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Between Rain and Sun	By : saxonjesus Category: +. to F > D. Gray Man Views: 2185 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: We don't own DGM, just our original characters. Oh, and the plot too, if there ever turns out to be one in this particular fic. No profit is made from this venture.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
Chapter 6--Depend on You

March 3, 2014--William J. Bogan High School, South Side of Chicago, USA

Outfitting her locker was something Amanda had never had the money to afford before, but now a plethora of magnets—mostly small frames with pictures of her fellow Exorcists and friends—a mirror, and one of those annoying, takes-up-way-too-much-space hanging organizer things decorated the interior. It was a useless effort, though, the young American girl thought. After all, she was only taking one “real” class. English wasn’t that hard. All it required was reading and paying attention. The other classes were simply artsy-fartsy courses required to bounce up her credit number for an early graduation. It irked her that after all the homeschooling she’d done in the Order, she still needed one final semester. Still, she’d sent out applications frantically throughout the entire winter, and she’d gotten her acceptance letter from Princeton two days ago.

Princeton. She was the first person in her family to go to college, and she was headed for a prestigious Ivy League school. On a full ride. She imagined it had something to do with the fact that she’d helped save the entire world, and while in any other case, she would probably hate the special treatment, she knew the expense of a college education. She wouldn’t give that up—not for the world. Especially since her family was still being assisted by what was left of the Coalition.

Above all, Amanda did not want to be a burden on her already financially pained family. She had the chance to do great things, and she would. But she’d take whatever money she could get. The brunette knew the value of a dollar—and a pound, and a euro, and a yuan, and any other currency this world had to offer—she knew it so painfully well that she would do anything to minimize the expense.

Slamming her locker shut and trying to avoid flinching as each answering bang from other students following her lead resounded through the hall; Amanda made her solitary way to her English class. It was weird, really, to be back in school, to smell the tiles and pencils and books masking the reek of sweat from all the “manly” men who thought they were too cool to go to class.

To tell the truth, she found it absolutely terrifying. Logically, she knew all the Akuma were gone, but each person who turned to gape at her—she was new to this district, after all—looked like they had a hidden agenda. Each tentative smile from potential classmates seemed like an unmerciful smirk from the deadliest of enemies. Each time she saw someone with that exact shade of blonde hair, her heart jumped, and the only face she could see was Artemis’s, even though she’d been dead for months now. Whenever someone bulky—a jock, a football player, it didn’t really matter who—walked by, she was reminded of Chaz.

Even the barest of inevitable contact in the hallway as she pushed her way through set her heart in a frenzy. She felt tight and tense, like a spring about to burst. She felt claustrophobic.

Amanda tried to ignore all the stares as she walked, late, into her English classroom. The teacher was strict-looking, something with which she would likely end up having a problem. It wasn’t that she didn’t like authority; it was just that she wasn’t ready to take orders at the moment, not after she’d spent a good several years doing exactly that.

The class went silent as they took in the scarred right half of her face. Though her doctors had assured her the scars would fade, they had yet to do so. They were better than they’d been two weeks ago when they’d been treated.

“I assume you’re Amanda Colten,” her teacher intoned. The lady was blonde, a shade or two darker than Artemis’s beautiful tresses, the pigment going gray at her temples. She looked middle-aged, and the scowl on her face reminded Amanda very much of Yuu-pyon’s after someone (well, Amanda) stole his soba.

“Yeah,” the brunette girl replied. She tried desperately to ignore her peers’ stares.

“Have a seat at the empty desk behind Jacob,” the teacher said, gesturing to the right side of the class.

It was the only open desk in the entire room, which, granted, was rather small in comparison to others Amanda had been forced to poke her head into. She took her seat and let the teacher go into whatever she was talking about.

Without meaning to, Amanda began scanning the class, her eyes frantically moving from target to target. She needed to know that she was okay, that she was safe, even though this was an Akuma-less world now. It was irrational, but she couldn’t help it. Everyone was moving, shifting in place, and the teacher droned on, moving properly and not sending her any sinister sneers.

She was okay, she really was.

Gradually, Amanda began to relax, only glancing around the room every once in a while.

“I know you are new here and don’t know anything about my policies, but I can assure you, Amanda, that if you don’t pay attention, I will put you in detention.” The teacher’s voice broke through her silent reverie, and it was at that point that Amanda realized she hadn’t been paying attention at all.

The brunette looked up, raising her eyebrows. “I wouldn’t advise that,” she said, her voice terse. The middle-aged lady looked taken aback, as if she hadn’t expected such a response.

“Oh, and why would that be?” The lady asked, somewhat melodramatically, in Amanda’s opinion.

“Surely you were apprised of my situation,” she replied, knowing that she’d completely lost what she had dubbed her fun and loving mask. It wasn’t surprising, though, since it was hard to act happy when every cell of her body ached in steep betrayal by the one person she’d loved most.

Okay, maybe she was melodramatic, too, but she had at least earned the right.

“Oh, do tell,” the English teacher said, her voice the pinnacle of expectancy.

“I’d prefer not to,” Amanda replied, sticking her chin out somewhat. She didn’t mean to be disrespectful, it was just that she really didn’t want her classmates to know the horrors she’d gone through if she could help it. She was already the weirdo. High school kids emphasized appearance, and hers was very, very flawed at the moment, something stare-worthy. As much as she pretended not to care, she didn’t want to be the odd one out, treated differently just because she had a guaranteed spot at Princeton, just because she had saved all their fucking asses from certain death at the hands of the apocalyptic Level Six Akuma. And the Earl.

