BB says: It's my birthday! Yes everybody, I was born on pi day (3.14 for those of us who really aren't that gifted in math. Like me). The day of infinity, baby! It's also Einstein's birthday and the day before Caesar died. It should be national nerd day…

Rating: Teen

Disclaimer: No. That's all I have to say. If you still think there's any possibility that I could ever own D. Gray-Man or "January Brings the Snow" when there's literally only one more chapter left of the story than you really haven't been listening. Get out. Now. I'm mad at you, turn-coat. Leave your backstage pass!

"Dull November brings the blast/ then the leaves go whirling past,"

~Sara Coleridge

"Well, well, well. Isn't it nice you've rejoined the world of the living." Z snarled but realized, with a start, that she was harnessed to the bed. She thrashed for only a moment before settling in a long, burning glare that was directed at her visitor. This wasn't the way to wake her up. He had some nerve coming into her room and strapping her to her bed and…this wasn't her room.

It was the med ward; the smell of cleanser atop blood alerted her to her surroundings.

She was the only one in this particular room, although members of CROW lurked in the shadows around her bed as though expecting for to break her binds and lose control. Z did have half a mind to go on a murdering rampage but her stiff body and dizzying exhaustion was a decent enough deterrent.

"Release me. Now." Her voice was a croak and she winced at the sound. Rouvelier had the gall to look surprised at her demand. His eyes flickered from her bindings to her face like he was just realizing she was incapacitated. "Oh, yes. Of course Zahara. I only have your best interests at heart. Beneath the interests of the Church, of course, but I do worry for your comfort." He made no move to free her although he did lean more comfortably in his chair. Z's temper boiled beneath cold eyes.

"Don't patronize me, Rouvelier. Untie me or leave; either way I'll be rid of you."

"That's just cruel. I waited with bated breath for you to return and you lash out at me so hatefully." The man sighed dramatically. "You've been gone some time, Zahara." Z tried to hide the burning curiosity that appeared in her gut, shaking her tangled black curls to cover her eyes. "Oh," she focused on the indifference in her voice "have I?"

"Oh yes. I was concerned for your welfare; it was the popular belief that both you and Mr. Walker were dead. It's a relief you're still alive," his dark eyes flashed. "Imagine my surprise when your secret talent left you on the streets of Cairo." Z frowned, her neck developing a nasty stitch from looking over at the man. She turned her gaze on the ceiling. "It wasn't a secret. You never asked, so I never answered."

"Really, Zahara, a young woman your age is too old for games. Especially when I hold both your fates in my hands." Z couldn't stop herself from jerking, her eyes wide as she turned back to the man with the dark authority.

"You mean-"

"The, shall we say, 'incident' with the Noah need not leak any further than it already has. The only people who absolutely need to know about it are myself, Inspector Link, and of course, you." Z paused for a moment before once again trying to lunge off the bed. "The fuck are you trying to pull? You think I'm stupid? You think you can play me? You son of a bitch! You arrogant mustachioed jackass! I'll-"

"Be quiet and respect your elders."

"You mother fucking megalomaniac with no values or honor…" Z hissed. She knew she was in trouble, so the fact he was offering her a nonexistent exit was infuriating.

"Zahara, these displays of immaturity are making me question my decision. Would you prefer I disposed of the Noah? A nice, public execution in front of all your precious associates?" Z fell silent, narrowing her eyes with her fists still clenched in their bindings.

"I can see you're upset. Let's start over, shall we? Would you like some tea? Or cake?" Rouvelier stood and pulled a tray out of nowhere, stacked with incredibly decorative cakes. Although her stomach grumbled, Z longed to be free to knock the platter from his hands and sneer.

"Dispose of…Allen?" The tall man blinked and set the plate on her nightstand. "Strictly business? I like that. Well then, yes. If you refuse my terms, the Noah will have to be eliminated. Along with the traitor who freed him, of course."

"You-"

"I don't ask for much. Obedience would be nice. A bit of loyalty considering all the mercy I have showed you in not reporting to the Vatican with my tale of Noahs and traitors." Z took a breath and closed her eyes in an attempt to calm herself. She needed to cool down in order to think straight but it was a struggle to keep herself from shouting again.

