only to him,” M admitted, voice still as stern and imperious as any mountain. Q had noticed that even when 007 was at his worst, M remained an impermeable fort – an angry impermeable fort, but still ultimately untouched by Bond’s shenanigans.

Cutting a look Bond’s way – and finding those blue eyes watching him steadily, maybe somewhat challengingly – Q sighed past pursed lips and decided, “I’ll need to drop into MI6 first. If I have to go another day without some of my tech, I’ll go insane before anyone ever tries to kidnap me again.”

~^~

Unexpectedly, 007 agreed to the plan, although it was clear that he didn’t like it. In fact, Q got the distinct impression that the blond-haired agent wanted to keep him in the flat, which was odd because Q got the impression that no one else ever stayed here besides Bond himself (and perhaps not often him either). Plus, there was the fact that Q had just beaten him soundly at Go Fish. The agent had taken the loss with poor grace, glaring at Q for the next five minutes before just deciding to call MI6 – the phone call that Q had finished up just now. The way that Bond had hovered around his Quartermaster, however, almost to the point of hemming him in as he got ready to leave for MI6, made Q think that Bond didn’t like the idea of leaving. Even when Q had been changing back into his own clothes (wrinkled from being slept in, and still smelling slightly of stale fear), Bond had inserted himself into the situation like a herding dog crowding its flock of one. Since Q was coming to accept the fact that modesty had no place in 007’s company, he’d simply stripped down and changed while the agent sat on the bed and watched. His blue eyes had tracked Q’s every move in silence, naturally attentive.

Bond had been Q’s shadow to the car, and kept up small talk during the drive. It was like when they’d first started running into each other back in Q-branch, with 007 playing the perfect gentleman and talking about anything and everything that was required of him while they played chess. This should have been nice. After all, at least when Bond was talking about senseless nothing, he wasn’t needling at Q and trying to take him apart piece by informative piece. However, the Quartermaster was irked to find that now his mind wasn’t engaged – apparently verbal sparring with Bond was not only incredibly frustrating, it was challenging – so instead he was thinking about guns in his hand and people he hadn’t wanted to kill.

By the time they had stopped in the MI6 carpark, Q felt jumpy and uncomfortable inside of his own skin, and he’d stopped paying attention to 007 as he instead drowned slowly in the worst memories from the recent kidnapping. He didn’t know how 00-agents did it: they killed for a living, and in far more vicious, cold-blooded fashions, and had to do it repeatedly.

Q halted with a jolt as warm, calloused fingers on his nape yanked him back to reality. They’d been walking away from the car, with Q on autopilot and 007 as lethally alert as ever – it was both unsettling and surprising that Q had managed to ignore the agent, despite what he knew about him. Now the Quartermaster blinked and dragged his attention back to the present, glancing to the side where Bond was standing placidly next to him. Instead of the usual expressions the man wore – glimmers of dangerous amusement, faked interest, or slow burning lust that immolated what it touched before long – there was simply a watchful, patient blank. Q blinked at him, confused for a second, before he realized that this was the most truthful expression he’d ever seen on Bond’s face.

“How do you do it?” Q asked quietly, easily accepting the slowly moving grip on his neck. The way it was starting to knead slowly at the edges of his cervical vertebrae was reminiscent of his idle touches, or the way he’d kept Q from falling in the shower. “How do you just end a life?”

“The point isn’t ending another life – it’s not letting it end you,” was all the 00-agent would say, voice calm and uninflected. Then he nodded in the direction they’d been heading, and said as he let his hand fall from the smaller man’s neck to trail absently down to the small of his back, “Come on, Q.”

Q let the touch urge him forward, his mind now preoccupied with teasing apart the puzzle of 007’s words, and the strange sincerity he’d just seen in a blank, expressionless face.

~^~

“Quartermaster,” M greeted them once they were in the heart of MI6 – home once again. M was as fierce and sharp-eyed as always, as she took in Q with a sweep of her crystalline eyes before turning a warier look to 007. She dipped her head in a brief nod to him, too. “007. Good to see you both back.”

“Not for long,” Bond reminded, hooded eyes meeting his superior’s unflinchingly.

For her part, M merely nodded. “This is an unusual situation, and I have agreed that the best way to respond is with an unusual answer – as you have agreed, Quartermaster.” Q nodded. As much as he hated the vagueness and lack of facts he was getting, he was willing to trust Bond’s expertise in this case. The agent had shown him the same courtesy in the past. “MI6 will provide you with a car, and Quartermaster, you are responsible for what else you deem necessary.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the bespectacled young man nodded respectfully, and turned to be about his business. There was no point in dallying around, and one thing that M and Q agreed on totally was a general hatred for wasted time. However, M called out before he and Bond were more than a few steps away.

