A/N: Awesome. Well, no, actually. I'm glad that this is done, but it's, ah. Not quite as good as the others. *sigh* It was surprisingly hard, not sure why. *shrug* Especially since I like both Cross and Lavi.

Thank you to Dragon Silhouette, Cutiepie120048, RMXStudio, karina001, CakePrincess21, and Sehcturc for reviewing!

Title: Loose Ends

Author: liketolaugh

Rating: T

Pairings: Miranda/Marie

Genre: Tragedy

Warnings: Character death

Summary: After the end of the Holy War, CROW decides it no longer needs the exorcists. And CROW is nothing if not efficient. When a weapon is no longer needed - it gets put away.

Disclaimer: I only wish I owned D. Gray-man.

May 2, 1876 - Manzhouli, China

Cross was on the run.

He didn't know how far Allen had made it, but he'd missed the very next call after he warned Cross, which meant the stupid idiot had gotten himself caught ridiculously quickly. Probably they'd known he was leaving before Allen himself did; he was disgustingly predictable at times.

One way or another, that meant one thing: it was, most likely, CROW.

Cross had had his suspicions, of course. He'd never had faith in the Vatican, and Leverrier had always been an ass. In fact, Central had been one of his biggest worries since he'd first joined the Order. But even he hadn't really thought they'd stoop this low. Clearly he'd been wrong.

Clearly over twenty years working for them wasn't enough for even Cross to get a good idea of what they were really like.

He couldn't run forever, though.

It was a shame, really. He'd even gone to the trouble of making it out of the war more or less intact, and then this popped up. Hell. His apprentice had even seemed happy for a while, and God knew how rare that was for an exorcist.

Didn't have time to brood, though. He'd have one last hurrah before he left for good, and he was going to make damn sure he had fun.

If he was going to die anyway, he may as well end it on his own terms.

He'd been planning to drink himself to death anyway. He'd forgotten to plan for the unlikely scenario of him getting out of the war alive.

The moment word reached them of General Cross' location, two CROWs approached with a plan of attack, prepared to get this over with as quickly as physically possible, so as to not die.

Instead, they entered his current hideout and found him dead on the floor, with a gun wound in his head and Judgement still in his hand. On the ground beside him was a note.

John picked it up.

I didn't let you dictate my life, and you're sure as hell not going to dictate my death. Also, fuck you.

John put it down.

Peter found something else entirely.

"How much debt can one man gather in one night?"

July 6, 1876 - Black Hills, USA

Lavi's name was, at the moment, David.

He tried not to think of the fact that he was still thinking of himself as 'Lavi', even almost two years and seven names after he'd left that name behind.

The name, but not the people, which was probably the problem. As much as he loved his job, loved being a Bookman – it wasn't the same when he could remember Lenalee's tearful relief when he'd woken up, after being rescued from the Noah. It wasn't the same when Allen always sounded so happy to hear from him. Hell, it didn't even compare to Kanda's contented sniping.

So. Lavi stuck around.

And he was worried; he'd been trying to keep in contact with the exorcists, but lately, they just hadn't been picking up. One by one, they'd vanished off the map, and he didn't have a clue why. Bookman might, but he wasn't telling, and Lavi sure as hell wasn't going to ask.

"David."

Lavi wasn't paying attention.

"David."

Oh, right, that was him. David, not Lavi, not anymore. He winced and glanced over, expecting Bookman to be giving him that reproachful look, but he was instead looking at him knowingly, which was almost worse. Subconsciously, Lavi reached to cover his prosthetic hand with his real one.

He knew that Bookman was only pretending not to know that he was still in contact with the exorcists. He appreciated it, but it still felt weird and uncomfortable.

"We have recordings to make, David," Bookman reminded him quietly. "Let's go."

David nodded absently. "Right. I understand." 'David' was a loyal grandson, after all, and quiet, and compliant.

Nothing at all like 'Lavi', in other words. None of his more recent personalities had been, and privately, Lavi was glad of it. It was already hard enough to remember, to go back, at least partially, to what he'd been before.

They started to make their way across the small town, and it was boiling hot, which Lavi was paying just enough attention to notice. As usual, he took in everything around him and committed it to memory, but he wasn't paying attention, not really.

Had his old friends started to resent him? Was that why they were no longer answering?

Or, worse, had something happened? Were they no longer able to answer?

As a Bookman, Lavi had a responsibility to detach himself from the world around him. He could have no attachments and no biases. He should have nothing that he would throw away everything for.