It was in these moments that she missed her Irishman the most. Darcy always knew what to say. He would always stroke her back, pet her hair, and whisper in her ear—in that damn sexy accent of his—exactly what she needed to hear to make everything okay.

Amanda had become dependent, and now without that anchor, she was free-floating in a world she no longer understood. Road had helped, as had Lenalee, but it wasn’t the same. No, she wouldn’t break, but she’d never be whole again. Not in the same way.

“Really? Shed some light as to why I should treat you specially,” the teacher dictated, her voice as harsh as the crack of a whip.

The situation might have been salvageable, but at that point, Jacob’s heavy textbook fell to the ground with a loud, echoing bang that brought battle into Amanda’s eyes. All around her were Akuma, enemies to be destroyed.

Jumping up, the adrenaline in her system rolling forth like a great big wave, Amanda outstretched her arm and shouted, “activate!”

Nothing happened, but in her mind, the American girl saw her discus forming in her hand, and she threw it out, not caring that her hand connected with something solid, making it smart somewhat. She could see the students all around her morphing into Level Ones, their guns whining as they charged to fire deadly shots upon her and the other humans.

She had to stop them. Vaguely, she registered screams and yells, but that didn’t matter—it was just part of being an Exorcist. The crowd always shouted at this point. She just had to recall her Innocence, that beautiful streaming ribbon of peaceful green emanating from the gray discus she’d come to love.

Footsteps charged all around her, but all she could do was shoot her discus out again, the explosions of the Akuma forcing her to shield her eyes.

Arms grabbed her in a bear hug from behind, and something heavy forced her to the ground. She struggled and shouted and bit and scratched at anything in range. She had to get free. If an Akuma took her—or worse, if it was Chaz or another Noah—she knew she’d never survive, and now she had no Darcy, no Artemis, to back her up. It was just her, here in this suburban school the Coalition had forced her into “for her own health.”

Her head hit the ground, and she blinked, and things suddenly became very clear.

She was on the floor, a security guard on top of her now limp form—she’d just stopped struggling. Above her, the teacher was looking appalled and shocked, and her fellow students were looking at her like she was a lunatic. After all she’d been through, she wouldn’t be surprised if she was.

“Sorry,” she breathed, staying as still as possible. The security guard eased up on her but did not unhand her. She wouldn’t have either, if their positions had been reversed. “PTSD.” It was all Amanda could say, and she hung her head in shame for acting so stupidly. Talk about standing out.

As she was escorted out, she sent an apologetic glance back at the class. Jacob, the boy who sat in front of her, was bleeding from the head, and several were still cowering at the back of the classroom. She wondered just how bad she’d freaked out. Obviously, she wouldn’t be back in class for a while.

---

Whispers followed her in the hallway all day. They were hard to hear over the heavy chatter and footsteps, but Amanda saw the covert looks, the hasty retreat of eyes that realized she’d noticed their blatant staring. It wasn’t that she minded it particularly much—she’d been through far worse than an overactive high school rumor mill—but the looks she received unnerved her. They reminded her of the Akuma. No, the people weren’t eerily still in the hallways, but she’d been trained not to trust anyone and anything that gave her a second glance.

After her English class freak-out, she’d been sent to the office. She sat in a sort of comfortable wooden chair that reminded her of the one that went along with her desk at the Order. But even the slight familiarity did not stop her from hyperventilating, because comfortable as the chair might seem, people stared and stared and stared at her, drilling holes with their eyes. Eventually, someone had taken pity on her and sent her to the nurse. There was a tiny, dimly-lit room behind the clinic, and Amanda found herself finally relaxing, her breaths and heart rate finally slowing to normal, stable levels, the quietness and sanctity calming her like nothing else could.

Well, nothing else and Darcy. But he’d decided to leave her, so she wasn’t thinking about that.

Amanda had expected there would be conflict over the age difference. There were just over four years between them, and while that wouldn’t normally matter—Amanda’s parents were a good twelve years apart, and they’d never had problems with their marriage, poor though they were—she was still young enough for it to be considered statutory rape.

But honestly, she was very nearly seventeen, and she was more than willing to wait a year just to be with him. She’d known such a break would be necessary after the war. It was the route she’d expected them to take.

So it had to be something else, something beyond his supposed reason. She was ugly now, with ugly, inflamed scars tracing spider web patterns across half of her face. He didn’t want kids—it had been that conversation when she’d first noted something was off. She’d done something stupid to drive him away. He was tired of dealing with the depression she still felt over Artemis’s death so many months ago. He found someone else. She wasn’t particularly experienced in bed, so he wasn’t being pleased properly and never had been. He was secretly gay and wanted to run off with Emiko-kun.

So many possibilities, some—like the last—more than a little ridiculous. But they all swirled around her mind in a constant vortex of negativity.

Amanda sighed, slamming her locker shut. She’d wasted most of her time and all of her useless art credits in the school’s clinic, so she was on her way to study hall. She was technically allowed to sign out and leave now, since she was a senior, despite being a year too young, but Amanda wanted to apologize to her English teacher before she went. She’d disturbed the poor lady’s class, after all.

She went to the library to sign in and then slipped out the back doors when no one was looking. She got strange glances from security guards, teachers, and the final trickle of students as she headed back to her English classroom, but she ignored them. Even though each one gave her the jitters.

She was perhaps very, very lucky that her English teacher was free, but Amanda couldn’t help but think that at least one thing had gone right today.

