"Beyond Death"
A Vincentaker roleplay (Co-writer: Stickiebun)
Chapter 7Undertaker stayed at the Phantomhive estate for another two days, and he and Vincent held their next scheduled lesson there, on the last day of his visit. While the reaper still had to hold back his Shinigami reflexes and strength, he wasn't too proud to admit that Vincent was indeed the better swordsman of the two of them. Rather than lament the fact that his lover would never reach his full potential as a mere mortal, Undertaker applauded the fact that he did not need supernatural powers to be deadly with the blade. In fact he could dare say that Vincent could hold his own against most reapers, demons and angels if he had to-even if he couldn't win by brute force.
Rachel took delight in watching them fence, and the three of them exchanged witty remarks and teased each other as the training went on.
"We must show you Vincent's Chicken stance sometime, Lady Rachel," Undertaker called out to her as he made a pass at Vincent-which the Earl immediately parried. "It's a sight to behold!"
"Not happening; my dear wife would die of laughter." Vincent admitted; making Rachel giggle.
"Oh now you tempt me, Vincent. I absolutely must see it!"
"A gentleman should never refuse such a simple request from an expecting lady," admonished the reaper with a grin and conspiring wink for Rachel. "Come now, Earl...show the lovely missus your patented stance."
"You are cruel, Undertaker, bringing up such an embarrassing fact about me. I say if I must show her, that you owe me." Vincent lunged, the tip of his practice foil tagging the reaper's shoulder.
"Ouch," protested the mortician with a laugh. "Careful with that thing, love. I'm a fragile old man!"
"I won't deny 'old' but 'fragile' you are not. Point." Vincent smirked, leaving the fencing line and walking over to the teatray next to his wife, taking a sip of his tea before smiling at her, "And you are no better than he for wishing to see me make a fool of myself, my dear."
"Come December, I'll be the one in an undignified position while I bring our son or daughter into the world," said Rachel shrewdly, her blue eyes teasing on him. "I could be in labor for two days, and you cannot spare one moment to entertain me?"
Undertaker chuckled. "She's starting to sound more like me. You both are, in fact."
"I think you two secretly plot against me." Vincent sighed, "And my dear, nothing could make you more beautiful than bringing our child into this world." he leaned down to gingerly kiss her cheek, "Even if you cuss like a sailor while doing so."
"And if you don't want to be unladylike, I could stand around spouting profanities for you," offered the silver reaper.
"You would do so anyway just to see the reactions of the doctor." Rachel giggled.
The mortician nodded and bowed. "Guilty as charged. He looked at Vincent, and he lifted his brows at him. "Well, go on then! Show your lady-love the stance, my lord."
"I don't even remember how I did it-or how it's supposed to look." Vincent protested, "I stopped trying to do it when you agreed it was pointless with my lack of balance."
Undertaker cupped a hand around his mouth and he spoke in a loud whisper, "He's shy!"
"I'm not 'shy'!" The earl crossed his arms, flushing slightly.
"He says whilst blushing," observed the mortician with a sage nod, white teeth flashing in a smile.
"My lord husband does redden easily," agreed Racel with a feminine giggle. "I think it's darling."
Undertaker nodded. "Indeed."
"...you two were born to team up against me, weren't you?" he asked, setting aside his foil.
"Or maybe we both have a common interest in seeing you blush," said Undertaker with a smirk.
Rachel nodded, smiling at her husband with shining eyes. "I find it adorable."
"...I'm not sure I like you two being friends anymore." Vincent teased, backing up a few paces before looking at Undertaker, "You'll have to help again if I'm going to do this."
"Of course," the reaper agreed happily-quite boyish for a man who'd been around since before the crusades. He stepped up to Vincent, but he looked at Rachel.
"Now my dear, I don't suppose you're familiar with Asian martial arts?"
She shook her head and she absently reared her hand over the slight curve of her abdomen. "I cannot say that I am, sir."
"Well, one of the stances I was tutoring your husband on is called the Crane stance. It goes like so..."
