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It's been years.
There was a time when Killua kept an exact count. Not deliberately, not even willingly, but every day the thought would pop up: it's been a hundred and seventy-three days since I saw Gon, eighty-five since we talked on the phone, seventeen since I got news through the grapevine. Sometimes he let it fester, drowned in memories and regrets and what-ifs until he was forcibly snapped out of it. But most days he left it at that, distracted himself with the contemplation of where he and Alluka would go next, played with her, took her out for ice-cream, called Ikarugo or Palm and talked about everything but Gon.
It got easier, until the three counters merged together into a vague number of months, and, soon enough, years.
What he knows, now, is that they've known each other longer than they haven't, but most of that time was spent apart and in radio silence. It wasn't anybody's fault. Gon's phone got destroyed by a herd of rampaging giant bison-rhinos, then Killua went into hiding with Alluka for half a year when Illumi went on a power-hungry rampage. By the time the family got him back under control, Gon had followed his father into the outer world and was unreachable.
For a couple of years Leorio acted as a drop point of sorts, the only one among their common friends who didn't move around much and could be relied on to keep up with the gossip. Gon left messages with him: letters written over several days, the ink's color sometimes changing in the middle of a sentence, grease stains where he'd written while eating. Killua hardly ever wrote things down, but still had things to give: a memory card's worth of video mostly filmed by Alluka, a prospectus for an interesting place to visit, weird candy.
Then the Spiders came after Leorio, as the one most likely to draw out their target. By the time Kurapika deigned to react, Leorio had been in Feitan's hands for days.
He didn't want much to do with any of them after that, and Killua did his best to respect his wish to be left alone, cutting off the last flimsy connection he'd had with his erstwhile best friend.
So when Gon appears at the edge of the clearing, looking more like the aged up version of himself that still populates Killua's nightmares than the boy he remembers, that's all he has: it's been years.
He spent the first few of them with Alluka, traveling around as promised, moving from touristic locations to remote but accessible scenic views, meeting people here and there that they ended up calling friends. Teriem stuck around the longest; Killua found him dull, didn't really click with him. But he kept up, was amusing enough to tease, and Alluka liked him. Liked him until she loved him, and Killua woke up one day to the understanding that he'd become the third member of their party. He stuck around for two more months, gathering funds, calling in favors left and right until both Alluka and Teriem were on every no-information list, as safe as he could make them without standing guard at their bedroom door.
She made him promise to call once a week, which he does with religious devotion. They see each other a few times a year, at the very least on his birthday and hers, but there's no notion of being together forever anymore. He compensates by hitting Teriem with sneaky, low-level electricity pretty much every time, and gets away with it without Alluka frowning at him at least once a year. He's happy for her, and happier still with the certainty that she will never fall away from him completely.
Being alone was hard.
Lacking anything better to do, he picked up Shingen-ryu kung-fu in the space of six months, from a wizened warrior who'd been taught by one of Chairman Netero's first students and had none of the old man's humor. Killua's offer to take over Zushi's training from a harassed Wing whose second child was refusing to sleep at night was mostly a joke—one that got him punched in the face in what he had to admit was perfect form. The fact that he deliberately took the hit didn't seem to make Zushi any happier with him.
The first offer was a joke, but he did pick up students, by what he can only describe as accident. He would never have considered himself fit to be a teacher, or even interested in the notion, but the fact is that having people look up to him that way, seek his guidance... it's powerful, it's grounding, and it turns out he's not so bad at it after all.
He tries to take them places, show them the world the way he did with Alluka; this time they're up North, on the edge of the highest cliff of the Aijien continent. On the way here he explained that it's a place of borders: between earth and water, trees and sky, the world they know and the one they don't; that those edges would help them sharpen their thoughts and focus their power.
Sometimes he impresses himself with the amount of bullshit he can spout in the name of lessons. Bisuke would be proud of him.
Now Gon has been in his sight for over five seconds and Killua is still standing here staring and reliving the past thirteen years, while his students have had the good sense to retreat behind him from the dangerously powerful man who just burst into their Ten training session in the middle of nowhere and is staring at their master with an unreadable smile.
He can hear the quick, snappy whispers that mean Brunl is sharing information.