The room was decorated the same—not that she’d been expecting it to change. Posters obviously crafted from students littered the walls, decorating them with bright colors. One in particular caught her eye. It was a collage of London, both old and new, and quotes sat beneath each of the overlapped pictures. One of the pictures was a blurry, obviously photoshopped depiction of the Eye, and it took a great force of will to block out the bad memories, the rush of noises and battles and screams, the smell of smoke—acrid and suffocating—burning her nose, the flashes of light blinding everyone in the vicinity, the whistling of Akuma cannons, imitating a steaming teakettle almost perfectly. The adrenaline, the panic, oppressed her again.

Abruptly, she ripped her eyes from the image, wanting to blot out remembered sensations, remembered fear. Her pupils were probably horribly dilated from the adrenaline in her system, but her teacher didn’t seem to notice. Instead, the lady looked up from the papers she was grading and gave Amanda a stiff nod.

“Anything I can do for you?” The lady asked. Her voice sounded as stiff as her movements, and Amanda watched as the woman’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Obviously, she was less than pleased at the American Exorcist for her earlier offense.

“Mrs. Wilson, I’m really sorry about the… disturbance I made this morning,” Amanda said, hoping she sounded as sincere as she felt. Her English teacher raised her eyebrows, looking surprised.

“It’s no problem—” her tone suggested differently, “—but I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you not to do it again.”

Amanda froze. Had she really just been asked not to have a panic attack? Cold rage flowed through her veins like icy lava, like that strange-looking gel found inside cold packs. Her jaw tightened, clenched shut, her hands fisted, nails feeling like pinpricks in rough, callused skin, but she couldn’t say anything. Taking a deep, calming breath, Amanda released the tension, forcing it away as if she was shooing an annoying animal.

“I won’t… I hope.”

Her teacher’s face softened, thankfully understanding her plight. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Amanda nodded. “You know I have PTSD.” The teacher inclined her head, showing her agreement. “Well, it’s not usually a problem, but today, someone dropped their book. It sounded like a gunshot. I shouldn’t have a problem, though, as long as that doesn’t happen again. There’s just one thing, though… our last battle took place at the Eye in London, and I saw a lot of my good friends die there.” She tried to ignore how very raw her voice suddenly sounded, how it had cracked on the word die. She’d seen Artemis’s face on the Eye. She’d see it every time she looked upon the largest Ferris wheel. “If you could take down the one collage over there, I’d be really grateful.”

The teacher frowned as she looked after Amanda’s pointed finger. “That was one of the best posters a student has made. He’s long since graduated, but I’m rather partial to it…”

“Please,” Amanda begged, her voice cracking again as a tear slipped down her cheek. “I saw millions of soldiers turn to dust, I saw the face of my best friend who’d been murdered after weeks of Medieval-style torture on an apocalyptic killing machine, I saw my good friend’s guts rolling about on the ground as he sobbed into his comatose lover’s hair, I saw a girl have wings of Innocence ripped from her back, I saw her splatter on the ground. Every time I see that collage—and it’s on the wall behind my desk—I’m going to see those images again. Please, I am begging you, please, take it down, just for this last semester.”

Mrs. Wilson was frozen in place. Amanda was horrified. She hadn’t meant to say any of that, hadn’t meant to let anything slip. There was something unfair in letting others know exactly what she’d seen. Mrs. Wilson shifted her weight forward as she made to get up. Amanda took a step back, and then, tears fighting for an exit from her eyes, she turned and fled the room. She didn’t even return to study hall, just went to the security desk and signed out, sniffing back the mucus that threatened to dollop out of her nose.

The only good thing that came from that terrible slip was that, when Amanda walked into class the next morning, the poster had been removed, replaced with a random scene out of Paradise Lost.

---

August 12, 2014--The Ark

Allen sat across from Lenalee, sipping a cup of coffee through pursed lips. He was staring over Lenalee’s shoulder at the computer screen as she scrolled--too fast--through the listings.

“Wait,” he said abruptly. Lenalee stopped scrolling. “How about that one?”

“Which one, Allen?” She asked. She sounded a little tired.

“That one,” he said, gesturing with his mug, despite the fact that she couldn’t see it.

“Which one?”

“Oh, sorry, the one with the two bedrooms, one bath, and the sizable living room,” he said.

“The one beneath the Amnesty Falls place?”

“Yeah.”

She clicked the link. The next page loaded slowly, but when the picture finally came up, they both leaned in a little closer. Allen blinked. They were supposed to be looking at apartments. Maybe he’d seen wrong. When he refocused on the computer screen, the image hadn’t changed.

“Oh, isn’t that a darling little house, Allen?” Lenalee said, twining her arms around his right one.

“Apartments, Lenalee, we’re looking for apartments.”

“I know, but...”

“No.”

“It’s not like we don’t have money...”

“But isn’t a house a big commitment?”

She looked at him, in that way, and suddenly he was backtracking like mad, trying to recover some semblance of favor from her before it was destroyed. But it was too late, she’d already thought of a response.

“And getting married... isn’t?”

“N-no, that’s not it! I- I meant financially... or-or...time or something?”

It was no use. He was doomed. She turned all the way around in her seat, releasing his arm and cocking her head to the side. She straightened her posture. He had grown taller than her, but when she pulled herself up to her full height, Allen always felt like he was fifteen again, a short beansprout, a babbling child who didn’t know when to shut up.

“How much do you think weddings cost?” Lenalee asked.

“Uh... a fair amount?”

“Give me a figure.”

