Author's Note: I'M BACK. AND WITH A NEW CHAPTER TO BOOT, ISN'T THIS GREAT XD
I'm sorry this comes so late! Life got in the way Dx I'll do my best to update faster in future! In the meantime, if anyone has any critique, I'd love to hear them. Also, the latest manga chapter. Oh my gosh. My heart can't take this any longer. "Saying Goodbye to A.W"? Seriously? *cries*
Chapter 5: Hiraeth
Voices. The screeching of tyres on ice as the car spun out of control. Blood filling her vision. White noise, punctuated by blood-curdling screams.
"Mana!"
Her dreams would not leave her to rest. And so she would not sleep.
"The two of you will be working together for this mission," Komui said in a tone of voice that could only be described as gleeful with abandon, too cheery for the hour of the day. He winked at them, raised his cup in mock salute, and brought it to his lips. The expected sound of sipping did not come.
Lavi looked confused. Allen raised a sardonic eyebrow.
A lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll on her. Her brain felt as if it had been stuffed full of cotton, impeding normal, coherent thought processing. It also made her less charitable, and more inclined to maim when provoked. She had clearly been spending too much time with Kanda, if his mannerisms were rubbing off on her.
"It's gone," Komui mourned piteously, tilting the cup over in demonstration.
Allen had to resist the urge to roll her eyes to the heavens.
Sometimes, she thought she could understand Kanda's murderous impulses. She was beginning to feel the urge to slice Komui up, a little here and a little there, maybe start off by wiping that vacuous expression off his face. She had to be careful not to go too far; after all, he was still the general. It promised to be immensely satisfying regardless.
"Uh, Komui?" Lavi sounded as confused as she was. "I can understand why Kanda isn't paired up with Allen for the mission, but Lenalee's my partner. Why not leave it to us to handle this mission?"
"Well," Komui simpered, and the sound of it pushed Allen closer to murderous, "completion of this mission requires both technique and brute force. Your strengths complement each other. Plus, it helps keep the formula fresh. Every now and then it's prudent to switch things up a little, keep the enemy on their toes, you know?"
In other words, Komui was bored, and this was somehow exciting enough to whet his appetite. It must be an acquired taste, Allen reasoned, as Lavi protested and gesticulated, his motions getting increasingly hysterical with time.
She began sifting through what she knew of the redhead, which admittedly, was not much. Training consistently with one partner meant aligning her style with his, playing to his strengths and making up some of the slack for his weaknesses, falling into step beside each other so seamlessly that they melded together, two halves of a whole. Fortunately, Kanda was an extremely competent partner. Unfortunately, his attitude was a completely different story, but Allen supposed no one was perfect. She did not have to like him to be able to work with him, and she had no qualms about shoving back when pushed too far.
Apparently that meant something to Kanda, and while she would probably never understand what motivated him to say or do the things he did, amicable Kanda was much easier to work with than normal, irascible Kanda.
And Allen believed in taking whatever she could get.
But Kanda and Lavi were different people, with wildly disparate dispositions. None of what she knew about her mentor would be of help when it came to working with the redhead. And while she saw him as a friend — if somewhat distant — and someone she had come to trust, she knew next to nothing about the way he fought.
Ultimately, Lavi was no match for the general, and Allen was too weary to press her case. Both of them were hustled out of the office without ceremony.
It was incredibly awkward. Allen could not bear the eye contact — Kanda's gaze was equally intense, but never probing — and she had nothing to say to him in the capacity of work.
"Well," Lavi said, "I suppose we could start by getting to know each other."
"Lenalee." Allen rapped her knuckles against the door. "It's me. May I come in?"
An answering grunt of affirmation came from within, and Allen took it upon herself to reach for the doorknob. Then she pushed and the door swung inwards, only to reveal the long-haired girl seated within.
As always, a plain hair tie had been used to keep the long, wavy chestnut locks out of her eyes and up in a high ponytail. Gentle hazel eyes, lightly shaded and framed by long lashes, radiated calm and solace. They always seemed to set Allen at ease.
"How have you been?" Lenalee beckoned her forward with one hand, and patted the spot on the bed beside her. Allen was only too glad to oblige.
It had been a long day, and it was barely noon.
"Fine." Allen gave her a weary laugh, hands instinctively going to her neck.
Kanda at her back, Kanda's breath tantalizingly warm against her skin, playing with the hairs on the nape of her neck.
It would be a while yet before she stopped feeling the icy touch of the phantom blade on her flesh, poised and ready for the kill.
Lenalee hummed a soft sound of acknowledgement. Blinked once, twice. A light crease nestled itself between her eyebrows. "Your eyes are puffy. Have you not been sleeping well?"
"Not very, I'm afraid," Allen confessed. "But it'll pass, I'm sure. Don't worry about me."
