Pride

By Harmony283

Summary: had things been easy, and gone as planned, they would have all gone home a little-worse for wear, but together. Unfortunately, nothing ever goes that way, but how much is one persons betrayal going to cost? Can they even set the price?

Pairing: Lavi x Kanda Lenalee + Allen, Allen + Road (all implied or 'friendship' )

Authors Note: Something I thought up of, after re-reading Chapter 184 roughly five times (consecutively) to waste time. Not sure if it's worth your time in reading, but I sure as heck hope it is. Oh, and I add in some random quotes I liked from Oscar Wilde. He's awesome. Thou shalt love him!

Warning(s): alcohol usage, violence, unstable minds, angst, and shounen-ai (if you choose to take it that way)

~*~

Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation- Oscar Wilde

.~*~

Or at least that was the excuse I'd give, when you'd wake up, groggy, and exhausted, like you hadn't slept a wink. I'd say it was probably a bad dream—maybe. I'd only hint that I knew. And if you asked why the hell your head hurt so much—I would blame the alcohol.

The three bottles you had somehow downed (though, secretly, I took two) the night before, after we failed the mission. Failed—and—

The hole in the wall? Simple, you just got a bit angry. Punched it—I had gone to the bathroom, and had only heard it. Scared me half to death. Yeah, that was why the bandage was there too. Around your left hand (hopefully, you wouldn't realize the specifics—no one could make that kind of punch with their left hand. Or maybe you could, I didn't know).

And as for why your back hurt—like you had been thrown against the damned wall repeatedly. That was easy too—the bed wasn't comfortable. The place was run down enough to prove that. But maybe the hardest thing was—why we're sharing a bed.

But then, I was awake now, and you were asleep. That was easy enough to pull off.

Why hadn't I woken you for training? Again, easy—I woke up only a few minutes ago.

So why couldn't I move?

I should, easily enough. Except I was hurt too, and I knew I was. Well, and you didn't. Or didn't remember, probably—because of the alcohol, yeah—and not because—

There was a gentle knock at the door, and I knew that was my cue. The head peeking in a second later—Lenalee, with breakfast, and looking entirely too disturbed for words—was another clue.

And the mouthed words, "Bookman's Coming." The flittered glance, towards you, helped too—because he had realized I wasn't in bed when he came back. And he'd know I'd be in your room, possibly sleeping in the bed that was no longer occupied.

Lenalee choked back a sob. I grimaced, inwardly, and tried to force myself up. Because—I had to get up—because—she was going to start crying, and then, if you woke up, you'd more than remember the failure, and what happened because of it.

It wouldn't break you, no, but—I made the mistake of seeing. Seeing possibly the worst emotion in your eyes at the betrayal. Like you were screaming—'It happened twice?!' because we all thought he'd actually win out in the end.

Only to figure out he had been slipping, the entire time.

And everyone blamed themselves.

Lenalee swallowed, thickly, brushing her hair—it was now almost to her shoulders, it was nice to see that it was getting so long again—away from her eyes, face—cheeks, I now noticed in the soft early sunlight, a blotchy red. Of course she'd been crying. Because she saw it first—

And she had one damn hell of a poker face when dealing with it, initially, but she'd crack easily enough, and she was about to. We didn't need that either. You didn't need that—since you were the one they thought would bring him back.

It hurt to wonder about that too. Who did he remind you of? It was too obvious to just pass that up as 'He's an Exorcist. We can't lose him.' Nothing ever was that easy, after all. No matter how hard we'd try

Again

And

Again

And

Again

(Somewhere down the hall, an old grandfather clock began to chime. I had almost forgotten it had worked—and, it vaguely reminded me of Miranda, who was probably still out cold, in her room, from that head injury that—I cut that thought promptly off, leaving it hanging, in the chimes--)

Then I heard you groan, and it was filled with that sort of pain. Because maybe, even now, your body would realize your failure before you did.