“Quartermaster?”

“Yes?” He turned. Bond kept walking and gave the appearance of not listening.

“After you’ve seen to your Branch, come back to my office. There are some things I wish to tell you,” the woman said in her usual prim tone, but there was something in her eyes – something deeper. They looked almost sad, beneath the iron shielding.

Puzzled and curious, Q tilted his head a bit, but nodded again. “Of course. I’ll be back within the hour.”

~^~

“I’m surprised you aren’t requesting more guns.”

007’s mouth kicked up at the edges. “Quality over quantity, Q,” he replied with his usual, effortless charm. “Although I can’t say the same for your choices.”

“Hey,” Q defended as he continued to load up the supplies he wanted for this mystery trip, “I asked you if there would be internet, and you said no, so that means I have to bring more tech to set up my own internet.” Plus whatever else he felt he might need, which was a pretty long and varied list, because 007 was a cagy bastard and refused to say where they were going. It was insane that Q was trusting him on so little data, but apparently he’d realized that Bond was invested in his safety some time ago.

“What even is this?” the agent asked from the duffel bag Q was meticulously packing his things. While Q had been grabbing the cords he’d need, the agent had apparently gotten bored or nosy. Probably both. Now Bond was wrinkling his nose at a small square of metal in his fingertips.

Q immediately darted over, feeling like he was babysitting. “That’s a bug – which you’ve used multiple times, by the way.”

“I’m sure I’d remember,” Bond argued back as smoothly as silk, even as he let the Quartermaster disengage the little listening device from his fingers. Blue eyes watched as it was returned to its separate pouch within the duffel bag. “Maybe you just think you gave me toys like that, Quartermaster.”

Chuckling dryly, Q went back to coiling cords as he corrected, “Maybe you broke them before they could do you any good. That might explain why they left no imprint on your memory.”

Bond was definitely grinning, a glass-cut expression that felt as handsome as it was dangerous – although Q knew instantly that the danger didn’t apply to him. How long had he known that? “Ah, yes. That might explain it. You should make them tougher.”

“You should stop breaking my things.”

“How else am I to get your attention?” teased the larger man with that wolfish smile still in place. His blue eyes danced like sun glinting off dangerous waters, and it was probably that look that was keeping the rest of the Q-branch staff at a distance. They’d been elated to see their Quartermaster again, but the day would never come when they were at ease with a 00-agent in their midst – this was even more the case with 007, who unsettled Q-branchers on a level that put his fellows to shame.

Q’s mind drifted to just how skilled 007 was at getting his attention, and had to give himself a mental shake while his hands froze at their work. Silently, but like a ship moving close in the night, Bond approached until Q could feel heat at his back. “Quartermaster?” asked Bond in a deceptively light voice.

Recalling that he was in the middle of Q-branch (with at least four of his underlings watching him worriedly at this very moment, as a known dangerous agent pushed the boundaries of personal space), Q deftly slipped around Bond to put his cords in the bag, zipping it closed. “You have everyone’s attention just by entering a room, 007,” Q replied in a mollifying tone and with a patronizing little smile meant to rankle – it did, and now it was Bond’s turn to frown at Q. One point for the skinny boffin. “Now: you stay here. Actually, I take that back. If I leave you here you’ll unleash pandemonium in my Branch,” Q evaluated unabashedly, hefting his bag with a whuff of breath as he realized just how heavy he’d made it. On second thought, maybe he’d have Bond take that out to the car. “I’ve got to go see M, but you can make yourself useful by moving this to the car. I believe MI6 has cleared us for one on the second level of the carpark.”

“Whatever you say, Q,” 007 said in a put-upon tone. Q couldn’t help but be jealous but also impressed as 007 hefted Q’s bag as well as his own, which held the guns he’d requested for himself. Each got slung over a shoulder, muscles taking the burden and flexing as they adjusted to the weight. Bond’s cocky expression showed that he was willfully showing off just a bit.

Q could have told him that he hardly needed to. The Quartermaster had seen all of that strength at work on missions, and all the man had to do was move for people to realize that he was a powerhouse. Sighing at the theatrics, Q picked up his personal laptop bag and headed for the door. “Come on then. I’ll show you out.” He left instructions with R and the others as he left, promising to be back soon without admitting that he had no idea when exactly. 007 followed like an obedient shadow, silent except for the creak and shift of the bags he carried.

