D. Gray-man, "Remembering"

[unedited]

Link woke up on the floor of Allen Walker's destroyed cell with no memory of what happened. And it was slowly starting to drive him crazy.

Tangentially implied Link->Allen, warnings for total AU from chapter 205. Sort of a what-if. Spoilers through the current chapters. Some creepy from you-know-who.

.remembering.
He had kicked the door down with Jerry's rice gruel held carefully in one hand. Walker had been stubbornly silent and all but expressionless, even once they were alone; irritating behavior from a boy usually so engaged in his surroundings.

Walker had required shouting to convince him to eat, still more irritating. And then Walker at last spoke, finding new thresholds of irritation, to awkwardly apologize for some meaningless things he had said days ago.

Link rubbed his face with one hand.

It was not the behavior of a heretic about to finally reveal his true colors. No matter how he went over it in his mind, it seemed impossible to get from that uncomfortable but genuine penitent --

-- to the traitor who had willingly fled the prison cell with Noah mere minutes later.

He had told Walker about himself and the Thirds, how they had grown up, the life they had led. He couldn't be sure, but he had the distinct impression that the boy had been nearly in tears listening to it. (Irritatingly.)

And then...

...And then...

Link slammed his fist onto the surface of the table.

"Inspector Link," called a voice from the other side of the room, startling him. The administrator bowed slightly in polite recognition when he turned around. "The hearing is now underway. Central is ready for your report."

He cleared his throat and got to his feet, smoothing the edges of his jacket. Central would work it out for themselves. He would report to them the facts, or what little he knew of them.

The decision they would come to was -- obviously out of his hands.

Mere hours later, preparations were well underway for the pursuit of the heretic Allen Walker on the mainland. Link had no doubt that it had been a difficult ordeal to get the Order mobilized and ready to track down one of their own, if perhaps not as difficult as it would have been at one point. But the Exorcists would be leaving before the night was out, all of them dispatched to investigate where the Noah might have taken him, what lair they might have chosen from which to reach out and crush the world.

A lone, slim figure broke away from the small group of black-clad Exorcists, stalking up to the Central administrators boldly. A small ring of Crows stepped around them to make a barrier, guarding them from her.

"How could you say that?" Lenalee hissed, glaring impotently straight into Link's eyes. Her face was white and her hands shaking, what looked like fear on the surface but which Link couldn't help suspecting might be her suppressed desire to hit him. But she stayed far enough away from the Crow that she was not in arms' reach of them, making them an extremely effective barrier.

"After all the time you've spent with Allen, how could you tell them that he betrayed us? He would never do that!"

Link froze. There were a dozen things he should have said to her -- he should have said that Walker's actions spoke for themselves, that if his behavior hadn't been guilty he wouldn't have been found guilty, that Link had had done little more than nod at the known facts -- but they didn't come to mind for once. He fumbled for rationality, but all he managed to do was part his lips, and pause, and struggle against the urge to look away guiltily.

"Miss Lenalee," Leverrier said, firm tone making her flinch back another step, even if her fierce expression never wavered. "I believe you are supposed to be getting ready for your mission."

Her lips twisted. "I'm not going to kill Allen," she said flatly.

The older man's eyebrows lifted, an eloquent gesture of incredulity. "So you will be disobeying your orders?" he asked.

The words made some of the color drain from her face. She must have been terrified, Link knew. The Crows had been brutal with her fledgling rebellions as a child, he had read in the reports; Leverrier himself was the face of that brutality, cold and smug and untouchable. But she still stood her ground, even though she was pale and shaking and clearly terrified that one of the masked Crows might touch her.

"--No. I'm going to do my job." Her fierce dark eyes fixed on Link again, one last accusing stare before she stalked back to her peers.

Lenalee had always done her level best to pretend he did not exist. She would sit on the other side of Allen and chat with him happily without so much as a glance to spare for his watcher; even when Allen or Lavi included him in the conversation, her attention skimmed right past him to address them instead. It was as if his world and her world intersected only through Allen.