Of all his students, she's the one who comes the closest to having the same impact on him that he and Gon used to have on their elders: he's fascinated, and a little terrified. She hasn't even developed her Nen yet and she's already more efficient at data gathering than most licensed Info Hunter Killua's ever met. When she masters Nen she'll be unstoppable; for now, she makes it her job to find out everything about anything that interests her, and there is a lot that interests her.
Killua has been one of those things since before she sought him out as a teacher; as well as the 287th session of the Hunter Exam, the East Gorteau Civil War, and the opening of the borders to the outer world. He has a good idea of what's being said as he stares at Gon: they've known each other since before becoming hunters, they've worked together in critical conditions, have always been on the same side of any conflict they both took part in.
Gon Freeccs isn't a dangerous madman, and they're not at risk.
Or so say the records. Hard fact isn't everything; it might be the most difficult lesson Brunl will one day have to learn.
"It's been a while," Gon says with that smile that used to light up the world, and Killua's next heartbeat feels like an explosion under his skin.
"You've been away a long time," he hears himself answer.
Gon tilts his head, nods slightly. They drifted away. It was nobody's fault.
It's been a long time since Killua contemplated the notion of ever seeing him again.
"You have students." It's not surprise that colors Gon's words, exactly. Maybe closer to awe, but Killua feels no pride, no nostalgia. Nothing but irritation and defensiveness at the suggestion that—what? He isn't good enough for that, either? He's too free-spirited, too selfish, to let himself be tied down by people who have nothing to teach him?
All this might have been true once, when they thought they knew everything about each other. But he's changed since, and this man in front of him who bears so many signs that he can recognize and tick off a list—his smile, his eyes, his voice, the feel of his aura—is a stranger now.
The knowledge of it aches.
"I do," he says. "For a few years, now."
The whispering at his back has changed pitch, which tells him that Wri's preternatural ability to read a situation is giving him the courage to stand up to Brunl's cold data.
That's how he knows.
Not because of the way Gon frowns at his lack of enthusiasm, or the distance that still separates them or the resentment he can feel uncoiling in his stomach. But because he knows when and how to trust his students. Wri is making the others back away, and Killua knows this is going to come to a fight.
"I heard about your brother," Gon says, trying a different angle. "I'm sorry."
Killua forces himself to shrug. "You weren't there." He takes a step forward, puts his right hand on his hip, spelling move in Nen writing across his back.
Gon nods as if he understands, when Killua doesn't even know what he means.
You weren't there, there's nothing for you to apologize for.
You weren't there. We tried to find you, because you were the only one who might have had a chance of talking Kurapika down. You weren't there. Senritsu had walked out, Leorio was out of commission, and he went on a rampage. You weren't there. I failed to reach him the same way I once failed to reach you, I was left with the choice to let my brother or my friend kill the other, I needed you and you weren't there.
"Even so, I'm sorry," Gon insists.
"It's fine," Killua hedges. He pauses for a second, pretends to remember something. "Oh, before I forget. Your birth mother says hi."
There's a sick satisfaction in seeing Gon's jaw set, his pupils widen, the smooth flow of the aura around his body project into Ren from one moment to the next. In knowing that he can still affect Gon that much.
They stare at each other for another second, and Killua jumps.
It's nowhere near his record height, but considering the angle he's moving at, drawing Gon's focus away from his kids, it's nothing to be ashamed of. And plenty high enough to fire down a lighting bolt, book perfect, good enough to turn sand into glass a kilometer round.
He's being a terrible example. Don't rush, is what he teaches his kids. Gage the opponent's strength and adjust your strategy accordingly.
This will have to be the sometimes in a real fight you have to forget every rule you know lesson, then.
Five meters from the ground, the bolt splits in two, loses most of its power and hits the ground safely on either side of Gon, who's still standing in place as his Paper attack rushes up, following the bolt's path. It's powerful enough to level a city or crush the bones of a Chimera Ant Royal Guard, and Killua has to fight down a wave of nausea as he fires just enough power to accelerate his own fall and let the emission attack graze past him, singeing a few hairs.
Those are the warning shots.