And I realized then, I wouldn't be able to come up with an excuse. You'd remember it all (though you did have a pretty low alcohol tolerance, thankfully, or else I knew you wouldn't have gotten to sleep) , because it wasn't like you had bad memory. You couldn't afford to, I was sure. But you liked to forget. You were good at that too.

Then, you exhaled, shakily, and it was more than obvious than it was painful—

The only emotion I'm allowed to feel.

And the one time I wanted—but didn't want—to feel it. The only bad pain—the emotional pain—

"Lavi," A second later, and a gruff voice made Lenalee jump, and jolt to the side. But it didn't matter—or, at least, I figured as much. Bookman appeared in the doorway a second later, battered and bruised, and a little worse for wear—just like the rest of us—with an annoyed, but knowing expression on his face.

I was still in bed—sitting up, though—and I didn't give a damn. Actually, I couldn't think of—at least, now, or—or during the entire fight persay—that I did.

He gave me a steady look, and then, just as gruffly—but maybe, impossibly, softer—"So he isn't awake yet?"

"No," I answered easily enough, watching Lenalee, watch us—with nervous eyes. She knew just as much, now, probably. Maybe forced it out of Komui before we left—because both she and Allen had—had seen on the ark, and there was no way I could hide that.

So she probably asked, and he probably told (as much as he knew, anyway) so now she was wondering—would this be the confrontation?

My answer: I sure as hell hoped not. Judging from his expression, though, I wasn't quite so sure.

"I see," but his words were thick with implication, "I'll assume the screaming…?" he trailed off, glancing around the room—at the wall, that had been punched in, nearly literally—and at the broken wine bottle on the floor.

"Nightmare." I answered simply enough, "It took enough to get him to sleep." I waved at the bottle on the ground—carefully—with the hand that didn't feel like it would fall off.

Again, a calm, collected, insinuated, "I see." He looked from me, to you again, "Good of you to watch him then, I don't suppose losing someone else would have been…acceptable." And he knew, and meant it, for as dirty as it sounded.

Lenalee looked none too happy with it, though, "He's stronger than that." She squeaked out, voice still rough and hoarse from screaming, "He wouldn't…not—not Kanda."

"I'm sure he wouldn't either, Lena," I grinned, easily enough, at her, and it calmed her, if not only slightly. Because I was bitter, and I didn't feel much of a need to lay it on as thick as possible—not now, when, with the fatigue of battle—and the betrayal and the loss—

This time, a moan, and I turned my head, noticing the first signs—a slight—curl—you were curling into that horrible ball again—that Road had reduced you down to—when she did that—

And immediately my hand rested on your shoulder, squeezing. You didn't relax, just—curled even tighter and—"Shit, gramps, it's happening again."

Immediately he was on the other side of the bed, reaching out to find the same pressure points as he had had to—in order to just drag you back here.

Because, out of all of us—you had been the one to truly fail. As much as I wanted to admit it was a group defeat—you had been the one to try the most. You had been the one who was closest—when Road first grabbed him—when he first agreed to go—

When she had hit you with that, though—that eerily familiar ability that I—I never wanted you to experience—it had nearly killed me that the only way we could drag you back was by force.

Because you would have gone insane (if you weren't, already. And that was one hell hole I would rather you live far, far away from, if I had any say-so in it. Which in the end, I knew I didn't)

It felt like an indefinite amount of time later—but you calmed, eventually, though, it wasn't until your body fully relaxed, lost to the sphere of gentle sleep, that Bookman moved away. Long since then—Lenalee had come closer, with equal worry on her face, as in her gentle hand movements. Her hand, was now, on my back, and I realized then—that my hand, too, mimicked the action, and I moved it—but not before brushing a lock of ebony hair away from your recently disturbed face.

Gramps didn't like that motion, however, and nearly immediately, I retracted my hand. His grumble of annoyance—in a tone, I could only tell was foreign, but had remembered, once in a while, when I was younger—was brief, and pointed, but he let it lone easily enough.

