As the lightning rushes from heaven to earth in the creeping darkness outside, Bookman and Lavi sit in the light pooling out from the lone lamp. In the harsh electric light, Bookman looks old and tired, a warrior gone to waste in his dotage. His cheeks sag where once they lifted in mysterious smiles, and his eyes are heavy with grief and worry where once they were bright as they chased words across paper and people across seas.
"Tell me, Gramps," Lavi says.
Bookman leans against the headboard. "I am going to tell you the truth, Lavi. And you will find it ridiculous. You will wonder if I have gone insane."
"No, I won't."
"You will. This tale is so ludicrous… I do not know where to start."
"Why don't you tell me where we're going?"
"We are going to look for your friends."
"Eh?" Lavi laughs, a sound of gentle mockery for what he assumes to be a poor attempt at humour.
"Allen Walker, Lenalee Lee, Kanda Yu," says Bookman. "Especially Allen Walker."
"Why are we looking for them? They're way back in town, y'know, so we're going the wrong way if—"
"They are not there," Bookman says impatiently. "They left earlier today on urgent business."
"The same business?"
"The very same."
"How do you know? You barely talk to them when they visit."
"I have my ways, boy."
Lavi scratches his head and looks sideways at Bookman. "I don't understand."
Bookman wets his chapped lips. "There are things called Akuma. They are dangerous, very dangerous. They are essentially souls called back from the afterlife, and chained to an artificial body made of a strange metallic substance. A long time ago, you and I worked for an organisation which acted to destroy these monsters."
Bookman continues, "The ones who created these monsters… they call themselves Noahs. The head of that family is the Earl of Millennium. It was the Earl who wrecked our memories and sent us into the future. The world has begun to change; little by little the evil is awakening. We are now seeking your friend Allen Walker, for he is the prophesised Destroyer of Time."
Lavi leans a cheek against his hand. "Yeah, Gramps, you lost me at Akuma. The hell? Don't play such tricks on me. Just tell me the truth, won't you? Did you lose money gambling or something? Are we running from creditors? Because, y'know, you can tell me the truth. No need to spin such a tall tale…"
Bookman raps Lavi on the head with his bare knuckles. "You idiot!"
Lavi rubs his head. "Seriously."
"I wasn't spinning a yarn, young man!"
Lavi frowns and leans away. "Alright, Gramps, I'm tired. Can we just talk about this tomorrow? Maybe you'll feel like telling me the truth tomorrow after some sleep."
Aggravated, Bookman snarls. "Listen to me, boy, you—"
Lavi slips away to his bed and slides under the damp covers. "Night."
Bookman looks sadly at Lavi, whose face is turned away from his, away from the harsh light. He wonders how to convince the boy about the ancient war, and can find no answer.
It's night, and outside a storm rages, but deep down in the safe, warm embrace of the catacombs, Allen smiles and looks at his arm.
"What now?" Kanda says. "You're being creepy, stupid Beansprout."
"Now we fight," Allen says, still beaming beatifically, like a saint walking to resigned martyrdom. "And I'm not being creepy."
Kanda stands, stretches, and walks towards the shadows lining the cavern. "Says you."
"Boys," Lenalee says as she rummages through her bag. "Don't fight, alright? And Allen, where do we start?"
"Don't you need to recruit the others?" Link says.
"That's a bad idea," Allen says. "They'll just catch me and throw me back into the institution again."
"The three of you can't fight the Earl alone," Link says, crossing his arms.
Allen looks over at Link. "You make four of us."
"Hevlaska makes us five," Lenalee adds.
Link sighs. His face is grey in the wavering light. "I'm not an exorcist. I don't fight Akuma."
"He is right," Hevlaska says, her voice the gentle rumble of a leisurely giant. "You will need to find the others. The Innocence cubes are calling out within me."
"Is it possible," Lenalee asks, "that they are all starting to remember the past? Lavi, Bookman, Miranda, Krory, Timothy? And the Generals?"
"I do not know," Hevlaska says. "But one in particular is starting to pull on me."
"How do you know?" Lenalee asks.
"Because his Innocence resounds within me, calling out through space and time for its accommodator."
Link walks over to Hevlaska. "Who are you talking about?"
"Bookman," Hevlaska says.
"That means the idiot Lavi will be coming too," Kanda says.
