[Short Chapter]

Chapter 3-To the bone

March 15th

[Lancer]

Rain makes his bones ache. Past the muscle and deep into the rigid white of his skeleton. It makes for a slow and irritating day of work, his expression stiff and often annoyed or shadowed with pain.

The cameras flash far too brightly and by the end of the day, he's suffering from a minor headache. Drinking from a small bottle of water, he pinches his fingers against the bridge of his nose, eyebrows furrowing.

"Are you okay Diarmuid?"

A small, shy and brown haired girl approaches him, her hands folded beneath a miniature white towel. Offering a smile, he turns to her, holding out his hand and taking the towel from her. He wipes his forehead and brows and then tosses it on his desk. Slipping his suit jacket off, he slings it over the back of his chair.

"Thanks Rose, but you can leave early today. I won't be too long."

She watches him with the same doe-eyed innocence, charmed by his face and beauty mark—staring at him as if she's finally experience love. But she's too young and she's only under a spell. Her eyes are like many others, desperate for him and for his attention.

Somehow, over the curve of her chin and cheekbones, her hair is suddenly blonde and her lips fine, eyes an emerald green. Her eyes are no longer soft but replaced with a hardiness—stubborn and a bit stoic. Strong.

Lancer blinks, stepping back from the girl, her appearance suddenly reverting back to her mousy self.

She leans forward, "A-Are you alright? You looked like you've seen a ghost."

He glances quickly at his reflection in the mirror and staring back is a disturbed, pale expression. He wipes his hand down his face, sighing, "I think I'll be going home now."

She steps forward, wide eyes searching for his attention once more and for love he certainly cannot offer, "Are you sure? You look a bit sick. S-Should I walk you home?"

She wants so much from him, he can see her innocent hope, how much she aches to be with him. Too bad that despite his apparent freedom, he still suffers from the same curse. It seems he cannot escape his past after all.

"No, that's alright."

Besides, even if he was to succumb, to allow himself a slight relationship with every women that fell under his spell, he refuses to be with anyone underage, anyone who will be wasting her time on him, experiencing a false love. He would never dare take advantage of a woman who wants a true relationship, because he knows he can not withstand being in one. His past is too dark and he can't forget what love has done to him, how torturous it could be. So he must reserve his pity as Rose glances down at the ground, terribly disappointed. As if her world has come crashing down and her heart has been shredded into pieces. But she'll get over it.

Perhaps it's time he hire a new assistant because he doesn't want a poor girl's life ruined because she believes she's in love; when in actuality she's merely under a spell. Even with his new found freedom, he's become more closed off, hiding himself and his past from prying eyes rather than immediately trust. He's learned from his past and the last Holy Grail War that no matter how much he admires and persists about chivalry—the world will not grant him such in return.

No, he's only ever gotten mistrust and deceit, anger.

Now he's lost on whether he should cling to those values, to his stubborn morals or simply delve into true human society.

Rose still stares at the ground with watery eyes. He doesn't offer a hug, he's afraid she'll think he's falling in love with her. And he doesn't plan to fall in love ever again.

The rain reminds him far too much of the past and he doesn't care to be out in public when he can be huddled in bed, succumbing to laziness. Except he promised himself he would train again today because he missed the day before, and he doesn't want to feel the sluggishness take over his body. He hasn't slept very well recently however and that hasn't helped much either. As he deliberates on what to do, he shields his eyes from the rain, squinting through the slight fog and mist. New York in the rain isn't pretty to him, in fact, it's quite grey. Most of the people who are walking down the street, do so out of necessity rather than looking for something to do.

He should have taken his car here but in the morning, when the sun was bright and sky clear, he thought it would be good to walk or take public transportation. Now he regrets having to walk with his throbbing knees, about fifteen blocks to his apartment building.

"Stop!"

He stops short on command, his senses spiking as a figure barrels past him, a grey hood pulled over the man's head. Watching the man sprint through an empty park, hitting the swings and staggering, he swiftly turns back around towards the other moving figures. Police officers, two, both men running in full sprint after the man.

Lancer leaps out the way and turning back around, he sees another smaller person jumping over the park fence, coming from another direction of the other police officers. Her blonde hair is covered in droplets of rain and her emerald eyes seem to glimmer seriously, but with an excitement he hadn't seen in a long time.

The pain in his body subsides as he's filled with adrenaline, a wonderful fire burning through him.

Chase

He's running. Running towards her with long strides and deliberate steps, beating out the human cops and easily matching her pace. His jacket flies from his body, hitting the ground as the park flashes by him like a whirlwind of color.

"Who is he?"

Saber's head turns, but she doesn't seem to register that it is him, or that he is somehow here running beside her, because she only mutters, "Bad. Man."

In a huff, which he takes as evidence that she's been running for a long while after him, also why she probably hasn't caught him yet.