He demonstrated it for her, and he explained the technique behind it. When she said she understood, the reaper bade Vincent to perform the stance. As per usual, he tried to instruct him but their efforts fell short and the Earl ended up in the odd pose he'd invented for himself again.
Undertaker couldn't help but burst into laughter, his shoulders trembling with mirth. Rachel's expression of amusement was kinder; she covered her mouth with a gloved hand to soften her chuckles.
"Oh, darling husband if mine," she said with a smile as the blushing young lord dropped the pose. "Your fencing skills make up for it."
Undertaker nodded, still chuckling beneath his breath. "They do indeed. We can't be masters of everything we do." The mortician patted Vincent consolingly on the arm. "What matters is you tried; and you've learned enough to defend yourself should an enemy use these arts against you."
"With any luck it won't be needed-though I suppose it's better than assassins in the night and snipers at Balls." He sighed, moving to take his seat next to his wife, "How are you feeling, Love?" he asked her, "Need anything?"
Rachel smiled at him, fanning herself delicately with the lacy fan so popular for ladies to keep on their purpose. "I think I may retire inside, darling. I may be having one of those heat flashes."
Undertaker walked over to her and took note of the flush in her cheeks, nodding. "It's a rather warm day for this time of year. You ought to relax in the parlor and have a chilled glass of lemon water, my lady."
"I think I shall," she agreed. "Vincent? Would you be so kind as to escort me?"
"Of course." Vincent set down his teacup and offered her his arm, smiling at her as he escorted her back inside.
Undertaker watched them go, and he decided it was time to pack up and return to the shop. He wouldn't leave without saying a proper goodbye, of course, but Rachel seemed to be doing just fine and Vincent had finally settled down. He smirked at the turn of events in his life, no longer questioning how he came to be so involved with these two mortals. It was fate, and not even reapers had the power to escape what had been laid down for them.
Winter began its approach, and as Rachel grew close to her time, the Undertaker and Vincent had fewer training sessions. The young Earl didn't like to leave his wife's side for long, now that she was in the final stages of pregnancy. Undertaker certainly didn't blame him for that, and he took what time he could get with him and came for dinner each weekend to spend time with Rachel, too. During one such meal, Undertaker began to get a strange feeling in his gut. At first, he didn't understand what it was, but then the feeling changed from a mild cramping sensation to outright pain.
The ancient reaper looked at his wine glass. He'd been the first to be served, and Rachel was sticking with tea and water. He looked down the table at Vincent, who was just about to raise his freshly poured glass of the same wine to his lips. Undertaker reacted immediately, jumping up from his chair, hopping onto the table and rushing over the top of it to the Earl. He slapped the wine glass out of Vincent's hand, sending it crashing against the far wall and drawing a shriek of alarm from the poor maid. Vincent's eyes were bugging out and Rachel stood up to stare with shock, amazed that the funeral director had literally run over the top of the table without disturbing a single centerpiece, plate or tray.
"Undertaker, what—" began Rachel.
"Poison," coughed Undertaker, interrupting her query. Blood trickled from his pale lips and he turned his face away from Vincent as he hopped down and coughed again. He looked at the maid, knowing the poor dear wasn't responsible for it.
"Who's...had access to the wine besides you tonight, darlin?" He covered his mouth with his sleeve, feeling his gut twisting warningly. He'd soon be vomiting blood.
"Th-the new kitchen help, sir," she answered. "R-R-Rodger...I can't recall his—"
"Where is he now?" Interrupted the mortician, quickly running out of time.
"He was just going outside to the garden..."
Undertaker turned to Vincent and Rachel. Had her water been tainted, she would already be feeling the effects of it. He was grateful that didn't seem to be the case. "Do not drink or eat anything prepared tonight, my lord and lady. Have your entire wine stock disposed of and call the Yard immediately. I'm going after the culprit."
He was off in a flash of black and silver, leaving them stunned in the dining room.
