Love is the Plan the Plan is Cake
Summary: Link attempts to impose order on Allen's life. After all, what if he is all that stands between Allen Walker and chaos? However, there is such a thing as too much order. Especially when Link is involved.
Disclaimer: D.Gray-man and its characters don't belong to me.
1
Not long after a certain incident involving a human-engineered virus, Howard Link fell ill with a nasty cold.
This was preferable to the side effects of Supervisor Lee’s experiment, but it was not pleasant either. Link lay in bed-he had one now-coughing and aching and wondering if he might have the flu.
One day into Link’s cold, Allen Walker said something about going to help move the sofa and slipped out of the new room. Naturally, Link attempted to follow after pulling on his boots, but the Head Nurse was standing out in the hall, and she was looking at him. The ominous proclamation, “Be sure to get plenty of bed rest, now” echoed in his head as if he’d heard it yesterday, which, as it happened, he had. Link closed the door.
Showing a flagrant disregard for Link’s duty, Walker managed to be out of the room for most of that day and the next. (Link did not think that the Black Order owned that many sofas, and said so in his report.) Link was left to imagine, when he wasn’t asleep, the sort of heretical things Walker might get up to on his own. After awhile he ran out, because they primarily involved turning into a Noah. Then he moved on to terrible things that might happen to Walker, such as being mauled by Akuma, zombies, or perhaps wolves, and once he’d exhausted these possibilities, he began to predict the trouble Walker might get into on his own accord, such as not eating enough vegetables.
Link stared up at the ceiling as he contemplated this. Yes, it was clear Walker’s life could plunge into chaos at any moment. The chaos it had surely been before Link had arrived with his guiding influence and sense of discipline.
He wondered if there were some way to address this. Besides, what if Link did have the flu? Wasn’t that fatal in rare cases?
At the moment, Link could do nothing more than fume at Walker’s absence and worry.
Walker made himself scarce for the duration of Link’s illness, but he did redeem himself somewhat by bringing back steaming herbal tea, with lemon, when he reappeared in the evenings.
2
When, as it turned out, Link’s cold cleared up after a few days, Allen was torn between relief that Link was better and disappointment that his relative freedom hadn’t lasted longer.
Now that Link was restored to health, he was busier than ever-so busy that he kept on writing through breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. Allen figured he must be catching up on his reports, although he didn't ordinarily do work at mealtimes. The next morning at breakfast Link went on taking notes in his notebook while munching on a sugar-sprinkled muffin.
In the library, while Allen sweated over a document with many perplexing words, Link consulted books from shelves he'd never visited before. Allen began to wonder what was going on.
That evening, when Link scribbled notes even after changing into his pajamas, Allen's curiosity got the better of him. Surely Link wouldn't work in his pajamas.
"Link, what are you doing?" Allen asked from where he lay in bed.
Link looked up with a quizzical expression, as if nobody had asked him questions before. In fact, Allen tried not to ask him questions in most circumstances, because this could bring on a lecture or a suspicious glance.
"I'm writing a few things down," Link explained, or failed to explain.
"Are you working?"
"No," said Link. He stared at the mystery contents of his current page. "Did you brush your teeth tonight, Walker?"
"Of course I did, you were there," said Allen, annoyed and wondering how Link had taken back the role of questioner so fast.
"Oh. Yes. So I was."
"I think you were writing a few things down," Allen said, and rolled over with a mumbled goodnight as the sound of Link's pen resumed.
The next evening, Allen turned from loosening his tie to see Link approaching with a stack of papers. Allen's heart sank--had he failed to complete the day's paperwork?
But these papers looked different. They were bound together at one edge with twine like a makeshift notebook. Link held it with care. "Walker, I have been considering the state of your daily affairs and concluded that, should I be forced to change posts or otherwise have something happen to me, it would have adverse effects on your day-to-day life," he said. Speech concluded, he held out the notebook.
"Sorry, what's this?" asked Allen, though he took it.
"I have taken the liberty of making a few suggestions."
Allen flipped it open to a section near the front. It contained some sort of calendar. "8:30 a.m., breakfast. 9:00 a.m., brush teeth, 11:00 a.m., training...9:00 p.m., brush teeth," he read aloud. It sounded a lot like the average schedule of an Exorcist or Finder in the Order. The other dates contained similar instructions, with a few variations such as "Read educational book" or “Eat sufficient vegetables.” An unpleasant suspicion crept over Allen.
"Of course, one can't account for every emergency or change in schedule, especially in the life of an Exorcist," Link said.