"That's great!" Allen says. "We need Lavi too."
"The young Bookman has not regained his memories," Hevlaska says. "His Innocence is silent and still in deep slumber within me."
Lenalee nods to herself. "So Lavi may not come with Bookman. That would be really strange…"
"I think he will come," Link says. "You must remember the old man's strength of will. Lavi will come, if unwillingly."
"Then he should not come at all," Kanda says from somewhere in the shadows.
The next day, Bookman tries again. Lavi isn't sullen, thank goodness, and cheerfully makes his way down to the dining hall.
They breakfast well. The motel might be in poor shape, but they have a good cook. Bookman stirs his coffee, no sugar or milk, thank you, and plunges headfirst into the current.
"Have you ever wondered about your eye?" he says.
Lavi looks up, bacon oil gleaming on his lips. He swallows a forkful of egg, and says, "Yeah. But you told me I injured it and decided to wear a patch to conceal the frightful sight. Isn't that it?"
"You did injure it," Bookman says. The coffee is bitter in his mouth, the taste of ashes falling from an incarnadine sky. "But it was no accident."
"Eh?" Lavi says. "I don't remember a thing about it."
"Of course you don't. You were so young then. It was I who took your eye."
Lavi's fork hovers around his mouth. Three seconds wink past as Lavi processes Bookman's words, and then he straightens his shoulders and sits up, mouth wide open in confusion. "You what?"
"It was part of your induction into the Bookman clan. We took your eye in exchange; it was payment for the abilities you gained."
Lavi shrugs and leans away from Bookman; there is more than a little anger in his stance. "Gramps, I told you last night, don't treat me like a child. I don't know why you're doing this. Just give me a straight answer, won't you?"
Bookman shakes his head sadly. "I'm giving you the truth."
Lavi slams a hand into the table; bits of egg and tomato land on the tablecloth. "Look—"
Bookman reaches out and tugs on Lavi's shoulder. "Do you trust me, Lavi?"
Lavi looks into Bookman's eyes through the lens of anger. The dam has collapsed within him.
Bookman then lays his other hand on Lavi's shoulder. "Lavi, you're my grandson." The lie stings his tongue with all the venom of deceit and mockery, but he presses on. "I only want the best for you."
"Then why do you—"
"I know you think I'm making fun of you. I swear that I'm not. Can you accept that at least?"
Lavi stares up into the older man's face. Beyond the wrinkles and age spots, Bookman's eyes are clear and calm, and nearly as bright as any youth's. Lavi nods.
"Good," Bookman says. "And I will give you the proof you desire. We shall look at the matter scientifically, logically, with our brains and not with our emotions."
Lavi nods again.
"But we have to go off first," Bookman says. "I don't want unfriendly people catching up with us. We will find Allen Walker, and then I will make everything clear to you."
"You'd better, Gramps." Lavi returns to his breakfast.
"I will." Bookman looks at Lavi, now bent over and intent on his food, looks at the red hair and the bandana and the strong shoulders, and thinks back to the past. Once they were historians, lore-masters, and strong fighters waging war against the dark and malignant, and yet—now, how they have fallen!
I pray that Lavi's memories return soon, Bookman thinks. And everyone else's. If not—if not—I shudder to think about what the Earl might achieve this time.
In Hamburg, a group of children in too-large jackets and too-loose trousers knock over potted plants and pedestrians as they follow a woman stumbling along the pavement.
"Stop following me!" she shouts over her shoulders as wisps of hair fall into her eyes. She runs a hand miserably across her face, but the hairs trail into her eyes again.
"Miranda, Miranda, poor, poor Miranda," the children chant, still on her tail.
"Go away!" Miranda shouts. "Leave me alone!"
She runs across the road just as the light turns red; cars honk and a motorcyclist nearly knocks her down. But in the end she arrives safely at the other side, and leaves the odious children behind at the intersection where they content themselves with blowing raspberries at her back.
Miranda hates this life.
The long stretches of unemployment, the chronic laying off from her jobs, the grey sky, the loneliness. Some nights, she looks out from her old flat, at the crescent moon yawning above and the twinkling stars, and wonders how a person could be so alone in the twenty-first century.
There is something missing in her life. She has always felt the stinging cut of that aperture—always wishing for something more than just a job, always yearning for something more than what she has been given.