"You want me to be a puppet." Rouvelier smirked. "That makes it sound like I'm forcing you. I prefer the term 'duty bound associate'." Z bit her lips against another biting retort, face twisted in a pain that wasn't quite physical.

Her pride was at war with some part of her that was still on the mend. The throbbing red mass that lay heavily in her chest and had been making quite the nuisance of itself over the past few years.

In her younger days Z had every confidence that it had died and she felt all the better for the loss. Without its constant nagging and instructing she was a free woman, wandering this world with a protection not many could boast of. But she soon came to realize that, like a slumbering leviathan, the force of heat and emotion within her had merely been biding its time before punishing her all the more for its period of neglect. It had shattered at the appearance of the Fourteenth, throbbed with his almost death, and was now shrieking in the most obnoxious way possible to force Z's hand in the matter. What could she do, it questioned, with her hands tied in such a way? How else could she protect this newfound vulnerability?

"Spy on my comrades, report back to you if they so much as sneeze incorrectly," Z murmured. "You honestly believe I can be controlled so easily?"

"You're not a doll, I'm not controlling you. Let's just say you owe me a favor, and that should guide your future actions." The straps on Z's arms and legs snapped open. She hadn't even noticed the CROW inching forward. The young woman sat up immediately once free. She still had to gaze up at her intimidating opponent, but at least she didn't feel like she was at his mercy any longer.

"Well, I should let you get your rest. You've had quite the time of it, Zahara. I imagine you're still fatigued." The man ran a finger over the patch of hair on his upper lip and folded his hands behind his back. He was ignoring the scowling girl and her clenched fists, but CROW stiffened. "Such fascinating Innocence you have," he spoke as he left the room "hiding you for a month. Absolutely incredible." Z fell mute beneath the weight of her shock, and by the time she had thought of a response the door had closed. And she was left in the dark. With a scream of frustration, she knocked the platter of cakes to the floor causing several nurses to come running in.

The word spread that there were some unforeseen difficulties on Allen's mission, difficulties that were strictly classified information. Z had taken it upon herself to bring him back, somehow managing to escape with both their lives and a only slightly ruffled Link. He seemed a bit more distant than most people remembered. And certainly gave Allen wider girth than before. But many attributed this to Allen proving himself trustworthy over the years, the supposedly hibernating Noah within him not reinforcing itself as previously feared. His friends within The Order gave a silent cheer for the boy in their misinterpretation of the situation.

Z was left in the med bay for four days, not because she was injured, but because she couldn't get out of bed. Literally. Her legs folded like card castles beneath her whenever she tried to leave. Her curses and screams of frustration echoed through the castle as she tried again and again and again to no avail for two days. Her hands were continually shaking from the strange exhaustion weighing down her movements, and dizzy spells kept sneaking up on her even when she was laying absolutely still. It was only when she stopped trying to force herself that her body began to cooperate.

In the mean time she was subjected to flocks of Finders and Science department members who demanded the details of her rescue mission. How she had found the rampant Mr. Walker and what she had to face on the mission and why they hadn't made contact for three months. The same questions asked in varied voices. Their Finders had been killed in the fray. Z's golem had gone missing and Timcampy was on the fritz. And of course Allen had forgotten everything. Did they not remember the last days before he left? Hadn't he been stressed out and overworked? It wasn't strange for over-stimulation to result in long term memory loss. Or something like that.

It wasn't difficult for Z to weave a plausible lie, but the repetition left her antsy and mean; many left her room complaining of her rude behavior and dismissive voice. The only ones who visited repeatedly were those closest to her, used to her abrasive personality. It was these visits Z actually looked forward to because, despite their questions, she knew they would know when to leave. Z surprised everyone (even herself) by gracing the crying Lenalee with a gentle smile as she accepted the Chinese girl's too tight hug ("Z, what the Hell is that on your face? Is that…a smile? OH MY GOD! LENALEE, SHE SMILED AT YOU! RUN!"). Ah. If she had the strength to stand she would break Lavi's nose.

