A/N: Annnd chapter two! Literally the only reason Lavi calls Lvellie "Inspect Mustache" is because I couldn't remember how to spell his name when I wrote the first chapter and I was too lazy to look it up, haha. My sister's response to it was, "Do-do-do-doo-doo Inspect Mustache."
There's a pretty clear poke at Midnight Phantasma's Timely Mishaps. If you read it—and if you don't, you should—you'll probably see it. I only changed who said it, since Allen couldn't for obvious reasons.

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing!


That was the last he saw of Lavi for several days—or perhaps it was mere hours. He couldn't say. After Lavi had departed, Allen had expected "Inspector Mustache" to come waltzing in and demand that he explain who "Allen" was exactly, but that never happened.

Someone eventually came in and rebound his hand, but that was the bulk of his visits for some time. He could hope that for their sake, they did a better job of binding it than before. They could seal his Innocence and make it feel like he carried an anchor on his wrist, but little could be done for the human arm—and his "human" arm was the whole problem, because it didn't belong to a human.

Gold speckled eyes stayed focused on the door and it took him the better part of what was probably an hour to realize what he was waiting for. There was a small flicker of hope that the redhead would return and perhaps brighten his day when he came. Locked in this cell all day, he had precious little else to look forward to, so that was all he could hope for.

In this place, Lavi was the closest thing he had to a friend and that was saying something, considering he barely qualified as an acquaintance.

Ultimately, he was alone.

A shock of pain ran up his left arm and he hissed at the sharp reminder that he still had someone at least. "Sorry," he mumbled under his breath to the Innocence embedded in his hand.

When the door at last opened, there was no proper way to accurately depict his disappointment when he saw the dreaded inspector, rather than the redheaded Exorcist he'd hoped for. He didn't come alone, of course. He never did. Whenever he came, it was with half a battalion, ready to strike down the evil Noah over the most minor of infractions.

"Are you ready to talk yet, you disgusting little creature?"

Allen remained silent. As things stood, that was his only form of rebellion and he well intended on using it, even if he managed to do nothing more than annoy him.

His refusal to respond wasn't taken well. A knee collided with his jaw a second later and he bit back a holler. Something told him he ought to be glad it was humans doing this, not the Noah, but he still couldn't bring himself to hate it any less. Every wound would heal because he wasn't human.

Because he was a Noah, they had to try twice as hard to hurt him.

Even with a high pain tolerance that stemmed from trying to fight off the Noah and Akuma on more than a couple of occasions, he thought for a second that he didn't want to be here. It didn't matter where he went so long as he could get away from these humans who kept shoving what he was in his face like he wasn't already aware—like he'd chosen this.

Their words cut deeper than their blades did. Wasn't he already ashamed enough?

"Why don't you just give in, Noah?" the inspector asked as he spit the final word out. A ghost of a smile swept across Allen's face when the inspector didn't dare to take a step towards him. Not only was this man scared of him, he was also content to let everyone else get their hands dirty with his blackened blood. He was too good for it.

The man kept his distance like the sun did, only it was because he was a coward and a weakling, but that was stating the obvious.

He glowered down at him, but Allen didn't meet his eyes. His blank stare faced forward; he refused to address them further, even with his eyes. As expected, the Inspector didn't care for that.

One of his lackeys kicked him in the face. He fell harshly against the floor, stopped only by the chains that bound him and scratched his cheek on the chipped tiles. Where he fell was where he stayed, not bothering to move because he knew another attack would follow it and there would be little point.

They drew their Innocence-laced knives and for at least a little while, Allen forgot all about Lavi.

"Hey, Al, I brought— Woah, what happened to you?"

"What do you think?" Allen asked dryly, glancing up at he wiped the blood leaking from the gash on his cheek onto what remained of his shirt's sleeve. Lavi fell silence for a moment and in an attempt to turn the conversation away from his fresh injuries, Allen nodded his head at the tray Lavi carried. "What's that?"