“Take your time, Q,” 007 drifted past the smaller man once they’d left Q-branch, somehow managing not to bump him along the way, although he brushed against the computer bag and made Q reflexively want to move the tech out of the agent’s reach. The blonde-haired man was moving off down another hallway, though, presumably to wreak havoc in someone else’s life. Havoc was what Bond specialized in, when he wasn’t focused on espionage. That left Q to walk by himself down to M’s office, feeling both light and strangely lonely without the omnipresent 00-agent by his side. Q realized that he’d gotten used to Bond – from his homicidal tendencies to his constant need to touch.

“M?” Q was let into her office by a sympathetic Eve Moneypenny (whether she sympathized with Q for having been targeted by criminals, or because he was stuck with 007, remained to be seen). “You wanted to see me before 007 and I made our exit?”

“Yes, Quartermaster. Before you pull your temporary disappearing act,” said M, looking unexpectedly grim, her thin lips pressed together, “I think there are some things you need to know. Sit.”

Feeling uneasy himself now, the young man nonetheless did as he was told, settling into the uncomfortable chair across the desk, putting his laptop case down next to him.

M started immediately, efficiency being a coat she’d worn long and well. “How much do you know about James Bond, Q?”

“Um…?” Unsure how to answer, or how much to say without things getting uncomfortable, Q thumped his fingertips on the chair-arm and mentally scrambled a bit. “Well, I’m aware of anything that was on his files. Nearly impossible track record for mission success – equally high marks in marksmanship and general destruction. I know that Medical is baffled at his continued state of being alive, while Psych doesn’t know whether to label him as a sociopath or keep mum to avoid possible repercussions on his part.” Q sighed, recalling some of the earlier missions he’d handled with 007. “I also know that he’ll sleep with anything that moves.” Specifically women on cameras that Q was watching. And possibly Q, if the Quartermaster would let him. A flush of confusing feelings – interest, anxiety, excitement, and nearly visceral fear – roiled through him like a flash-fire, quickly burning down again.

“It’s actually his predilection for sleeping with dangerous people that I wish to talk about. Now – before you say anything-” M lifted an imperious hand just as the Quartermaster drew in a breath to speak. “-I’m well aware of Bond’s growing interest in you. I’m old, not blind. You should know that Bond doesn’t usually show an interest in anyone when he’s off-mission, so it’s a bit easier for me to spot than you’d think.”

Q couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He was already blinking like an owl newly out in the sun, frowning as the given facts refused to mesh. “I thought he slept around prolifically off-mission?” He already had more than enough proof of 007’s rampant sexuality on-mission.

M cast him a hard-to-read little smile. “I said ‘interest in,’ not slept with – and he doesn’t have an ounce of interest for any of those pretty faces he sleeps with around London,” she replied tartly and without doubt, “And before you ask how I know all of this, you must realize that you’re not the only one who has a certain skill for remotely monitoring an asset.” With a resigned sigh, M sat back a bit, and admitted, “For the past few years, Bond has been a round-the-clock headache who requires constant watching.”

“You actually put tails on him?” Q asked, shocked.

“Carefully and from a great distance. I’m sure he’s aware of nearly all of them, but he’s a good enough sport to benevolently tolerate it.” Which was shocking in its own right, because 007 was benevolent about basically nothing – which explained M’s next rueful sentence: “The real problem is finding agents who aren’t too intimidated by 007’s reputation to do the job.” At that point, M’s mouth twitched in a cunning, tiny smirk, and she explained, “We call it training. If new agents can follow 007 for even a few hours without him doubling back, catching them, and pleasantly threatening to feed them their own fingers, they get promoted.”

Unsure whether to be amused or disturbed by this use of a 00-agent as training material, Q asked cautiously, “And if they can’t?”

“Remedial training. Bond never damages them too much.” That said quite a lot about Bond’s relationship with MI6 and with M: in Bond’s position, Q was very sure that he would have gotten incredibly angry by now, but instead, it sounded like Bond treated it all like a necessary game. Perhaps it also had the pleasant side-effect of keeping him from getting bored off-mission. “That’s not what I’m here to talk about, Q. I’m here to tell you some things about 007’s past that are not in his file, and which I don’t see him telling you himself. Honestly, I don’t even know if he can tell you. The man you know as James Bond is more broken than you think.” While Q stared at M with narrowed, suspicious eyes (feeling defensive but not knowing whether it was for himself or for the agent in question), the older woman folded her hands upon her desk and asked, “Have you heard of the woman called Vesper Lynd?”

Q’s brows drew down lower behind his glasses, and he agreed slowly, “Yes, she was involved in one of Bond’s earlier missions. He was newly promoted to 00-status.”