When Allen finally appeared in her room, they sat in silence. There was no greeting, no questions, no mandatory smiles. He walked in as she slept the third night. The feel of his eyes on her stirred the tired girl awake. She sat up. They looked at each other. And away. And back again.

For an hour. Silence.

The next morning she took stumbling steps to the mess hall, where she ordered herself the first real breakfast she'd had in a long time. Eggs, bacon, waffles with cherries and syrup on top, orange juice with a bit of lemon in it. Oh, she was going to be so sick later. Good thing the Head Nurse was bound to appear and drag her back to her bed at any time.

Z almost fell, her clumsy feet taking her down, but a strong hand grabbed her and guided her to sit with her…friends. She leaned on him shamelessly, the strength of his body comforting to her recent anxiety and emotional drainage. Needless to say they didn't speak a word to each other despite the fact they sat shoulder to shoulder.

The constant silence in their nonexistent relationship wasn't as painful as most would have seen it. Although some interpreted it as the strange tension floating between the two thickening into a viscous sludge, the wise ones of the peanut gallery saw it as an understanding. An understand of what was yet to be seen. But a compromise nonetheless.

We're going to talk about this.

Not now.

Soon.

Z was able bodied after a week, stomping through halls and sneering at people like she was used to doing. She felt more like herself than she had in a long time (a month, she had been gone a month) and could feel herself strut authoritatively. While she didn't know how or when she would be able to use this hidden aspect of her Innocence again, just being able to access it gave her a confidence she had never known. Like she was finally on her way to understanding the finer workings of her pact with Beastly Beauty. She felt powerful.

"You going to the training grounds?" Z startled, confused at the sound for the briefest of moments before finally turning. His voice hadn't addressed her in so long…she finally noted the way he spoke to her. Hushed. Guarded. Revered. She had never noticed before and didn't acknowledge it now.

His white hair had grown long over the years, held back in a low ponytail and out of the way of grey eyes that were a little wiser. He had developed into young adulthood well; gone was the gangly, somewhat skinny boy with the sheepish smile. He had new scars like everyone else, his voice had deepened, he was now noticeably taller than Z. The shy British boy had been replaced by a cautious young man with a lithe frame and broad stride, a firm jaw line and a regal nose.

His aesthetic appeal was amazing. Z wasn't too proud to admit this to herself.

She couldn't help but remember their last sparring match. How it ended.

"What plus is there to me kicking your ass? For you, I mean." The female exorcist taunted to hide the fact she had been staring. "Honestly, you must be a glutton for punishment." Allen didn't even flinch. He just continued watching her with those much too piercing eyes of his. Slowly, a smile crept across his face, like he was trying so desperately to suppress it but in the end lost control.

"You know you miss it." Z snorted and shrugged. "I miss the challenge."

"Of course. What did you think I meant?" Z chose not to respond. She continued walking, bare feet slapping stone as she made her way to the training grounds. Silence reigned again, Z basking in the presence of the boy beside her. Things felt better. Not right. There was still too much to work out, too many threats to simple happiness. But Z was momentarily content with the person she had been trying to kill barely a month before.

It was strange to see Allen without his shadow. Link was seen less and less these days; Z couldn't help but wonder if Rouvelier had come under the impression she would take over the job of Walker-sitting. She would rather not. It would be preferable to coat herself in honey and wrestle a starving bear.

She felt her fellow exorcist watching her as she tossed her towel to the side and threw her hair into a high bun. It was getting much too long, stands of it sticking out of her messy tie and brushing her shoulders in the cold November air. Gooseflesh was rising on her arms as she stretched hastily.

"You ready?" Allen nodded, not disguising the fact he had been looking at her. He actually held her gaze as she pulled into a low, offensive stance.

Silence. And they began.

Now, years after the awkward rift had formed between them, Z was bigger. Not taller, but her body had finally finished developing the smooth curves a young gypsy woman possessed. Not skinny, but fit, not fat, but big, with hips and thighs and proportioned breasts sitting above a tidy waist. Had she not been in the habit of physically training herself, it would have taken time to adjust to this new body. Now she was called upon to adjust to the older, longer Allen.

"We're not the same kids." Z startled when Allen voiced her mental conclusion.