Oh. So this was supposed to be his life. Allen thumbed through the calendar with the increasing sense that he was hallucinating. It went on for dozens of pages.
"That's why I've included an appendix."
Allen found it in the back. In case of malnutrition. In case of giant robot. In case of snakebite? Each entry came with instructions.
"I’ve included only some eventualities, so you should exercise caution in general. This assumes you are not convicted in the current heresy case, needless to say," Link continued.
Allen glared at him before looking back down at the appendix. In case Madarao becomes your Inspector.... This had a footnote.
The footnote read "Please remain calm."
Allen found this worrying. "Who's Madarao, and why do I need to remain calm in case of him?"
"He is one of my colleagues. I believe the relevant information can be found on page A54."
Allen fell speechless. Clearly, Link was trying to control his life from beyond space and time. Were heresy inspectors supposed to do this, or was something wrong with his?
The little matter of life-controlling would have to wait, though-at the moment, Link was also watching Allen expectantly.
"Um," said Allen. Thanking Link was out of the question, but throwing the notebook at his face seemed overly harsh. "Er...I'll just set it over here, then," he said, making vague movements towards the closet.
"In case you need it," said Link.
"Right," said Allen, who had no intention of looking at it ever again. As he was closing the notebook, he glimpsed a more interesting passage, one which involved the phrase "cups of sugar." Allen's mouth began to water. "Wait, what's this part for?"
Link's gaze strayed towards the window for a moment. "That is a compendium of my favorite cake recipes."
"At least Appendix B looks delicious," said Allen. He shut the notebook on a recipe involving raspberries and sidestepped Link to hide the notebook in the closet forever. Fortunately, Link had no words about this, although Allen could feel Link’s eyes on his back.
If Link dared to bring this up again, it would be Allen's turn to lecture. He could think of a few choice words about not controlling his life.
3
Link’s notebook of guidelines for Allen’s life without him languished in a box of half-unpacked clothes for some time, until one day when Link was rifling through the top drawer of his desk, muttering, “I’m certain I put that cake recipe somewhere….”
Sensing the chance to eat cake, Allen went to the closet and dug the notebook out from underneath a sweater. Having recipes close at hand could be a good thing, he thought.
"Why don't you use one of these?" he asked as he handed it over to Link.
And so it was that Link’s hours of work were not wasted.
Disclaimer: D.Gray-man and its characters don't belong to me.
1
Not long after a certain incident involving a human-engineered virus, Howard Link fell ill with a nasty cold.
This was preferable to the side effects of Supervisor Lee’s experiment, but it was not pleasant either. Link lay in bed-he had one now-coughing and aching and wondering if he might have the flu.
One day into Link’s cold, Allen Walker said something about going to help move the sofa and slipped out of the new room. Naturally, Link attempted to follow after pulling on his boots, but the Head Nurse was standing out in the hall, and she was looking at him. The ominous proclamation, “Be sure to get plenty of bed rest, now” echoed in his head as if he’d heard it yesterday, which, as it happened, he had. Link closed the door.
Showing a flagrant disregard for Link’s duty, Walker managed to be out of the room for most of that day and the next. (Link did not think that the Black Order owned that many sofas, and said so in his report.) Link was left to imagine, when he wasn’t asleep, the sort of heretical things Walker might get up to on his own. After awhile he ran out, because they primarily involved turning into a Noah. Then he moved on to terrible things that might happen to Walker, such as being mauled by Akuma, zombies, or perhaps wolves, and once he’d exhausted these possibilities, he began to predict the trouble Walker might get into on his own accord, such as not eating enough vegetables.
Link stared up at the ceiling as he contemplated this. Yes, it was clear Walker’s life could plunge into chaos at any moment. The chaos it had surely been before Link had arrived with his guiding influence and sense of discipline.
He wondered if there were some way to address this. Besides, what if Link did have the flu? Wasn’t that fatal in rare cases?
At the moment, Link could do nothing more than fume at Walker’s absence and worry.
Walker made himself scarce for the duration of Link’s illness, but he did redeem himself somewhat by bringing back steaming herbal tea, with lemon, when he reappeared in the evenings.
2
When, as it turned out, Link’s cold cleared up after a few days, Allen was torn between relief that Link was better and disappointment that his relative freedom hadn’t lasted longer.
Now that Link was restored to health, he was busier than ever-so busy that he kept on writing through breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. Allen figured he must be catching up on his reports, although he didn't ordinarily do work at mealtimes. The next morning at breakfast Link went on taking notes in his notebook while munching on a sugar-sprinkled muffin.
