BB says: The next installment, here and fresh from the oven.

Rating: Teen

Disclaimer: Of course I don't own any part of D. Gray- Man!

D is for DECISION

"Anything else? Some blood perhaps?" Zahara had been a member of the Black Order for years, her Innocence had evolved twice and she was no stranger to death and sweat. She had scars aplenty and a mind constructed from the wisdom one only gains from the fields of battle. She had acquired the knowledge that, in the end, life is nothing but a candle's flame; flickering and slight, easily extinguished. It was a fact that she had first been introduced to early in life upon witnessing the death of her mother. The same day that had seen the woman stirring a pot over the fire, braiding her daughter's hair, singing in an alto French was the day her ashes would be scattered to the winds. She was an immigrant from Côte d'Ivoire whose family had come to Europe to seek their fortune; her husband was the Romani River man with whom she had eloped.

The young lovers had been killed so easily it rung of bitter humor, their spirits and lives wiped off the planet without a single wrinkle appearing on the face of the world. Their only lasting legacy had joined the organization dedicated to destroying those who had killed them. Fate, as some would say.

This peculiar play of destiny meant years of hard work and persistence; of injuries and healing; heartbreaking and mending; laughs and tears. These people probably knew the young woman the best and understood her and -if she were to ever allow thoughts akin to those of a certain young man from Britain- they were her family. Therefore they had become somewhat accustomed to her rudeness and swift swinging of mood. Few still cringed when she wasn't displaying sincere anger.

"No, Z. I think everyone has coffee," Reever easily brushed off her snarls, turning from her glare. The scientist was entirely too tired to deal with her at the moment, and was eager for her to leave so his men could concentrate. "Can't wait for Lenalee to get back," he muttered quietly, scratching the back of his head. Z's sharpened hearing heard him.

"What? You don't like my service?" The young woman snorted irritably. "Maybe I should just leave you to suffer on these late nighters, n'est pas? Allow you to work with no caffeine drive? No hope in sight? Exhaustion claiming lives, one by one as you all begin to fall prey to the little death known as slumber?" Her rhetorical questions were met with the moans of the half dead, sipping their coffee and struggling not to suffocate beneath stacks of paperwork. A humorless and slightly manic smile was on her face, eyes terrifyingly void of any mercy. The blonde Australian before her waved his hands begrudgingly. "No disrespect, Z. We're just used to our beverages being delivered with a smile."

"Oui. Bien sur (of course)." Perhaps it was an inopportune time to announce her complete inability to smile on command. When she didn't feel mirthful, it was difficult for her to display it on her face. She was rather blunt and forward with her responses, physical or verbal, and she was sincere in everything she did. A part of her envied Allen and Linalee, perhaps even Lavi, for their ability to "grin and bear it".

Z sighed.

And smiled.

Many in the room cringed away from the strange grimace while Reever caught the brunt and screamed a bit.

"N-never-mind Z! You're perfectly capable in your own way!" The upside to her terrifying look was that the scientists had recovered enough stamina to jolt from their seats and assure her that her services were appreciated.

The young gypsy woman was unsure if they were honest or merely wanted her to cease displaying an expression that would make a baby cry. It didn't matter she supposed, although her pride would be wounded if it was the latter. She raised an eyebrow and gave a little noise to acknowledge their reassurances, turning to go about her business. It was late but now she was wide awake. The only reason she had ventured out of her room was in search of a cup of tea, having no prior intention of encountering a groggy Reever. Why had she taken it upon herself to provide coffee in Lenalee's absence?

Boredom seemed like the most probable answer.

Regardless, she was no longer suffering from the fatigue that could only stem from being awake so late, and her body had long since finished its creaking and groaning. She wasn't sure she would be able to sleep at this point, and honestly couldn't see why she would try. Even with tea, her body wasn't in the mood to be soothed into rest. So instead of hooking the hard left that would have taken her back to her warm bed she stayed on her straight path, barefooted steps echoing in her wake.

Zahara had no candle, having made her way into the science department with a tray in either hand (and on her head), and leaving without snatching a lamp to light her path. At this point, so long into her occupation of the old castle, it was impossible for her to get lost. Her feet knew where to go before her brain did, muscle memory taking control as it did so very often in order to allow her time to think. Knowledge of her home was coupled with the girl's innate ability to see in the dark and provided her with efficient tools for venturing in dim corridors. Espionage, casual and occupational, was so much easier when she needed no torch to guide her path. Any torch granted light both to oneself and to one's enemies.

