D.Grayman, Miranda Lotte/Fou
Title: The Long Halls Author/Artist: shiegra Fandom: D.Grayman Pairing/characters: Miranda Lotte/Fou Rating: R Warnings: excessive angst Prompt/challenge you're answering: * Miranda Lotte/Fou, first time
Who are you? The girl in the wall says, her bright eyes assessing. Like she might be curious or she might be bored, and she’s content to go either way with the world swinging like a pendulum by her whim. Miranda wonders if she has even a twitch of recognition at her face.
No one. She says. I’m passing through.
Fou never would take that for an answer; as she begins to emerge from the wall, Miranda freezes her, caught between seconds like a fish in a net, and slips past.
She will release the Invocation when she is far away.
The first time they met Allen was there, his hand on her shoulder. Miranda, this is Fou. Fou, this is Miranda.
Timid little thing, isn’t she? The Guardian asked archly, shivering pale hair out of her eyes. You sure she’s an exorcist?
I’m sure, Miranda says firmly, straightening her back and squaring her shoulders and Fou laughs. The sound is like a bell, bright and ringing and startlingly clear of mockery.
Good luck with that. She says, tossing her head again and narrowing her eyes at Allen. Walker, go away. I’m still tired, don’t you have anything to do but come down here and bug me?
He laughs, light and good natured. Come on Miranda. We should go say hi to Bak. He’ll want to know how Rinali is doing.
Have fun! Fou shouts behind them, all delighted sharpness and suppressed amusement. Miranda ducks her head to hide the flush.
The second time she sees her it is because there is no one else.
I haven’t seen any of them—those living, anyway—for months. Miranda leans her head against the wall in the echoing room and talks to the patterns on the door. Another one died yesterday. She won’t talk about what Rinali looked like when she came to see her, dark and desperate beauty like a trapped animal with three broken legs. The Black Order is bearing down on its disciples, and Leverrier has not left Head Quarters, mostly because there is nowhere else to go.
She won’t talk about how no one can find Kanda, and how Komui still hasn’t woken up.
I’m not very useful on the field of combat…she begins, and loses her train of thought. After that she just talks for a while, her voice rambling gradually into silence.
She came down here because Fou has lost just as much. One more master gone broken on the bullets of the Akuma, the braided girl and ink stained boys died at a Noah’s hand. The Akuma had proclaimed it an honor before Rinali swept through it, carving it viciously apart with tears shining on her cheeks.
She wonders what it’s worth, in the end.
After a long moment she realizes cool fingers are touching her, cupping her cheek, and Fou’s voice says, very small, what comes after the hazelnuts?
Voice dry and cracking, Miranda resumes. Time moves on, echoing in the halls.
I want to forget, Fou says earnestly the next time they meet, half leaning out of the wall. Like I’ve forgotten their predecessors, all the men and women who came before. I don’t want to remember.
I’m sure it won’t hurt as much, Miranda finally offers, lacking words.
You’re stupid. Fou says almost gently. It hurts like a wound, because I’ve taken something away. She stares into the shadows, eyes blank. But I won’t be remembering.
I’m sorry, Miranda says in a small voice, and Fou kisses her.
The sixth time they meet, Fou tries to kill her.
It’s because she doesn’t know her anymore. There’s no recognition in her shining eyes and flesh slides to steel and she darts forward, hands opening into great blades as she carves through the air. Miranda screams and jumps backwards even as she reaches for activation, time, freeze, words flowing to her lips in war-time mantra.
She leaves the halls, shaken and clutching her coat around her. The wind stirs the last dust of a skeleton world, and she licks her lips and shivers, ducks her head.
The air tastes of ash and bone, and she walks on into nothing.
Fou tastes like electricity, a cool alien crackle of power. She shifts and slides under Miranda’s hands like moonlight and water, moaning into her mouth.
She is a storm, and Miranda the helpless thunder that echoes yearningly after.
Who are you? The girl in the wall says, her bright eyes assessing. Like she might be curious or she might be bored, and she’s content to go either way with the world swinging like a pendulum by her whim.
I’m sorry, Miranda says gently, it’s been a hundred years.
Fou blinks slowly, and for a second Miranda thinks she sees some acknowledgement there. I knew you once. She says.
Yes.
The Guardian shakes her head slowly, eyes deep and opaque. The last of the line is gone.
Yes.
You are Keeper of Time. Fou says slowly. And I am Keeper of these halls.
Miranda waits silently.
Fou stares away, expression pained and distant, all her thousands of years sharp in her face. Like a wound. She says slowly. Sit down. I remember the hazelnuts.
Miranda sits, and begins to speak, and the world drifts on around them, ash and rubble and the slow advance of time around them.