[A/N: Anyone up for some mood whiplash? Also, there are some references to underage drinking in this chapter if that bothers anyone (it certainly bothers me, but it fit the characters).]

That Butler, Crashing a Party

Setting: London, 1941 (although just barely)

Sigmund spun around in front of a shop window, using the reflection to inspect the new clothes Sebastian had conjured for him. "It doesn't compare to ours, of course, but I have to say the British dress uniforms aren't half bad," he declared, reaching up to give his hat a rakish tilt. "You look nice too, Sebastian," he added as an afterthought.

The demon did not look as if he agreed with this statement at all, a disdainful tilt to his eyebrows as he adjusted one of his sleeves. "It's tan," he said, as if that explained his sulking. "I don't wear tan. It's...it's almost a color."

Sigmund held back a snicker at Sebastian's frustration. While the demon usually found his contractor amusing enough to be patient with him, Sigmund knew it would be stupid to push him too far. "I'm sure you can bear it until we leave the party," he said. "You did find an invitation, right?"

Sebastian produced a card. Sigmund was pretty sure his method of 'finding' it had probably involved violence somewhere, but there wasn't any blood on the invitation card so that was all right. "Perfect! I love a good party, and there's going to be British political bigshots and army top brass all over the place at this one. Let's go, can't be late!"

Since Sigmund was not permitted to access anything close to Sebastian's full power under the provisional contract, the demon could only transport him short distances. Even with that restriction, the six blocks to the hotel where the party was being held were hardly worth speaking of.

"Are we going to very many more parties after this one, master?" Sebastian enquired as they approached the crowded steps.

"Why? In a hurry to get back so you can wear black uniforms again?"

Sebastian didn't answer that question directly, but Sigmund was pretty sure he had the right of it. "It is reckless for a spy to appear so publicly in enemy territory. Especially if the enemy knows of his presence."

"Sure, they know we're still here, but do they expect us to be turning up at all the posh parties? I think not," Sigmund declared. "Besides, German parties are boring. That Christmas party we snuck into last week, now that was—"

"Dreadful," Sebastian finished.

Sigmund rolled his eyes. "Fine, so you're allergic to mistletoe. I had fun."

By that point, they had nearly reached the entrance, so it was time to stop talking shop. Their invitation card was accepted without any fuss, to Sigmund's relief. They hadn't had any issues yet, but at this point it was only a matter of statistics before someone thought it suspicious that they were invited to a party without knowing anyone who was actually there.

The hotel's ballroom was not decorated elaborately (the blackout curtains especially took away from the look somewhat) but it was still much fancier than anything Sigmund had been used to before he started his spying career.

It didn't take long for Sebastian to be waylaid by a couple of ladies, and since he couldn't escape them without arousing suspicion that left Sigmund on his own for a while. After watching Sebastian's predicament from a distance for a couple minutes, Sigmund began drifting around the room, listening to conversations and remembering anything that sounded important.

Several conversations and almost an hour later, he ducked away from a cluster of politicians and took a turn around a pillar only to almost bowl over a maid who had been coming the other direction. A tray flew one way, empty champagne glasses flew every other, and they both started apologizing simultaneously.

"I'm so sorry, sir, I didn't mean to—" the maid said, scrambling to pick up the tray and any of the glasses that were still intact.

"No, I should have been looking where I was—" Sigmund began, but cut himself off at the maid's astonished expression when she looked up at him. Well, I didn't think I was that good-looking, but who am I to judge? "I mean, um, do you...come here often?"

By this point, Sigmund had been responsible for an empty champagne glass or two himself or he might have noticed how strained the maid's smile was, or the twitch that was starting to appear under her eye. "I work here," she pointed out. "I have to come here often or I'd be sacked."

"Oh, that's true," Sigmund realized. She looked to be about his own age, which was nice for a change. Since he was usually pretending to be a lot older than he was (both here and at home since otherwise no one would take him seriously) most of the girls he met were a bit too old for him. "Hey, what's your name?"

"...Bernice." She was really quite nice looking, Sigmund noticed, with big dark blue eyes and soft blond curls. Pity about her being English—and about the name. Who gave a kid a name like 'Bernice' nowadays?

"Do you work at a lot of parties like this?" Sigmund asked. "I bet you see a lot of famous people."

"I guess so," Bernice replied. A cleaning crew had arrived on the scene of their first meeting now, and she headed towards a table at the side of the room to fetch another tray. Sigmund followed, since by this point it was only the two of them in that area of the room, the rest of the guests now clustered around where the entertainment was going on. "Are you sure you should be talking to me?" Bernice asked, hands full again now although the glasses on the tray were full this time.

"I don't see why not," Sigmund said, taking one. "You're nice, I'm bored…"

"Put that down, you're underage."

Sigmund jumped at the voice directly behind him. "I've told you not to do that, Sebastian," he pointed out.