And at first he had thought, disinterestedly, that someday when she was finally forced to recognize him, it would be just like this, with her raging over his part in determining Allen's fate; back when he had really believed that Allen Walker was a particularly cunning heretic who deserved what was coming to him.

Some time ago he had stopped believing that, and the inevitability had seemed further and further away.

Now it was here and he didn't even know or remember why.

"She's hysterical," scoffed Leverrier, dropping one hand onto Link's shoulder casually. "You've done well, Inspector."

Numbly, he murmured the reflex response, "Thank you, Secretary."

But the praise did not fill him with the satisfaction it once would have. His gaze slid to the cold marble floor ahead of them, watching his feet move one after the other like a good little soldier; and he thought, I came into the room with Jerry's rice gruel...

"Is something wrong, young man?"

Link's head jerked up, caught by surprise again. He was usually more alert -- even when reading he made sure to keep aware of people, typically noticing them long before they were close enough to notice him -- but he had been so lost in thought that the other man's footsteps had gone unheard. In a second he took in the man's smiling face, his uniform attire, and his unassuming posture, and Link made himself relax.

'Is something wrong.' He had a crazy impulse to laugh. What wasn't wrong? Madarao and Tevak were gone, the others were probably dead, Walker was a traitor, and he couldn't remember how that had happened. But long-instinctive restraint smoothed over that reaction, and he only said quietly, "No, Your Eminence. I was only thinking."

The cardinal smiled, his features kind. "About this unfortunate business with Allen Walker, perhaps?"

Link glanced at him again with a frown, but the cardinal's smile only deepened with sympathy. "I recognize you from one of the hearings a while ago. You were his inspector, weren't you?"

That explained it. The man wasn't familiar to Link, so he wasn't one of the usual cardinals who handled business at Central; but an official as high-ranking as a cardinal would have the option to be involved if he wanted.

"Yes." His hands tightened on his knees. Like Secretary Leverrier, he couldn't blame them for their reactions to his situation. Of course they assumed that he had done his due diligence and was finished with the incident. Of course they commended him for reporting a heretic, even if he had been too crafty to be caught in time.

They didn't know Walker, so they couldn't be expected to understand how wrong it felt. But he still had to brace himself every time for the well-meaning words.

"It must be very difficult for you." The cardinal slid onto the bench next to him, folding his hands into his lap. "My understanding is that Allen Walker was very well-liked, even trusted. You must feel hurt -- or perhaps even like you have turned your back on him, instead of him on you."

Link felt his lips thin, and he kept his silence. What was the angle for this line of questioning? He could be insinuating that Link's judgment was compromised, or that he was no longer fit for duty. This could be the precursor to an attempt to undermine him and get him removed from his position. Or perhaps this man was another ally of Walker's, here to strike out at him, to seize upon his momentary, uncharacteristic weakness.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

Link looked up at him. The cardinal's face was clear, his eyes kind behind the lenses of his glasses. But even to Link's senses, trained to detect any anomaly, notice every detail, there was nothing in him but genuine compassion.

Like Walker. Walker's face was always clear and his interest always sincere. That light of his made everything else seem cast in shadow, even good men like this.

And yet he had betrayed them, somehow. For some reason.

A little tremor went through Link, and he curled his hands into fists. "Maybe," he admitted.

The man said nothing, only listening attentively, waiting for him to start talking. When was the last time a member of the clergy had been truly kind to him, without motive or artifice?

"It's just that--" He pressed his lips together. "I don't feel good about this decision."

"Why not? Don't you believe the council made the correct choice?" It could have been accusatory, but the cardinal's voice only sounded concerned. As if he would want to right any wrong that had been committed.

It was so much more tempting than any promise or bribe. Link found himself saying in a rush, "I explained to the council everything that I could about the circumstances of Walker's escape. But I -- I don't have access to all the information, and that troubles me. And it troubles me that they were willing to make that harsh judgment based on such incomplete information."