“Yes, he was, and he was already promising,” M nodded, “Vesper was a distraction, however, and no one quite realized how quickly he became attached to her. It’s a usual mistake for new agents – getting romantically involved with people they meet on the job – but we hadn’t honestly thought that Bond would make that mistake, because he’s always been quite like you know him now. Cold, calculating, and morally deficient enough to make him an incredibly useful and flexible spy. But there was something about Vesper…” M sighed, and there was true regret in her tone. Suddenly, her eyes looked older, as if their bright and wintry spark was dimmed by the smoke of old memories. “It’s possible that we will never know her whole story – she had handlers of her own, and it’s been inferred that she had some of the same ethical gaps that 007 does, although I suspect to a lesser extent.” Pride reignited that light in the woman’s eyes, and she stopped looking off into the distance to fix Q with an indefatigable look. “Bond was the better agent, even back then. When the dust settled, he was alive and she was dead by questionable means.”

“He killed her? That’s not what the file says.”

“The file is inconclusive,” M said with a mien of troubled discontent on her face that was quickly eliminated. “I know that Bond can destroy or change evidence to his own liking, and that situation was so mucked up that I honestly have no idea what happened. But what I do know is that when Vesper left, she took whole chunks of James Bond with her. She’d tangled them together – so he had to rip off pieces when they came apart.” M’s eyes were now as cold and frostbitten as the deepest north, the look of a mother wolf when a snowstorm challenges her and is found lacking. Q found himself glad that he was not this Vesper Lynd, and that Vesper was dead – because he’d never seen M so transparently hate a person with frigid, controlled fury. Again, it was a fleeting impression, before M composed herself and looked off to the left, merely aloof and cool. “Bond was dangerous before, of course. Cunning, quick, ready to be brutal when needed. But Vesper broke him.” Hard grey eyes snapped back to Q. “And he put himself back together more dangerously than before.  She broke his heart in such a deep way that I don’t even know how he recovered, but when he did, it was with all of his razor edges intact and all of the underlying softness sharpened to points. James Bond was dangerous – Vesper made him lethal. I don’t know whether I should thank her or hate her for that, because now MI6 has a weapon that it never would have dreamed of before.”

Q was stunned. He’d always had nagging questions in his head, questions regarding Bond’s history and whether he’d always been like this, or whether his particular brand of psychosis had roots in some past event. He’d somehow never considered, however, that it could be a violently broken heart that could do it. Maybe it was because Q always thought of broken hearts as crippling things, rather than scalpels that cut away weaknesses and left only an armor of shards behind. Once, Q had held a piece of polished obsidian in his hand: small, black, and slightly translucent if held to the light. Then someone had told him that if you broke that little oval stone, the pieces you had left in your hand were sure to have edges sharper than razors. Bond had always been an obsidian stone, it sounded like – dark and graceful on a grand scale, deadliness hidden at his core – but Vesper had put a hammer to him, and only a man made of scalpel sharp pieces had walked away from that.

“I’m not telling you this because I want to deter you from him,” M continued, “Although perhaps I should. Up until recently, I would have told anyone interested in Bond as anything more than a quick and good fuck that he has a heart made of razors, and he stopped loving things ages ago.” M’s assessment was blunt and without pity, as befitted a head of MI6. But then she cocked her head slightly, and added with a shrewd look at Q, as if she couldn’t figure him out, “But he seems interested in you, and I haven’t seen that in years. I’m not sure what to make of that. Regardless, I felt it was past time that you knew this. You are dismissed.”

Still reeling from the whirlwind meeting that he honestly had never expected, the Quartermaster stood automatically, movements wooden. “Who else knows this?” he had to ask.

M’s face was unreadable again, but her answer was telling, “Just you and myself know the entirety of the story. Don’t misuse this information.”

“I won’t,” Q promised sincerely. He could feel his brain going over the information, turning it around gently like a prismatic sculpture in new light. “I value 007 as an agent…and also as a person, vexing as that person may be,” he admitted carefully after a moment. “Seeing as I’m going to be stuck with him for an unknown amount of time now, I’m probably going to need to understand him a bit better anyway,” Q tried to finish with a joke, then turned to leave.

“Just so you know, I don’t think that Bond regrets what happened. With Vesper,” M called just as Q was reaching for the door, her voice level. She had that mother-wolf look again, and Q truly began to appreciate how driven M was to defend her agents – even if she sometimes had to also turn around and send them to their deaths. It was a tricky balance, but this woman met the challenge unhesitantly and without restraint. “Don’t pity him. It won’t get you very far.”