"And I have told you not to do that," Sebastian said, relieving him of the glass and returning it to Bernice's tray, "so I think we're even. Anyway, who is this?" he added, seemingly noticing Bernice's existence for the first time.

"This is Bernice. She's a maid." The 'obviously' went unspoken. Even in his slightly tipsy state Sigmund couldn't help but notice how strained Bernice looked now. "Also, I think you scared her, so you should apologize." Sebastian didn't reply, leaning over Sigmund's shoulder to study the girl more closely. "Seriously, what are you doing," Sigmund said as Sebastian stepped around him and reached out, one hand outstretched as if he was going to cover Bernice's right eye.

"This isn't a maid," Sebastian stated finally.

"What do you—I'm sorry, Bernice, he gets like that, hang on a second," Sigmund said quickly, pulling Sebastian a step back so he could Have Words with his errant demon servant. "Sebastian! What were you doing? Now she won't want to talk to me anymore."

"But—" Sebastian began, but Sigmund never got to hear what he was about to say, as at that moment Bernice threw the entire tray of champagne at them. Sebastian pushed Sigmund out of the way and took the brunt of the drenching himself.

"Hey, what was that about?" Sigmund demanded, shaking champagne out of his hair and stepping out from behind Sebastian. "Thanks by the way, Sebastian...Bernice? Is that you?"

With her hands now free of the tray, Bernice had used one to yank off a blond wig, revealing shorter, slate-dark hair. The other was holding a revolver. "In a manner of speaking, I am," she said (although by this point Sigmund wasn't sure if that was the right pronoun). "Now, shall we take this outside, Sigmund Kastner?"

"I feel lied to," Sigmund pouted, focused less on the revolver than the fact that Bernice wasn't an adorable blonde.

"Good, it means I'm doing my job well," Bernice smiled. "Outside?"

Apparently the British were not such terrible spy-hunters as Sigmund had been thinking. "Sebastian, I co—"

Bernice leveled the revolver squarely on Sigmund's forehead. At five feet away there was no way she could miss. "Stop talking."

Sigmund stopped.

Sebastian still hadn't moved.

That was the trouble with having a demon serve you—they were really helpful in the little things, but if something major happened they needed specific instruction before they would raise a finger.

With the wig-holding hand, Bernice pointed to a side door. "Let's go."

…

When Bernice marched them out of the building at gunpoint, Sigmund had been expecting to find a military police vehicle waiting for them. He wasn't sure whether he found the lack of one reassuring or not—he knew what it would mean back in Germany, but he didn't know if that was how they did things here.

"What now?" Sigmund asked. The side door had opened out into an ornamental garden, which was quite deserted and rather chilly, especially on a winter night for someone who had just been strewn with champagne. "And who're you anyway?" If he just could distract Bernice long enough to give Sebastian an order…

"Well, I was going to shoot you but that would leave Sebastian and I don't want that," Bernice said, sounding a little too happy about the prospect of shooting Sigmund. "And to answer your second question, my name is Bertrand Phantomhive-Middleford, and your 'Sebastian' ate my grandfather's soul."

"I don't see why anyone would still be angry about that," Sebastian stated in a mild tone of voice. "It was only fair, considering all I did for him—horrid little thing, really. He threw tea at me."

"Grandmama was very upset!" Bertrand shouted, the revolver shifting as he turned to glare at Sebastian.

Sigmund took his chance. Shoving Sebastian at the fuming Bertrand (it was a bit better, as unfortunate names went, than Bernice, Sigmund thought) he bolted for the gate of the garden. "Sebastian, I command you to come save me as soon as you get up from that!" he called back as several shots revealed what Bertrand's response had been to the surprise.

Being shot wouldn't kill Sebastian (very few things could and Sebastian wasn't telling), but it would slow him down for several minutes. Hopefully Sigmund would be able to elude the grudge-bearing counterintelligence officer on his own for that long. The fluffy maid dress his pursuer was wearing might help in that regard.

A bullet clipped a branch from a tree only a couple feet away and Sigmund ran faster, vaulting the low gate of the garden and landing on the sidewalk. It was iced over and he slipped, barely regaining his footing as Bertrand neared the gate.

"Get back here, you bloody—" Sigmund didn't hear the rest as he was running too fast, but he could tell that Bertrand had been forced to pause and open the gate in order to get out. That slowed him up for several seconds, which Sigmund used to dart around a corner into an alley and commence searching for a fire escape.

It was dark in the alley, and while he did find a fire escape after only a short time he nearly fell twice in his effort to climb it. "Hurry up, Sebastian," he muttered as he picked himself up the second time. "Just hurry up and get me and I promise I won't drink around weird maids again!"

If this had been a proper narrative, that was the spot for Sebastian to turn up with a helping hand and all-knowing comment. Unfortunately for Sigmund, this didn't happen, and instead Bertrand rounded the corner a moment later.