The cardinal shifted a little closer, striving to sound reassuring. "Help me to understand -- tell it to me as you told it to them."

"I went... to bring Walker food." Now he slowed, tempering his words some. There was no need to tell this man every detail, and certain parts of the story were private. "He had been refusing to eat, worried that we might drug his food to force him to tell us the location of the Second Exorcists."

Saying it out loud was helpful. When he had told the council he had been so caught up, trying to guess how they would react to everything, trying to see the next few moves like a chess tourney, and the words had been only rote, reflex. He hadn't really heard them even as he spoke them.

Link went on, slow, "He apologized for getting upset when I stopped him from--" Tokusa "--from aiding the surviving Thirds."

The cardinal smiled, very slightly. "What a thing to think of, in his position."

"He's a damn fool." Color flushed into Link's face, belatedly, and he shook his head. "I apologize for my language, Your Eminence."

But the older man only laughed and put a hand on his shoulder, easy, natural comfort. Link said nothing for a long beat before he continued.

"We talked, a little." He had told Walker about growing up with the Thirds. Walker had... said that he felt bad for taking such a dislike to them. "I was trying to make him understand that he wasn't to blame for what happened to the Thirds, so he wouldn't feel guilty for that, perhaps allowing him to relent in the other matter. At the time I was certain that he was not yet guilty of heresy. But..."

He trailed off.

Something had gone wrong. Something...

"And then what happened?"

His tone made Link look up, suddenly unsure. The cardinal's gaze was sharp and intent behind his modest lenses. It was as if he were hunting; stalking his prey. As if a wrong move from Link could make him leap -- as if a wrong answer might provoke him to violence.

Which was an absurd thought, completely unworthy of him. Link forced his eyes away again, self-conscious.

"I don't remember," he said grimly. "I've been trying, but -- it's all white."

The cardinal eased back against the bench, face turning up to look at the ceiling above them. "Ah," he said. "What is the next thing you remember?"

The moment had passed, but Link's discomfort lingered. He answered, dutiful, "I was waking up some time later. Sentries were arriving into the room and pulling me to my feet, and there was a hole in the wall. Walker and his golem were both gone, and -- the perimeter guards reported seeing the Noah Rhode Camelot and Tyki Mikk with him."

It didn't make sense. Neither of them should have had the ability to wipe out his memory, from the reports he'd read. Walker certainly wouldn't, unless he had awakened as a Noah. (Something, right on the tip of his tongue, almost remembered but not quite...)

"So the council came to the conclusion, perhaps prematurely, that he had overcome you, broken out with their assistance, and fled with them."

"--Yes, sir."

"But you disagree."

Link stole another sidelong glance at the cardinal. "I am not convinced," he rephrased. "I just want to know what happened before making any judgments. It would be unfortunate if an innocent man was executed because of my faulty testimony."

The cardinal touched his shoulder again, like a benevolent father. "You have a kind heart, Inspector," he murmured. "Your compassion for Allen Walker might be considered weakness by some, but I believe it to be a strength."

Link shook his head. "You think it's strength to lose sight of one's mission and give in to one's emotions?"

"Of course." The other man closed his eyes and touched his hand to his heart. "Compassion is the greatest power in this world."

There was a strange sort of serenity about him, a confidence and a certainty. Even now Link felt the urge to believe him, to relax and open up to him.

But his caution had reasserted himself, and he felt rather foolish. He had believed in the Cardinal's kind face and gentle words, in his good intentions. He had let himself be taken in, the same way that he had allowed Walker -- somehow, without really understanding or recognizing it -- into some circle of trust that he had been shocked and disturbed to find breached.

He would either have to prove to himself that Walker was innocent and he was right to be disturbed, or learn to grow up and stop believing in fairy tales like selflessly good people.

"Thank you, sir," he said softly.

It was dark, late at night when most other members of the Central bureaucracy were asleep in their beds. Link stepped through the hallways, moving like a shadow: smooth and silent. He didn't want anyone to be able to observe his actions and report back to Leverrier.

