Not Enough

Midmorning found the Black Order's Science Division hard at work, albeit with staggering efficiency and what should have been grumblings of discontent had any of the scientists conscious knowledge of their individual wellbeings. Amidst the grey-faced researchers scratching away at their reports, Dr. Nicholas Spencer sat slumped over his desk, grid sheets of chemical formulae and equations spread out en masse before him. Tragically, though, his fountain pen had run out of ink nearly three hours prior, only the section leader had been too proccupied with the inner workings of his intellect to notice. Blindly, he reached for his coffee mug, also empty for some time, and took a sip of imaginary caffeine. Thus bolstered by a peculiar placebo effect, he returned to his work, saw the empty sheets, and naturally drew the conclusion someone had made off with his research.

"All right," he shouted and wheeled about in his chair. The rest of the scientists paid him no mind. Spencer tried to stand, but he found to his surprise, his legs weren't working. Fascinated, he glanced down, blinked in confusion at the strange winged creature on his lap, and then his brain promptly powered down indefinitely. It was a beautiful sight, had anyone been awake to see it. Every part of the man seemed to wilt simultaneously, leaving him resembling something like a deflated husk as his head slumped forward and a light snore was soon heard from his throat.

Someone threw a blanket over him.

Several, several hours later, the scientist revived and observed himself to be experiencing the effects of a profound hangover: murderous headache, extreme thirst, a little nausea, and an overall absense of memory for…he looked toward the calender. "…it's September?"

"Sure is," said a cheerful voice to his left and Spencer turned in time to find his grinning daughter placing a glass of water on his desk.

"Oh," Spencer tried to regain some awareness and composure. "Good morning, Dust."

"It's evening," Dust corrected without missing a beat or dropping her cheery smile.

"Oh," Spencer said again and rubbed a hand into his temple. He felt as though he'd been dropped into an alternate reality. Hungover.

"Also my birthday," Dust added with a happy nod toward the calender.

"Oh. Happy thirteenth."

"Fourteenth."

"Really?" Spencer adjusted his spectacles and squinted at her. She didn't look…no, he supposed she did look fourteen. She was tall now, nearly as tall as him and she was in that awkward stage of lanky limbs that marked the transition between girl and young woman. When on earth had that happened? He knew his view of time was somewhat skewed, but it really had seemed to him as though he'd met the girl only…God, had it truly been seven years now? Under his scrutiny, his little Dust shifted and smiled uncertainly and Spencer found himself at a rare loss for words. He would have liked to tell the girl how much she looked like her mother, except he'd never even met the woman. Dust had been identified as an exorcist by General Cassandra and brought to the Black Order as a small child. No birth parents existed on record.

"Papa?"

Spencer jolted and was legitimately concerned he'd passed out again and this was all a hallucination. Bu no, Dust was still here, albeit her smile had wavered and she had a look of concern now.

"Is everything okay?"

Spencer stood up, winced at the pain in his back, and stepped forward and spread his arms. His daughter's smile returned and she flung herself forward, wrapping her wiry arms around him in a crushing embrace. Her hands got tangled up in his labcoat. He buried his face in her collar. "Happy birthday, Dust."

"I love you."

"Now," he said, pulling away and holding her at arm's length. "Is there to be a party?"

"Not without you, Papa." She skipped toward the door. "C'mon. Malcolm said there'd be cake."

…

"Dr. Spencer?"

The old scientist flinched, jarred by the over-familiar sensation of his surroundings again coming into focus. All these years, it never ceased to disturb him how easily his reality disconnected from the world at times. He was not in the science division's lab anymore but seated in one of the Order's conference rooms. Five other researchers sat with him, all varying in age and specialty within the Order. Two were a biologists, another was a biochemist, that young man seated on the end was a botanist. He himself specialized in physiology and psychology. None of them were the top of their field in the Order, but that wasn't the common denominator, was it? The study of life lay at the heart of all their education, and given the nature of the proposal they'd been given, everything clicked into place.

"Fuck yourself, Chang. I won't do it."

But he would never say that. In truth, Spencer had no animosity for Twi Chang; she was a good woman. Or so he had once thought. This project had the Leverrier Clan's seal of approval, and he would bet his non-existent salary the madness had started with that clan, but for the Changs to agree? They were equally culpable then. Everyone has a choice, even if they think they don't.

"From what I understand of this proposal," Spencer said. "You mean to utilize Chang sorcery to restore the bodies of fallen exorcists. In doing so, we would extend the lives of those we've lost? We would play God?"

Twi Chang sucked in a patient breath of air, as if already hearing his answer. "That is the summary of it."

Spencer nodded, closed the dossier, and slid it across the table. "Then I have to refuse."

It was apparent to him the Asian Branch Leader had expected his refusal and took it with grace. "I am very sorry to hear that, Dr. Spencer, but if I may…should this project succeed, think of the implications. We would bolster the exorcists' numbers, give them an even greater chance against our enemy. If this works, your daughter will—"

"Dust is dead. She fought and died for the Order." Spencer cut her off sharply. Slowly, he leaned forward in his chair until he was face to face with the young Director. "Tell me, Chang, when was that not enough?"

-0-0-0-

Author's Notes: When indeed?

Bit of a different one this time. I wanted to start hinting at the eventual creation of the Second Exorcist Program, as well as introduce some other characters Kanda and Alma's original selves would have encountered.

D. Gray Man is owned by Katsura Hoshino.