But he's not winded just yet, he's full of energy. So he pushes his legs, igniting the heat flaring through his muscles to burn hotter. He passes Saber and feeling the ache of his bones call out to him, a glimmering red lance forms from the air.

He flashes a grin, just as Saber shrieks, "Wait—!"

He swings, eyes flashing towards the man's feet.

Child's play...

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Standing against the side of a Starbuck's, he watches as Saber politely excuses herself from her conversation, all smiles and stiff nods. It seems the cops she was with were her friends and the man they had been chasing, was a father she was working with, apparently, a bit of an abuser. It seemed the man had crossed a line, too many hospital visits with his children and too many suspicious absences from school. When it came down to it, he sprinted from his cramped apartment building, leaving the children he was hurting behind. The cruelty of humans doesn't surprise him but it never seems to ease his worries of the world he now lives in. There doesn't seem to be much good anymore except in small corners of the world.

Saber glances down at her phone, thumbs rapidly moving across the screen, a troubled expression clouding her once fiery glare.

He awaits her, wondering why, after their last encounter, that he wants to speak with her at all. Since the cafe, he's made sure to come even earlier than he used to, only to ensure he doesn't see her. Yet, he can't help but regret the way their last conversation had ended. He told himself that he wasn't angry with her but when she started talking about servants of the past and Caster—a battle he had experienced just mere hours away from his death—he was filled with anger.

"I need a day off," she breaths, and then realizing he is still waiting for her, she quickens her pace, nearly a jog. She huffs, eyes somewhat innocent and wide as she watches him, "I—Well, thank you. For the help."

"I'm sure you had it on your own," he attempts to be nonchalant but he's actually quite pleased to see her, "But I got a little bit too excited, I guess."

"Well," she adjusts her dark suit around her neck, a few wrinkles having appeared and the rain having practically glued it to her skin, "We haven't talked in some time."

He pushes himself off of the wall, arms still crossed, "About that, Saber. I think I should apologize—"

"You?"

They have a habit of interrupting each other, always wanting to say something, always some type of competition even when it doesn't feel like it should be one.

He sighs out contentedly, "I am...still angry. But sitting alone for a decade or so makes the anger fade."

She tilts her head, finally listening rather than talk over him, so he continues, "I want to forgive. But I need you to explain...what happened. Why it happened."

She frowns, "That will be a long story. And difficult." Glancing down at her phone, he can see her fingers strongly squeezing it in her hand, "I still have work and the children to attend to but—"

A car flashes by them, spraying them with a flood of water. They are already soaked to the bone but it still makes them both exclaim and then shiver. Saber has tucked her phone quickly against her body, water dripping from her eyelashes.

"But—" she breaths out, "Perhaps we can exchange numbers," she frowns, twisting the device in her hand, "I believe many humans do that, to keep in contact. Except so many men have given me their numbers and I have no idea what to do with it all."

His chest tightens. This might be the first women he has in his phone that he hasn't either slept with or who isn't charmed by his beauty mark. Not that she needs to know that and he realizes how that bit of information might come across if said aloud—he isn't some player but then again, he isn't as serious about love in this time period anymore— and regardless of all that, Saber herself isn't even accustomed to another man hitting on her. Much less why they exchanged numbers with her...

Chuckling at himself, he fishes his phone out of his pocket, slowly sliding his eyes over her face. She's really quite pretty he's noticed, or maybe she always was but he simply didn't notice over all the hectic drama.

"My number is—"

Her lips seem soft. Maybe being a bit of a player in this society is getting to him, because he can't help but imagine how she's fared in such a society as this, romantically speaking.

He wonders if she trains like him, if she still adorns her armor at times and secretly wields her sword as she did in the past.

He's only ever had respect for her, even more so after learning her identity. After they say their goodbyes, he slyly types in her contact name, deciding against Saber and adding, "Arturia" instead.

It seems fitting. In this world, she is no longer Saber. Those were class titles, not their true names, and even during the war, even after learning each other's identities; using their true names seemed far too intimate for two people eager for battle.

Even muttering her name seemed indecent during those times but now he finds it fitting.

He watches as she sits in her car, shaking water of out her hair and clothes. He should be more honest to himself, he'd like to see her in something more feminine. Even when they met in January, she had been wearing a man's button up shirt with long black pants.

It seems she is still unaccustomed to her femininity and he imagines she is far more comfortable dressing as a man than a woman, and it not that he necessarily believes she should dress more feminine—it is that he is infinitely curious of how she would look. With perhaps, her hair down, her body shaped in a dress.

He blinks as her car moves off down the street.

I must be going crazy...This is saber. The servant of the master that forced you to commit suicide.

Then again, it's Saber. Saber who enjoyed the glory and honor of battle as much as he. Saber who seemed too shocked during his death, too unaware.

Rubbing a hand down his face, he sighs, "I need more sleep."