Vincent had been sitting in shock, but finally was able to shake it as he stood up, "But you've ingested it! Undertaker!" His worry was clear on his face. sure, the man wasn't human, but that was his blood... It made the unexpectedly subtle attempt on his life all the more real—it had effected his lover, and had the man been human, he'd undoubtedly would be dead or dying.
He was a danger to those around him until the attempts stopped—and if they were ordered by the queen, they wouldn't be stopped.
Vincent wanted to run after Undertaker, but he refused to leave Rachel. "Come, let us go to the library-it's safest there with all the thick shelving units, in case this night isn't over yet. Tanaka! Please get the Yard on the phone and have them come over-make sure no one eats dinner, and have all the wine dumped out."
The old butler nodded and hurried off to first inform the staff before he took to the phone.
"Think you can escape death, boy?" Undertaker said as he closed in on the fleeing young man. His footsteps barely made a sound as he chased his quarry down the winding paths of the garden and into the hedge maze.
Unfortunately, the poison was slowing the reaper's system down, causing his heart to falter in a manner that would have been alarming, had he been a mortal. As it stood, the toxins began to cause muscle spasms that made his coordination sluggish, at best. It couldn't kill him, but it was going to make it damned hard to catch up with his quarry. There was little doubt in his mind that if Vincent or anyone else in the manor had ingested it, they would have died in agony within moments.
Undertaker lost track of him when a dizzy spell struck him and he stumbled. He pressed a hand over his heart, reckoning it would be exploding in his chest right now, were it not for his preternatural biology. His strength gave out, and he fell to his knees.
Undertaker heard footsteps approaching as he fell onto his side, and he looked up blearily as a masculine figure approached. His vision was already poor as a Shinigami, but the effects of the poison made it worse. He knew that it was the assassin going by the moniker of "Rodger", and not Vincent. He could smell the death on him.
The culprit nudged him none too gently with his shoe, making him groan. "Why aren't you dead, old man?"
Undertaker would have liked to respond with something witty, but his lungs were full of blood and all that came out was a gurgle when he tried to speak. The killer drew a pistol, and the reaper groaned inwardly, bracing himself as he took aim at his head.
"No matter," said the assassin. "This should finish you. One less obstacle."
The mortician heard raised voices approaching from outside the hedge maze, one of which belonged to Vincent. The others sounded like the house guards. They were calling out for him, searching for him. They wouldn't make it on time, unless the assassin decided to flee before firing on him.
Undertaker had no such luck; the culprit cocked the hammer on his gun and looked down at the reaper again. "This ought to send a proper message."
Undertaker felt the pain of the bullet slamming into his skull, and then the world went black for him.
Satisfied that he wouldn't be getting up again, the killer made his escape. By the time Vincent and his armed escort arrived on the scene, Undertaker was lying still, cold and waxen pale in a pool of blood. By all appearances, he looked dead.
Vincent's footsteps faltered when he heard the shot ring out, and then he and his men sped up, rounding the hedges in time to see a figure in the distance disappear into the woods; a body laying deathly still in the grass, white hair spread out around his head, his body twisted, and blood...
The Earl let out a pained cry, falling to his knees next to the reaper as his men continued pursuit, Tanaka staying beside him as a bodyguard as he pulled Undertaker into his arms.
"No...no, no, no, no, no! Undertaker! No...say something, please!" He pleaded, trying to wipe away the blood from his lips and forehead. He expected the reaper to move-for the wound to close up and for him to be fine—he wasn't human, he was Death! Death couldn't take Death...right?
But the reaper stayed unmoving; no hint at any life left within his form. Vincent's stomach clenched up, his gasps growing ragged with panic as tears fell from his eyes.
"No! Come back to me! Please! Undertaker, you self-righteous, selfless bastard! Open you eyes...please! I c-I can't loose you!" he sobbed.
And still, no response. Even as he pressed his lips to Undertaker's cool, unresponsive ones.
Tanaka ignored the kiss—he'd suspected such a relationship between his Lord and the reaper for quite some time. It was, after all, nearly impossible to keep secrets from one's own butler. But with a sorrowed look in his eyes, he bent down and placed his hand on the Earl's shoulder, "Sir, we should take him inside. I will call for the doctor. He's not human...he has a chance."
