This fic is a collaboration between Silverklepto fox and Alyeth.
Neither Alyeth nor Silverkleptofox owns -Man, or its characters. They belong to Hoshino Katsura.
"Ugh, sometimes I swear the Old Panda lives to work me to death." Lavi muttered as he set down a bundle of parchment and slumped next to Allen in the cafeteria at Headquarters. Black rimmed his one green eye, evidence of long hours and sleepless nights.
"Oh, hey Lavi," Allen replied, looking up from his mountain of food to notice the redhead slumped over the table, papers scattered around him every which way. The younger exorcist tapped a chopstick dotingly to his mouth, reluctantly dismissing his food at the arrival of Lavi's unusual gloom. "You look horrible." he added, deciding a direct approach to the matter was best, as the junior Bookman was apt to evade scrutiny when it concerned him.
Lavi mumbled a response, lifting his head to look his friend in the eye and crack a wry smile. "Guess that's to be expected, huh?" He examined his arms crossed on the table, stifling a yawn. Allen glanced at the redhead's exhausted form, noticing his right hand, though obscured, was spotted with ink. Some splotches appeared faded, while others looked fresh; a faint sheen evident with movement. It seemed odd for Lavi to be so withdrawn when normally he was so gesticulate. To observe his hand cradled so protectively was uncharacteristic of the redhead. "I haven't seen you in days. Where have you been?" he inquired, tilting his head concernedly. There was a short silence before Lavi answered.
"Hm? Oh, Jiji's got me recording what happened in the ark last week. He says since he wasn't inside, it's my job to accurately chronicle what exactly conspired within its walls... from the time we first saw the thing until I rejoined Bookman, and then some." Lavi gave an exasperated sigh before continuing. "And when it's for the sake of history, I have to chronicle everything up to clan standards. Every detail, even the most insignificant thing, must be recorded. You know there were exactly 167,983 duplicate keys? That the dimensions of the central tower made it exactly 136 cubits high? It's exhausting." Allen raised his eyebrow quizzically, surprised by Lavi's systematic explanation. Generally, everything Bookman related was kept in extreme confidentiality, and separate from the rest of the Order. The white-haired exorcist decided to try his luck and, playing off of Lavi's fatigue, he would attempt to find out more (whether it was out of sheer interest, concern for his friend or both, he was indelibly curious).
"Um... Lavi, what exactly is a cubit?" he asked blankly, starting small.
"A cubit? It's an ancient form of measurement equaling one forearm, or about 18 inches. Why?"
"Why did you measure the ark in cubits? Why not in meters or feet like the rest of us?"
This time Lavi's eyebrow rose. "Eh? Bookmen don't use English for their official logs, they use Greek. It's more precise. Things that could be interpreted two or more ways in English can only be read one way in Greek. And for measurements, we use Hebrew. It was the first system of measurement in writing, so to avoid mis-communication, everything is converted into cubits, talents, letheks, baths, etc. It's just easier that way." Lavi explained, resting his chin on his hands.
Somehow Allen had struck gold- he was offered insight into the workings of an aspiring Bookman's mind, if only a glance, and yet he was rendered clueless! And did it seem like Lavi was... confiding in him?
"Easier? How is that easier? I don't even know what a lethek is!" Allen blurted, remaining confused while the redhead beside him maintained a lackadaisical countenance.
"It's about 110 liters." Lavi replied without thought. "It is a lot of work I guess, but you get used to it. The constant conversion and translation, I mean, not the erratic hours." Lavi gave a tired sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. "I haven't slept in 3 nights- once a log is started, it is forbidden to abandon one's post until it is finished. It's some crazy bookman rule to keep the records pure, you know... so no one can come in and tamper with them before they're sealed."
Allen frowned, feeling a pang of empathy for his friend. Three days of no sleep? How could anyone record accurately with hours like that? It seemed counter-productive at least. But he almost understood the redhead's devotion. As an exorcist, Allen sacrificed whatever possible to ensure he fulfilled his duty to both humans and Noah.
He decided not to mull over something he couldn't control. Lavi, like him, had priorities, and it was Lavi's business what effect they had on him.
"So I guess that explains why you look like the walking dead?" Allen smirked, trying to lighten the mood a bit.
"Heh, yeah. Just look at the Old Panda. You know the black around his eyes? Most people think it's kohl, but it's actually permanent bruising from years of recording logs by candlelight. That and gallons of coffee... speaking of which..." Lavi trailed off as he rose from his seat to grab a mug of the mind-altering black mud from the counter.
The two exorcists sat in comfortable silence, one sipping coffee while the other consumed inhuman amounts of food. After Lavi's third cup of caffeinated mud and Allen's fifth plate of dango, Bookman happened to drop in the cafeteria. He spotted his apprentice from across the room and sauntered over, glancing at the bound stack of parchment next to Lavi's slumped form.