Sigmund scrambled for the roof as Bertrand shot at him again, one of the bullets catching his hat and sending it flying into the winter wind. I knew I forgot something, I should have had Sebastian conjure me a gun to go with the uniform, he thought as he climbed the icy metal steps as quickly as he dared.

Some grumbling and ripping sounds behind him meant that Bertrand had followed him onto the fire escape. This was bad in one sense, but at least it meant his pursuer's hands were too occupied with other things to shoot at him for a little while.

With three flights' head start, Sigmund easily beat Bertrand to the roof, but that didn't help much with no weapons and a twelve-foot gap to the next closest building. There was a large chimney in the centre of the snowy roof he had reached, and he hid behind it, not that he expected much in the way of results from this action. Come on, Sebastian, hurry up!

Hopefully the demon wasn't too angry about the way Sigmund had just used him. It probably wasn't proper, but since Sigmund could die and Sebastian couldn't, it only seemed logical to make sure Sebastian was the one who got shot at.

More ripping sounds, mingled with some cursing this time, meant that Bertrand had reached the roof and Sigmund's time would soon be up.

A few seconds later, Bertrand's face peeked around the corner of the chimney. "Ha! Knew you'd be here."

Sigmund yelped (he hadn't expected Bertrand to be so silent all of a sudden), then bolted, one of Bertrand's bullets catching the wall where he had been sitting. Bertrand kept pulling the trigger, but after that only clicking sounds came out. Sigmund paused and turned around. "Having trouble?"

"Blast it, what a place to run out of bullets," Bertrand grumbled, tossing the empty gun into the snow. "Luckily Grandmama trained me in this, too!"

Sigmund stared in shock as his antagonist suddenly flourished a two-handed broadsword, its blade gleaming coldly in the moonlight. "Wha...skirt? How? That's just not fair!" he wailed, ducking away from Bertrand, who just looked way too happy about this whole situation. "Sebastian!"

Sebastian did not appear, to Sigmund's frustration and Bertrand's obvious delight. The British agent's range had been greatly decreased by the change in weaponry, but the roof was not large and Sigmund could only dodge for so long.

As Bertrand chased him around the roof, Sigmund grabbed up an armful of snow and flung it in the other boy's face. Bertrand yelped but did not drop the sword, not that Sigmund had expected him to.

The much harder-packed snowball Sigmund sent after it did, however, obtain this result. Sigmund dove for the sword, but Bertrand tackled him before he could reach it and the two spies commenced wrestling in the snow.

With all the powder flying about, Sigmund couldn't tell which way they were rolling and it seemed Bertrand couldn't either as it was only a matter of seconds before suddenly there was no roof beneath them.

"Sebastian!" Sigmund called, instinctively clutching for anything that felt like it might support him.

"Let go of my dress!" Bertrand yelled. He was currently clinging to the flimsy metal gutter at the edge of the roof. Sigmund would have already fallen eight stories to the icy ground were it not for his deathgrip on Bertrand's voluminous skirt.

"Like fun I will, Bernice!" Sigmund shouted back.

"My name is not Bernice!" Bertrand tried to kick him but quickly aborted the action as the gutter began to creak.

"Then why'd you say it was?"

"I was in disguise, you numbskull, how did you ever get a job as a spy?"

"I have a demon at my beck and call, it does wonders for the resume although I have to say I really think he's not making a very good impression at the moment!" Sigmund finished vehemently.

"You wound me, master." Sebastian's voice came from above and Sigmund looked up to see him standing silhouetted at the edge of the roof. The demon was holding Bertrand's broadsword in one hand.

"No, Bertrand did that. Could you kindly get on with saving me now?"

"As you command, master."

A few seconds later, Sebastian had flung Bertrand back onto the roof, with Sigmund of course following since he was still holding onto Bertrand's skirt for dear life. The two spies quickly scrambled apart, and Bertrand backed nervously toward the chimney now that he no longer had the upper hand.

"Should I do something about our new friend, master?" Sebastian enquired, advancing on Bertrand with the sword in hand.

Sigmund thought about it. On the one hand, getting rid of Bertrand would probably save him all kinds of trouble later, but on the other hand it was only because of the British agent's unnecessarily frilly disguise that Sigmund was alive to consider killing him.

"Not this time, I think, Sebastian. Let's just get out of here."

"As you command, master," Sebastian said. He took Sigmund's arm and the pair of them vanished from the roof.

…

"Does this mean that you are willing to go back to Germany now?" Sebastian asked as they reappeared in a deserted street halfway across the city.

"Yes, fine, let's go back where you can wear your lovely black uniform again, I know how much you miss it," Sigmund sighed. "I'll feel better when we have a few countries between us and that sword-wielding psycho anyway."

[A/N: The first three chapters were mostly to establish the character dynamics, so this and subsequent ones are a lot longer. Also, I'm trying to get full 'episodes' down in each chapter so I don't torture anyone with cliffhangers.]