Summary: Set just after Jack the Ripper, who is the real target of William's jealousy? Lightly edited repost from BlackButlerNet
Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji belongs to Yana Toboso
Reviews always welcome.
Jealousy
The superior watched his sedated captive dispassionately, much as any good member of the disciplinary board would do, silently noting the injuries sustained while discounting any new marks made by the restraints around his ankles and neck. He was not jealous. He was definitively, unequivocally and sincerely not jealous of the way that his employee had acted for... a damn demon! But there was also the woman.
How far did you go Grell? Oh, I know that you have impulses and are over the top but your emotions? They are mine! They are all for me! You are to feel what I cannot feel, cannot express. I am a true professional and no-one gets behind my mask. No-one...
He was suddenly infuriated that not only had Grell been playing the whore for that, that filth but there had been some sort of connection with woman. Why the hell was he wearing that garment from the dead woman like it was some kind of memento? With a snarl he ripped the gaudy coat away from the arms, jolting his employee into semi-consciousness as he summoned his death scythe and speared the fabric through to produce jagged rents before flicking it away to the far side of the cell. He tried to ignore Grell's whimper as the remains fluttered toward the ground. A mass of tattered rags for tattered dreams.
And in that moment William hated Grell. Hated him for putting him in a position whereby he could hate him, hated him for taking control away from him and right at that moment hated him entirely for making him feel weak. He had not been this vulnerable since their academy days, a small part of him had never gotten over the shame he felt after the incident with his first Cinematic Record. Their first Cinematic Record. Goddamit Grell...
Rage dissipated, he reached out for the quiet, far too quiet, shaking man and pulled him up close against his chest, holding him possibly just a shade too tightly, as he directed that crimson head to rest on his shoulder.
"You will live." William commanded in a harsh whisper, throat strangely constricted as something that felt suspiciously like a tear traced down his cheek.
He repaired the coat after the trial. All the rents in the fabric joined together by hand as he meticulously taught himself to sew stich-by-stich, thankful that the numerous jabs to his fingers from the needle he received at night were invisible by the morning due to a reaper's unnatural healing speed.
Without a word, he hung it up in Sutcliff's cubicle after hours; locked in his own world as he ran his hand over the almost invisible scars now woven into the complete cloth.