Vincent nodded and took a shaky breath, gathering the man into his arms and letting Tanaka help him up. Together, they rushed back into the house and they placed Undertaker on one of the couches in the great hall. Vincent dropped to his knees by his side as he listened to Tanaka call for the Doctor in the foyer.
"Oh God, Undertaker..."
Rachel sat up when she heard her husband and the men come back in, and she hurried out of the study and down the stairs.
"Did you catch him?" The question tumbled from her lips, only to fall into shocked silence when she saw the limp, bloodied form they carried. Tanaka was already going for the phone to ring the doctor, and Vincent knelt by Undertaker and held his unresponsive hand as they lowered him onto one of the couches.
She had never seen her husband look so lost...so grief-stricken. As the realization of what she was seeing sank in, her own vision blurred with tears. There was a bullet hole in Undertaker's forehead. His lips were gray, save for the bright blood staining them. His beautiful, flowing hair was matted and drenched with red. His chest was utterly still.
"Oh, no," she choked, gathering her skirts to run to Vincent's side. "No!"
The Earl pulled his wife into his arms, letting her sob into his chest. he said nothing—he couldn't. all words had been lost to him. He buried his face in his wife's hair, shaking as sobs escaped him.
Tanaka returned to the hall, and he sighed quietly in sympathy for the young couple. He wanted to believe that the Undertaker would survive this, but as the minutes ticked by with no sign of life from the mortician, he resigned himself to the possibility that not even an immortal could come back from deadly poisoning and a shot to the head. The servants had done their best to bandage the Undertaker's head, but it wasn't likely to do any good.
Tanaka cleared his throat and did his best to keep his voice even and comforting. "Dr. Heltzer is on his way, my lord. He has advised that we not move him further."
He had suggested that they hire the general physician to be their live-in doctor in light of recent events, but things had been so busy that they never got the chance. It would be a sad thing if they learned he might have saved the Undertaker, had he been here to see to him immediately.
All they could do now was wait. "I shall make some soothing chai tea for you both," offered the butler, and he left them to their grief, his heart heavy with sorrow.
The Earl nodded and wiped his eyes. It wouldn't do to show the extent of his emotion over what had happened-and as much as he wanted to screw his stupid reputation, he knew taht doing so would only hurt Rachel and their child. he held onto his wife tighter.
Doctor Heltzer arrived after ten and he examined the fallen mortician carefully. He was a middle-aged man with salt and pepper brown hair, which he kept pulled back into a ponytail, falling to his mid-back. He wasn't as kindly as the maternity specialist Rachel was seeing, but he had a reputation as the best general practitioner in the area.
After several tense moments, he put his instruments away and stood up, shaking his head. "I'm sorry; there is nothing I can do. This man is dead, and I doubt I could have saved him even if I'd been here when this occurred."
Vincent trembled, taking a deep breath to control his emotions before speaking, "We understand-thank you for your time, Doctor.
But as soon as the doctor had left, he fell to his hands and knees. Undertaker-was dead. His lover-his immortal lover...had died before him.
All because someone wanted him dead.
Anger and hatred began to boil up under his sorrow. His fists clenching as he grit his teeth together. They would pay...the man who shot Undertaker, the person who had hired him...whoever they were would pay.
Two days later, Undertaker was prepared for burial and consigned to the ground. Word got out that the mysterious, seemingly ageless Phantomhive informant had succumbed to attacks meant for the lord of the manor, and there was a high turnout at the funeral.
Not a one of them besides the staff and members of the Phantomhive household was there to mourn the Undertaker's passing. They were there because they were curious, and the whispering gossip began as soon as the guests arrived.
"Buzzards," Rachel murmured to her husband as they prepared to lower him into the family graveyard. She held Vincent's hand tightly, nodding at the coffin being lowered into the ground. "That's what he would have called them."