“How do you know the average price for a wedding?”

“Because I’m a girl, Allen, and Amanda and Road and Miranda and I all talk about this sort of stuff. And we’ve talked about it for months now, Allen. After wedding bands and the dress, there’s still venue prices, entertainment costs, the expenses of having an open bar. Then there’s the bridesmaids’ dresses, the groomsmen’s tuxes, the catering, the service, the cake topper, the cake, and so, so many other things.”

Allen blinked. He might have to start up poker again. But no, he was rich now. Lenalee, catching on to his dumbfoundedness by the distinct slack he felt in his jaw, smiled at him.

“Oh, Allen,” she said, shaking her head but still holding her smile.

“I’ve never... settled down,” he said finally.

“Well, isn’t that what we were planning on doing?” Lenalee asked, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms across her chest. She started tapping her right foot, a recent habit. It had started while they were sitting in Kanda’s room. All those motionless months had to manifest somehow.

“Yes, but I thought we were looking for apartments,” Allen said. He looked away.

“I know, but isn’t this house really cute?”

“Yeah... it is.” He tried not to sound resigned.

“Allen, are you... scared?”

“What? No!”

He’d never had a stable home before, which obviously meant he wanted one. There was absolutely nothing to suggest that he wouldn’t. It was just that he’d always been moving around so much. His first home hadn’t exactly worked out that well, and then there was the nomadic lifestyle of the circus and after that, Cross’s bar-hopping, Order-evading endeavors. Then there had been the Order itself. While he had always had somewhere to come back to, he was constantly living in Inns on the way to, during, and on the way home from missions. Even the Order had had to move. And then he’d lived in the Ark. The longest place he’d ever lived was in Hevlaska’s stomach, and that didn’t really count because he hadn’t actually been conscious for any of it.

Obviously, all that moving around meant he wanted to stay in one place. Forever.

So why was he feeling so much trepidation at the idea of even considering a house?

“You are, aren’t you?” Lenalee said.

“No! I’m not!” He waved his arm frantically back and forth in front of him, hoping that the movement would negate her accusation, both for her and for himself.

“Allen, you are lying to me. Why are you afraid to have a house?” Her voice was suddenly much less sharp. In fact, it sounded a bit like a silken sheet on bare skin.

“I--I don’t know,” he said. He looked down at his feet.

“Are you afraid to be with me?” She asked.

“No,” he said. No. That would never be the case.

“Are you afraid to live alone with me?”

“No.”

“Then what is it, Allen? What is it about a house that’s got you so nervous? Is it because it’s so permanent? Not like the wedding kind of permanent, but the ‘we can never leave this place ever’ kind of permanent?”

Something in his stomach gurgled. He hoped it didn’t actually make any noise. He kept looking at his toes. Lenalee continued on.

“Because that’s not true. That’s a small house. That house could hold one, maybe two kids. But it’d be very cramped. It doesn’t have a big yard. You couldn’t put a swing in it. And Amanda keeps saying something about how it’s really necessary to have a thing called a--a ‘jungle jim,’ whatever that is. I assume it’s a thing, though, and not a person, because she said it goes in the backyard. And I want a garden, too. Big, with lots of flowers. And vegetables. And sunflowers. So many sunflowers. And we can’t have that here in this small house. This house is darling, but I imagine we’d move once we start a family. So you don’t have to be worried about always staying in one place. Besides, we may see the inside of this house and hate it.”

Allen still stared at his shoes, only now he was gazing past, trying to develop x-ray vision so he could see through the floorboards. The vision in his eye blurred. He started for a second, tensed up so much he started to shake, but then his vision cleared and he was okay.

“Allen?” Her hand was on his shoulder.

“I don’t want to be stuck in one place,” he said.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t you?”

“I don’t want to be left behind.”

“I won’t leave you behind,” Lenalee said, moving her hand from his shoulder to his back and using it to pull him close. He let her hold him, laid his head on her shoulder. It was sort of boney and it started a dull ache at the point of contact on his forehead. He could feel the blood pounding around the area.

“I know, but... what if we get stuck?”

“Now I don’t follow you, Allen.”

“Stuck in one place while everyone goes off in different directions, and we are left behind in our little house, unable to follow.”

“But there’s always the Ark.” She held him tighter.

“That’s not exactly what I meant.” He meant emotionally. Maybe. What did he mean?

“Then what did you mean?” She started running her fingers in a small circular pattern along the small of his back. He leaned into her.

“What if you leave me?”

It was out before he knew he had even meant to say it. It was just hanging there in the air, between them, even though he was all sorts of pressed up against Lenalee and he was trying not to get turned on by the sweeping movements of her fingers.

And then the dam was unplugged, and before Lenalee could speak, Allen began to blabber out words he’d never acknowledged before but were true nonetheless.

“What if you leave me and all I have left is the house and no one else, because all the girls will side with you, and if the girls side with you, so will the guys, just like everyone’s shunning Darcy right now because of the whole Amanda thing. What if you leave me like my birth parents or Mana or Cross? What if you leave me all alone?”

His knees chose that moment to give out, so he slipped to the floor. It hurt a little, the impact. But he wasn’t really concentrating on that. He was looking at Lenalee’s legs, saw them move toward his face as she bent down. Her hands went in his hair.

“It’s okay,” she said. He wasn’t crying, his eyes (blind and normal) weren’t leaking, he wasn’t even shaking, but she slowly shifted her hands down to his cheeks, rubbing mini circles with her thumbs. “I am never going to leave you.”

