Niamh is wishing she could write 3 chapters at once, because then she'd have the part she really wants to write out there already. And wanting glasses cleaner. Her spectacles are ew.

Anyhoo, here's chapter 34. And for once, it's basically plot movement. Please don't hate me, smut-lovers! Sometimes things have to happen!

I love you for reading and I thank you for reviewing:D

Disclaimer of I've Given up on the D-words, have you noticed?: I don't own D.Gray-man. If I did…I'm sure Kanda would be moodier than he already is :P

WARNING: EXCEEDINGLY MILD boy's love. VERY MILD. Like, I would let my grandma read it if she weren't a homophobe. If YOU are a HOMOPHOBE, you shouldn't read it either.

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Wife: The Allergen of Superstition

Halfway across the world in a small house in the northeastern section of Edo, a boy and his mother sat before a table, her hands folded, his fist pressed flat against the table's surface. The woman's gray eyes blinked at him, studying the way he held his shoulder, the way his fingers curled into a fist. Her braided black hair waved in the variable breeze through the open door behind her.

"Wrong!" She shrieked, smacking him across the forehead with her practice word. "If you'd done it right the table would have broken done the middle, bakayaro."

The boy's shoulders fell and his head slumped against his chest as he sighed. "It's not my fault you haven't taught me how to do it properly."

"Che!" She turned the sword over twice and brought it down painfully on the back of his hand, though not hard enough of to hurt him badly. He recoiled, pulling his reddened fingers to his mouth. "Pay attention, stupid bastard, and it won't be a problem! Now do it ag—" She broke off as he small features screwed up in a loud sneeze. Her wide eyes squinted shut and her small, elegant nose wrinkled up, sweeping mouth forced open from the blast. She was a beautiful woman, regardless of her age, and her loveliness did not cease when it happened. Her ivory skin was a smooth as the day she was sixteen, her soft ebony hair was long for the most part, a few stray strands always hung down over her round, feminine face. She would have been perfectly built if she were but a few inches taller and not five foot even.

Her younger, taller son smiled crookedly at her explosion, his twin gray eyes sparkling with mirth. "I hope you aren't sick, Okaasan. We might have to call it a da—kk!" He sneezed also, his eyes watered from the feeling. When he was finished he looked over at his mother, jaw slack, eyes wide, thin dark eyebrows arched in wonder. "You don't think…he's talking about us?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she dropped her wooden sword and placed her palm to the hilt of her katana, turning toward the west. "Yuu."

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"Shouldn't you call? I mean, it seems kind of mean to just show up unannounced." Allen said as they came back to their room. He thought of it as their room now, even though they hadn't shared it all that long.

"Che, give my mother time to prepare a long lecture and a swift execution." His lover sighed, draping an arm over his shoulders.

Allen looked up at him with a disbelieving expression, leaning into him slightly. Though the ache in his arm was less intense it still hurt, and something in him warned that it was going to get worse before it got better. But that was no reason to be an unsociable humbug that was for sure – especially with Kanda's family – he wanted to make a good impression.

"Oh, come on, Love. She can't seriously be that much of an unhappy person. You don't come off as a bowl of sugar and you're just a happy, pretty, nice, affectionate—" Sometime after 'happy' Kanda had stopped walking to glare at him with death's eyes, but the silver haired boy did not notice until he had said the others. His list hadn't been anywhere near done, but those eyes could make him shut up regardless; he felt a heated blush spread across the top of his nose when Kanda looked at him like that. There was just something about sunlight on those dark eyes that made them more lustrous than diamonds. "What?"

"Che," Kanda intoned, taking up pace again. "Are you trying to compare my mother and me?"

"Yes?"

He raised a lip in warning before he took the smaller boy by the shoulder, looking down at him like a hawk sighting his prey. "We're nothing alike. Nothing. We don't look alike, we don't talk alike, we don't act alike. There is nothing about us that is similar. It's like saying Lenalee and Komui have more in common than coffee and blood." His tone was completely neutral, though his face still had that strange expression of half-fear half-love that he seemed to wear beneath his glare when someone talked about Hiroko. "Furthermore I am not pretty. I think we've been over this."

"Fine, assuming that you have no shared qualities…" Allen sighed but then paused again. A sudden thought had struck him, something of an epiphany, though not so bright. "Then who do you look like? There's seriously no way your father had hair like yours. And how else do you explain your elegant features? I mean…" He paused again, noting that though Kanda was still beside him, he had grown astoundingly quiet.

"Shut up." He said quietly.