For which, I was entirely too grateful, but—

"θα αναφερθώ σε αυτό αργότερα."(1) He ground out, a moment later—startling Lenalee into backing away again, when he came around towards the door.

"Ναι κύριε."(2) I responded back, just as easily—again, startling her—"But is it okay if I stay here?"

He glowered. I stared. He exhaled.

"Fine."

And I would have smiled, except now it wasn't the time. He didn't give me a chance to, regardless, he had already stepped out—into the hallway—and I could hear his footsteps, nearly silent, except for the breathing—and the clicking of the clock at the end of the hall, in the old abandoned building we had decided to stay at, for the night.

~*~

Arguments are to be avoided; they are always vulgar and often convincing.-Oscar Wilde

~*~

It had taken us three days, copious amounts of blood, and little to no emotional effort on his part, to get Kanda out of bed. And maybe I realized it a second too late, when he took his first couple of steps—that today wasn't going to be a good one.

Because three days to us, was the equivalent of three weeks to him. Almost, if I did the math right in my head (which I was sure I didn't, but then, did it really matter now?)

I realized, maybe, when he started to stumble, that catching him would have been a bad idea. He had the possibility of going off—at a higher and more violent rate than usual. No one could blame him though, we all knew the reason. The lifelessness behind his eyes—because he thought he was useless.

And, of course, that damned man was back again. To ask him questions too—because he had been the last to fight Allen too. To see him as he was taken over by the Noah—and he'd want to know, too, if Road had said anything worth remembering in that dream world of hers.

Or rather, when she was torturing him.

And he probably didn't give a damn about what he thought, but then, he would if he couldn't even get out of bed. Which was why I was here, helping him in the first place.

Which was why, I was here, ready and willing to catch him—he had too many bruises as it was, and it was downright disheartening that he was not healing as fast as he used to—but we could worry about the details later.

Because right now, I knew I had screwed up. Taken two steps forward—when he teetered—two more, when he stumbled back—and when my arms, looped, safely around his waist—

He froze.

He glared.

And the damned door opened.

"Oh!" It was Lenalee—of course it was Lenalee—with a tray in her hands, with two cups of coffee in it, "Are you—are you okay?" She stumbled over the words, placing the tray on his desk, and belatedly realizing that was a stupid question, "I mean—"

Yuu didn't say a word. I had to for him, "It's fine. We were…just practicing walking. For when—"

Her face set in a small scowl, and I dropped what I had been going to say.

There was no point in arguing, he'd figure out who was coming—soon enough. But, I knew it was a mistake regardless-because he might have been shaking now. If it had been anyone else but me. Shaking, but holding it in, because—he wasn't ready for physical touch.

He probably would have rather felt the floor, than me and—I knew this, but—it wasn't like he didn't know Lenalee would just help him, if he tried to pull away.

"I see you brought coffee," I started, again, to fill the silence, and I could tell Lenalee wasn't focusing on it—because of the way her attention snapped back, from whatever she had been concentrating on before.

She attempted to smile when I motioned—somehow, without letting Yuu go in the process—towards the drinks, and said, "Ah, yeah, I…figured you might need them."

Need them?

"He came early."

Ah.

Wait—

"Who?"

She swallowed, and the scowl was back again, though—really, now, it looked more sad and—refrained and—

"Leverrier?" She didn't even have to nod and I could feel Kanda stiffen in my arms, "What? I thought Komui said—"

"He lied," her voice was choked—and—how could I think she was angry?—she looked like she wanted to do nothing more than cry, but she had done that already. Too much. "He's here, now, and he wants to speak with—" I looked down at Kanda, she shook her head, "With all of us."

I looked back up, "All?"

She nodded, "Because apparently," and maybe then, she did sound a bit angry, "Someone else…has been lying too. And they just won't tolerate it anymore."