---

August 24th--Konstanz, Germany

Miranda sat down in her chair to watch. She sighed, as her ankles ached from the effort, and she patted her stomach lovingly as she received an aggravated kick from its resident. This would be an interesting scene to watch unfold.

Lolek had all the pieces laid out on the floor, in alphabetical order, according to the instructions. Just getting the box inside had been an issue. It was heavy and unwieldy and had taken several attempts to slide up the steps and into the nursery. She had stayed dutifully out of the way. Now she just had to sit back, relax, and watch as the baby’s crib was assembled before her eyes.

They’d bought the house several months back, right after they had been let out of the hospital. It was just what she had imagined: out of the way, a nice kitchen, living room, two bathrooms, and three bedrooms. Just in case, she’d smiled to herself. Plus, it had a backyard. She’d been giddy with excitement when they had moved in. It seemed like everything she’d wished for was coming true.

She watched contentedly as the blond man attempted to screw leg A into side section A with the flimsy metal wrench/screwdriver that had come with the box. It didn’t seem to be working all that well and she could tell he was becoming frustrated already. She giggled slightly as the tool flew across the room and onto the floor.

Lolek mumbled something profane under his breath as he got up and fetched it. She watched him fiddle with the little bolts and try to fit notch after notch together, but it seemed fruitless. He was getting more and more frustrated by the second and she knew that any moment it would become too much. She decided to nip it in the bud before there was some sort of explosion. Profanities were not good for the baby.

Pulling herself from the chair, not quite as easy of a feat as it would have been only a few weeks ago, she shuffled over to her heap of muscle on the floor.

She leaned over and put a hand on his shoulder, though she couldn’t bend down low enough to grab his hand and if she tried she knew she’d get stuck, so this would have to suffice.

He looked up at her. His hair was getting a bit too long and it was obscuring his eyes, which was a shame in Miranda’s opinion, so she smoothed it out of the way and smiled at him. She smoothed some of the wrinkles that had formed around his eyes, noting the dark circles there as well. It looked like neither of them had been sleeping well, though probably for slightly different reasons.

Lolek placed his hand on top of hers, pulling her slightly closer as he got to his knees. He was so tall that even while kneeling he was able to rest his head on her oversized stomach fairly easily. They stayed there for a moment as she ran her fingers through his hair slowly.

“Still haven’t been sleeping?” She whispered, trying not to disturb the nice peacefulness that seemed to have settled.

There was a small shake in response.

“How about we go downstairs, then; I’ll make some tea, and we’ll cuddle.”

There was another shake and then a sigh.

“I can feel her.” It was spoken with such wonderment that it even surprised Miranda. She knew that Lolek had at least felt the baby kick.

“She must know it’s you; she kicks like mad when you’re around.”

There was another sigh. “That is amazing.”

“Lolek, is everything alright? You can tell me.”

She didn’t get a response. This was just like him, though, not telling her what he was thinking. So she pulled him up (as best she could, though he didn’t resist) and led him downstairs, where she plopped him on his favorite side of the couch and went to make tea. His favorite, of course, orange ginger. Something to soothe and relax because that was just what it seemed he needed.

As soon as it was done, she settled herself onto the couch next to him and handed over the mug.

“I really should get back to that...” He mumbled, looking into the cup.

“Hush, it can wait, we’ve still got weeks before we’ll really need it. Right now, it’s just you and me.” She leaned over and placed her head on his shoulder, waiting for him to make some headway on the tea before she pursued her original question.

Lolek leaned back into a throw pillow after placing the mug on the coffee table. Miranda seized the opportunity to situate herself as close as possible to him. They sat for a while in silence.

“She’s going to be okay, right?”

She stopped. “What do you mean?” What did he mean? Was he starting to have second thoughts about this? Was he having second thoughts about her? Was he worried that she’d be a terrible mother and do something like drop the baby? Oh dear, what if she did? What if she did and it was an awful, terrible, tragedy and he hated her for it and would never forgive her? It would be like the end of the world, only worse! And she would be so, so sorry. But he would never accept her apologies. And would she even forgive herself? No, it would be better off to die.

She felt dizzy. Oh, she was dizzy, but how could she be so dizzy from sitting down? It was getting dark, too. Had they really been sitting there so long?

---

“Miranda, dear, are you okay? Can you hear me? Liebchen, hörst du mich?”

Someone was stroking her cheek. It was so nice; she wanted to just lay there forever. Whoever was there with her obviously didn’t know what a terrible person she was and she’d prefer to keep it that way. Although, she did want to know if what she thought was what was bothering Lolek.

She opened her eyes and saw the object of her thoughts looking down at her, looking spectacularly green; he must be more worried than she thought! It was terrible!

“Lolek? Why are you on the floor?” She was stretched out on the couch and he was kneeling next to her, slowly running a hand over her forehead.

“Well, you fainted and I needed to make sure I could get you to a hospital if it was something serious, so I got up. What had you so worked up? You scared me to death!”

“I fainted?”

“Yes. First you got all quiet, and then you started hyperventilating, and then you just went limp.” He was returning to his normal color again, much to her relief, but he still sounded anxious.

“I’m fine.” And judging by the ferocious kicking of the passenger in her womb, so was the baby.

“Well, something must have upset you.”

“What did you mean by, ‘she will be okay, right?’”

He looked at her, and seemed to have some sort of realization. Throwing his arms around her as best as he could considering her position, Lolek rested his head near hers.

“I was worrying about my capabilities as a father figure. I wasn’t questioning your mothering skills.”

