Pilgrimage
a Black Cat fanfic by ZikaSilver1
Disclaimer: I do not own Black Cat, or make any sort of money from this story and I don't have anything worth sueing for.
It had been a while since he had visited this city. He wasn't sure that anyone would remember him. The waitress at the restaurant didn't seem to even register his face, blankly taking down his order and returning with his food. Even a double order of milk failed to jog her memory. He supposed it had been too long.
He couldn't count the years since the day he disappeared. He remembered the date, but he didn't care to count the time that had slipped by since then. He didn't think he had changed that much. Sure he had wandered far, but he wouldn't change that much. People don't change that much. Do they?
Ah well, he supposed it was good that no one recognized him. He still didn't want to attract attention. He was called a hero, some a legend, and all he wanted was to be a stray cat. It was better this way, going where he wanted, living the way he wanted.
These days he wasn't always a sweeper. He took some odd jobs, the occassional bounty for an extra boost and the sheer thrill of it, but never stayed for long. He managed enough to pay for his meals, a good bed to sleep in, and enough to get from place to place. What else did he need?
He kept in touch with the news. Last week Eve and Sven took down a serial killer in a city two days driving from here. He figured they'd be long gone by now, off to hunt down another bounty, find more books for Eve's brain. He toyed with the idea of showing up one day, as if it had only been a few hours and nothing had happened. Just to see how they'd react. It would be fun, travelling with them again, with company and bounties. But first he wanted to finish this.
"This is rediculous, prices this high!" a man at a table halfway across the restaurant complained to his wife. "I can't believe they're still open!"
"Hush, it's the cheapest in town," the wife hissed at him across the menu. "And it's cheaper than groceries." A shadow fell over them, and they looked up at the waitress.
"Somehow we manage," she gave a ghost of a smile. She raised the full pot in her hand. "Coffee?"
The couple managed to politely refuse and she turned to him, sitting back in the corner by himself. "How about you," she lowered her voice, "Train?"
His eye twitched. He turned to her, bemused. "I'll stick with milk, thanks."
"Hm. Suit yourself. But I woundn't mind one," she poured a cup and slipped into the bench across from him. "So where've you been?"
"Around," he watched her stir sugar into her coffee. A lot of sugar.
"Doing what?"
He looked at her face, at her tired eyes. "Thinking."
"About what?" She sipped her coffee, her eyes never leaving his.
"About living."
"Ah, that's good," she gulped down the rest of the cup. "They'd be pleased." Standing, she took the empty cup. "While you're about, you might want to take care of the garabage up in city hall. Taxes have been a bit too high."
"Hmph. Sounds like fun," Train smiled and finished his milk.
It was too easy, he thought as he accepted the reward money. The bounty was hardly worth the money of the little effort it had taken him. But it was still money and he still needed to eat. He still had something to do. The night had fallen and sleep descended on the city. It seemed the buildings sighed with relief as they settled for the night. He walked the streets under the electric lights until he found the familiar building. Climbing the stairs to the roof, he looked out at the city and then looked up.
The stars were beautiful, shining gems in the velvet sky. Train felt peace wash over him and he watched the heavens until the sun crept up from the horizon. Below the city stirred and woke, yawning shop owners opening their stores and setting out their wares, youths bolting down breakfasts to run to school, business men starting the day's grind. Life continued.
He bought a few bottles of milk from one of the corner grocery stores. Over night the price had changed, dropping from a ridiculous number to something more reasonable. It would take some time for it to lower and recover from the damaging high taxes. A radio squawked from a second floor windor, the morning news drowned out by static and music from another station. Walking through the market during lunch, he stopped and debated at a flower stall.
"Looking for something?" the florist asked.
"Not sure," he said, slightly bewildered eyes darting between flowers.
"Don't know what she likes?"
"Liked," Train corrected. "It's for her grave."
"Oh." The florist was still, and then silently picked through her wares, pulling out a few red and pink carnations and stalks of small white flowers. Eying the small bundle, she added a single crimson rose. "This okay?"
Train nodded and watched her wrap his flowers. Taking them, he handed her the money, grinned his thanks and contined walking.
At the cemetery, he stared out at the lawn of graves, rows and rows of rotting teeth rising from the ground. Wandering through the rows, he found the more recently deceased and starts his search, walking backwards through the dates. He finally finds her, buried on top a gentle hill overlooking the city. It was fitting. Saya would have liked it.
He put the milk and flowers down to one side and sat, leaning against the gravestone. He gazed out at the city, idling thinking he could see his old apartment and then silenced his thoughts. He sat and let the day slip by, watching the clouds drift past, the movements in the streets, witnessed the courting of butterflies and listened to the rustling of trees.
Lights flickered on as the sun sank into the dusk, and he still hadn't moved. He watched the stars wake up and the full moon rise. Below the city broke out in celebration, fireworks exploding overhead, competting for the sky with the heavens. Festive music reached his ears, the laughing of thousands of voices. When the festival finally died late into the night, he reached for a bottle, opened it and began to drink. Slowly sipping the milk, he thought of her as the moon glided across the night and thought he heard the whispers of singing ghosts on the wind. He smelt rich earth and green water, watched the fireflies dance and felt the wind tease his hair. He fought the temptation to sleep, keeping his heavy eyelids open, and turned his thoughts from Saya and towards his life, his broken childhood, the people he had killed and the friends he had found. His friends.
A drop of liquid falling off his face had him raise a hand to his cheek. He smiled, realizing he was crying. The sadness still ached in his chest, but it was tolerable. He stood and with a fresh bottle, he raised it to toast the moon.
"Here's to you," he said softly. "Thanks." Throwing his head back, he chugged the milk and gasped for breath. As the moon began to fade from the lightening sky, he did the same with the remaining bottles. Feeling stuffed and slow with milk, he sat again and watched the city waking up. He almost failed to register the two figures walking up the row towards him. Sleepily, he turned to them as they drew near, and gave a small friendly wave.
"Train," Eve greeted with a smile, her arms full of flowers for the grave.
"Hey," he looked up at a taller Eve and an older Sven. "What are you two doing here?"
"Idiot, did you think we'd forget?" Sven said with a raised eyebrow. "You done here?"
"Yeah," Train grinned. He stood and dust off his pants. "Feeling in the mood for milk."