Q’s brows beetled, truly not understanding. In a perplexed tone, he replied, “I know. I don’t see any more reason to pity him than to pity the guns he uses – both are liberally abused, I admit, but both do the job and do it fabulously. There’s nothing to pity.”

M, in one of the rare instances that Q had ever seen, smiled. “Good luck, Quartermaster. I hope to see you back inside MI6 soon, when this is all sorted out.”

~^~

Q’s hand had been in his pocket ever since he’d left M’s office, holding the tiny lump he’d noticed when he’d bumped the edge of the chair while leaving. It had done quite a lot to turn his mood from thoughtful and introspective to rather homicidal.

As if waiting for the explosion that he’d had a hand in causing, 007 was only a few hallways down, leaning laxly against the wall with his hands braced unconcernedly behind it. All that the harmless pose served to do was allow the Quartermaster to walk right up to him until Q was practically standing on Bond’s toes. Glaring firmly, Q placed a loosely closed fist right under 007’s nose without any hesitation. “What is this?” Q demanded in a no-nonsense voice.

007 looked blandly at Q’s angry expression for a few seconds, then leisurely dropped his eyes to the smaller man’s hand. After another few seconds of calculated length, the maddening agent grunted, “I’m not a mind-reader, Q.”

“And yet I bet you could tell me, right now, everything that was just said behind closed doors in M’s office,” Q retorted, then gave up on making the agent talk and instead presented the evidence by unfolding his fingers and revealing the same small device that Bond had played with back in Q-branch earlier. “You bugged me.”

Still for all appearances unbothered by Q’s apparent temper and serious encroachment on his personal space, Bond let the silence stretch just far enough to be rebellious. Q wasn’t breaking, though, and continued to wait with the evidence between the two of them. Putting on a mutinous expression and narrowing his blue eyes, Bond replied eventually, “And where’s your proof, Quartermaster?”

“I know my tech, 007. This was in my duffel-bag last I looked, and you’ve got the best sleight-of-hand in MI6. I can put two-and-two together.”

No answer from 007. His eyes had gone cool and aloof, and he’d apparently clammed up. He was still allowing Q to stand with barely inches between them, however, untroubled by the combative posture or Q’s clearly unhappy frown. It was so rare to see Bond in such an undefended posture as he was now, with his hands still tucked away behind him instead of ready to go for his gun. If anything, he was rather relaxed, and Q found his temper fading instead to curiosity, and then to understanding.

Q cocked his head, inspecting that handsome mask Bond called a face. “You really wanted to listen in on my talk with M, didn’t you?” he asked in a far less combative tone.

Again, no response. Merely blue eyes that tracked every minute movement Q made, calm and remote as a mountain lake. It was as good as a confession to the smaller man, who had come to recognize so many of Bond’s little quirks and tendencies, the way he hid things so well and yet was so transparent sometimes that Q wondered if it could be anything but purposeful.

This time, it seemed as though Bond – who never seemed to care or fear for anything – had been intensely interested in finding out how Q had taken the story about a woman with invisible iron claws and a man made of razor blades.

“Why don’t you just ask?!” Q whispered with confounded sympathy, shaking his head in wonder at all of this. Then, because he couldn’t see any other, better way to respond to this confusing man, the Quartermaster took hold of the situation in both hands and closed the distance to catch Bond’s mouth with a sudden, impulsive kiss.

There were about a million negative ways in which 007 could have reacted. As a 00-agent, he was trained to react to surprises with caution at best, violence at worst, and Q knew that Bond tended towards the latter side of the equation. When Q’s mouth pressed to his, however, the agent tensed just enough for it to be perceptible, but he otherwise didn’t move. His hands stayed behind his body, his back remained pressed idly to the wall. The only point of contact was on his mouth, and he moved his lips softly against Q’s, tongue snaking out encouragingly even as Q felt himself drawn in.

Q pulled back, breathing faster and feeling his pulse already in his ears, just before the kiss could get intense. Those uncanny blue eyes were still watching him, alight now with some internal fire that enthralled even as it promised to burn. Q hitched his computer bag strap a bit higher up on his shoulder and stepped back, unconsciously touching his tongue to his lower lip where he could still feel the faintest impression of teeth, although he couldn’t even remember 007 biting him. “You always think that you have to get what you want by stealth – by lying and tricking the answer out of me,” Q said, but without any anger. If the bespectacled young man hadn’t been working at MI6 where dysfunction was the name of the game for dangerous spies, perhaps he would have been less understanding. “Normal people, though, like me, would prefer if you just asked if you wanted to know something.” Q paused, still feeling the contact of lips on his mouth, which he’d initiated for once. His memory brought up dozens of other impressions, all including warm commanding hands on his body and a mouth making promises on his skin. “Or if you ever wanted something.”