"Oi, Lavi, Zhè jiāng shì zuì hao de, rúguo ni yu ni de bàogào wánchéng hòu, xuétú." Bookman muttered coarsely. Allen watched, once again confused, as the two members of the Bookman Clan conversed in Mandarin.
"Shì de, tā shì gēnjù nín de yāoqiú zuò, lao xióngmāo." Lavi replied tiredly. Bookman smacked Lavi on the side of his head and walked off with the parchment under his arm.
"What was that all about?" asked Allen, blinking perplexedly.
"Oh, he asked if I was done, I told him I was... and called him a Panda." Lavi rubbed the side of his head. He sighed, getting up from the table as he turned around to walk off when, suddenly, he was hit by a wave of dizziness.
"Whoa..." he barely caught the edge of the table, preventing himself from falling. Allen stood up instantly, reaching for the redhead, concern resurfacing instantly.
"All you alright, Lavi?" But Lavi did not answer. There were lights flashing in his eye, little zig-zags dancing across his vision. This was definitely not good. The last time this happened... he shuddered to think about it. His eye widened at the realization of what was to come, and, gripping the table harder, he steeled himself fruitlessly for an onslaught. He needed to get out of there, fast. He needed to go somewhere... somewhere that ...
"Lavi...?" Allen called out once more, interrupting Lavi's train of thought, worry edging his voice. Lavi's eye snapped back into focus.
"Tell Panda I'll be in the antiquities section." And with that, Lavi was gone, leaving Allen with an empty plate and a full mind clouded with worry.
Lavi barely shut the library doors when it hit him. Pain split his brain in half, right behind his eye patch, like burning coals in his skull. His hands gripped his cranium, leaning against the wooden barrier, trusting the oak to keep him standing. It was all he could do not to scream, but screaming would just intensify the sensation... he could hear footsteps behind the door, far too loud... pounding in his ears, like great drums rattling his skull. The light pouring in from the stained-glass window burned his eyes, every ray of sun like a white-hot spear into his retinas. Clamping his eyelids shut, he stumbled through the writing-desks and paper-coated floors, his infallible bookman memory guiding him sightlessly through the maze: but even his memory could not successfully combat the dizziness, as he was sent tripping over a pile of books and straight into a bookcase.
The world titled to the side as Lavi collapsed to the ground in a disoriented haze. He dared not open his eyes for fear of the light and what it would accost him... but at least the footsteps outside died down, no longer pounding his temples into pulp. He couldn't think beyond the wall of agony separating his right hemisphere from his left.
And so Lavi remained, crumpled on the library floor, eyes shut tight against the outside world while his sanity teetered on an intangible precipice, until the pain ebbed enough for him to form a coherent thought.
Why... am I here...? Ow, my head... not this again... need... darkness, quiet... the antiquities section! That's where... I was... "nnnnngh!" he moaned in pain as his thoughts came together. Dizziness continued to poke and prod him from the edges of his vision, but he needed to get to his refuge before another wave hit. He pushed off from the floor and used the bookcase to pull himself up until he was standing.
Taking mental note of his surroundings, he triangulated his position. Stained glass window to the right, ... Folk Dances of the Kurds to the left, ... antiquities is... "that way..." he huffed, venturing forward into the blessed darkness, fighting waves of vertigo that very nearly had him on the floor again. This was definitely worse than last time. Then again, the last time this had happened was when he had deleted Deak... Deak didn't want to die... Maybe that's why he showed up in Rhode's dream-world... a wave of nausea quickly silenced that train of thought, but wether it was from the head-splitting pain or from the memory of what the little Noah had done to his mind, he couldn't tell. Thankfully, he found himself at the entrance of the darkest section of the Black Order's Library.
When Lavi first came to the Black Order, it was the first place he sought out; the darkest part of the Library always held the most secrets, and, as a Bookman in a new locale, his thirst for knowledge was insatiable. He spent long hours reading every tome the shelves possessed, until he knew the little niche like the back of his eye patch...
Now that small, quiet space where light didn't reach was a lifesaver- a refuge from the world when it seemed it was pressing down on his very soul.
Lavi fell, nearly boneless, to his knees as the second wave crashed down upon him with all the weight of The Earl's massive form. His stomach curdled at the onslaught, and he fell to the ground, clamping his eyelid shut and cradling his throbbing skull, gasping for breath to stave off the swells of nausea that threatened to make itself real. The pain came in bursts, like tiny soldiers setting off bombs right behind his eyepatch. He could see stars in the darkness, flashing over his field of vision, swimming in and out, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, wishing that it would claim him, but knowing it never would.
And so Lavi remained in the cold, dark silence of the most remote corner of the library, waiting out the ebb and flow of javelins boring into his brain, praying that it would end... one way or another.