Vincent nodded, watching solemnly as the body of his lover was lowered into the ground, "Here in hopes of increasing their own social standing." he muttered in a monotone, "As if a funeral was the proper place for such things; it's sickening." Swallowing, he turned his pained gaze on his wife, taking his handkerchief and drying the trails of tears from her eyes. He kept his own tears to be shed in private, though it didn't stop them from forming.
"May The Lord bless and keep you," said the priest over the casket, "and may you rest in peace."
The casket settled into the grave, and they began to fill it. A respectful hush fell upon the crowd. As the second shovel of dirt hit the lid of the coffin, there was a sudden ruckus. People looked around in confusion at first; until it became apparent that the noise was coming from within the fresh grave.
"V-Vincent?" Rachel said uncertainly as the coffin began to shift and jump in its grave.
Off to the side, Tanaka's brows lifted with surprise, before a tiny, subtle smirk curved his lips beneath his mustache.
Vincent's eyes suddenly lit up with hope, and he left his wife's side as he took a few steps closer to the grave, crouching down to look closer. A few other men followed suit, curious as to what was happening.
The coffin outright bucked in its grave, and people gasped and stepped back with alarm as the black lacquered lid burst open, flying right out of the grave to land with a crash amongst the chairs lining the lawn.
The Undertaker—dressed in his customary combination of black robes, pointed boots and black top hat by Vincent's insistence—rose up out of his coffin like some sort of vampire from a horror novel. He looked around at the shocked crowd, and he brushed off his robes and blurted a candid announcement.
"Well now, as tries go, that one was better than most."
Somewhere in the audience a woman screamed, and the poor priest went cross-eyed with shock and collapsed in a dead faint.
"Vincent—no!" Angelina's voice gasped as the redhead hurried to her sister.
But Vincent didn't listen, hopping down into the grave, much to everyone's shock—well, everyone who hadn't fled or feinted. He held a serious look on his face as he studied Undertaker, his eyes full of hurt, frustration, sorrow, and relief. "If that was all a joke then it was in very poor taste!"
Undertaker was disoriented...confused. His voice was scratchier than usual as he spoke with vocal chords that hadn't been used at all for two days. "A joke? Is that why someone decided to lock me in my coffin after that spleeny clotpole tried to end me? I agree Earl...very poor taste, indeed. Lock an old man up in his bed while he's recovering! The...the nerve!"
Undertaker then realized that he and Vincent were standing six-feet deep in a hole, and his nose crinkled in confusion. He looked around, swaying unsteadily as he peered blearily at his gaping audience.
"Oh my," he muttered. "We aren't in my shop, are we?"
"No, we aren't." Vincent crossed his arms, masking his emotions with a sense of annoyance, "You were presumed dead! No heart beat, no breathing...nothing! Not one single clue that you were alive! ...shit..." he turned his back to the audience of watchers as he tried fighting back his tears.
Undertaker scratched his head. "I find this all frightfully confusing. You arranged a funeral for me?"
Tanaka stepped forward and graciously offered a handkerchief to his master, before helping him out of the grave.
"There have been many cases of people being mistakenly pronounced dead and buried alive," he offered gracefully, and he steadied Vincent on his feet before extending his hand down to Undertaker. "It appears you have been another one, sir."
Undertaker took the offered hand and climbed out, weak in the knees from his ordeal and still trying to gather his wits. "Thanks, old friend."
He brushed off his robes and he looked around at the audience, giving a little start of surprise at the number of attendees. "Well good news, everyone; I'm alive and well. You can all return home, now. Go on...shoo."
He waved them away like they were pesky birds. Having seen enough for one day, the crowd began to disperse, the confused murmur of intrigue following them. The maid went to the fallen priest to revive him with smelling salts, while Undertaker turned to face Rachel and her wide-eyed sister.
"Now, don't you look at me like I'm the bogeyman, dearies. It's just me; your friendly neighborhood Undertaker."
"Rachel, don't!" Begged Countess Durless as the blonde woman took a hesitant step toward the risen mortician. Angelina had her arms around Rachel's expanding waist, and she stared at Undertaker like he was going to eat them whole.