Feeling that he’d given Bond all the information he needed to, Q turned and left, directing his feet to the parking lot. They both had days ahead of them that promised to be rough and trying…wherever it was that Bond was taking them.

~^~


Killua sighed in appreciation as he gazed out the window of their personal room, the nighttime cityscape was glorious as always. Stars sparkled in the sky, and the beautiful marbles of not-so-distant alien planets hung in the inky expanse. The moon was a sparkling half circle, shining down upon the city that was a night sky all on its own.

The Valkyrie stood with his arm braced against the window, and his forehead leaned against it. Fluffy white hair, mussed with sleep, framed his face messily. It was growing out, and was well in need of a haircut. His tail was flopped lazily across the ground behind him, sprawled about like a snake.

As beautiful as this scene was… it was nothing compared to the boy standing next to him.

Gon's tan skin reflected the light from the stars and the city, making him glow against the night. His amber eyes held a dull shine to them, just barely illuminating the air around him. His eyes were like fireflies, their meadow the cityscape. His hair was floppy and limp, pressed up against one side of his head, the side he slept on. He wore nothing but his undershorts, and the sculpted planes of his chest and stomach drew Killua's eyes and warmed his lower belly.

"Killua," he whispered, Kurapika and Leorio dozing in their respective rooms.

"Hm?" the Valkyrie hummed in his throat, glancing out the corner of his eye at the hybrid, and the object of his every waking thought. His mind was always on Gon, especially since the wall had come down. He thought about his eyes, his dark toned skin, his coarse hair that hung low and lazy into his eyes whenever he first woke up in the morning. He thought about his voice… that silky tenor just on the cusp of baritone, a voice that sang to his soul and whispered in his ears in the dark of the night.

He thought about his sculpted body, years of training built up in that impeccable physical form. The chemical that lay beneath his veins, waiting to morph him into a being of chaos and destruction. He thought about the slick toxin that secreted from his neck, powerful enough to lay waste to a king serpent, and potent enough to break through even Killua's poison defenses.

He really was an incredible being… but his personality was even more incredible.

He danced with Killua in ballrooms stock full of beautiful and rich girls, he tugged him along on incredible adventures. He met his gaze, not in fear but in friendship. Never once had it crossed his mind to turn Killua over to his family for compensation, or to drug him in the night and sell his blood to rogue sorcerers. He stood by Killua, and kept his hand on his shoulder in the hardest of times…

He was his greatest friend.

But there was this haze against Killua's vision. A haze against his consciousness. He knew he did nothing but sap off Gon's light like some sort of wretched parasyte… but he wanted more. He wanted to feel that tan skin beneath his hands, he wanted to taste that smiling mouth. He wanted to drown beneath that powerful weight, he wanted to be drawn in close never to be relinquished again.

His heart ached with longing, he liked him so much…

But that was all for naught.

Because never could Gon like him back. Never could those feelings be returned.

Why couldn't Killua just take him as a friend? Gon took him as he was, why couldn't he take Gon for what he was? A best friend? Why did he long for more, for the soft smile of a lover in the place of the sparkling grin of a brother? For the passionate embrace of a partner for life rather than the casual sling of an arm around his shoulders?

He'd wanted to be closer to Gon since the moment he'd laid eyes on him.

But it so seemed that he'd always want to be closer to Gon.

Killua wanted to get as close as he possibly could, with souls so entwined and bodies so close that there was no room left to breathe.

The impossibility of it was suffocating to say the least.

But Killua found himself unable to quell these feelings… no, they were here to stay.

He could live with this… he could live with this unbearable distance between the two of them.

He could live with those tan fingers hung at Gon's side rather than reaching out to cup Killua's cheek–

The Valkyrie inhaled sharply as rough fingers grazed his cheekbone. The sensation sent shivers down his spine and heat through his face and groin. He blinked, scared to gaze directly into those eyes because what would he find there? Friendship? Or the far worse alternative? An alternative that would have Killua tumbling from the sky, head over heels with no turning back whatsoever? An alternative that scared Killua as much as he longed for it?

"You're… really pretty," Gon murmured.

Killua's breath hitched in his throat, and he moved his eyes to focus on Gon's. Locked in a cage of sparkling amber, he felt his face go slack. Those words had been everything he had wanted to hear since he had come to terms with what he was feeling for this boy. And that look in his eyes… was everything Killua could have ever begged for and more.

