?

Log in

 
 
10 June 2008 @ 12:43 pm
Fic for vixen_shtorat  
Author: matchstick
Requested by: vixen_shtorat
Title: Uneven Remainders
Pairings/Characters: Lenalee/Allen/Lavi
Rating: PG-13 just to be safe
Warnings: Abuse of the word 'It'
Disclaimer: D.Gray-Man and all related characters belong to Katsura Hoshino. I am only playing with them.
Author Notes: I really wanted to try my hand at writing these three together in a pairing. I had a general idea of what I wanted to be done, but it mutated into this. I am sorry if it isn't what you wanted. I really also tried to make all three of them unhappy yet satisfied with being together, each wanting more but knowing it wasn't possible. I hope you like the fic, I tried my best.


Uneven Remainders
by matchstick

He felt more like the third wheel. He knew he was supposed to keep his distance, comfortable, far off, his heart locked away so his own emotions wouldn't overpower him and skew his views on the world. Pure attention and truth is what he wanted to give to the hidden history of the world. ((Although, he could not understand after all these years of being 'nameless' why humans had to have a hidden history)). He was jealous-an unneeded feeling which would skew everything-of them, how she could cry so easily over the loss of someone dear, how he could smile and frown and then keep on walking on forward together. It…it hurt so much, how they could show their true feelings to him and each other and not feel the cold eyes of history staring down at them, knowing just because of one day-a fleeting moment of passion-could ruin a view on a major event.

It choked him, he wanted to show them all of it, not the watered down version of his feelings wrapped in a name that was made real. To join them in truly laughing from deep down inside, and crying, and getting so angry that your jaw clinches up and you feel if you hold it in any longer your body might just reject you and send you into a seizure-like fit in which you had to go around apologizing to everyone then feel guilty for it.

When she held him in her arms, his head resting against her chest, listening to her own heart beat of-so-softly, it hurt thinking that any moment he would have to remove himself from her and become John or Joseph or Lynyrd. He…felt selfish. He wanted to stay in her arms and have a name that would stick with him so as the three of them fell asleep in a tent, he would kiss her, then he would kiss him, and then she would kiss him right above his head, then they would say good night, and he would know that it was him they were saying goodnight to, not just the name and the fake persona.

She felt more like the third wheel. They could do things together that she couldn't do with them. Be able to go out at night and people think they are just two young men out having a good time, instead of a woman with two men out like a harlot. They had to wrap around her to get her in to their lives without anyone thinking terrible things about them, where her brother would not swoop down onto them like a bird of prey ready and willing to 'save' her from the terrible and beautiful mess she had gotten herself into.

She was a girl playing the game-from what she had heard- that only men should do. One man and two women, the man would support two women, the women would lavish attention on him, and they could happily share without the virtue of the women in danger. They were loyal to one man.
She was loyal to two. To the two who also had to hide their parts of the dance of three. She for social, he for duty, and him for protection. In the Order-she had learned-people would form relationships and also hide it. So they would not be torn apart to protect them and their mission.

If one of them died, two would loose a part of their heart. Two people in pain doubled the chances of a terrible mistake. One that her brother, while talking to her one day on a recent death, can blur anyone's vision of right and wrong for the world. A moment of happiness to know they are alive to be ruined by a monster that wears the skin of the one it loved. She figured out the rest of what would happen for their…group…on her own. One dies, one makes the mistake of calling them up, the other is killed or has to kill.

She hated to dwell on it. But she was reminded of it from when she would kiss the blood bright mark on a pale face, or when she held a strong and calloused hand leading him to a sweet shop. She had to dwell on it, to remember why she fought at times, when the idea of 'For the world' became a weak echo in the back of her mind as she watched pieces of her puzzle slowly fade away, they would hold her and kiss her and remind her that soon, what is destroying her puzzle could be over, the pieces that fade away having a fond memory replace it, knowing she could stop and for a second let it all out.

He felt more like the third wheel. They both had the chains which tied them back, but he had a chain that pulled him forward, more questions being made before they could be answered. Their questions laid in the past of their fates, both being drugged in yet having their questions answered. He just had to smile and keep on going as more and more things came up. His Foster Father's secret letters, the shadows in the mirror, bounded souls and a child left in the snow waiting to be discovered.

No one has yet to sit him down and explain things, explain why he has the power, what did he do to be so special and a burden of the world on both sides rested on him, for the souls he could save and the souls he had to watch get torn apart. He didn't want to see their souls become like the shadowy figures he sees dancing and chained above the Akuma. He wanted them to be free, free to smile and laugh and not worry about being naught more than living weapons for the church. The child who was kidnapped, the boy he feels will be forced to choose. He wanted to reach out to them and hold them both, with both arms around them, each hand resting on them. But one hand is pulled down by humanity-the other by the monsters humanity's pain creates. Those two, they could let themselves be jerked back together into the history of them, and he would have to move on forward, like a plow being drug by a horse. He could stop and look, his feet sinking in for a moment before leaving the world with naught much more than a footprint, and she-she could lightly dance around making sure everyone was alright.
As he kept on going forward.

All three of them felt like they were standing alone, unknown to any of them that they were holding a hand in each of theirs, being able to move back and forth, closer to one and than closer to the other, eventually leaning back and feeling each other's heat against themselves. Truthfully, none of them were happy. Sadly, they all knew they would hurt more without each other. Maybe it was they came together because of a mission, and in their mission they were able to grow close with people who knew what the other was going through even if it were naught more that ghosts and assumptions and the desire to fix the world so they all can leave in peace and all their regrets of being together was naught more than a bandage on a wound to help them move forward.

Or maybe, somewhere hidden deep down, they loved each other and didn't fully understand that love wasn't sunshine and butterflies, but tears, sweat and blood. Jealousy and fear and selfishness and sacrifice mixed together-that eventually all the pain deep down inside would be numbed by the love they had for each other. That for all three to work, they must understand their middle ground is smaller than that of just two, but the bonds are just as strong.

-Fin
Tags:
 
 
 
Matchstick, yo.: Friendsmatchstick on June 10th, 2008 07:06 pm (UTC)
So do I, it just seems so right. *is really happy you liked the fic*