At the mention of the tray, Lavi visibly brightened and practically skipped to his side. "Well, I didn't know what you liked, but I brought you some vegetable soup!"

The minute the lid was off, Allen turned his head away from it like he'd been burned. It smelled and looked delicious, but there was the constant reminder in the parts of his brain not ruled by his stomach that didn't let him forget that there could be truth serum in the food.

"What's wrong, Shortstack?"

"It's Allen," he said through gritted teeth. "And I'm not eating that."

"No way! I had Jerry—he's the Order's chef, by the way—make it special for you! I mean, he thought it was for me, but who cares?" Lavi scooped up some of the soup in the accompanying spoon and pushed it towards Allen's lips. It was probably a comical sight, seeing Lavi trying to force feed him soup, but Allen wasn't laughing.

"I promise there's nothing in it in it. I mean, besides a couple leeks and carrots and potatoes and— Oh! If you look real close here, there's some parsley!"

If Lavi's beaming face was any more convincing, Allen might've accepted that. He practically sung the words and Allen's stomach groaned knowing the pitch wouldn't alleviate Allen's concerns. He'd be lucky if he finished the whole bowl of soup before he started blurting out every known thing about himself and the family he supposedly hailed from. By the time he was through with the bowl and spilling his guts, they'd probably have a dissertation on his dietary habits. "Come on, it's not like I work for the Order."

"You're an Exor—"

Allen shouldn't have pointed that out, but he realized that a second too late. The minute his mouth was open, Lavi shoved the spoon in and he clasped a hand over his mouth to keep him from spitting it back out.

Well, he could've spit the broth out, but that would do little good for the of the soup's contents.

"I'm a Bookman, actually," Lavi said, taking him by surprise. Allen relented and swallowed the soup, Lavi finally pulling his hand away. "Well, I'm just an apprentice, but I'll be one soon!"

Allen had heard of the Bookman clan in passing. They recorded history; they took sides based on convenience and whether or not there was history to be recorded there. Matters of morality were disregarded; they saw nothing but the history they needed to put into ink.

Wait, did that mean...

Lavi pulled away his hand and Allen cocked and eyebrow at him. "So you didn't tell them my name?"

"It's just a name, Shortstack."

As if to emphasize his displeasure, he glared at the other boy, but the expression was forgotten when Lavi held up another spoonful for him. No coaxing was needed this time. It was on the second mouthful that he realized how good it was. it had been a long time since he'd tasted something so delicious.

"I didn't," Lavi said finally, grinning at him. "If they knew I actually found something, they might insist on following me back in here. Even if it's something teensy like your name."

"And why would that be a problem for you?"

"We all need a mace up our sleeve, right?"

"An ace," Allen corrected before Lavi shoveled another bite into his mouth, probably to shut up him up. It worked, too. Allen was far more invested in the soup than the conversation.

"At least I can bludgeon someone with a mace."

Allen nearly spit the soup back out and into Lavi's face. The comment was so dry that he half-expected the redhead to pull one out and start bludgeoning him with it. Gray eyes narrowed at the enigmatic Exorcist—Bookman apprentice, he reminded himself—who had his own way, to say the very least.

"Knowledge is power, right?" he said, his rhetorical question was met with a closemouthed stare and it stayed that way until Allen finished off the bowl of soup. The silence was oddly comforting and Allen found himself starting to relax in the Bookman's presence.

As Allen finished his meal, Lavi stood. "Gimme a few minutes, Shortstack. I'll be back."

"... Alright," Allen muttered quietly as he left with the tray in hand. He didn't expect him to return, so he was surprised when he did. Ten or twenty minutes later, he returned and brought something new with him. Allen raised an eyebrow. "A first aid kit?"

"Yeah, don't want these cuts getting infected, right?"