He follows the course of the Nen ball for half a second, just to make sure it's not coming back his way: paper flies on the wind, after all, and a boomeranging attack is just the kind of thing Gon would come up with, but there's nothing—
Nothing but Gon standing right in the spot he's falling to, already preparing his follow-up attack, aura concentrated so dense around his fist as to be blinding. Just dense enough that with the help of the extra speed provided by his electricity Killua manages to twist around the crackling energy and grab Gon at the elbow, using his arm as leverage to propel himself to the side, neatly dodging the punch.
He hits the ground rolling, jumping to his feet only as he reaches the edge of the cliff. Gon is shaking off the electricity running through him with the weird smile he always used to get when he was enjoying a challenge.
"You stopped calling out your attacks," Killua taunts. It's ridiculous how satisfied he feels by that, by retroactively winning that one little argument from half a lifetime ago.
"Only sometimes," Gon says, sounding genuinely shocked by the suggestion, as if he never noticed before. He's concentrating aura to his fist again, advancing slowly.
"Ah. I'm special?" A glance tells him that the kids are standing at the edge of the forest, near a path that'll allow them a quick exit. For now they're avid spectators as Gon walks up to him with a speed so unthreatening that it becomes its own threat. It doesn't make sense, but then, nothing about Gon ever did.
Stopping at the edge of the cliff may not have been a good choice. Gon can't rush at him while he's standing here, can't feint and get at him from the back, but this slow advance doesn't give him much leeway to escape, either. How quick is Gon, these days? How high can he jump?
"You were always special," Gon says, the calm in his voice belied by the crackling of his aura. Five steps away from the edge he stops, and stares earnestly into Killua's eyes. "And I missed you."
Killua freezes, astonished, but he must still know Gon well enough, because his body dives to the ground without his conscious decision, barely in time to dodge the hit. He twists his leg and manages to catch Gon in the knee with enough aura to make him fall to the ground before rolling over and pinning him down by the wrists.
"That was low," he says, inexplicably gleeful. Watching Gon get one over on unsuspecting opponents was always a thrill. Even when he's the opponent, it's not so different.
"Maybe," Gon concedes, which is pretty generous of him. Not. "But it's still true."
True or not, Killua is still going to win this.
He shifts his grip around Gon's wrists in a split second, frees up a hand, but the barrage of electricity that he tries to unleash at Gon's stomach is met with a wall of aura so strong that the power bounces back; his body absorbs some of it, but most of it disperses into the air as he vaults away.
In this, at least, they do still know each other. Killua never cared to count how many hours they spent sparring under Bisuke's watchful eye or roughhousing just because, but it ranges in the thousands. They learned to fight each other, never imagining that they'd ever need every little advantage. There are things to adjust to, the strength differential not quite as big as when they first met, but even though neither of them is holding back, even though any of the hits they throw could kill, it still feels comfortably familiar.
And highly frustrating, because neither can get a proper hit in. Gon sacrifices a leg of his loose pants when they catch fire from a lightning bolt; Killua will be nursing bruises all over his back if they don't kill each other first, but they're not doing any real damage.
Sometimes, in the short, calculating pauses when they stare at each other, out of breath, Killua takes stock of his kids, who are still watching, whispering among themselves. As well they should. He's not sure he's ever seen a fight that used up so much aura, on both sides. For all that it's going nowhere, this is a spectacular confrontation, and they should all take heed.
But he's running low on power. Gon is also being more careful, doling out his aura much more cautiously than he did in the beginning. The one time he manages to land a punch, Killua blocks it with Gyo (left elbow, seventy three percent) and is only thrown into the first layer of trees instead of halfway through the forest.
"You're almost out of power," he calls when he hits the ground. He licks the corner of his mouth, and finds it bleeding, as expected.
"So are you," Gon retorts in a huff.
Killua opens his arms wide, makes himself a perfect target. "Let's finish this, then. Come at me."
He knows for a fact that Gon was never simple enough to take that bait, but he does, anyway. At the last moment he jumps, only high enough that the attack comes from above instead of the front: but Killua has already cloaked the last of his electricity around his body, and avoids the attack easily.
The cliff isn't that lucky. Killua sees the crater expand, feels the ground shift under him. It holds, but he's reasonably sure that another impact like this one would send the entire area down into the ocean.
