Dear Reader: Welcome to my first ever fan fiction! I do hope that it's not too verbose... I sometimes get a little carried away with my affection for words. Thank you for your viewing! I hope you enjoy. :)

Earl Phantomhive rubbed his throbbing temples with the heels of his hands as he poured over yet more customer complaints of a newly manufactured toy train. The train was fitted with patented Steam Power technology and was meant to function the way a normal train would. The tender possessed three compartments- one for a tea light candle, one to hold a small amount of water, and another that housed a miniature version of a steam engine. In theory, one would only have to fill the water tank and light the candle. The heat then from the fire would boil the water, the pressure created by the heat from the boiled water would power the piston, the piston would power the rods, the rods rotated the wheels, and the steam would pass through the train's pipe causing it to whistle while emitting something akin to smoke- a happy little replica of a real life passenger train. Along with this quirky function, the model itself was beautiful, or so Ciel felt. It was a pale blueish-grey with glossy black filigree snaking along its sides. The seats inside, which were completely habitable by a doll or toy soldier, were rusted red, the floor was made to mock hardwood, and the walls were royal purple damask. The various rods of the black iron wheels were golden and polished just so to resemble real twenty-four karat. In short, Ciel was quite proud of this model train, so long had been since Funtom Company had the heart, or the gull, to make another since the original.

But unfortunately, few people seemed to derive as much entertainment from it as Ciel had. For the past week after its inital release, the little company owner had been receiving numerous customer complaints from unhappy buyers. Some said that the wheels would continuously stick, some said the rods were jaunty, some said the train would only move three inches before stopping, on and on it went. An example: "I have been a loyal customer for years. I have always found Funtom products to be top quality and imaginative, and I was so excited to bring this train home to my daughter. But when I finally managed to light the wick (for the thing was so waxy it would not hold flame) the train refused to move! I have never been one to complain but, frankly, I expected more." And another: "Never before have I seen my son bored by a Funtom product. How disappointing." Still another: "Funtom products have always been ahead of the curve in design and innovation, but even the look of the train isn't inspired! Nothing at all like Phantomhive Senior would have designed." And so on.

Ciel slammed the papers down on his desk and leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. Still massaging his temples, he closed his eyes and tried to regulate his distempered breathing. "It's fine," he comforted his anxieties out loud, "these are just a few disgruntled customers out of the hundreds, surely, that were pleased. We'll shake off their silly negations the way we always have." Just then there was an unobtrusive knock on his study door.

"Your tea, Young Master," Sebastian announced from the hallway.

Ciel sighed again, a bit more freely. "Come in," he answered. The door opened and the tea cart was wheeled in, carrying a red and white pastoral-scene tea set and an unindentifiable, but most likely delectable, sweet treat.

"For this afternoon's tea I have prepared for you Wuyi Shan oolong, straight off the boat from China by way of a certain Mister Lau, alongside of smoked peaches with jasmine cream over an almond shortcake."

'It's all worth it,' Ciel thought to himself. He sat up eagerly in his chair and put his hands to either side of his head again. The speed with which he moved irritated his nagging headache.

Sebastian tilted his head to one side and frowned. "Another headache, sir?" he asked.

Ciel took a moment to recover from the pain before replying with, "Yes, unfortunately. But it's no matter."

"Are you quite sure? This is the third time this week that you have complained of a headache."

"You've been keeping track?" Ciel asked flatly as he raised an eyebrow. He moved the customer reports off to the side to make room for tea snacks.

"Of course," the Butler smiled. He leaned over and poured the steaming tea from the teapot's long, thin spout into the delicate china cup, and placed the cup and its matching saucer on the cleared desk. "It is my duty as your servant to keep track of your Lordship's health- especially considering your immune system is weakened to begin with." He placed the plate of peaches next to the tea.

"I have asthma," Ciel said defensively. "What of it?"

"Nothing of it, sir," Sebastian patiently answered. "I am only concerned for you well being. A reoccuring headache could be a sign of a more serious condition."

Ciel rolled his eyes and sipped at his tea. It was smooth and earthy with a clean, slightly sweet finish. His pluckish nerves were considerably soothed. Ah, tea. His favourite form of self-medication.

"The only condition I'm suffering with at the moment is annoyance," he told the Butler. He placed the cup down with a small clink and began with the peaches.

"May I ask what is bothering you, my Lord?" Sebastian asked.