In the library, while Allen sweated over a document with many perplexing words, Link consulted books from shelves he'd never visited before. Allen began to wonder what was going on.
That evening, when Link scribbled notes even after changing into his pajamas, Allen's curiosity got the better of him. Surely Link wouldn't work in his pajamas.
"Link, what are you doing?" Allen asked from where he lay in bed.
Link looked up with a quizzical expression, as if nobody had asked him questions before. In fact, Allen tried not to ask him questions in most circumstances, because this could bring on a lecture or a suspicious glance.
"I'm writing a few things down," Link explained, or failed to explain.
"Are you working?"
"No," said Link. He stared at the mystery contents of his current page. "Did you brush your teeth tonight, Walker?"
"Of course I did, you were there," said Allen, annoyed and wondering how Link had taken back the role of questioner so fast.
"Oh. Yes. So I was."
"I think you were writing a few things down," Allen said, and rolled over with a mumbled goodnight as the sound of Link's pen resumed.
The next evening, Allen turned from loosening his tie to see Link approaching with a stack of papers. Allen's heart sank--had he failed to complete the day's paperwork?
But these papers looked different. They were bound together at one edge with twine like a makeshift notebook. Link held it with care. "Walker, I have been considering the state of your daily affairs and concluded that, should I be forced to change posts or otherwise have something happen to me, it would have adverse effects on your day-to-day life," he said. Speech concluded, he held out the notebook.
"Sorry, what's this?" asked Allen, though he took it.
"I have taken the liberty of making a few suggestions."
Allen flipped it open to a section near the front. It contained some sort of calendar. "8:30 a.m., breakfast. 9:00 a.m., brush teeth, 11:00 a.m., training...9:00 p.m., brush teeth," he read aloud. It sounded a lot like the average schedule of an Exorcist or Finder in the Order. The other dates contained similar instructions, with a few variations such as "Read educational book" or “Eat sufficient vegetables.” An unpleasant suspicion crept over Allen.
"Of course, one can't account for every emergency or change in schedule, especially in the life of an Exorcist," Link said.
Oh. So this was supposed to be his life. Allen thumbed through the calendar with the increasing sense that he was hallucinating. It went on for dozens of pages.
"That's why I've included an appendix."
Allen found it in the back. In case of malnutrition. In case of giant robot. In case of snakebite? Each entry came with instructions.
"I’ve included only some eventualities, so you should exercise caution in general. This assumes you are not convicted in the current heresy case, needless to say," Link continued.
Allen glared at him before looking back down at the appendix. In case Madarao becomes your Inspector.... This had a footnote.
The footnote read "Please remain calm."
Allen found this worrying. "Who's Madarao, and why do I need to remain calm in case of him?"
"He is one of my colleagues. I believe the relevant information can be found on page A54."
Allen fell speechless. Clearly, Link was trying to control his life from beyond space and time. Were heresy inspectors supposed to do this, or was something wrong with his?
The little matter of life-controlling would have to wait, though-at the moment, Link was also watching Allen expectantly.
"Um," said Allen. Thanking Link was out of the question, but throwing the notebook at his face seemed overly harsh. "Er...I'll just set it over here, then," he said, making vague movements towards the closet.
"In case you need it," said Link.
"Right," said Allen, who had no intention of looking at it ever again. As he was closing the notebook, he glimpsed a more interesting passage, one which involved the phrase "cups of sugar." Allen's mouth began to water. "Wait, what's this part for?"
Link's gaze strayed towards the window for a moment. "That is a compendium of my favorite cake recipes."
"At least Appendix B looks delicious," said Allen. He shut the notebook on a recipe involving raspberries and sidestepped Link to hide the notebook in the closet forever. Fortunately, Link had no words about this, although Allen could feel Link’s eyes on his back.
If Link dared to bring this up again, it would be Allen's turn to lecture. He could think of a few choice words about not controlling his life.
3
Link’s notebook of guidelines for Allen’s life without him languished in a box of half-unpacked clothes for some time, until one day when Link was rifling through the top drawer of his desk, muttering, “I’m certain I put that cake recipe somewhere….”
Sensing the chance to eat cake, Allen went to the closet and dug the notebook out from underneath a sweater. Having recipes close at hand could be a good thing, he thought.
"Why don't you use one of these?" he asked as he handed it over to Link.
And so it was that Link’s hours of work were not wasted.