Someone else?

I pointedly ignored the fact that her eyes, never quite left mine, as she backed towards the cups, and handed them, slowly, out. First to Kanda—he barely had a grip on it, but didn't drop it—and then, to me.

And then I realized—maybe, maybe—the Old Panda had said something.

Shit.

"Lenalee—" instead of grabbing the mug, I grabbed her wrist, slightly, "Who?"

She. Would. Not. Look. At. Me.

"Who do you think?" she spat—and I saw her hands, start to shake—causing the brown liquid to pull, and my stomach to sink, just a little bit.

And I wanted to say me but the words never formed.

Never—never—

Before I heard the familiar steps of Bookman, coming down the hall, and for the first time—I wanted to disagree. To get in an argument—to—to something. Because it was not right. Whatever he said.

And really, I didn't give a damn anymore.

~*~

The advantage of the emotions is that they lead us astray, and the advantage of science is that it is not emotional. –Oscar Wilde

~*~

She took two steps back, then three, then four, then—a dozen more, and I really lost count after that. Because he was here—standing—right there—with Road practically leaning off his arm.

And I felt like I was going to be sick. Actually, I was pretty sure I was.

And that was bad, bad, bad, bad—all sorts of bad.

Because that meant I had to feel and Bookman was standing—right there—and if—I shouted—or ran forward—or something—then—

He glared at me, as if in warning. A warning I already got.

But it took that long for it to work—I guessed, sort of—anyway—maybe—or sorta-kinda-maybe-yeah—whatever worked in the long run.

Because I knew I wasn't thinking straight, when all I could pay attention to was the damn body breathing—short, and shallow, being affected by that—that bitch—for lack of a better term—and—

A cackled laughter. It wasn't Allen anymore. I knew it wasn't.

The 14th. Whoever the fucking hell he was supposed to go by.

"Don't move." Bookman warned, eyeing, too, the body next to mine—with ebony hair—cascading down, covering his face. Knocked unconscious almost immediately, from strain.

And there was Leverrier, bloodied in a corner, with Link standing protectively in front of him. Like a son to their father—which was a really sick analogy at this point in time.

Because Allen never had that—and now I was noticing it too much. The shallow breath, getting even more shallow—Lenalee's body, shaking just that much more as All—The Musician—came closer—and Road's grin getting that much more maniacal.

All in the course of ten seconds flat.

I had less than that, maybe—when my hands reached out to grab the man next to me, to grab his exorcist jacket he wore with Pride.

And maybe

That was the issue to begin with.

In the course of 2 seconds I realized—with Kanda, now breathing—heart, pumping—I could feel it against my chest—I didn't give a fuck.

"Sorry, Gramps." The old man looked shocked—for only a moment, before he realized what I meant, "I'll have to break that rule, y'know? Just this once." Understanding flickered there, in his war-hardened eyes.

(Or at least I could pretend it was there. No one was saying it was)

And maybe I felt just a tad sick, since I wasn't used to it. But that was a given because—how could I be? Innocence. The kind of power it gave. I didn't have right to it, so much as it just turned out that way.

'Dammit and I'm an Atheist for Christ's sake.'

But that didn't matter so much now, and I could feel Kanda, becoming just that much more aware—and—"Make sure he doesn't die, please."

That was all I asked.

As the world started to slow—and I drew Tessei out of it's sheath, feeling it warm in my palm—

Because I wasn't sure—if I'd make it out of this.

~*~

(1)-We will speak of this later (greek)

(2)-Yes sir

Err…don't ask where this came from. The idea sprang into my head…and I liked it. Naturally I only expected it to be, like, drabble-length (4 pages-ish). But I suck at writing short things XD

REVIEW PLEASE! This has the potential to become a two-shot (or to have another oneshot written...in the same timeline), but I'll only upload it if people like this one!

And now I'm off to bed (where I should've been...an hour ago XD)