Allen swallowed hard; reaching out with his right hand to take hold of Kanda's left. The limb was shaking ever so slightly, and the contact brought the shivering fingers to stillness. "I'm sorry… if I said something wrong." Kanda could hear that he was completely sincere with his words, that he honestly saw the change from not-more-than-annoyed-Kanda and reminded-of-things-that-anger-him-Kanda. His fingers wound ever so slowly around the small hand that he offered and he turned to the small boy with a shaking, crooked, half forced smile.

"It's alright. I just… don't like talking about...him." His scowl came back in full force now, and his left hand was very happy to have Allen's right to hold, otherwise he might have run it trough the back of his pony in attempt to brush away his anger. It wasn't that he did not like his father; it was that he hated him. Kanda had sworn when he was twelve that he would not give up until that man had breathed his dying breath, and he still stood by it – and remembering what he lived for had saved him more times than he could count.

I cannot die until I find that man.

Allen did what he could to laugh. "I can tell. You seem to get rather… murderous."

"Che, nice observation."

"You've been mood swinging lately… and touchy-feely…is something wrong?"

Kanda tried to look at him as if he were dumb, but failed. "No, I'm just worried about you."

"I'm fine."

"Right."

"No really. As right as rain."

"Che. I'll believe that when I see proof."

"But!" Allen chimed with enthusiasm that might have made a corpse smile. It was obvious that he was attempting to change the subject. "None of this talking solves our problem of calling Hi…ro…er… Okaasan?" He had forgotten the name, but hoped that 'Okaasan' covered it well enough. He never had that much trouble with names yet Hiroko was so close to Hitori in his mind that he couldn't say one without worrying that he had said the wrong one. And he ran the risk of splicing them together, which would not be pretty.

Now Kanda's smile was genuine, and amused. He couldn't think of his father when Allen was talking about his mother like that. It was too… too… cute. "The day you seriously call her that is the day I start calling you wife."

The British boy gave a little grin and leaned onto his lover's shoulder gently, turning them down the hall toward the cafeteria. "Maybe I should start calling her that on a daily basis."

"What?" Kanda looked at him with his eyebrows pushed together, suddenly aware that the way Allen was leaning on him was very much like the days Sable had been leaning on Lavi when the two had started that game that Allen had insisted on winning. He was almost blushing too, with his silver eyes cast up like a pair of sparkling stars. "You want me to call you wife?"

Allen shrugged giving a little wink when he spoke. "Might make the introductions easier." He straightened somewhat, doing his best to make a Kanda-esque frown. "Okaasan, this is my wife, Allen Walker. Moyashi, this is my mother, Kanda Ho…kiro?"

"Hiroko."

"Eh…" He waved it off. "See? Besides…it's not that much of a stretch it is? I mean we're… basically married as it is."

"Che, and to think that I was worried about giving you my room key a week ago..."

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It was day still. Bits of light seeped under his eyelid and shone against his pupil, making him blink against it ever so slightly. He swallowed in a dry throat. Vaguely he felt that his head hurt and that the side of his face was swollen, there was a blanket over him and most of his clothes were missing, but his limbs were free. That was encouraging.

"Lavi?" It was Lenalee's voice, tearing through his head like an ill sharpened knife. He felt himself flinch at it, willed his face to calmness. It would not help his pain if he held his face bushed up in a position that made him sore. "Oh, I'm sorry," She said more gently. "I spoke too loudly."

Slowly, as to not make the light burn him light a hot poker; he let his eye come open to the face hovering above him. He felt an odd resistance that meant it did not want to do that because it was swollen, but he wasn't about to let a black eye render him blind, and he could not think of a better way to convince Lenalee of his health. She smiled down at him, relief washing over her face in a wave. He tried to smile at her crookedly to reassure her further.

"Wa-t'r." He managed after a moment. He had never felt quite so incapable of movement in his life – and just saying the word made him wonder just how much was messed up in his brain. She nodded and reached over to what he figured was a nightstand and came back with a cup between her fingers. Tenderly she took his head in her hand and lifted it, placing the cup on his lips.

When the cup was half empty he coughed and she pulled away. Just that tiny bit made him feel like a new man. With a little effort he tried to push himself up into a sitting position, but Lenalee stopped him before he could manage.

"You shouldn't move yet. I'm not sure how badly your hurt. Or what happened."