"So you say," Lenalee huffed. Then she stood up, walked to the back of the room, and pulled open one of the many identical cabinets. Mumbling under her breath, she rummaged through it as if in search of something specific.
She paused, then withdrew something. "Aha!"
Lenalee was beaming now, looking immensely pleased with herself. Allen squinted. There was a small package in her hands.
"Here you go," she said, stopping in front of her, depositing it gently in her lap.
"Ah, thank you. May I know what this is?" Allen asked, perplexed.
"Your sleeping draught. I knew you would be out by now, so I took the liberty of putting together a new batch for you. But you never came to pick it up." She smiled good-naturedly.
Allen was touched. She had wanted to try going without, because she knew that it was not a permanent solution, but it was not working. Perhaps she would do better if she weaned herself off it slowly. "Thank you."
Lord knew her nightmares were back in force. It was almost as if by shutting them out, swapping her dreams for gray lull, she had only delayed the inevitable—
She caught herself, shook her head to banish that train of thought. Now was not the time. She had more pressing concerns.
It was not easy. She was a volatile mix of angry and guilty, confused and shatteringly conflicted. Her fists were clenched so tightly that her nails bit into her palms, marking her skin with bloody crescents.
Lenalee was going to turn her down, she knew, and with good reason. But she had promised herself that she would try. "I don't suppose you would have anything that would speed up healing?"
Lenalee turned, looked at her sharply. Allen flinched, and began fidgeting with the buttons on her shirt.
"You're asking for Kanda, aren't you?"
Allen flushed, lowered her gaze onto her hands in her lap, feeling shame wash over her, "Well... It's just, you seem to be very knowledgeable about medicines and healing. You're always helping to administer basic first aid. And then there's the sleeping draught—"
Soft, mirthful laughter came from beside her. It was unexpected. Allen looked up, astonished.
A hand laid itself gently on her head. "You really do care about him, don't you?"
Kanda charging into the room. Dropping into a roll just as the man guarding the door commenced shooting at him.
His body flowing through the motions like water. Palming a knife, then letting it fly with deadly force and accuracy.
Any ground she might have gained on the conflict roiling within herself disintegrated, and she was once again a withering, hollowed husk.
"I had told him that I didn't need protecting anymore, but I was wrong. It's my fault that he got hurt," she whispered to her hands.
The taller girl wrapped her arms around her, pulled her into an embrace.
Allen shuddered at her touch, and pressed closer to the girl.
"Were you the one who had shot at him?" Lenalee murmured into her hair.
"No," Allen demurred, knowing what was coming.
"Then it's not your fault. He has autonomy over his own decisions. And he chose to go after you." Lenalee's gaze was distant, lost in time. "He was beside himself when he heard that you had been sent out alone. I've never seen him so angry with Komui before."
"I couldn't even help. All I could do was watch." Allen was tired of feeling helpless.
Long, slender fingers carded through her hair gently. "We all have times like that. There's no shame in admitting to needing help."
"I want to help him," she confessed. "I want him to be able to trust me."
Months after months of frayed tempers, of hurling insults and throwing unmitigated punches at each other. No holds barred. Nothing was sacred.
Kanda glowering, slapping her hand away, stooping to pick up the knife himself. Beautiful, deadly Kanda, his blue, blue eyes a relentless storm, muscles drawn taut to the point of breaking. She had hesitated, before trying once more to reach out to him. He brushed her off with a snarl, and issued his ultimatum, "Gunmen have no business touching knives that do not belong to them."
Despite themselves, they had somehow managed to foster some semblance of a working relationship, based on exigency and mutual antagonism, but the crux of the problem had remained fundamentally unchanged.
"You have. And he does. Kanda's never been the best at articulating how he feels. But his actions speak for themselves."
She was not wrong. Kanda was bullish, with all of the social graces of a puffer fish. Included in his arsenal were barbs, spines, and poison in spades for anyone who ventured too close. His favourite "I hate you", which was up there with his constant promises to leave her behind if she fell too far behind.
But. He had never once acted on his threats. His hands had remained gentle, even through the furious set of his face, rage given form in his steely gaze.
Dancing between opponents, light-footed, swift and sure, with none of her hesitation and wasted movements.
Whenever she had needed him, he had come, and held down the fort until she got herself together. Always, always.
"He wants to protect you, as much as you want to do the same for him. I think I understand now." Lenalee was smiling. "You fight so often because you're so alike."
"We are not alike," Allen sniped, with feeling.
Lenalee beamed.
Allen scowled.
And then Lenalee's gaze softened, and she took to stroking Allen's hair. "Regardless. Kanda is quick to anger, and while it tends to be spectacular, it's rooted in the present. Whatever misgivings he has, whatever transgressions you may have committed, he would have forgotten them by now. So don't you worry about that."