Astounded, she sat up quickly, her shoulder nearly making contact with his nose. Somehow Lolek always knew what she was thinking.

“Y-you were? Why?” The dark-haired woman didn’t demand things often, but when she did it was when she was presented with the absurd and wanted to have an explanation. Lolek, not being a good father? That thought was the absurdist of all absurd things, worse than that Dali fellow.

“What if I can’t protect her? I--I--” He took a deep breath in, almost like he was getting ready to hold it, but he didn’t, letting it out slowly. “I don’t want her to end up like my sister. I couldn’t protect the only person I had. I couldn’t bear to have that happen again.”

This time, it was Miranda who reached out. She hadn’t realized just how much he still was holding on. It would be something he would never quite get over, she knew that, but still, to live with that shadow was not something she could stand. She motioned for him to sit down next to her, grabbing his hands while he did.

“You protected me. You stood there and were beaten almost senseless and you didn’t give up even after your arm was nearly shattered. You stayed by me, picked me up every time I fell down the stairs, made me feel like I wasn’t a worthless klutz. If you do even a fraction of that for our daughter, you will be one of the best fathers out there. Lolek, you can’t let the past bog you down. You--I-I mean, we both--have to face up to it and realize we aren’t those weak people anymore. We have each other now and soon we’ll have a baby.”

There were those wrinkles at the corners of his eyes again. There was so much sadness and anxiety there, but now there was also something else, that same glimmer they’d had on New Year’s, the same shine they’d had when they’d found out it was a girl, the same almost imperceptible gleam that was a mixture of hope and something else she never could quite figure out. But that was the look she knew, the look she had been waiting for to know that it would be, that it was, alright.

“I think, we’ll both be amazing.”

---

September 23, 2014--A cafe in Tokyo, Japan

His coffee was cold, he realized with a grimace. It tasted like someone had ground up a brick, added milk, or cream, and some sort of artificial sweetener and tried to pass it off as a “delicious American-style blend.” Sasaki had had American coffee before, none of that Starbucks stuff either, or the sludge that Amanda drank--“black, no sugar”--but real, American, “the best part of wakin’ up” coffee.

He wondered how long he’d been sitting there. Looking at his phone, he pondered at the lost hours. He should have been studying, but for some reason, his head had just not been in the game. Every time he sat down to work on his sketches, his mind would wander away, sometimes aimlessly, sometimes directed toward memories that would best be kept locked up in case the neighbors got suspicious of the sudden bouts of crying and hysteria.

Things had been better since he’d moved out of his parent’s home. He’d even gotten used to the loneliness, seeing as most of his time was spent reading, drawing, re-drawing, re-reading, and looking at blueprints. But despite his most intense efforts, he still couldn’t deny that he was in desperate need of some company. The worst part was, he just couldn’t bring himself to call up anyone. It... just didn’t feel right, calling them. Amanda was at Princeton, dealing with her own issues and... well, it had been so long since he’d talked with anyone else, wouldn’t it just seem awkward to suddenly call out of the blue? He would have to deal with his problems on his own. At least, that’s what he’d been telling himself for the past few months.

The Japanese man toyed with the idea of ordering some fresh coffee, maybe a slice of chocolate cheesecake to go with it. Wait, no... it would have to be strawberry. Yes. Strawberry cake. He smiled to himself a little after he placed the order. This would make him feel better.

The cake and coffee were delivered in no time. But just as he was about to take his first bite, someone sat down in the chair across from him. At his table. With him.

“Looks tasty, mind if I grab a bite?” A very familiar voice asked. An elegant, smooth hand gracefully took hold of his already half-raised one, guiding it across the table.

Sasaki was too shocked to speak, though coming from the person in question, it really shouldn’t have been. He gathered his nerves, though, and looked his accoster square in his no longer yellow eyes.

“What do you want, Tyki?” He was surprised when he managed to pull of the annoyed sound in his voice. The last thing he needed was Noah trouble. Even though he was really just being biased now.

“I was just passing by, and you looked a bit... lonely. If that is even the correct descriptor. More like downtrodden or lost. So, I thought I’d stop and try and cheer you up.” Sasaki had never noticed how rough his voice sounded, and yet, it managed to flow so silkily, like everything he said was rehearsed a hundred times over.

Tyki raised an eyebrow at him as if expecting something. It was then that Sasaki realized that he was probably supposed to say something. He’d just been staring at the oddly... charming invader.

“Why would you do that?”

“Maybe because I don’t like seeing people that I know sitting by themselves, looking like it’s the end of the world.” This guy always had a response, it seemed.

“Well, thanks... I guess.”

Neither of them said anything for a while. They simply stared at each other. Sasaki, taking a tentative bite of his cake, Tyki, sitting sideways in the chair, legs crossed, a jacketed elbow nonchalantly placed on the table. He was sitting like he’d been torn out of a scene of a movie or magazine. Even his hair seemed to defy reality, curling oddly onto his forehead.

Sasaki finished his cake and even managed half of his cup of coffee before he gave that up as indigestion waiting to happen.

“So,” Sasaki started, not really having anything to say.

The Portuguese man seemed to perk up at the word, eager, almost, to hear what was going to come next. It was then that Sasaki began to wonder if maybe Tyki was lonely too. It seemed like an odd thought, seeing as he had his whole family, and they were connected on a level that was almost incomprehensible, but maybe it was possible.

“Do... you want... to come over?” What in the hell was he saying? And yet he found himself meaning every word.