Rachel gently disengaged from her sister's embrace, and she looked up at the Undertaker searchingly. She dared to push the fringe from his eyes to examine his entire face, and she paled further when she saw no hint of a bullet wound in his forehead.
"Not a single mark," she whispered, "but...how is that possible? What are you, sir?"
Undertaker gazed deeply into her eyes, working his will on her despite the dizziness he felt. "Just an old man that got misdiagnosed, love. It was just a little nick, and my family's always healed fast. Don't get yourself into a state. I'm a bit worse for the wear, but I'm flash and blood and alive."
Rachel's eyes filled with tears, and she hastily wiped them away. "Oh, Undertaker...we thought...and you awoke in your own coffin!"
He shrugged and grinned. "I usually do that every morning, my dear. No harm done there."
"B-but we nearly buried you alive! Forgive us."
"Shhh, dry your eyes now," he said gently. He cast a worried look at Vincent, who stood with his back turned and his body tense as he struggled to compose himself. "Anyone could make that mistake...happens more than you think. At least I woke up before I got fully buried. There's nothing to forgive. Now if you don't mind, would you collect your sister and go inside with the rest of the household and the priest? I'd like to have a word alone with the young Earl."
Glancing at her husband, she understood. "Of course, sir. Take all the time you need."
Undertaker waited until they were all around the corner and out of sight, before approaching his lover.
"Vincent," he said softly, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder.
Vincent slowly turned to look up at the reaper, finally letting go of his mask now that they were alone together, "I thought you were dead-that I lost you," he whispered roughly, the emotion choking out his voice.
He spun around to fully face Undertaker, reaching up to cup his cheeks as he pushed himself up onto his toes to press a kiss to his lips, relief settling his shaking nerves when he felt the kiss returned...life behind it. He wasn't kissing a corpse.
"Bastard," he continued as their lips drifted apart once more, "Why didn't you tell me what couldn't kill you? Immortal doesn't mean you can't be killed!"
Undertaker put his arms around him, finding it easier to ground himself again with Vincent as his anchor. "Indeed it doesn't," he agreed softly, his smile soft and pained, "but in my defense, I had no idea that get would manage to incapacitate me like that, and I couldn't very well explain I wasn't dead while I was unconscious. Truth is, I was in a healing sleep and we reapers don't breathe. My heartbeat slowed down so much, it's no surprise a doctor couldn't detect it. I'm sorry, my dear; I should have sat down with you and told you about healing trances before this happened. I honestly never thought I'd be injured enough to go into one, while in your service. This body of mine is nigh indestructible."
He took one of Vincent's hands and he placed it over his throat, laying it against the scar encircling it. "These were made by death scythes. The only weapon known to cause fatal, lasting damage to a Shinigami happens to be the very ones we use to collect souls. Ol' Undertaker just got cocky...didn't think a mortal could put him down like that. In fact, the last thought that went through my head before he pulled the trigger was that I should have told you bullets can't kill me...even if it looks like they did. It just took time for my body to recover from the combination of the poison and the gunshot."
He looked around, his nose crinkling again in thought as thunder rumbled in the distance and the wind picked up. "By the way...how long was I out for?"
"Two days" Vincent said, "This was supposed to be a private funeral, but you know how people can be when they hear word of anything involving a family name like mine." He tightened his arms around his lover, "I'm glad you awoke before the funeral was over—I might have never known."
Undertaker nuzzled the Earl's dark hair, and he chuckled. "Oh, you'd have known, my lord. I don't require breath and even in my weakened condition, I'm stronger than most humans. I'd have climbed my way out of that grave sooner or later and come knocking on your door, demanding to know why in the hell you buried me."
He pulled back a little and he cupped Vincent's chin as he shook his bangs out of his eyes, holding his gaze. "You held a funeral for me."
The Earl nodded, "Of course I did. You're someone special to both Rachel and I. You aren't just a casual fling to me, Undertaker, you're my lover. You can't expect me to simply throw you in a ditch somewhere."