"I'm not sure we ever were truly children," came her muttered response as she gave a graceful pirouette and slammed her heel into his body. Allen stumbled, but didn't fall. "I'd like to think," he grunted and threw her back "that we had a grace period. A time of uncertainty and mistakes." Z grabbed his fist but he tossed her, only for her to land on her feet a short distance away.

"If so, than it there wasn't much of a window. An extensive 'grace period' would get someone killed on the battlefield." Z threw her body into the air, one leg extended in a damaging kick. He caught her foot and dragged her down. She twisted her body and caught herself on her forearms. "I'm a bit of an optimist Z." The young woman ripped her foot from his grasp, bring her legs up and over her head in a flexible back bend. Returning to her feet she looked at him in a momentary pause.

"Yes. I know." Wind, harsh and chilled, blasted through the clearing. The air was bright with the deepest part of autumn as brown leaves leapt and bound through the dying grasses. Z curled her toes at the sudden thickness in the air, dreading what she knew was coming.

"Z. I want to know what happened." She winced. Just a little. "Haven't you heard the stories? I'm pretty sure word circulates through the Order fast enough." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "I want to hear it from you." The corners of her lips sagged in a barely there frown. "Did you come to spar, or to talk?"

"Z-"

"Why do you need to hear it from me? I've told practically everyone in the whole fucking organization. If you don't get it now, you never will." She was rambling. She couldn't stop. "Waste of time. You're throwing off my entire process. You're lucky I made the time to see you. I have a strict regiment that I haven't been able to follow during my recovery. And now you're eating up my daylight hours." Inexplicable anger. Z scoffed and moved towards her towel without meeting his eyes. "We're done."

"I had to talk to you, Z." His voice was subdued but carried authority. "I knew you wouldn't lie-" she scoffed, interrupting him. "To me. You've never once lied to me. Not when it was important. I know you won't start now." Z froze. "I've already told the others-"

"A lie. A very good one. But you can't lie to me." The young woman sighed, wilting. "Why do you want to know? Why can't you just accept the story I've already created? It's so much easier." She heard him walk towards her, leaves crunching beneath his feet. A hand ghosted over her shoulder and she turned to face him. "I can't remember over a month of my life. It's all in bits and pieces," his fingers brushed her neck although the bruises left by The Musician had long since faded. Z stepped back, but not far enough. He caught her by the elbow, his eyes continuing to burrow into her. "Don't you think I deserve to know?"

Z faltered at the hurt in his voice. She hadn't lied to make this hard; she did it to protect him in her own way. It was all too ironic that her heroic act was only causing him more pain. "Fine," she snapped half-heartedly from behind her last defense. "But don't blame me if you don't like it."

It didn't take her long. The sun had left the horizon but didn't offer much warmth as they leaned on a barren tree together. The sky remained cloudless.

Allen listened adamantly, taking in Z's every word with an impassive face. She could tell it was a struggle for him not to speak, not to ask questions. She wondered what her own face looked like. If it reflected the confusion and shame she was reading in his.

"I didn't," Allen struggled to speak when the story had finished "hurt anybody, did I?" His cheek had come to lean on Z's shoulder, his breath leaving a trail of warmth across her collarbone. "No."

"Good." He sighed. They were quiet for a moment. "I think I knew. That it was something to do with The Fourteenth. But I didn't want to believe…I mean, it's a scary thing, right?" It took Z a moment to realize he was shaking. She wasn't sure it was from the cold. Maybe he hadn't changed as much as she had interpreted. "The thought that I'm not me one hundred percent of the time. That there's someone else. And I can't even remember…" His cracking voice faded into silence. "Allen?" He jerked to attention. "Y-yeah? Sorry." An arm wrapped around Z's waist and pulled her closer.

"Allen." She wriggled uncomfortably but his grip didn't loosen. "Hmmm?" Actions speak volumes. And the way he clung to her, like she was the last solid thing he could be sure of, was both terrifying and exhilarating. So she stilled. He whispered something. "What?" Z turned to look at the top of his head.

"I don't want to hurt you…or anyone else." She couldn't bring herself to sneer.

"Like you could. You would just wind up injuring yourself in someway."

"Z. I almost killed you."