They're left standing out of juice in a disaster zone. Years from now, people will come up here and wonder what mighty battle might have taken place, and for what stakes.
He'll have to come back. Given enough time, the stories should become hilarious.
"I'm not done," Gon says, even though he obviously has trouble just standing up.
Not that Killua is any better off. "I'd be disappointed if you were."
Scuffling without Nen is an even earlier memory, but it's not that different. Less spectacular, maybe, but he can still feel his kids' gaze on them, watching every feint, every parried kick. Noticing, probably, how he's following none of the rules and forms of the martial art he's supposed to be teaching them. That's going to be tough to spin, but he can't afford to restrict himself that way. They move across the clearing, attacking and countering in turn, but it's slow, sloppy, and they both know it.
The third time they kick each other to the ground, it takes Killua several seconds to push himself up on shaking arms. He eventually manages to stand up while Gon is still kneeling, wheezing for breath, and has a second to bask in his victory—
Before Gon smirks and springs up with energy he can't possibly have anymore. Killua sees it happen as if in slow motion, sees Gon coming at him, but his body won't respond. He takes Gon's extended arm across the chest, helpless against the momentum, and they both tumble off the edge of the cliff.
There's no trick, no last-second save, no giant pet bird to come pick them up. The wind whooshing past them is so noisy that Killua gives up on insulting Gon's intelligence after a couple of attempts; he focuses instead on changing his graceless stumble into a proper dive, on angling his fall so that he doesn't get impaled on landing by the sharp rocks at the bottom.
He breaks the surface of the water at terminal velocity, feels the shock of it like a hammer; freezing water on heated skin makes his overburdened muscles seize, and it's half strategy and half because of the cramps that he stays in the same position until he reaches the ocean floor. From there he kicks himself up and away from the cliff side, and keeps swimming underwater until he needs to breathe.
When he surfaces, Gon is already there, having made his way further and in less time because one thing on which Killua will never be able to compete with Gon is swimming.
"How did you know the water was deep enough to jump?" he demands, spitting saltwater with every word.
Gon glances away, for only a split second before he's grinning back at Killua. "I had a hunch?" The jerk isn't even pretending to put effort into his lie. Killua gathers the last of his strength to splash him, but the wave falls short and only a few droplets manage to reach their target.
Gon splutters anyway.
Killua snorts and lets himself sink back, eyes closed. Underwater he stretches, extends his arms, and lets the water push him back up, the cramps already little more than an unpleasant memory.
For the first time he can remember, he waits for Gon to come to him.
And Gon does, his moves sluggish and exhausted. He takes a floating position as well, reaches out until their hands are touching. Killua shivers at the touch, but doesn't protest when Gon laces their fingers together, tethering them to each other against whatever currents might try to separate them.
"You met my mother," Gon says. Quiet, toneless, not quite accusatory.
Killua opens his eyes to the darkening sky, and remembers. "I needed to make sure nobody could get to Alluka, and nobody I talked to seemed to have any information on how to make her disappear. Then I got directed to the Info Hunter who provides 95 percent of the information on the Hunter website. She gave me what I needed, but in return, I had to answer a question of hers."
"That sounds like a good deal," Gon volunteers, because he's never had to keep important secrets, or to question the ways in which life always seems to make things easier for him.
"A little too good, actually, but I really needed the information. So she gave me what I wanted. Then she stared me in the eye, grabbed my hands, and asked me what I knew about her son." He pauses, letting the memory flood over him. "I had no idea. She looks nothing like you, she didn't give me any hints. It must be her ability, making people give answers even when they don't know they have them."
Gon's fingers tighten around his, but he doesn't say anything.
"I talked for seventy-three hours straight," Killua admits dryly, staring right up and trying not to smile when Gon fails to stifle a snort of laughter. "Shut up, it's not funny. She's a powerful Manipulation type, that woman. As long as I hadn't told her everything I couldn't stop talking. I almost died of dehydration." Not from the talking so much as from the tears that kicked in around hour eleven and didn't stop until he was out of words. "It's not funny." But he's laughing too, from how ridiculous the whole thing is.
"You told her everything?" Gon manages to ask in between guffaws.