Allen's mouth fell open and for several minutes, it refused to work. This degree of kindness—if it was even that—was beyond foreign to Allen; he had lived a lackluster childhood filled with abuse and when he found happiness, it was destroyed on the eve of his tenth birthday. And then he started training as an Exorcist and awakened as the Fourteenth Noah.

God had a sense of humor, if nothing else, and it often involved torturing him in as many ways as possible.

"It doesn't matter," Allen said, leaning out of the redhead's reach when he came near him with a damp cloth. "They'll be back soon enough and then it won't matter."

Lavi didn't back down. Instead, he pushed onward, wiping down the cut on his cheek. He worked quickly, cleaning the before switching to an alcohol swab. Allen grimaced when he touched the item to his cheek, the alcohol burning the fresh gash on his cheek that was still wet with blood, though it had long ago stopped dripping down to match the scar on the opposite side of his face.

Seeing the face he made, Lavi smirked.

"What's wrong? Big, bad Noah can't take a little alcohol swab?"

"Lavi," he growled in warning, but it did little to quiet the redhead's mad giggling. Allen didn't protest further, content on letting him waste his time. It wasn't as though Allen had somewhere to be. He'd be there, if he did.

When he eventually slapped a band-aid over the wound, Allen tried to fight back the soft smile creeping onto his face. Lavi played stupid, but he was sweet, even if something in the back of his mind kept reminding him that this was all just an act to lull him into a false sense of security so he would spill all his secrets.

Allen wanted to say it wasn't working.

"Alright, Shortstack, I gotta get outta here before they realize I'm here."

"Wait, you're not supposed to be here?" Allen asked, but received no answer. Instead, Lavi cast a grin over his shoulder at him as he bolted from the room. It was mere minutes later that his torturers returned. When they asked who'd treated the gash on his face, he met their question with the same smile that Lavi had given him moments before.

"Jeez, again?"

Lavi stumbled back in a while later and Allen greeted him with slight twitch of his fingers. Given his bindings on the one hand, it was impossible to do much else—and the other, they had managed to break. Allen wasn't sure if he was impressed or pissed.

"They really did a number on you this time, Niblet," he said and Allen didn't miss that his typical smile remained absent. Allen cocked an eyebrow, but didn't dare comment. As soon as he did, the exaggerated smiles would return to hide whatever story was behind the lapse. This he knew from the short time they'd known each other.

Allen pursed his lips before saying, "I've had worse."

"Really now? No offense, but you look a little soft."

"Judging a book by its cover, Bookman?" Allen asked, cracking an amused smile when he saw the way Lavi rubbed the back of his neck. A nervous habit, but a fake one. "The other Noah strike a lot harder than this when they're just messing around."

That caught Lavi's undivided attention. "You've fought the other Noah? But you're one of them."

"In name only," Allen said, "Now was there something you wanted, or were you just going to bother me by pointing out everything I already know?" He didn't mean to snap, but the words were out of his mouth before he could think to hold them back. He hated being lumped in with those sick bastards.

"Damn, somebody's cranky! Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?"

"There's two problems with that sentence."

"Right..." Lavi deflated slightly, as if reminded of Allen's situation. Please. As if he could forget he was sitting in the Order's dungeon when Allen was right in front of him chained to a wall.

"Let's play a game, Al!" Allen couldn't help but stare.

"Oh my God, you called me by my name." Sort of, Allen wanted to add. He wasn't about to complain that he'd shortened it. At least he wasn't called him Shortstack anymore. Or Niblet. Or Tiny Tim.

"Hey, it's not that surprising!" Lavi said, bearing one of his usual grins at him. "But like I said, let's play a game. An answer for answer."

"An answer for an answer?" Allen asked incredulously. "I've never heard of it."

Not that he had much experience with games, anyways, but this was an unusual one.

"Well, it's not exactly popular. I learned it from a hermit camping out in the woods in a tree," Lavi said and Allen raised an eyebrow at him. A hermit in the woods? Really, Lavi? He was tempted to ask why he'd been playing games with such a man, but Lavi continued before he had the chance.