When he finally reached the unmarked, unguarded room, he closed his eyes and took a breath, counting slowly to ten. He focused, really focused, letting his every sense spread out and feel what there was to feel. The faintest of drafts in the corridor, probably from some open window or crack under a door; the chill of the winter air; the scent of must and stone and burning wood from a fireplace; the sounds of nothing more than an old building creaking as it stood against the elements.

Then he opened the door and let himself into Walker's room.

Everything had been left exactly the way it was, strange poster hung up on one wall, barbells lined up by the side of his bed; Link knew the contents of every drawer and that they would be untouched still. Walker had been neat, not compulsively but perhaps reflexively, thoroughly trained by Cross Marian to pick up when things were on the floor.

Link did a slow circuit of the room, taking it in. The still, warmer air, as if still preserving some body heat from long ago; the familiar tang of leather from uniforms and boots, the lingering smell of brown sugar from some pie or another, and the fainter scent that meant Allen; and silence...

It had been part of his training as a Crow. They prided themselves on many things: their secrecy, their resilience, their pragmatism, and perhaps most of all their reliability. A Crow who had difficulty remembering names and faces was useless; a Crow who could not remember the exact sequence of events he had been witness and party to was dangerous.

So he had learned techniques to enhance his memory, and he had learned that the most vital element in recalling was sense.

Link paused by the bed, and then slowly lowered himself onto it, closing his eyes.

Surrounded by Walker's things, a place where they had been many times before, he thought to himself again: I came into the room with Jerry's rice gruel...

The memory was more vivid now, clearer. The uncertainty in Walker's eyes when he entered, the resignation in his posture. A boy who had given up hope, and who knew full well what the inevitable next step was if he didn't give the Vatican what it wanted -- the grim torture chambers beneath that holy institution -- but would never surrender.

He remembered, maybe even felt anew, the anger that he had felt at Walker's passive acceptance of his fate.

How dare you just give up? How dare you forfeit your life when it's still not too late?

But yelling had done little to awaken any spark of will in that defeated boy, so he had strangled his irritation and instead told him about Madarao and the others. How they had grown up together, unwanted street urchins, stealing and lying to survive; how they had become Crows, and how Link himself had betrayed Walker in order to further his own career, and inadvertently been responsible for their transformation by dark matter.

Part of him had been trying to show Walker that the blame for their fate, if anyone, did not rest on his shoulders, but on Link's. He could have told Walker that without mentioning his history with the Thirds, but another part of him had wanted to show Walker that he had lost everyone else who meant anything to him, so that he would understand that Link needed him to put a little more effort into staying alive.

Predictably, Walker had heard what he wanted to hear, taken those words and turned them into something selfless and kind and ridiculous. "After hearing that, I feel like... I could have been better friends with the Thirds. I just hated them because of what they were. What you don't understand... is scary, isn't it?"

There had been a beat of silence after that, and then Walker had gasped suddenly, and Link turned around to see him--

...He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

Turned around and saw--

Link kept calm, breathing steadily. Focus on the sense memory. This scent, Walker's scent; the cooked mealy scent of the rice gruel; the sound of the guards fidgeting outside the door...

The sound of screaming.

Link's eyes flew open, dark afterimages flaring in front of his eyes, meaningless.

Walker's gasp, and then just desperate panting. Even the memory of that sound filled him with dread -- he had been panicked, for some reason. And then there was a voice, someone else there with them, calm and controlled, but unhelpfully unfamiliar.

And then Allen had been screaming.

Link sat up again slowly, leaning over his knees. He was more sure than ever now that Walker hadn't just walked off with the Noah. Something had happened, something terrible. But he couldn't speak up now.

Someone had been in the room with them and tried to take command of the situation. Someone who hadn't been there when Link woke up after, hadn't stepped forward after the incident, and hadn't been identified in the official reports.

Someone inside the Order, with access to a high-security prisoner's cell, who might still be present, waiting to see how things fell out. Just like with General Cross's death.

No, he couldn't say anything. The real enemy was already inside the Order.