It was something that he could only dream into reality–

Gon gazed up at him, up at Killua who was a mere two inches taller. His fingers traced along that pale cheekbone, and down along a sharp jawline. The Valkyrie was frozen, unable to move and unable to process. The only thing he was aware of was this moment.

The hybrid's amber depths glowed softly at Killua, emotions swirling lazily in those brilliant tawny pools. His eyes said it all–

All that Killua had been longing for these past couple of days had been for Gon to look at him like that. For him to look at the Valkyrie with the same eyes that he himself hid beneath silver bangs and sassy remarks.

Those fingers twisted slowly to cup Killua's chin, and a thumb poked up and brushed leisurely against his mouth.

The silver haired boy's lips tingled, and the thumb stayed in place.

"So soft," Gon whispered as he stepped forwards, eyes low lidded and fixated on Killua's mouth, which had gone slack in surprise.

The hybrid leaned further forward, up on the tips of his toes to meet Killua's height. He braced one strong hand on the back of the Valkyrie's neck, and left the other cupped against that pale chin, bringing his thumb down to free up Killua's lips.

The Valkyrie's heart pumped loud in his ears, and his cheeks flared red.

Gon shut his eyes, and Killua kept his eyes open. He was far too frozen and longing to close them now, no, he had to see for himself–

Thick dark lashes reflected the silver light of the moon, and a soft pair of lips brushed against Killua's. The kiss was so soft and innocent, yet it made Killua weak in the knees. He moved his hands to Gon's hips to steady himself, and his palms felt feverish as they came into contact with the hybrid's bare skin.

The hand on Killua's chin moved to the back of his head, slipping into his silvery locks and keeping him in place. He finally closed his eyes as Gon tilted his head to deepen the kiss, waves of emotion crashing over his head. His soul wanted to both dance for joy and melt into a puddle at the same time.

Gon was so incredibly gentle, as if Killua were a pane of glass ready to shatter at any given second. Was this really happening? Could this really be reality? How did Killua deserve to be this happy?

The assassin was still frozen on the spot, barely having the mind to kiss Gon back. Needing to brace his hands on the stranger's hips just to keep his feet under him. His tail remained still as death, a reflection of his nerves.

Gon's other hand slipped up to grip Killua's hair, and the Valkyrie moved his hands to the other boy's shoulders, feeling unsure about where they should be. Gon sighed out of his nose, breathing against Killua's mouth and causing him to shudder and release a little mewl. The hybrid hummed against the Valkyrie's lips in response, taking the noise as a sign to move forward.

He tightened his hands, gripping Killua's hair in a vice. He angled his head and the kiss picked up pace, gaining heat by the second. Killua's heart was a racehorse in his chest, the heat pooling in his stomach leading him to move his hands to Gon's hair, gripping on for dear life. He tugged at the coarse strands, and the hybrid purred low in his throat, the sensation vibrating against Killua's mouth.

Egged on by the new stimulation, Gon parted his lips and a hot tongue licked gently against Killua's mouth. The Valkyrie gave a shuddering gasp, and obeyed. He cracked his lips open, and then there was no going back. Gon's tongue thrust into his mouth without hesitation, slipping up against Killua's and sending stars flashing behind his lids.

The horned boy stepped forward, pushing Killua against the window and pressing them flush together. The contrast between the chilly glass and Gon's scalding skin made Killua shiver, and the hybrid explored the inside of his mouth with fervor. The kiss was fast and sloppy, sending heat directly to Killua's pants. Gon crushed up against him, rolling his hips slightly and sending sparks flying–

…

Killua awoke with a start, flinging the blankets off of his sweating body and tossing Gon's stolen pillow to the floor. He was sweating like crazy, and he could feel that his face was flushed. The remnants of the dream were still fresh in his mind, and he found himself disoriented and wondering where Gon had gone. His lips were still tingling from the imagined sensation, and he brushed his fingers across them.

The Valkyrie's chest was aching, and butterflies danced in his stomach.

His heart raced a million miles an hour.

That dream was–

In my dream I was–

Killua glanced down, still unable to properly process what he had just woken up from. What he found when he looked downwards, however, filled him with a sense of dread, shame, and self-disgust. His undershorts were tented, and he was hard as a rock.

"Shit," he breathed. Killua drug his hands through his messy white hair, tugging at his scalp in a meager effort to punish himself. "I can't believe this."

He was horny as fuck, and the images from that dream continuously flashing across his mind were not helping. His tail twisted and swished behind him, like a cat in heat. A comparison that was not entirely inaccurate.