And now, there are dreams. On her twenty-eighth birthday she wakes in cold sweat, feeling all wrong—the bed feels too big and too empty for just one person. The night too cold, the darkness too empty.
She can't help but feel that there should have been a strong arm holding her close, there should have been someone lying by her side, sharing her warmth: someone tall, someone bald, someone whose deep voice calms her when the panic strikes. She can't see his face, can't place his name, but his touch and voice linger in her memory.
There are others too—friends—a boy with white hair, a kind smile and a deformed arm; a girl with pigtails and a gentle heart; another boy with an eyepatch and flaming hair—but who are they? Their faces are a blur in her mind, like forgotten characters out of a television show enjoyed in childhood.
Besides, (poor sad unlucky) Miranda doesn't have friends.
"I'm going crazy," she says, and laughs aloud in her empty, lonely flat.
"There is—something," Hevlaska says, straining against her bonds. Something binds her to the spot; she can take no more than a couple of steps in each direction. It has been so long now since she last saw the sun—centuries of entombment, of despair, of waiting.
"What?" Kanda says, reaching for Mugen.
"Not that," Hevlaska says. "Someone else."
Allen stirs and sits up. "Who?"
"I cannot tell," Hevlaska says. "It is too early. But it is someone else—not Bookman."
"The old man already remembers," Kanda says. "Of course it isn't him."
Lenalee hits Kanda on the arm. "Can't you be more polite, honestly?"
"No."
"You're a pain in the ass, BaKanda," Allen says. "Really."
"I'll teach you pain in the ass—"
"Stop it," Lenalee says, ever the peace-maker. "Let's have something to eat. Hungry stomachs make people grumpy."
"A good idea," Link says, pulling out the portable stove. "I'll help you."
"You two, get over here too," Lenalee says. "Or you won't have any dinner tonight."
According, dinner is prepared and served, and the four of them tuck into steaming ramen.
"I love the taste of this," Allen says, slurping the noodles.
"Shut up Beansprout, you're fucking disgusting," Kanda says.
"Why do you always have a stick up your—"
Kanda slams his chopsticks against his bowl. "Shut up!"
Link and Lenalee stop eating.
Lenalee ventures to speak. "Kanda?"
Kanda presses a finger to his lips. "Keep quiet, all of you. Someone's coming."
At once, a dome of silence falls over them. Kanda and Allen walk silently to the entrance, where they stand and listen and wait. Both activate their Innocence.
It seems like an eternity. The voices come closer—there are at least two people nearby—indistinct and muffled, the words criss-crossing, the sentences interrupted and stark, echoes of questionable intent in the gloomy darkness. Whether the newcomers are friend or foe, they do not know yet.
"You go, BaKanda," Allen whispers.
"You little punk—"
"You can see quite well in the dark, can't you?"
"Allen's right," Lenalee says, standing by Allen's side. Her Dark Boots are activated as well; sleek wings protrude from the boots, fluttering in the still air. "We'll be right behind you."
When the voices come close enough, and one of the newcomers swears as he trips over a large stone they placed in the corridor for that exact purpose, Kanda darts into the darkness outside.
"Show yourself!" Kanda says.
"Argh!"
"It's me!"
"Bookman?" Kanda says.
"Bookman?" Allen says, and steps out beside Kanda. He switches on a torch and shines it before him.
"Argh my eye!" Lavi says, covering his eye.
Bookman shields his eyes, not looking particularly happy. "It's us."
"Come in then," Link says, lingering by the entrance.
Bookman enters and nods in greeting to Hevlaska, who smiles and grows more radiant.
"Who's that?" Lavi says, gaping at the glowing Hevlaska and her column of light. He rubs his eyes and stares, and then rubs his eyes again.
Bookman joins them in their circle around the stove and motions for Lavi to do the same. "Come here, boy, and stop staring. It's rude. I'll explain later."
Lenalee's hand hovers on the switch of the portable stove. "Do you want some food? I could boil more ramen…"
"We ate before we came," Bookman says.
"So, why are you here?" Link asks, and then continues with the business of eating.
"I should be the one asking you that," Bookman says.
Lenalee pours boiling water and instant coffee into two unused mugs. "We know why Link's here, Bookman."