It was a cool night, adding to the perpetually chill inside the stone castle, and the moon was heavy in the sky. It was so large the young woman thought she could reach out and grasp it through the window she passed, an arched patch of lunar light that bonded itself to her dark curls. Another turn took her deeper into the passage ways and away from the glow.

Wandering into a stretch of dormitories, Z wondered at the bodies beyond. Most could sleep quite soundly, deep, mercifully dreamless slumbers. Few still had nightmares to haunt the shadows, as most had been forced to confront such fears their first days in the Black Order. While newer, stronger fears were bound to rise from the ashes of the old, the fortitude of one's spirit was known to increase as well. Being in this part of headquarters, thinking of nightmares, it was natural her thoughts lead to one person in particular.

She pondered peeking in on her…

Her…

What?

Lover implied more than what it felt like. Lover felt deep, meaningful, sweet mutual words that belonged in poetry. Romeo and Juliet came to mind, also reminding Z just how deeply she despised the spiel.

Courtesan? Was that what she was? What he was to her? That seemed too shallow. Truth be told, they had only made love once, months previous. He had taken care to leave it at that, wrenching himself away from heated touches before they could stray too far, taking care to show her his affections in other ways. While Z had originally taken offense at these gestures, she believed his logic was flawless.

She had ventured into a brothel to seek advice on contraception. But was unsure how to inform Allen of her new knowledge and the freedom it allowed.

Escort?

Suitor?

Or perhaps she should not wonder what he was to her, but what she was to him. The very notion angered her a bit, that his opinion should even matter in the outcome, or even that it bothered her on such an unconscious level. Her mind was filled with resentment at the fact that her own emotions could be thrown in to turmoil at his will. That his simplest dismissal could enflame her temper or crush her into unrecognizable bits. It would ever been too fresh, the memory of her hiatus concerning the white haired youth.

Z twitched and banished the old train of thought. She had run this through her mind until it was faded and tasteless, existing only as a ghost in the passages of her brain. It demanded her attention, wishing to be analyzed and explained in order for its existence to have meaning.

In order to grant its wish, Z would have to not only take her own perspective into consideration but also the views held by so many others. How Allen and herself conducted themselves as a unit

(couple)

and how it appeared to the audience that was ever present. What finders and scientists and fellow exorcists saw when they looked upon the two arguing or eating together or just sitting; thigh to thigh, completely silent. Sometimes his hand would entwine with hers, sometimes she would lean a bit too much in his direction, sometimes she would catch him glancing in her direction. He would blush like a child. She found the cherry pink appealing, a sentiment she would express by wrinkling her brow and scowling slightly.

What were they?

The mess was empty, as one could expect this time of night, and Z had no problem passing the empty tables bathed in the lights of the high windows. Even though it was completely devoid of consumers, the room spoke of familiarity and warmth, holding the hearts of the people deep within itself. She had heard before that the Order was very haunted, and she almost felt as though she could feel eyes watching her enter the kitchen door.

Benevolent eyes, but eyes nonetheless.

Once inside she switched on the electric lamps that, like other areas that experienced heavy traffic, the kitchen boasted. The young woman didn't waste much time, moving to gather ingredients as soon as adequate light was provided. Though she was adept at finding her way in the dark, and even recognizing people and places and things, she wasn't comfortable with cooking in nothing but moonlight.

Z could very easily have grabbed a snack from the extensive pantry but she had skipped dinner in favor of napping. She was hungry and didn't believe pastries would satisfy quite as well as a meal. There was an echoing hollow in her stomach and she craved something hearty.

The faded memory of her mother had stirred the girl into action as she questioned Jerri about any Romani recipes he may have had in his vast arsenal. She had taken to cooking like a fish to water. And the effeminate chef highly encouraged her interest in his area of expertise.

"As long you clean up behind yourself sweetie you don't gotta worry any. I'm proud my teaching skills have taken you so far!" Z chose not to respond as he gushed over how adorable she looked as she wore a rather lacy apron (that he insisted upon) and how his superior skills must've been the source of her fascination with culinary exploits.

"Oh," she paused in her reach for the notebook he had tucked under his arm. It was a compilation of Romani and French peasant dishes he had put together on the fly. A gift he was presenting as a graduation present.

"If you feel like you owe your darling professor for all his hard work," she hadn't said that "there is one thing I think I would like you to do for me." There were practically hearts floating around his words.