Allen knew this, of course. Allen had known that he would not hold it against her. But he should have. That was the whole point.
One stroke. Two. Allen began to relax in her hold, just as Lenalee's gaze dimmed, and her expression took on a troubled, apologetic cast. "I can't give you what you seek. I'm sorry, but unless he comes to me himself, I can't help."
And Kanda never would, on principle. I can't trust what I don't understand. It was the first thing about him that Allen had understood.
She sighed. "Don't be. You refused with good reason. I'm sorry I asked."
"Well, if there is anything else that I can help with..."
"... There is something else that I need your help with, I suppose."
It had been a while since she had last willingly stayed up so late.
The corridor was silent, save for the soft clicking of her heels against the white marble, and the light rustling of her clothes.
The scene before her seemed like a sequence out of a dream. Vaulted ceilings, gently curved, arching above her reach. Traceries trimmed with gold, and doused in silver. Moonlight streaming in through the windows, slipping through her fingers like silk, picking out the colours where it hit the stained glass, muting the rest of the untouched expense. The wind testing its grip, finding purchase, sliding in soundlessly through the cracks in the glass, cognizant and playful. Living tendrils peppering her face with butterfly kisses, swirling through her hair, cool against her exposed skin. A lullaby, calming rhythm, soothing loss.
She drank it all in. The serenity to be held in stillness. Life frozen between motions. Her footsteps buoyant, her arms free, her shoulders light. The earth slumbering beneath her feet.
It felt like peace. It felt like the night she had, long ago, standing under the watchful gaze of the moon and wishing she could reach out and touch the stars.
I don't know who I am, she thought, unbidden.
No possessions from before, no memories save for that of falling. Wanderer. Dream child. Nothing she could call her own, not even secrets, not even a name that she could tease with her tongue, a familiar shape she could hold between her lips.
Something prickled in her eyes, and her vision misted over. Angrily, she dashed the tears away.
Eyes like jewels, midnight hair. Kind hands, even when tipped with steel, her life cradled carefully in its hold.
She had never told Kanda, because it had seemed too close, too personal somehow. Within her was an angry child with sharp eyes and grubby paws, holding close to her all the scraps that she was spared. Was it selfish, to want something she could call her own so much that it manifested as a physical ache?
Her feet traced a familiar circular route, through empty hallways, past the canteen where they took their meals, into the infirmary she had just been released from. Her stomach dropped. Her palms were clammy with a sheen of cold sweat. It was as if, by crossing the invisible threshold, she had fallen off the edge of her earth, into an unfamiliar world.
She advanced. She stopped. She lifted her hands and pressed them to the door before her, eyed the grains and whorls in the wood, and traced the smooth lacquer with her fingertips. She pushed. It gave.
She entered the room.
High cheekbones, the gentle incline of his nose, the almost aristocratic cut of his features. Long, dark hair fanned out on the pillow around him like a halo, almost as long as her own.
Asleep, sedated, Kanda seemed more at peace than he had ever been while awake.
She sank into the chair by his bedside, her head bowed, her breath caught in her throat. All of her words fled her. She did not know what to say.
She leaned in close. Traced the line of his jaw with her eyes, stroked his hair with a wondering finger. Blue-black locks fisted in her hand.
"I had breakfast with Lavi today. It was a catastrophe. He talked too much, and I had to shove my fist into my mouth because I did not want to be rude."
Hesitant pause.
"I've never wanted to be like you."
Fished for something else to say.
"Komui was a complete ass."
And then.
"I'm leaving on a mission. With Lavi. Tomorrow."
A mournful keening, the cry of a caged bird which knew what it was like to fly. Something corrosive welled up within her, before it spilled forth like tendrils of smoke.
"I missed you. I'm sorry I haven't visited, in all the time you were here."
Lenalee might have a point when she had made the offhand comment that Allen and Kanda were alike. Ancestors knew she was bad with words, too.
"I did this to you." Stabbing grief, so sharp that it cut. Regret palpable in her words, thick and choking. "I'm sorry there's nothing I can do to make this easier on you."
I know that I'm not what you wanted. But you tried your hardest with me. I'm sorry I have so little of value to offer in return.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It was all she could offer, and it fucking figures that it would be such a pitiful substitute.
"I was discharged a few days back." Her tongue was heavy, the words clumsy, and she knew that she was going to regret her decision in the cold light of the morning. But she went ahead anyway, because more than an apology, he deserved the truth. "But I'd much rather be here. You wouldn't mind if I stayed for a while, would you?"
She did not wait for a reply. "Thank you." She leaned forward until she was touching the bed, pillowed her head on her arms, and closed her eyes in wait of dawn.
He woke in stages.
The inside of his eyelids were steeped in brilliant red, courtesy of the sunlight.
The bed sheets, freshly laundered, were soft and yielding under his hands.