"Every last detail. I'm pretty sure she was bored to death after three hours, but apparently she can't cancel her ability midway through. I thought she was going to stab me just to make it stop." But she waited, instead, and put a water bottle in his hands when he was done. Said, I always knew Ging would be the better parent. Which was all Killua really needed to know about her.
He takes a deep breath. "She was just curious, I think. She's not interested in meeting you."
"Good. That settles it, then." That's not a surprise, but it's a relief all the same, the way Gon doesn't seem to resent him for spilling his secrets to a woman he's long since decided he wanted nothing to do with.
They fall into silence as the first stars appear in the sky, and Killua finds himself thinking that he could sink, right now, and it would be kind of—
No.
Not okay.
He's not thirteen years old with nothing to live for but the best friend he's more than half in love with, anymore. There's a whole network of people counting on him now, responsibilities he can't just shrug off, both a burden and a tether. Still, he can enjoy this for a while. Gon's absence from his side felt like a hole in the world for a long time, and having him back is the revelation that no matter how many people Killua befriended, he never quite managed to fill it up.
"What now?" Gon asks eventually, voice soft against the sloshing of waves around them.
Killua keeps staring up, traces constellations in his mind. "You can stick around a while, if you want. Teaching is kind of fun, and the kids could learn a lot from you." His throat feels dry, like if he tries to speak out the wrong words they'll catch, refuse to come out. "And we're throwing Bisuke a surprise party for her seventieth birthday next month. Everyone she knows will be there, she's going to hate it." He can say this for sure: even under torture, he'll never admit having cackled at the prospect. "They'll all want to see you." Palm might physically hurt him if she learns that he missed out on a chance to make Gon come with him. And Wing would look at him with naked disappointment. He'd rather avoid both.
"But what do you want?" Gon asks, as if it's the only question he needs an answer to.
Killua has to contemplate it. He's hardly ever allowed himself to truly want things, and Gon was at the center of each and every one of them. He's always let himself be carried by circumstances; Killua is good at split-second life-or-death decisions, not long-term life choices. The thought of losing Gon again is painful, but it's not like Killua would follow him into any unknown anymore, either.
He swallows. It tastes salty.
"I'm offering you to stay," he says, tightening his grip on Gon's fingers just under the surface of the water, hoping it's enough.
"So I'll stay," Gon answers, and they both fall silent again as Killua's heart beats overtime.
It takes his kids three hours to climb down the cliff and commandeer two boats to come pick them up. They seem to intend to separate them, which is a sensible strategy that Killua completely ignores. He heaves himself over the side of the first boat that reaches them, Gon follows, and they crash on the floor, back to back, a position of mutual protection so familiar that it makes Killua feel fifteen years younger.
They must have let go of each other's hands to climb in, but Killua has no recollection of it.
He wakes up to bright sunlight and the twittering of birds above. He recognizes the place easily: they're camping on a thin strip of land, midway between the shore and a lake, the same place they used a week ago before climbing the cliff. The kids are already up and about, some of them practicing Ten as others take care of the camp like a well-oiled machine. Someone, likely Brunl, must have Taken Charge while he was out of it.
His clothes have dried during the night, but they're caked with salt and stick to his skin in a most unpleasant way when he tries to sit up. Every muscle he has screams in protest at the movement, which is pretty much what he would have expected if he'd dedicated a single thought to the aftermath of the fight.
Somewhere in the distance, just within sight, he can see Gon and Brunl sitting cross-legged on a rock that towers over the ocean, fishing. Or trying to, if he's interpreting Brunl's posture right. She never took well to not excelling at everything from the get-go.
He makes the executive decision to leave them at it, takes a bar of soap from the collective stash, and slowly limps his way to the lake. The process of stripping makes him feel centuries old; washing his clothes is easy enough, but beating them against a rock is the most strenuous exercise he can remember.
He deems it a finished job way earlier than Mito would have, but since she's not here to pass judgment on his laundry skills he lays his clothes out to dry and falls into the water.
It's marginally warmer than the ocean last night, and the salt on his skin dissolves easily.
Using soap is a luxury he rarely indulges in while in the wild. In a hotel he'll use every bath salts available, but normally a quick scrub with sand is more than enough. Today he makes the soap foam on his skin in careful strokes, calculating every move so he'll have to strain as little as possible.