This was why Z could occasionally be seen sporting very fashionable hairstyles that broke her normal plaits and buns. Because, apparently, her hair was "super soft and gorgeous! It's a crime how you just let it hang like that!" Jerri used her as a model for experimental hairstyles, gushing and cooing at the many options her lengthy locks offered his creative fingers. Z supposed it was no surprise he was so adept at manipulating her stubborn tresses; Natives of India had similar hair. Long and dark and impossibly thick.

And though the young gypsy couldn't say she hated the breeches of norm Jerri's actions offered, she reverted to her usual styles often enough. They were so much more practical for keeping hair out of her face.

The young woman cut the pumpkin with more force than necessary and tossed it into the frying pan with vigor.

Everyone had noticed her changes in appearance, and though many just attributed it to female whimsy, those who considered themselves "close" friends knew her better than that. She was a woman of practicality, just as she had been all her life. She went to no extreme efforts for fragile fickle fads. Manners were a waste of time, perfumes even more so, and why the Hell would anyone need the skill of "giggling coyly"?

It was only the regality that Madame Nyne had engrained deep in the younger Z that allowed the girl to carry herself like a lady. It was lucky, Lenalee had giggled once, that Z was naturally beautiful; most vanity rituals women put to work went ignored in the young gypsy's world.

The pumpkin, garlic, ginger, and sweet potato were sticking to the pan. Z added more of the ingredients, taking care to increase the amount of spicy curry powder. She liked heat.

Lavi had assumed the altered hairstyles had been, as he so eloquently put, for "her man". She punched him in the nose, wondering if that was what everyone else thought and why. When the decked junior bookman was able to get back up, she asked him. One hand over his red nose (lapin (rabbit)was lucky it wasn't bleeding) the redhead smiled gently.

"Do you really not see it, Z?"

Curse him and his spontaneous wisdom, often accompanied by cryptic messages. Of course she figured out what he meant a day later, whilst on a mission. She scared her Finder when she suddenly leapt up and snarled.

Damn it all to Hell, was Allen changing her? Mellowing her? Smoothing out the jagged, ragged, edges that cut lesser men to tatters?

She set about creating a begrudging list of ways she appeared to have been altered by the stupid bastard she couldn't seem to stay away from.

Her broader smiles.

Increased capacity for trivial conversation.

Gentler gestures.

Would the old Z have made coffee for the Science Department? Without prompting?

The very thought made her blood boil.

And, to her horror, it wasn't in the bad way.

"What are you making?" She had heard him come in, pull up a chair and sit behind her. Not so close as to invade her thinking space, not so far as to suggest distance. He had been silent up until this point, respecting the fact she appeared to be deep in thought. He must have seen an opening.

Besides, they never were much for talking. As whatever-they-were. It wasn't that they didn't have much in common; they had as much in common as one could expect. But their old ways towards each other –years of hostility and warped friendship- made passive speech nearly impossible for them. Z recalled the boy's tardiness returning from his mission the day before, the hard stone of dread she seemed incapable of shaking. A weight in the center of her breastbone that was either a rift or mountain.

She was certain that he was fine because of course he was because yes he was. And yet there was this little sensation of uncertainty that always appeared when he was engaged in dangerous activities without her there to be sure he wasn't getting himself killed.

Despite her misgivings and the relief that flooded through Z at the sight of him, Allen didn't receive a tearful reception as he stepped from the ark's threshold. Her eyes had been shining, but her mouth was set. "Thought you were dead. You got my hopes up." His eyes were shining too, but he graced her with a well-humored smirk behind his shortened hair. It had been cut due to an unfourtunate moment when Timcampy tangled itself in the strands. "Sorry 'bout that. You're going to have to deal with me a while longer." Her lips twitched with aspirations to become a smile. "Ah."

"Indeed." Of course the way the assortment of Finders and Science department members looked at each other, one would think the two young exorcists had run towards each other and clung together whilst declaring everlasting devotion. Allen had merely come forward and wrapped his fingers in hers. The sensation of his larger hand engulfing hers was too comforting for words.

"La nourriture. J'ai faim (food. I'm hungry)." She finally responded to the boy's question, bringing a spoon to her lips for a taste. Needed more curry powder.

"Well yeah," he had come to learn more French. His progress was very impressive. "But what?"

"Spicy pumpkin soup. What are you doing up?" The pattern of Allen's breath changed at the inquiry; he had stiffened. "Well," he said with a nervous laugh "I'm sorta hungry. I could smell you cooking all the way in my room." Z wasn't fooled.