Tyki sat a little straighter, his eyebrows raising until they got lost in those odd curls at his forehead. “I... would be honored.” He immediately scowled, and Sasaki had the feeling he was chiding himself for such a formal, antiquated assent. Obviously he hadn’t completely left the past behind.

They didn’t say anything else as they walked toward Sasaki’s apartment.

----

June 14, 2014--The Ark

“Tyki, we would like to talk to you,” Sarah said as Tyki opened a door to the Ark. He was still in the bar. He hadn’t even stepped inside yet.

“Will you let me in?” He asked, frowning.

“Oh! Of course.” She stepped back and he entered the Ark. He took care to close the door gently behind him, turning to face it as he did so, allowing himself a moment to collect himself. He’d had more than a little to drink, and while he wouldn’t say he was flat-out plastered or even moderately drunk, he was definitely more than buzzed and his steps weren’t as sure as he was hoping they’d be.

“What’s going on?” He asked. A door opened farther down the stone path running through this sector of the ark. Just a hair. Not enough for him to see who it was. He was unsure who “we” was supposed to mean.

“Oh, nothing too serious. We just wanted to sit down together as a family for a few minutes.”

“Oh.” Okay. So it was everyone. He followed Sarah into the room. It was spacious and very much to his liking, with well-stuffed chaises, sofas, and even a couple lazy boy chairs that he had come to love within the past fifty years. There were numerous end tables with crocheted covers, many boasting potted flowers. On the dark wood of the coffee table in the middle of the room sat a vase of red roses, arguably his favorite flower. They were buttering him up for something.

Faith sat in the middle of a sofa and beckoned to him as he stood at the door frame.

“Come on, sit down,” she said, so he walked over and sat in the chair adjacent to her sofa.

“So what’s happened?” He asked, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. He decided to keep his feet planted firmly on the ground. There was too much nervous energy in the room. Maybe it was his.

“Well, we wanted to have a bit of a chat with you,” said Faith. “We’ve noticed that you’ve been a bit distracted of late.”

“Distracted,” Tyki said. Oh criminy, it was about him. The others were here to witness the whole thing. It was not everyone gathering for a “family meeting” of sorts.

“Yes.”

Sarah closed the door and came over to sit across from him. She looked at him, and Tyki felt the urge to recoil in the form of a shiver.

“Would you like a sucker?” Asked Road, getting up from her seat in the corner and offering him a purple candy. It was the same color as his lovely, flesh-eating, butterfly-shaped golems.

“No, thanks,” he said, turning his face away from her. He didn’t want to see the disappointment in her face. He was fondest of her, after all. She went back to her seat, dragging her heels against the plush oriental rug.

“Alright, Tyki, we’ll be straight with you. We’re worried about you.” This time it was Sarah who spoke.

“Why?” He asked.

“Well, like we said, you’ve been very distracted lately. You’ve been going to bars a lot.”

“Going to bars is hardly any cause for worry,” he said. He leaned forward and grabbed a rose from the vase on the coffee table. It had been divested of its thorns and so he turned it slowly in his hands without worry of pain, however brief it may be. He frowned at it. This conversation was not to his liking.

“No, Tyki, but you’ve been having quite a bit to drink, and--”

“--And you think I am an alcoholic, which I am not. I am merely playing--”

“--Poker, which you seem to have been doing a lot of lately. In fact, you’ve been playing so much poker--and other games, don’t think we’re stupid--and you’ve been visiting casinos so often, that we all have noticed the huge behavioral changes. You are irritable, and if you aren’t having a gin and tonic--or--or a rum and coke or whatever drink it is you prefer--”

“Whiskey sours,” Tyki said under his breath.

“Listen to me, Tyki. If you aren’t having your whiskey sours and gambling profusely, you get irritable and downright rude.”

“I don’t have to listen to you attack me like this,” Tyki said, getting up. Abruptly, there was a cat in his lap, and he was forced back into a sitting position as it morphed back into Lulu’s human form. Then Chaz was at his side, holding down one of his wrists on the armrest. His own brother, Cyril, caught his other arm before Tyki could resist. Realizing that he was outnumbered twelve to one, he sank back into the chair. He was the Noah of Pleasure, after all, and getting hit and overpowered, while pleasurable in some cases, was most certainly not in this particular instance. He sighed.

“So you all think I have a gambling problem.”

“We know you do, Tyki,” said Faith, and she came over and laid a hand on his. He growled at her. He heard a faint hiss come from Lulu.

“And what makes you say that?” He finally managed to say. It was very difficult to unclench his teeth.

“We’ve done a lot of research in this area,” Charlie said, coming up to him. “You try to hide all the gambling you do from us, and it actually took us following you a couple times to realize how much--”

“You--you followed me!?” Tyki spluttered.

“We were worried,” said Faith. As if that made everything okay. All sunshine and daisies. Well fuck that.

“And that gives you the right!?” Tyki was yelling now, actively pulling at his restrainers and attempting to unseat Lulubell with as many jerking leg movements as he could manage.

“No, but as I said, we were worried.”

“That’s one of the signs, you see,” Charlie said. “When your friends and family become worried about you, see you pulling away, see that your behavior is self-destructive, that’s a sign that you are a compulsive gambler.”

“And what other signs do you see?” Tyki growled. His captors were holding him too tightly. He was beginning to lose sensation in his fingertips. Still he thrashed against them.