He'd screwed that up already, and they both knew it; the bangle of crystal blood around his left wrist, the intact one, was proof enough of that. Lavi just couldn't bring himself to repay his friends' loyalty with indifference. It wasn't in his nature.

Bookman was doing him a kindness, not having disowned him, expelled him from the Bookman clan. It was something that could end up costing the old man everything.

And Lavi was sorry for that. He was. But he just couldn't do it. It was stupid, it was pathetic, but he couldn't forget about the Order. He couldn't forget his friends.

He couldn't let go of his heart.

Bookman perked up sharply, and Lavi glanced down questioningly.

"Old man?" he asked under his breath.

"Quiet, boy," Bookman murmured back, gaze intent and dark. Suspicious, Lavi wanted to call it.

Distracted from his thoughts, he followed Bookman's gaze as subtly as he could, and barely kept from starting.

There were two men, almost blending into the crowd. But they carried themselves like soldiers, and both of them had the characteristic two-dot mark on their forehead. CROW – but what were CROW doing here?

Doing here – looking at them.

Lavi glanced back down at Bookman, who hadn't taken his gaze from the CROW. His darkly colored prosthetic hand wandered over to roughly clasp the red Innocence ring. Around them, oblivious people flowed in a constant trickle, going about as if nothing at all was going on.

Then Bookman looked up at him, and Lavi realized he hadn't seen an expression like that on the old man's face since Lavi had gone crystal. As if Lavi was damned, and there wasn't a thing Bookman could do about it.

Lavi's mouth opened slightly, words forming on the back of his tongue – what did Bookman know? Was there something he wasn't telling Lavi? What was he resigned to?

Bookman gestured, and Lavi was moving before he had time to think about it, both of them making their way through the sparse crowd to the other end of the street. Lavi half-glanced behind them, and the CROW were following them.

Tension thrummed in his chest steadily, and his human hand clenched around a handle that wasn't there. Suddenly his mind was racing, and things that didn't make sense before started to fall into place.

Before they ever reached the end of the road, Lavi understood that the corruption of Central extended past the end of the war. By the time they did, cold had wrapped around his chest as he realized that this was the end of his road.

Bookman looked up at him, caught his wide green eye, and let his mouth twist into a grimace.

"I hope," Bookman said in a low voice, colored with weariness and a faint hint of anger, "that you have no regrets."

Lavi blinked, startled, and then managed a grin for the old man.

"Never have," he replied, as sincere in meaning as it was flippant in tone.

Bookman held his gaze, and then his mouth curved into a small, rare smile, and he gave Lavi a nod, a glint of pride in his eyes.

Then the old man turned, and his hand came up to bat aside a CROW needle Lavi hadn't even seen coming. Lavi cursed under his breath and whirled on the street they'd left behind, just registering that this one was much less busy, and the CROWs were almost on them.

Lavi bared his teeth in a fierce grin, and with a bright flash of green, activated his Innocence.

The grin was bravado; Lavi was furious, and maybe, just maybe, a little scared. The CROW could kill them, but they could also bring them in.

Lavi had had quite enough of that, thanks.

The two of them together, Lavi and Bookman, they whirled and battled against the CROW, cursed needles against blessed ones, hammer against switchblade. Sparks flew with each clash, and then the spell strips started too.

Lavi let out a yell as the first strip plastered itself against his side and burst briefly into flame, a flash of fire that consumed itself in seconds but left a burn that was too cold to hurt, too numb to touch. His flesh hand hovered over it as he bent double, his prosthetic hand trembling as it struggled to keep a hold of his hammer.

Then he looked up at Bookman, who, despite being locked in battle still, glanced over to look at him, his made-up eyes casting him a significant look.

Bookman's gaze travelled deliberately from Lavi's eyes, to his hammer, and then the man grunted as his attention cost him, and a needle was buried in his shoulder. He stumbled back, and another went into his chest, and then his stomach.

It took Lavi a moment. A moment, and another painful, deadly flame tag, this one too close to his face. And then another, and another, and then he was screaming.

He thought of his friends. Of Lenalee waking him up from every nightmare. Of Kanda calling him a sentimental fool. Of Allen talking him down every time he was lost in flashbacks.

Then he felt rage like Arctic winter rising in his chest, a useless barrier against the flame tags that were driving him to his knees and threatening to make him drop his Innocence. Instead, he tightened his grip, raised the volume of his screams, and slammed his hammer down onto the pavement in a blaze of radiation green.

The street was consumed in flame.

Was that ending alright? (I mean, aside from the fact that everyone is now dead.) Well, thanks for reading, and please review!

Edited 9/2/15

Edited again 9/26/16