Kanda leans back, dark eyes intensely scrutinising Bookman and Lavi; his hand hasn't left Mugen's hilt. He waits in the periphery, like a predator ready to leap. "You two should be the ones telling us why you're trespassing."
"This isn't your property, Kanda," Bookman says, accepting the proffered coffee mug. "You haven't changed, have you, boy?"
"Don't call me that, old man," Kanda says, not relaxing. He lays Mugen before him, letting its blade glitter in the dancing light.
"It's a pity, then, that a century and more hasn't taught you better manners," Bookman retorts.
Kanda glares at the older man, but lays Mugen to the side and returns to his dinner. He shoves the ramen into his mouth far quicker than necessary, with the sort of unbridled fury he used to display when bringing down hordes of Akuma.
"So it's true," Allen says. "You do remember."
Hevlaska laughs. "Did you doubt me, Allen Walker?"
"It's good to know for sure," Link says brusquely. "Now I suppose we can get on with it, since Bookman isn't eating."
"Get on with what?" Lavi says, strangely pale and quiet.
"He still doesn't know?" Kanda asks.
"He doesn't," Bookman says gravely. "Unfortunate as it is… I had to bring him along."
Lavi grasps his mug between his hands; he hasn't touched the coffee at all. "What are you hiding from me? Are you trafficking something?"
"Trafficking?" Lenalee says. She laughs, a gentle tinkle in the silent night. "Of course not!"
"He shall see, presently," Link says, and looks at Hevlaska. "For now…"
"If you are ready, Bookman," Hevlaska says, "then I am too. It is waiting for you."
"Who's waiting?" Lavi says, fear palpable in his voice. He sets his mug on the ground and looks up at them.
Bookman gets up. "You'll see, boy, and then you'll believe what I'll tell you later. For now... there's no time like the present."
Bookman presents himself before Hevlaska. "I'm ready," he says. He doesn't tremble, doesn't show any sort of fear.
Hevlaska sighs, a tiny sigh, and reaches out with her tentacles. A veil of green light envelopes Hevlaska and Bookman, and all the world stands still as Heavenly Compass comes face to face with its accommodator.
And then—fog—the hand of the unknown creeping across the ground, hiding from plain sight the miraculous process.
Lavi stares, his good eye open and eyebrow arched high. "Fuck," he says. "This isn't real."
"It is real, idiot," Kanda says. He watches Lavi carefully, in case the younger Bookman should take it into his deluded head to try to escape.
"Fuck," Lavi says again, this time softly. "Is he going to die? What are you guys doing here? Did you start a cult or something? What happened to my friends?"
Kanda decides to offer a piece of advice to the babbling Lavi. "Just shut up. You're noisy."
"But! Fuck—look at that! Someone please explain to me—"
"Bookman said he'd explain later, didn't he?" Link says. "So wait for him to explain."
"Yeah, but he's gonna die—I don't know what you lot are playing at—get him out of there, won't you?"
"No can do," Kanda says.
"Lavi," Allen says, laying a placating palm on Lavi's shoulder.
But Lavi jerks away from Allen's touch, as if afraid. "Don't touch me, Allen. You're up to something, aren't you? You were supposed to be in the institution! And somehow you manipulated everyone—I'm not going to fall like the rest of you!"
"That's harsh, Lavi." Lenalee purses her lips as she stares at the redhead.
"He's not right in the head," Kanda declares.
Lavi rounds on Kanda. "And since when did you side with Allen?"
Kanda shrugs. "I'm not on his side. I'm on the side that wants to win the war and live."
"Oh the war," Lavi says, wringing his fingers. "Shut up about this bloody secret war! I don't believe a word of it!"
"He thinks we're lying to him," Link says. "Well, it's hardly my business, I suppose."
Lenalee raises her shocked eyes to Link; there are tears gathering above the fold of her eyelids. "I hate this."
Link starts to say something, but the green fog dissipates, dissolving into air and water vapour. Bookman and Hevlaska appear again.
"Did you get it?" Allen asks.
Bookman holds up a handful of needles in triumph.
"See, Lavi," Bookman says, as everyone but Lavi crowds around him, "I have not been lying to you."
"This is a cult," Lavi insists. "All smoke and mirrors."
"You should know better than that," Bookman says sadly.
"I'm going to bed," Lavi says shortly, spinning on his heel.
"Where?" Kanda says.
"We don't have a bedroom here," Lenalee says.