"You had a nightmare." It wasn't a question. After a beat of uncomfortable silence, Allen gave a sigh. "Don't jump to conclusions, Z. Can't you ever take my actions at face value?" She snorted, reducing the heat on her pot and tossing in carrots. She hadn't wanted them to get too mushy, so she added them late in the cooking process.

"I hate it when you try to lie to me. You know that." Allen stood coming to stand behind her. Gentle arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her close. Fire danced in her body from the point of contact and short white tresses brushed her cheek as he buried his face in her shoulder.

"Yes. I know."

"Then why are you doing it?"

"I'm not lying, Zahara. I was never asleep in the first place." She felt him sigh. "I guess I've got too much on my mind. I'll tell you about it soon enough." Z thought for a moment, deciding to be merciful.

"Okay." She felt him relax. Slightly. "Thank you." She grunted and accepted the kiss he brushed against her jaw, turning in his arms to look up at him. "Are you at least hungry?" The young Britain shrugged. "Not really I-" he was interrupted by a low grumbling noise. So loud Tim crawled from his shoulder to hers. He blushed. "Okay. Yes. Yes I am."

"Good. I fear I made too much for one person to eat. Unless that person is you, of course." Allen snorted at the half-hearted egging, accepting the spoon Z forced into his mouth. She watched him roll the soup over his tongue before swallowing. It was easy to tell it was much fierier than the young man was used to, red creeping into his face and a light sheen of sweat appearing on his brow. He took a few breaths as though to quench the burn. "Well?" There were traces of humor in Z's voice when she spoke, eyes still on his face.

Allen licked his lips slowly and Z was embarrassed to find herself tracing the path of his tongue. "It's good." The young woman smirked, bringing up a finger to run across the blush on his face. "Oh? Not too hot for you?" The boy looked down at her, bending a little closer to touch his nose to hers. She felt her eyes falling shut. "Spicier than I usually like, certainly. But absolutely delicious." He brushed his lips against hers, perhaps intending to be chaste with the action.

As the young man pulled away, a content smile on his face, warm toffee fingers wound themselves in the small white hairs at the base of his neck and brought him back down. Not that he could fight it. Z was gentle but insistent, her pace quickly matched by his as she drew his top lip between her teeth. The hands at her waist loosened, freeing themselves to wander on the fabric of her nightshirt. His breathing and heartbeat increased when she began to burrow her fingers deeper into his hair.

Allen crushed Z's body to his and ran his tongue over her mouth, expecting to be granted entrance to allow her a taste of her soup. He couldn't say he was surprised when she parted her lips only to bring her teeth down. The pain wasn't so intense as not to be pleasant, and Allen scoffed into her mouth as he felt her lips twisting into a smirk. Was she looking for a fight? Because he would give her bloody war.

Z was almost moaning in frustration when he pulled away from her, her lips left cold and lonely for a brief moment. She was silenced when his mouth met her jawline, dangerously close to one of her weak-spots. Paying no heed to the fingers tugging at his hair insistently, Allen persevered down the column of her neck, feeling her trembles increase the closer he came to…

Ah.

Here.

Z gasped and wriggled as Allen kissed the sensitive joining of her neck and shoulder, fingers failing to defend her at her time of need. "Don't you," she broke off to catch her breath "d-dare mark me, bastard." But Allen paid no heed as he sunk his teeth into her flesh and relished in her desperate cry. She hated the bruise-like splotches he was in the habit of leaving her with, little dots that he would revisit again and again whenever he cornered her. He couldn't help himself, really; it was like a bandit returning to the scene of his treachery. They marked past conquest and she was always too lost in the sensation to stop him.

Z wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, pressing their bodies closer. Allen grunted from the added weight but adjusted accordingly, willing to grab her backside to keep steady as they stumbled backwards. He had wandered back to her lips at this point and was steadily devouring her mouth.

Z was content with this, this stupid wonderful boy in her arms and the way he seemed just as happy to have her here, with him. The fact that she was wanted in such a way appealed both to her vanity and to her heart of hearts, because she honestly wasn't sure what she would do if this source of light in her life was suddenly extinguished. Perhaps that was what she feared most in allowing this breach of her heart. That he wouldn't like what he found and would vanish just as he had appeared. She was certain she would survive such a thing. But in pieces. Jagged little pieces of the same jagged little girl.