I got a hard on from being all close to Gon yesterday, and my thoughts have been entirely consumed by him ever since the barrier was broken. And now those thoughts and desires have slipped into my dreams.

Killua bit his knuckle, mind hazy and clouded. His erection was throbbing and begging for attention, but–

No!

I can't do that!

I can't defile Gon like that.

This can't happen, he's my friend!

I can't feel this way! Or at least, I can't act on it. I– these feelings are not going away, that much is clear… but that doesn't mean I can stain Gon's sparkling image with my own stupid horny shit.

Killua launched himself out of the bed, landing silently on his feet. He rushed silently to the bathroom, wishing that he weren't lurching with every step. The Valkyrie slipped into the cold tile room, and shut the door noiselessly behind him. Free to make noise now that he was surrounded by these thick walls, he aggressively flipped the light switch and slammed his palms onto the counter.

He gazed into his own reflection, sapphire eyes dilated and dark with lust.

He hated that expression.

Because he knew that it had come from him thinking about Gon.

Gon who was a clean and untarnished presence in Killua's life, Gon who did not under any circumstance deserve to be dirtied by Killua's mortal desires.

Hating seeing his own stupid sweaty face too much, the assassin turned his back on his reflection and crossed the bathroom. He was still uncomfortably hard, and he had to get rid of this somehow. He knew that this was not a boner that would go away with determination and a fiery will.

No, he was far too riled up for that.

Stupid fucking dream.

My stupid fucking brain.

Killua switched the water on, and put it on the coldest setting. He pulled his undershorts down, hissing as he was fully freed and bared to the chilly bathroom air. His tail was still swishing around behind him, and he hated that so much. If he ever got worked up like this in front of anyone–

Gods fucking dammit.

There would be no hiding it.

No, not with his fucking tail right there translating his every thought.

Why the fuck didn't I seal my tail. Why the fuck didn't I seal my tail?!

I wouldn't be dealing with this SHIT if I hadn't been too big of a fucking pussy to seal my goddamn tail!

So what if it fucking hurts like a bitch?! So what if it hurts worse than getting your dick cut off?!

I fucking

deserve

to have it retracted back into my spine!

It's the least I could do to atone!

What the ever loving FUCK is wrong with me.

Tears pricked in Killua's eyes, and he trembled with emotion. He wanted to bash his head against the tile walls, but that would make too much noise. Not to mention that the scent and aura of spilled Valkyrie blood would attract too much attention.

Killua stepped into the shower, wincing at the sub-freezing temperature. He forced himself to stand under the ice cold rain until he calmed down and had flattened back out. Then he stayed there, for punishment. The water hurt, and his sensitive tail was burning as it dropped below his necessary body temperature. He felt his wings rustling beneath their seals, straining to instinctively cocoon Killua's body and defend him from the cold.

Whenever his wings pushed against the seals like that…

Killua felt incomplete.

He was all too aware of his wings, their presence, and the fact that they weren't there.

He had gotten used to it, but every now and then he wouldn't be able to control the unsavory sensation. He felt so trapped whenever they wrestled with their thorny bondage. Like he was stuck in a tiny box and unable to move or even breathe.

He hated feeling this way, and it made him want to lash out.

It made him want to get violent, to scream and destroy.

But no.

He couldn't do that.

Not just because he couldn't destroy private property and he didn't want to bother the others with his shit, but because he deserved to feel like this right now.

Killua sank down in the shower, and sat directly beneath the spray with his legs drawn up and his arms wrapped around his knees. He rested his head in the nest of his arms, and fought off that stupid and cowardly urge to cry. Tears were still threatening to spill down his cheeks, but he didn't deserve to cry.

No, crying was for people that had real problems and good reason to bare their raw emotions to the world.

Killua was just a stupid, disgusting, animal of a person who couldn't stop getting all hot and bothered over the thought of his best friend.

He hadn't felt this down in the dumps and dejected in a long time… not sense he had been wandering aimlessly in between leaving home and finding the Hidden Oasis.

Gon… I care about you way too much. Way too much for normal.

You mean the world to me, and I can't begin to understand why you would want someone like me by your side… nor can I begin to understand how someone like me can be so happy when I'm around you.

Your friendship is everything I could have ever wanted, it is everything.

But why am I still greedy?

Why do I still long for more?

Why can't I just… be grateful and happy with what I have?

Why can't this be enough for me?

Cause… this

has

to be enough. I can't allow myself to long for you like this!

I'm so sorry, Gon.

I'm so, so sorry.