Bookman points at his luggage. "I brought extra sleeping bags."
Lavi pulls one of the said sleeping bags to a far corner of the cavern and lays it there. He slides inside, zipping himself up, and turns his back to them. Bookman just stares.
"He'll come round," Link says at last. "It's just a matter of time, until the memories return."
"I know," Bookman says, but he doesn't quite sound so sure.
"So, the plan," Lulu Bell says, sipping her morning coffee, "tell us about the plan."
No one answers her; breakfast, after all, is a busy time for every member of the Noah family. There is food to eat, coffee to swallow, insults to trade, and homework to be done at the very last minute.
Lulu Bell sighs. "Sheril. Are you ignoring me?"
Sheril looks up from the news dailies spread out in front of him. "Yes, Lulu? Did you say something?"
Lulu Bell looks ready to breathe fire. "The plan?"
"What about it?"
"I asked you to explain it to us."
Rhode draws a stick figure on the wooden face of the table. It's a figure of a boy, with a shock of untidy hair, and a pentacle scar that runs down his face. She draws sharp-tipped candles flying straight at him. "He doesn't have a plan."
As Tyki turns to look at Rhode, a dribble of bacon fat lands on his chin. "What, my almighty brother is behind on something this time? Unbelievable!"
"Unbelievable!" Jasdero choruses, smearing butter across the tablecloth.
An angry red splotch appears on each of Sheril's cheeks. "Shut up, Tyki. And stop that, Jasdero. Don't play with your food."
"I agree with Tyki for once," Lulu Bell says lazily, setting her coffee cup back on the table with a gentle clink.
"Unbelievable!" Jasdero says in a sing-song voice.
Lulu Bell snatches the butter knife and the butter platter. "Seriously, grow up, Jasdero. We are not going to replace the tablecloth again. It's been barely a week!"
"I've been busy, okay," Sheril says, laying the newspapers aside.
Lulu Bell rolls her eyes. "With the boring human wars."
Sheril reaches for the coffeepot. "Yes, exactly."
"Which are oh so important," Lulu Bell says.
"They are, I'll have you know—"
Lulu Bell holds up a hand. "So what's the plan?"
"I don't have one yet!" Sheril's shoulders sag; the years have not been easy on him, and now he wears his age on his face.
"Well, think of one," Tyki says. "You're the brainy one."
Rhode reaches for a stack of papers and passes them up the table to Sheril. "There's probably something in here…"
Sheril takes the papers gratefully. He drinks his coffee, eats a scone, and peruses the papers. The normal rhythm of breakfast takes over again—Rhode tries to tackle a geometry question and ends up drawing a creepy doll on the margin of the page; Jasdero combs his long golden hair, parts of which trail in his orangeade; Lulu Bell pets her cat and Tyki continues to eat.
"Who wants to visit Hamburg?" Sherils asks.
"Hamburg?" Tyki says.
"That's what I said. Are you deaf?"
"Tyki's going deaf," Jasdero says, giggling.
Tyki shoots Jasdero a disdainful look before turning his attention back to the beleaguered Sheril. "Such a boring place, dear brother."
"Why Hamburg?" Rhode asks.
"They think they found an accommodator there," Sheril says.
Lulu Bell's gaze flicker towards the papers. "You mean they suspect. So there may be nothing."
"Yes, that."
Rhode leans her sharp little chin on her intertwined fingers. "I wonder who it is."
"Do you want to go, my dear?" Sheril asks.
"Would you let me skip school?"
"Naturally," Sheril says. "This business comes first."
Rhode's grins and bites down on her crayon. The chalk bleeds red across her lips. "I'll go."
"So who else wants to accompany—"
"Shut it, Sheril," Tyki advises his brother. "Rhode is quite capable of handling one accommodator who probably doesn't even have his or her Innocence."
"But—"
"That's settled then," Lulu Bell declares. "I'm off to work. Try not to get assassinated today, Sheril."
AN (29.10.16): Oops, I didn't mean to not update for a whole month, but real life has a tendency to get in the way. So—thank you for your patience, and for reading. As always, please feel free to point out any mistakes.
Clarification: This is not a reincarnation fic. The Earl postponed the war by transferring everyone into the future. This scenario was inspired by EulaliaGal's fic Yearn (which is a lovely, tragic piece).