"These damned customer complaints," Ciel said, his mouth half full of partially masticated peaches. "Honestly. Is it really that difficult to operate a toy train? All one need do is light a bloody candle."

"Maybe they purchased a faulty product?" Sebastian suggested.

"All of these people bought faulty products?" Ciel lifted up the small stack of angry letters and let them flop back down again.

The Butler paused. "... Perhaps there was a flaw in the manufacturing," he said plainly.

"Sebastian. I simulated the product myself and tested it a dozen or more times before I sent the blueprint off to the factory. I detected zero flaws."

"Might I see the original blueprint?" Sebastian asked. "If it would not be a great trouble to you, sir."

Ciel wavered, fork full of shortcake in midair, before he consented and retrieved the blueprint file from the bottom left drawer of his desk. He removed the blueprint of the train and handed it off to Sebastian. He took it in his gloved hands and gave it a once over- twice over- thrice over.

"Young Master," he said after a certain length.

"Yes?"

"I notice a slight flaw."

Ciel paused. He looked up from his snack. "Excuse me?"

"I recall you telling me that this was meant to emulate a steam engine. And though it does have all of the correct components, there is a slight disconnect between the drive rod and the coupling rod on the right hand side."

"WHAT?" Ciel snatched the paper away from Sebastian. He searched the page frantically for the supposed "disconnect." A long finger then pointed to something just below where his eyes already were.

"Right there, sir. It would explain why there is an issue with the movement of the train. Because the coupling rods put the wheels into motion, it would make sense that the train would have difficulty moving if there was an issue with one of them."

"I know how engines operate," Ciel glared up at Sebastian. He looked back down at the blueprint. There it was, a tiny gap between the edges of the bits of machinery. He did remember giving orders to his staff to follow his designs to a T, but... really? They couldn't have figured that this little space was a mistake? It was obviously just a chink in Ciel's artistic abilities. But still- he had laboured over the drawing for hours, he had seen the blueprint perfectly in his mind before he even put the pencil to the paper... why... how could he have missed such a miniscule, yet substantially important, detail? "I..." the Earl faultered. His mouth remained open, but no more words were produced.

"I also remember around the same time," the Butler treaded carefully on the words, "that you were speaking with Mister Chlaus again about... certain involvments... along trading lines."

"Yes." Ciel continued staring at his ridiculous mistake.

"You were also planning a surprise birthday party for Lady Elizabeth."

"Mhmm."

"You were also appointed Master of Ceremonies for the Court's annual relay races for the Season."

"Correct."

"And there were several break-ins at the manor."

"What's your point?"

Sebastian sighed. "Perhaps it is in the best interest of your health, physically and mentally, to take a small leave of absence from your duties as Earl and company owner."

"Take a leave of absence!" Ciel started. He returned the blueprint to its original file and placed it back in the drawer. "Don't be absurd. I have too many things to attend to. I can't just walk out on my duties!"

"You would not be walking out, sir," Sebastian said. "It would merely be a short hiatus to recover your health and calm you nerves. If you do not mind me saying so, my Lord, you work too hard for someone your age. Or any age, really."

"I have to," Ciel stated simply. "Who else can be expected to carry out my responsibilties if not myself?"

"There are plenty of capable people at the factory, Young Master," Sebastian continued his persuasion. "That is why, I believe, a manager is hired in the first place- to oversee the employees and ensure that everything runs smoothly."

"And my duties as an Earl?" Ciel asked.

"I am more than sure that Her Majesty values the Young Master's health above his availibility to host social events," the Butler laughed lightly. Ciel thought for a moment. Honestly, the thought of getting away from all of these petty grievances was tempting. But... "I only ask you to think on it, my Lord," Sebastian pressed on. "I do not mean to pressure you, but look at what can come of a distracted, tired mind." He gestured towards Ciel and, indirectly, at his headaches and collected complaints and general exhaustion. Still, Ciel in his pride remained silent. "Perhaps sleep on it," the Butler smiled. He took hold of the tea cart and turned to leave. "If I can no longer be of service, I will take my leave of you. Enjoy your tea, sir." He began wheeling the cart away.

A break from whining customers? A leave of playing the doting fiance? A secure place in the country where he can relax under a false name? No more vapid conversations with soul-numbingly fashionable socialites whilst sipping lemonade in scorching heat and watching grown men tie each other's legs together and racing against the others like loons?

"Sebastian," Ciel called. The Butler paused without turning around. "Find a country home and book it for the coming holiday."

Slight chuckle. "Yes, my Lord."