He blinked at her momentarily before he ventured to speak. "I'm okay. Nothing hurts but my head, and that won't get better from just lying down." He pressed on the mattress again she let him recline on the pillows, saved him when he tottered sideways. "I don't remember what happened specifically. Ty-chan was in the ally when…" Memories filled his mind like a slow flood. The hand holding his wrist, the touch of a finger on his throat, a kiss that he had thrown himself into without regard for his apprenticeship or his soul; it all hit him like a brick between the eyes. Heat blossomed in his chest like a wildfire, running rampant down his arms and across his abdomen before circling back up again to curl around his heart and hold him there like a molten vice. It did not make any more sense than it had before, but a small, sad smile still crawled across his lips, brightening his eye.

For a moment, before the blow up, there had been no palpable hate, no build up to what happened, and nothing had seemed planned. It all had just kind of happened. And when he had pulled Tyki to him and laid his head on the man's chest, he had felt a heartbeat just like his against his skin – and he was not yet dead, which was a plus.

"When what?" Lenalee pulled him back to the moment at hand – the moment where he shouldn't have been smiling.

"I… I don't know. Something happened though, and I think I hit my head on the wall." He lifted an arm that shook a little when he moved it then gently placed his fingers on the side of his head where his temple was. The flesh was very tender, and the hasty bandage that had been placed there was crusted with dried blood, which meant that he had indeed been hit very hard. That explained why his eye was puffy – the blow had been strong enough to make him bleed. "It wasn't fun though… and I don't know what happened to him. I was just… on my knees in the snow and then everything went dark."

Half-truths. That was better than an all out lie wasn't it?

She leaned slightly forward, looking very closely at his face. Her hand came up and gently brushed the bandage, making him blink at the contact. "I should change that."

"I can do it."

"You can't see it."

"Oh, right."

While Lenalee stood to get things for his face he watched her, noticing the little things she tired to hide. There was tension in her shoulders, her face was pale, and the room did not look as if she were staying in it. The hollows under her eyes were darker than normal, and she was fighting off a rather persistent yawn. She was worried.

"Lenalee…" He wanted to reach for her, but the movement made him wobble back and forth again and he had to use the hand to save himself. Slowly whatever was wrong with his brain was going back to normal, but he wasn't yet at full balancing capability. When he faltered sideways she glanced at him, but did not move when he pushed himself back into place on the pillows. "I'm really alright; you don't have to worry so much."

She gave a small, broken smile that did not encourage him. "When he left the ally I saw him, Lavi. I saw what he really was. He was a Noah. We shared a train car with a Noah. We gave him our space. You followed him into a dark, confined place without even thinking about it. You could have never come out again. He could have killed you."

He shook his head at her. "But I'm not dead, Lenalee. I'm fine."

"That's not the point!" She stopped looking at him, turning instead to question the wall above the dresser that she faced. "Why didn't he kill you? This isn't a game we're playing. It's all of humanity that's at stake. So why would he not kill you? Why would he walk out and wink at me then go on down the street like any traveler? It's not a game. He shouldn't be playing with us like this!" With the last exclamation her voice became uncharacteristically loud and she threw the roll of gauze she had found back down on the dresser, from which it bounced in the air again and hit her in the forehead.

Despite how serious she had been in that moment, Lavi had let out a tiny, half-amazed chuckle. The sound brought her eyes back around to the boy she had dragged out a bystreet and into an inn, who she had watched over for hours until he had come to. He could find humor in the situation even if it was oddly twisted humor, even when it was him that had lived for no apparent reason besides someone's sick idea of jest, so she would do her best to do the same. It took her a moment to smile, and yet longer to let the little snicker through her lips, but she managed. I just hit myself in the face with a bandage… She sighed at Lavi's never fading smile. I guess it is ironic.

"See?" Lavi offered as she picked up the gauze again and came to sit on the bed beside him. "Even if we don't understand why or what or how, we can still handle things like this if we smile. And learn to laugh at our own mistakes."

She nodded, tearing the old linen from the side of his face. "Thanks Lavi, for being so bright."

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Sable tapped her chin as she looked at the chessboard, a thought creeping into her brain from the man across the table. She frowned at the thought that came to here – it made winning too easy.

Crowley watched in horror as the young woman in front of him moved the last piece he would have thought of, and then smiled at him. She was brutal when it came to this game. Worse than Bookman when it came to wigging him out too, because she would openly cackle when she saw something to her advantage and smile when she thought there might be a challenge; Bookman would just be indifferent until Crowley won – then he would be disbelieving.

He slid his bishop across the board, hoping she would not see that it left a rook exposed.

She smiled. He's not thinking about his queen…heh…heh…

He hand stopped before she could take hold of a knight, her face going pale. Without explanation she stood up, drawing a hand to her forehead, her mouth falling open as she pushed her chair back.