"I returned the favor."

"Because I asked you to, remember? Maybe it would've been better…" Z stiffened. "Shut up, fool. What do you know about the future? How can you say things would be any better without the Destroyer of Time here?" Allen was silent.

"No, you didn't almost kill me. And I doubt you ever could. Stop taking credit from Neah." Allen jumped at the sound of the name, bringing his head up to look at her. Z raised an eyebrow. "You're not Neah. Neah is not you. You may share the same face but I don't believe Allen Walker would even have the balls to hurt anything larger than a spider." Allen closed his eyes, a frown between his eyes. "You don't know that."

"No. But I'm stubborn enough to cling to my own beliefs even if they kill me. So stop your pathetic whimpering. You've been strong in the past. Now you're being called upon to be mighty and you think it's acceptable to crumble under the weight this far in. I thought you said you would keep walking no matter what, even if it meant sacrificing yourself. Do you think being murdered while not in your right mind is a sacrifice for the greater good? Being killed before fulfilling whatever destiny you're supposed to be following? Stop leeching off the strength of others when you have plenty. I'll not offer you comfort if you want to take the easy way out." Allen stayed silent. Z forced herself to stop talking, afraid, for the first time in her life, that she had said too much. A shaky smile formed, followed by a hollow laugh.

"I don't like spiders." he whispered.

"I know," she snipped.

"Akuma are bigger than spiders."

"Don't be so literal, lourdaud (jackass)." Allen chuckled and adjusted so he was sitting up straighter. His eyes were shining, but from tears or emotion was yet to be seen. "You're something else, Z." She huffed. "Don't tell me I offended you with the truth." Allen shook his head. "I guess…" he looked away "I didn't want to hear that. I didn't want to think that I'm so weak. But maybe…I needed to hear it?" Z raised an eyebrow. "You did." Her voice had softened, just a bit.

Allen leaned closer and changed the subject. "And what insult have you bestowed upon me this fine day, Mademoiselle?"

"Lourdaud? Jackass."

"Very nice. Do you hate me so much?" Closer still. Their noses were touching.

"Yes. I hate you." He pressed his lips to hers. Z pulled away after several confused seconds.

"What are you doing, imbécile?" A hand cupped her cheek, brushing just beneath her eye. "I really don't know," He smiled softly. "Should I stop?" Z placed a hand on his chest. He was wearing a loose cotton shirt today; it was too cold for him to spar topless. His pale face was flushed from the cold and emitting a warmth that made Z want to lean in again. She really didn't want to stop. "This won't work. It can't. Look at us." His heart was in her hand. She closed her fist.

"I know. But I can't help it."

What would this do?

"Don't wear on your sleeve what you don't want a gypsy to steal."

Allen tugged her back towards him, lips caressing hers again with chaste affection. It was Z who made it more aggressive, sliding her hand from his chest to his shoulders, reeling him in until she wasn't sure where his mouth ended and hers began.

What will this change?

Not one to be controlled (his fight was back, Z thought with elation, ready to fight to the end. God, that was delicious) Allen wrapped his hand in her hair, its partner at her waist tightening its grip and leaving no room between their bodies. Shocked, Z gasped, heating the kiss further. It was almost like before, them fighting for domination, but their movements seemed a little less frenzied. A little more sincere.

Nothing.

Allen pulled away and rubbed his nose against hers so sweetly Z felt one of her teeth ache. She sighed. "I'm going to hurt you."

"You wouldn't be you if you didn't." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "The second I feel anything less, I'm walking away."

"Smart. I'll do the same." He pulled away. Hooded grey took in shimmering lavender. "We should get back," his whisper didn't hold conviction. But Z nodded anyway. They unwound their bodies and he helped her to stand because she suddenly couldn't feel her legs. "Still recovering?" Allen joked at her expense as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Z felt her face heat in indignation. She bit her lips to avoid the small smile that wanted to form, forcing a scowl to fill her face.

"You've caused me to rebound, lourdaud." Allen chuckled, unlocking his arms and sliding a hand into hers. Z couldn't fight it any longer. She smiled. But a tiny one.

This wasn't a cure.

But it was a nice balm.

Everything.