“Well, like I said before you first interrupted, you attempted to hide your gambling from us. There’s also the fact that you can’t seem to walk away. Most poker nights end up with you passed out from too many drinks or the others heading home. When you’re at the casinos, you have a drink too many and they kick you out for disorderly conduct. Only when you’re so exhausted you can’t keep going do you ever consider leaving, and you’re back by lunchtime the next day.”

“I do not gamble that often. I do other things.”

“Like what?”

He couldn’t think of anything.

“I get coffee,” he said.

They all stared for a second, and then he remembered to keep struggling.

“I do not have a problem,” he insisted, pulling harder, growling and gnashing his teeth as he fought harder to unseat Lulu.

“Yes, you do!” Faith said, standing up. She was beginning to raise her voice. She took a few steps toward him and then turned so that she was directly in front of him (though Lulu was kind of in the way). “And we are here to help you. But until you admit you have a problem, I don’t want you anywhere near my Ark!” She turned her back on him. He looked around Lulubell and watched Faith’s body move as she took a long breath. He forgot to respond. He even forgot to thrash.

“Let him go,” she said at last.

He felt the difference at once in the abrupt and achingly sharp tingling in his hands and fingertips. He felt light all of a sudden as Lulubell stood up, the now crushed rose falling to the ground beneath her. He lunged past her and out the door. He fumbled in his pocket for his key to the Ark and opened the nearest door he could find.

It led directly to a pub.

---

September 23, 2014--Tokyo, Japan

He’d been wandering around for hours. His head was fuzzy from the previous night. He’d had too much to drink. That had become a common occurrence in the past three and a half months. So a walk in Tokyo was just what he needed. He wasn’t, strictly speaking, allowed in the Ark, with the exception of his needing transportation to Rome for the thirty-first of August. They’d left him there, of course, talking about how he was still “adamantly refusing to admit his problem,” which he didn’t have. Just because he enjoyed gambling didn’t mean he was addicted to it. It was just his favorite form of entertainment. The high stakes... distracted him, though not in the way his so-called family believed. They just kept his mind off of the past few centuries. They allowed him to temporarily forget all the terrible things he’d done.

It wasn’t just the killings and the torturing, though that was bad enough. It was also the rapes. Countless. All in the pursuit of some perverted “pleasure.” And it was centuries of being like that--evil--that he was looking to forget.

It was just that he couldn’t keep his mind off it forever. The poker helped. The casinos helped more, but he lost too much money, so he’d always be back at the poker table, where he played a mean game.

Literally, because he cheated.

But he earned back most of what he lost, and frankly, while he wasn’t a billionaire or anything, the newly organized world government had awarded him with five million dollars for his “services” in the war.

Services. Yeah. The idea still made him snort at the irony. He and his family were the cause of the damned thing. Funny how people liked to forget that. Not that he was complaining, because he liked the money. It was just stupid that people could be so... nonchalant about the whole origin-of-the-war thing.

But after Rome, he’d taken a good, hard look at himself and decided he was, indeed, going a little overboard. He just decided it wasn’t worth it to stop.

He’d come to Japan a little over a week ago, hoping to take a tour or two of the red light district of its capital. Perhaps see if there were any special cafes where he could curl up with someone for the night. Or just harmlessly flirt. Maybe play a few rounds of card games. No luck. He felt like a hobo. Not like he hadn’t experienced that before. He didn’t have anywhere to stay. He’d managed to couch... or rather, bed surf for the past week, but now he’d really just give anything to see a friendly face. What were the chances he’d run into a family member or an Order member here in the city?

He walked down the sidewalk aimlessly, passing fast food stand after fast food stand, Starbucks after Starbucks. He gagged a bit at the smell. As he waited to cross a street, he gazed at the people seated at one of the many cafes he’d passed.

One of the customers put a menu down on the table and signaled to one of the waitresses. He didn’t catch what they ordered because he was too… startled? Relieved? Happy? He didn’t know what emotion was being elicited in him as he recognized the Exorcist. Whatever it was, it was what made him turn around.

He hesitated. He knew that this particular Exorcist was a bit skittish when it came to Noah, so he wasn’t quite sure how to approach, but at this point he was just desperate. He glanced at the shop window. Desperation did not suit him. The waitress was heading back to the man’s table with a slice of cake and a cup of coffee. To Hell with it, he thought, sitting down across the table from the Japanese exorcist. He’d decided to wing it.

“Looks tasty, mind if I grab a bite?”

---

A/N:

Yay, an update! Sorry it took us so long. Em1 is still taking classes, so she is very busy, and Em2 is being a bit of a lazy-ass. But hey, we’ve just about graduated from college and we’ll be moving off into the real world, together, so you don’t have to worry. We’re glad to be back and writing. We’ll be doing alternating chapters of BRS and HtSaL in order to keep up with both. Or at least that’s the plan. Also we hope you like Tyki lots, as he’ll be showing up quite a bit in the next chapter. You will see more LK next chapter, too, so worry not.

It is not a mistake that Tyki is outnumbered twelve to one. Since we wrote IR before any of the new Noahs were discovered, we created other Noahs in their places. By the end of IR, we had Sebastian in place of Nea as the fourteenth. We also had Akuma as the incarnation of Noah’s Sorrow and Innocence as the incarnation of Noah’s Heart and Innocence. So in total, we had 15 Noah. The Earl is entirely gone, as the need for Revenge (what he incarnated) is entirely gone. However, Noah’s Rage still exists (as does Skin). This would leave the Noah outnumbering him 11 to one, except that Jasdevi is two people, leaving him outnumbered 12 to one.
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Between Rain and Sun