His eyelashes fluttered. He opened his eyes.
White hair greeted him, filling his vision, spilling over onto his bed like sheets of moonlight. He took a lock of hair and pinched it between two fingers. It was softer than he had imagined it would be.
Allen stirred, and he let it go.
"Kanda?" She raised her head from her arms, eyes still cloudy with sleep.
"Good morning." His voice was mild.
He watched as she blinked, sat up straighter.
She looked lost, as though she had been unmoored and left to drift in circles in the sea. Slouched in her seat, hunched before his bed, her hands clasped and her face pinched. Her body language was subdued, her aura flayed open and raw. She had the look of someone indicted for perjury, seeking penance.
It was a feeling he knew only too well, and it irritated him to no end. So he flicked her forehead.
"Ouch! What was that for?" she yelped, indignant.
"What's with that face?" he sniped, "You look stupid."
"You —You're impossible!" she cried out, aggrieved.
Unfortunately for her, he took pride in being aggravating.
"About time you realised." Lapis lazuli eyes glittered with dark satisfaction.
She looked as if she wanted to respond. Visibly gave up and deflated, guilt colouring her cheeks.
It was unsettling.
"Oi. What's wrong?" he asked. Not too gruff, because his idiot apprentice had an annoying tendency to go soft, like a balloon losing air, whenever she felt the need to get sentimental or emotional. And whenever she decided to indulge in her emotions, she also became a little more breakable.
He did not want to break her.
"I'm sorry," she wrapped her arms around herself and hunkered down in the chair, as if she was trying to shrink into herself.
"Oi," he tried again, but she interrupted, running over his words with all of the grace of a freight train.
"I should have waited. I should have asked for your advice. I didn't.
"You were right. I wasn't ready. But I wanted to prove myself. I wanted to show you that you could trust me to handle things on my own. To be of help to you."
"I—" she faltered, as Kanda's hand, larger than her own, tugged at her fingers and pulled them into his hold.
"You're too noisy. Shut up for a moment. I have things that I want to say. I need to think of a way to say them," he griped, "and I can't do it with you shooting your mouth off."
Her hand was warm. He could feel the calluses on her palm, made rough and thick from constant, repetitive training. His thumb rubbed lazy circles on her skin, an approximation of what he hoped was a comforting gesture.
Her vision misted over and she shuddered, breaths shaky, as if she was trying her utmost to stifle an obscene urge to cry.
"Firstly." He spoke slowly, carefully mulling over his word choices. He did not have many options. "It was wrong of me to threaten you. I heard you outside the storeroom, and I overreacted."
And then he grimaced, a constipated look crossing his face, his features creasing. It was almost physically painful for him to spit out the rest of what he wanted to say. "You're obnoxious, and a constant pain in the ass, especially when you start moping like this. But I suppose in this case it means that you've finally grown a spine. That's not a bad thing."
She blinked slowly, as if astonished. Once, twice. Still so slow, same old. "I never thought I'd say this," she sent him a watery smile, eyes too bright, "but you're too kind, Kanda. You could stand to be a little less forgiving."
It was fucking ridiculous.
"You make it sound as if I'm dying, and as if, by some mad flight of fancy, you could make it up to me," he accused. "Fucking drop it. I'm not going to die."
She could not help it; she laughed. The warm sound curled in his belly, made his skin shiver where she was touching him. Unfamiliar though it was, the sensation was not entirely unpleasant.
"And stop laughing," he snapped, because he had always hated it when people laughed at his expense. "Fucking redhead alone gives me enough grief, I don't need you hopping onto the bandwagon too. Jesus Christ."
"Thank you." She smiled, so radiant and pure that it stole his breath, and threw herself at him, wrapping her arms so tightly around him that it almost felt like a stranglehold.
He yelled indignantly, because he needed to make his displeasure known somehow. But he did not try to push her away.
When she finally released him, he sniped, because the silence would be too awkward otherwise, and because he was feeling vindictive, "Do that again, and you'll find yourself short of a hand."
She grinned. "Snowball's chance in hell."
Komui's office was draped in darkness.
A shadowy figure flitted from fixture to fixture. Pulling open the cabinets. Nothing to be found.
The desk was next. Groping, searching through the files on the table.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
Faster, faster. There isn't enough time.
Drawers. Empty, empty —
An experimental tug. The last drawer shifted forward the slightest fraction. Came to a sudden stop. Would not budge.
Locked then. Not that it mattered.
Fumbled. Jangling. Metal pick gleaming like a sharp tooth under the light of the moon.
Manila folders?
Fingers picked up the first in the pile, held it up to the scant silver rays shining through the blinds.
Not what was on the agenda, but useful, regardless.
The wheels of divine providence had begun to turn, cog by cog, gears interlocking and clicking as the individual pieces shifted into place.
It was time to begin.