"Z," she heard his heady gasp as he pulled away from her again. Mumbling in frustration, she sought his lips again, only for him to rear back to get her attention. Face a menagerie of scowling and pouting, the young woman glared at the boy before her.

She could hardly remember falling back into the chair Allen sat upon, and could not recall when her hands had found their way under his shirt. There was a certain look of determination in his foggy eyes and she sat back, still straddling him, to hear for what reason he had stopped them.

Rouge steadily gathering on his ivory cheeks, Allen glanced away and back, once again running his tongue over his lips. Was it his intention to make this hard?

"I've been meaning to ask you something for a while now…and I'm not sure how to say it." Tilting her head to the side, Z furrowed her brow. "Simple. Just spit it out, idiot boy."

"Well…" she didn't like this nervousness in him, the way he was rubbing circles on her thigh distractedly. He attempted to turn away again but Z brought her hands to the sides of his face in frustration.

"Look at me and spit it out," came the sour snarl. Allen sighed. "I guess I might as well, huh?"

"Yes. You're pissing me off." The young man chuckled slightly, gently removing Z's touch from his face. Bringing both pairs of hands between them, he gently enveloped her cooler digits in his calloused palms and placed his cheek upon hers. Their heartbeats echoed in the two chests, a game of call and response.

"Zahara," he breathed into her ear and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. "Do you think we'll survive this war?" What sort of stupid-ass question was that? "Of course, dumbass," she whispered back.

"And, is there the slightest chance you'll still feel this way afterwards?" Again with the idiocy. Because anything was possible and much stranger things had happened in her life, Z said "there's a chance, I suppose."

"Then could you…would you consider…becoming Mrs. Allen Walker?" This one threw her for a loop, so much so that the young gypsy jerked away to look the boy dead in the eyes.

He was serious.

Suddenly overcome by the weight, Z felt her face heat up, eyes darting with the same nerves the boy had previously displayed. That would suggest…this would mean…he wanted her…forever. The thought scared the Hell out of the girl, rocked her very core. The very idea that anyone could stand to be near her for so long was a staggering thought. The very idea that she could stand to be near someone for so long was terrifying.

Beyond the fear, beyond the anxiety, something else roared to life. Powerful and intimidating and too brilliant to have been spawned in a place such as Z's heart.

And yet there it was.

A crystalline bead of moisture ran from a wide amethyst eye, shocking Allen and making guilt surge through his body. "I'm sorry Z! Just forget-"

"I guess," he stopped at the sound of her whisper "there is a chance…I would consider such a thing." Allen chocked a bit, mouth flapping as he tried to speak. "So that's a…a yes, right?" Z just looked him in the eye, longing to shove him away and pull him closer in the same moment. A weightless sensaion appeared in her limbs and she was afraid she would float off into the sky. "I suppose, idiot boy. Someone has to make sure you don't get yourself killed."

"I…Z…" They sat in stone-still silence for a while, Allen too blissful to speak and Z having said all she needed to say. He brought a hand up to wipe away the single tear on her face, and she leaned into his touch. They were snapped back to reality as a sharp smell hit them.

"My soup!" Z screeched, leaping off his lap and over to the stove. Although she was obviously in a panic, Allen couldn't help but compare her movements to that of a dancer; unconsciously fluid and graceful. It was beautiful how she moved. And spoke with an accent that was all her own. And her sharp mind and forked tongue and the little twitch of the lips that meant she was fighting not to laugh.

She wasn't perfect. No, of course not. Mean old merciless Zahara. A beastly beauty in her own right. But Allen's heart was leaping and his spirit was soaring and his thoughts were limited to yes, yes, she said yes as he came to look over her shoulder.

"I think it's okay," she mumbled, placing the lid on the pan and turning off the flame "but you've ruined my appetite." Allen rolled his eyes but draped an arm about her waist. "I don't think I could eat right now either." Z felt her small smile forming and allowed it to grow to radiance. Allen felt his breath catch, marveling at her persistent ability to make him choke. "This was all very pointless," she claimed, but there was no irritation in her voice. Only –dare he think it- elation. "I'm tired and it's all your fault. Help me clean up so we can go to bed."

She arched her body with the pretense of stretching, hand coming to rest upon his. Catching on, Allen looked at her in inquiry. "Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't say anything if I wasn't sure. Besides, my bed is freezing tonight." The amused lilt to her voice brought a gentle smile to Allen's face and he used his arm to reel her closer. "Alright," there was heat in his words "let's hurry."