"Basically," Lavi said, undeterred by the look Allen was giving him. "You ask me a question and I give you an honest answer and then you do the same."

"Sounds less like a game and more like an interrogation."

Lavi laughed, as if something was actually funny about what he'd said. "Yeah, I guess it does. But it's just me and you, right? No big deal."

Allen hummed thoughtfully, mulling over his options. He did have a couple of questions for the older boy, particularly regarding his motivations. A deep frown spread across Allen's face before finally he said, "Alright, Lavi, what's your game?"

"I told you: Knowledge is power."

"What does that even—"

Lavi held a finger up to silence him. "Nope, that was your question, Tiny Tim! It's my turn now," he said and his grin was probably the only reason Allen didn't kick him in the head. "You said that you're a Noah in name only, but what did you mean?"

"They're hunting me," Allen said and watched as Lavi opened his mouth to follow up. Allen mimicked Lavi's earlier words, pulling on a sly smile. "Ah, ah, that's another question, Lavi. It's my turn now."

Allen relished in the way he pouted. The sweet taste of revenge was almost as good as the soup he'd given him before. "If you're just here for knowledge, is that why you're being so kind?"

"Well, yeah, you lead more flies with honey," Lavi said, his honesty taking him by surprise. "Though you benefit, so it's not so bad, right?"

"Is that your question?"

"Is that yours?"

A genuine smile crept onto Allen's face. They went back and forth like that for some time. What started off as a serious questionnaire devolved to silly ones that had no place between a prisoner and one of his captors. Smiles evolved into chuckles before becoming full blown laughter. At some point, they lost sight of the game and for a moment, Allen honestly forgot that he was just a prisoner.

Sitting there in Lavi's presence, he felt like a welcome addition to the family that was the Black Order.

He'd give anything for something like what these Exorcists had. Besides his Innocence, all he had was a homicidal Uncle living in his head, trying to take over his body and turn his brain to mush. And that had been the last gift had father had given him.

Prior to his death, anyways.

"And then Daisya said, 'I guess Kanda can be the bearded lady, then! He already looks like a girl!'"

Allen erupted with laughter, tears of mirth brimming on the edges of his eyes.

"Wh-What were we even talking about before?" Lavi asked through his laughter and Allen had a hard time giving him an answer through his own chortling.

"I d-don't remember!"

In spite of the aching pain of his broken right arm and his being chained to a wall, his smile refused to fall. Something about Lavi, regardless of the authenticity of his grin, compelled that reaction. His kindness was a welcome change amidst the pain that his torturers offered and fear that the Noah inspired.

With how Lavi acted, it was hard to not forget those things for the moment.

But all good things come to an end and this one crashed to a halt with a grating screech. The handle sunk, turned by someone on the other side.

"Lavi!" Allen hissed right before the door opened. Allen's first thought was that the redhead would get into trouble for being there. Charged with treason for keeping him company, even if he was a Bookman. His lips parted and he surprised even himself when he started to sing. The men entering the room startled at the sound.

"What is he doing?!" a familiar inspector screamed and Lavi started to answer before he noticed how their gazes moved right over him. They looked through him like he was little more than a ghost. A green eye turned to look at him quizzically. Gray eyes stared him down and Lavi understood his silent plea.

Run.

Lavi left the room, shielded from sight by the lyrics flowing off his tongue. It was why Allen kept singing even after Inspector Lvellie gave his next order.

"Quick!" he yelled to his remaining men, who grabbed his arms and pressed them hard against the stone wall. It didn't stop Allen's song; he didn't pause, but his voice shook.

He knew what was coming.

"Cut his vocal chords!"

The scream that tore its way out of his throat shook the whole tower like an earthquake. The sound died as quickly as it had come, as if it had never been, and the only thing left behind was the disheveled Order staff, overturned furniture and broken baubles that had tumbled off shelves.

Not a soul missed the ear-piercing screech that embodied the pure terror of its owner.