The reaper laughed, but his eyes remained on Vincent's. "I never thought anyone would do that for me. A funeral is a very special occasion, my dear. It's when everyone who cared enough about you to attend recall parts of your role in their lives. For mortals, it's a slice of immortality. Even those without children live on in the memories of those they left behind and..."
He trailed off, slightly embarrassed to find that he was rambling. He lowered his gaze and shrugged. "I suppose I'm just touched that you and Lady Rachel would do that for me."
"Without a doubt. As soon as we had the chance to calm enough to think, we knew we'd give you one...we didn't even need to say anything, we both just knew it would happen—even if it was only the two of us and Tanaka who attended."
The rain started to fall, leaving small dots of wetness on their shoulders before lightning flashed above and the clouds let loose, drenching them quickly.
Vincent gasped, taken by surprise at the cold rain. but he didn't move, keeping his eyes on his lover, watching as his white fringe clung to his face, water droplets running down his skin.
"I don't suppose you caught the culprit?" Undertaker's gaze swept over Vincent as the rain drenched his clothes and made them cling to his body. Now wasn't the time to be thinking of sex, but it was difficult to resist his desire to kiss him again. His mouth hovered close to Vincent's, his lips nearly touching the Earl's.
"Hmmm...no...he had escaped..." Vincent hummed against Undertaker's lips, "We don't even know what he looks like. They found a wig in the woods not far from where you were shot."
The mortician sighed. "Bugger. You know, he could be..."
He was going to say he could be the same person that took a shot at Vincent at the ball earlier in the year, but he was distracted by Vincent's nearness, the proximity of his lips. His knees felt weak, and he wasn't sure if it was from his coma or the joy he felt in knowing his love had thrown the greatest celebration of life for him. Before he knew what was happening, they were lip-locked...tongues seeking eagerly, bodies pressed flush against each other, hands exploring.
The pounding of the rain on their bodies probably should have cooled them down, but the sheer emotion in Vincent's kiss put the reaper at the mercy of his passions. It was beyond sexual...there was something more profound being exchanged in this kiss, and all that Undertaker wanted at the moment was to let it go on and on, for as long as it possibly could.
Nobody had ever loved him like this before, and he in turn had never felt such a connection to anyone before. His fingers pushed through the Earl's wet hair, his hands cradling his head. He would normally be tempted to rip his clothes off and have his way with him, but this was enough for him, right now.
Vincent pulled himself up flush against Undertaker's body. He wasn't aiming for sex, but he honestly didn't mind if the kiss lead them to it. Right in that moment, all he knew was that he was relieved the man was alive, and he didn't care about anything else. Even the rain seemed to fade away with the world as their lips and tongues danced together.
He had three loves. The first, his unborn child. and then there were Undertaker and Rachel. and he wanted all three of them safe and alive. And he'd almost lost one. He thought he had.
After an indeterminable amount of time, they finally broke the kiss and Undertaker just gazed into those expressive brown eyes. "I feel blessed," he sighed, "to have you and your darling lady in my life. Oh dear, I haven't asked about her health, have I? She and the nipper are okay, aren't they?"
"She's as stubborn as ever." Vincent smiled. "I was worried about her when she found out you were gone, but she, as usual, pulled through. She's had no complications. I think it's a blessing that women are the ones to carry children and not men—I might have lost the baby, if it were me."
Undertaker chuckled and patted his shoulders affectionately. "And it must have been all the more shocking for her, when I burst out of that coffin. She doesn't have the benefit of knowing who and what I truly am."
He sighed. "But female intuition is strong , Vincent. We may soon have to sit down with her and tell her; preferably after the little one is born."
He nodded, "She's due soon, and I think after seeing you come back from the grave—literally—that the truth is owed to her."
He slid his hands down over his chest, "Undertaker...promise me you'll try avoiding getting shot in the head from now on. The image of you that night—it's haunting."