Washing his hair seems like a lost cause, but the approach of a familiar presence makes him stay in the water, curious, waiting.
Gon is smiling when he comes into view. He's ripped off the second leg of his pants to turn them into shorts, which looks beyond strange on a man his size. A flash of memory surges through Killua's mind at the settings: of coming up on Hisoka in Greed Island, the disgust and horror he'd felt at the man's reaction to seeing them.
It's been a long time since he was able to think back to those times without letting them be drenched in regret.
"Are we having fish for lunch?" he calls as Gon makes his way into the water, still fully dressed, less careful about his movements than Killua has to be.
"I don't think so. Brunl's even worse at fishing than you are."
She won't be pleased to hear that. Killua is good enough with his bare hands, but he's notoriously terrible with a fishing rod. "Are you just here to belittle my wildlife survival skills?" he grumbles.
Gon sticks out his tongue at him; clearly, they're still twelve years old. "I'm here to help with your bathing. Since you can barely move today."
Killua glares at him, but obediently sits on a mostly flat rock near the edge. "How come you're better off? That doesn't seem fair."
"I've always healed fast." Gon's grin is almost audible as he kneels behind Killua, grabs the soap from his unresisting hand. "It's a big advantage of being an Enhancer."
"I hate you," Killua mutters as Gon lays his hands on his shoulders.
"I'm almost sure you're lying," Gon tells him cheerfully, bringing his hands together in a move that's more backrub than cursory washing. Killua doesn't protest; sleep has given them back most of the power they spent yesterday, and the sensation of his aura casually mixing with Gon's is like a long-forgotten favorite treat. There's no reason not to indulge in it.
Only the silence isn't quite comfortable. There's a tension here that wasn't there while they were drifting last night, and it makes Killua twitchy.
"What is it?" he demands when he can't stand it anymore.
Gon hesitates, the firm touch of his fingers wavering for a second. He swallows. "I heard. About you and Palm."
Any state of relaxation he might have reached suddenly evaporated, Killua bristles. "No." No, no, no, no, and once more with feeling: NO. "We don't talk about that." Neither do they suggest, hint at, or in any way remember that anything ever happened. Drunken hook-up? Not a thing. Neither is any painful conversation the morning after. He and Palm are friends, maybe best friends, and that's all they'll ever be. They agreed.
"Who 'we'? You and Palm?" Gon finishes on his back quickly and scuttles back.
"Me and Palm," Killua confirms, twisting far enough to glare at Gon. "Me and you. You and Palm. You and anyone in my care WHO WILL BE DOING ONE-HANDED PULLUPS UNTIL THE END OF DAYS IF SHE DOESN'T STOP GOSSIPPING ABOUT ME." He screams the last out toward the camp.
The answer takes a few seconds longer than he'd expected.
"YOUR BEST STUDENT WOULD LIKE ME TO POINT OUT THAT INFORMATION WANTS TO BE FREE." Resentment colors Wri's every word, but he goes on, "AND ALSO THAT SHE DOESN'T RESPOND TO EMPTY THREATS." There's a pause, then, slightly less loud, slightly apologetic, "MASTER."
Killua splashes cold water on his face, suddenly exhausted. "What did you do?" he demands, making the vaguest of efforts to slap any part of Gon he can reach. He gives up after the first three attempts fail.
"I didn't do anything!" Gon protests.
Right.
"I've been teaching these two for over a year. They have a very stable dynamic of competing over everything while pretending the other doesn't exist. You've been here for five minutes, and now Wri is playing messenger for Brunl. What. Did you do?"
"Nothing! They all had a bet on who would win the fight, losers do the winner's bidding for a day. They asked me this morning."
Of course they did. Gon is the personable one, after all. Always was. It's not a problem in itself, but for the part where it means that Gon got to pick the winner.
"Who did Wri say would win?" he asks, suspicious.
Gon shrugs. "Neither."
Killua faces forward again, bothered. That would have been his answer. But Wri lost, so what was Gon's? It better not have been himself. Here in the water, Killua has a huge advantage and he's not above using it to make Gon fry. "Who did Brunl bet on, then?"
"Both of us," Gon says, and dumps two handfuls of water over Killua's head.