"Is something wrong, Miss Sable?" Crowley blinked up at her with his dark eyes questioningly and she tried to smile at his ghostly face.

"I'll be back in a few – just hold the board down for a minute." And with nothing more than that she dashed away from the table, attempting to escape the cafeteria and its people before blood started oozing between her fingers. She wasn't used to having to running away when this happened, nor was she used to trying to find her room with her hand on her forehead and her eyes downcast. She felt her eyes starting to tear when her hand found the knob of her door and opened it, her feet carrying her in the direction of the bathroom.

It hurt more this time, like her head was going to split down the middle if she moved her left hand away from it for more than a moment. She turned the shower on one handed, praying that the bleeding would stop before the hot water ran out, and further praying that no one would care that she came back dripping with a headband. This was the safest thing to do short of destroying one of her shirts for the sake of moping up the blood, and also the easiest way to ensure it was clean without using any of her stash of medical supplies. She didn't steal those very often, and she didn't want to use what little she had.

By the time she had wriggled out of her clothes, someone was knocking on the door in her room. She ignored it, locking the bathroom with fingers that left red smudge marks across the handle.

I wondered when he'd do something like this again… She thought, placing a palm on the counter and leaving another handprint. She would have to clean it all before she got back to that chess game. And I wonder why it hurts like this… like there's going to be nothing left of my skin. He doesn't regret it, I don't think. He's just…fine with this. Whatever he's doing, whoever he's killing, whatever mind he's tearing apart seriously makes him feel happy…

Good. If he's going to be evil, he might as well have fun doing it.

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Hiroko sneezed for the thirtieth time in twelve hours, curses following shortly after. "Che! Goddamn idiot son, talking about me with someone across the world and does not even bother to call. Fucking retarded, bastard, stupid, idiot, slut-faced, shit eating, weak, brainless, easy, soft, ridiculous, stupid—"

"You said stupid twice, Okaasan…"

"Shut up before I…fwk!" She sneezed again. The two of them had been attempting to practice all evening and now part of the night, but every time she tried to show Hitori how to properly execute a move she would be fumbled by her nostrils. And it was all Yuu's fault, she could just feel it. Her eldest son was just the kind to go flapping his mouth about family when they weren't there to shut him up with the blunt side of a sword. "I'm done. No more for today."

"Ah…" Hitori lowered his katana and sighed, his soft mouth came down in a frown. "We'll keep going tomorrow right?"

She nodded slowly, ran a hand through the hair that hung down into her face as her eyes narrowed. "Yes. You need the practice." And if he doesn't call tomorrow, She thought venomously, turning her back on her younger child. The breeze from the morning was still blowing, and she caught the sent of rain on it. I'm going to talk about him until he does.

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"Caaaaaaall." The voice was very quiet, but he knew he could hear it. "Caaaaaaaall."

"Moyashi."

"Hm?" Allen looked up from his plate of food with eyes that only vaguely cared what they were looking at. His mouth was too full to have said something with such a horribly long 'A' sound.

"Caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaall."

Allen was definitely chewing.

I'm losing my mind. Kanda thought, looking down at his soba. There's no explanation.

Across from him Allen grinned at his mess of dinner. Jerry really could be subtle when he was asked nicely. And Allen was the king of asking nicely, after all. It had taken nothing but a smile and a polite word and the cook had volunteered to help him convince the Japanese man to call home – and only slightly more niceness had got him to do it without speaking outright.

The cook had used a rather elaborate arrangement of pots to somehow, perhaps magically, direct his voice at their table.

"Caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaall…."

Kanda would not give in to the creepy sensation that someone was telling him to call home. Even if he was crazy. Even if ignoring it made him crazier. He wasn't going to do it. Nothing would make him. Calling would make him want to go home, which in turn would make him antsy, which would make work harder. And there was still that other reason for living, wandering out there somewhere in the world, and just talking to his mother would make him think about that even more.

And then, despite his resolve, he sneezed in his noodles. She's talking about me… she wants me to call… Che… I really should, regardless of my own wishes. She is my mother.

"Hurry up, Moyashi."

"Huh, why?" Allen asked, pretending to note how little of his food Kanda had eaten.

"Che, I need to call Okaasan."

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Owari, ne? Kind of an odd note to end on for everyone there, but I'm trying to keep things going with the plot so that nothing ends up happening too soon. I hope the next chapter does what I want it to… kind of hard to say if it will or not until it happens, ya know?

Thanks for reading! More to come! I'm sorry for the Kanda-moodiness, he's having a rough time with all of this crap with Allen's arm and nightmares. Odd that it bothers him and not Allen…hmm…