This time, The Undertaker found that he couldn't summon a smile. He imagined what it must have looked like to Vincent, to find him lying so still and cold in that maze...so much dead meat, like any mortal dealt a fatal blow. He put himself in his place, imagining how he would have felt to find Vincent dead—and were the tables turned, the young Earl wouldn't be rising from his grave for a second chance.
Ignoring the downpour now drenching them, Undertaker reached out to caress Vincent's cheek. "Oh, my dear," he whispered. "I doubt I can ever truly make up for putting you through that, but I mean to try anyway. Forgive me?"
"You came back, didn't you?" Vincent tilted his head into Undertaker's hand, "Of course I forgive you, I just don't want to repeat that night, if it can be avoided at all."
The reaper's smile returned. "I try to avoid getting bested by mortals whenever possible. This experienced has served as a reminder that it can happen. I promise, I'll try to avoid being poisoned and shot again, in the future."
He gave Vincent one last embrace and a kiss, before stepping away and urging him along down the path leading out of the graveyard. "Come, my lord. We need to get you into something dry. How ironic and infuriating it would be, for me to rise from the dead only to have you catch your death of cold. I owe an apology to dear Rachel and her sister, as well."
Vincent nodded, giving his hand a squeeze before the two headed back in towards the manor. "I must insist, though, that you stay for the night."
Undertaker's legs nearly gave out and he was forced to borrow Vincent as a steadying crutch. "Sorry love. I'm not at my best. I think I'll take you up on that offer. Traveling while I'm this weak would be a fool's choice."
"Good." he smiled at the reaper and helped him into the house where two footmen hurried forward to take their coats and hats.
The maid, still looking shaken from Undertaker's timely return, bowed, "Hot baths have been prepared in the master Bath and the Bath in the East wing, second floor."
Undertaker thanked her, and he reluctantly parted ways with his lover to bathe traces of grave dirt from his body and change into clean garments. He was faintly amused and touched all over again to find his things still exactly as he left them in his appointed guest room. It seemed the Earl hadn't been able to give up hope completely, even though he'd thought him dead.
He shook hands with Tanaka when he emerged from his room and found him waiting with a smile and a greeting, and the old butler escorted him to the dining hall for dinner, rightly assuming he was famished. He enjoyed a lovely meal with his two favorite mortals, followed by cigars and brandy in the study afterwards with Vincent. Rachel was quite graceful when he apologized to her and her little sister for the scare he'd given them, but Madam Durless seemed wary of him. He shrugged it off, used to such a reaction to most mortals. He spent one more night at the Phantomhive manor and come morning, he had breakfast with them, said his goodbyes and packed up his cart to leave.
"You take good care of yourself and your hubby, sweetheart," he said to Rachel as they exchanged a brief hug, "and be sure to call me if anything comes amiss."
"Absolutely," she promised as they stepped apart. "You will...be here for the birth of our child, won't you?"
Undertaker smiled broadly. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, love. I'll be here in a jiffy, the minute I get the call." He winked at her playfully. "Someone's got to keep Vincent calm while you're bringing his son or daughter I to the world."
She sighed and cast a fond smile her husband's way. "I'm counting on it. Vincent can be...high strung, when he worries about us." She patted her swollen belly meaningfully.
Undertaker laughed in delight, wishing he could give Vincent the goodbye kiss he deserved. It would cause a scandal if he did so in front of anyone, though. "I'll keep him distracted so he won't get in your way. Goodbye, little Phantomhive." He laid a hand over Rachel's belly. "Be good to your Mum and don't try to come out before you're due, eh?"
Rachel and Vincent both chuckled, and Angelina looked away uncomfortably. Deciding he'd best depart before he ended up asking to stay on as a live-in advisor. He'd make a very poor informant indeed if he gave up his practice and came to live with them. Half his information came from the dead, and the rest came from the underworld.
With regret, the reaper boarded his cart and snapped the reins to get Daisy moving. He waved at the Phantomhives and their staff as he drove away, and he sighed. There was still a killer on the loose, and with the baby coming soon, it was even more important to make sure Vincent and his wife were well-guarded.
-To be continued