FUCK.

JUST. FUCK.

I seriously think this ship's floated away from me.

I mean- the entire first half of this chapter? Never was supposed to happen. It's going too fast, what do I do?! Before I know it I'm gonna have Sebastian on Ciel and Grell on William and this fic will turn into those PWP things I see and shudder to do so.

Well, enjoy the fluff.

"It may well try to kill me." The girl finishes her tale and then sips delicately on her tea, a remarkable feat given the thick clunking glass of her beaker.

With equal lightheartedness, Undertaker simply nods and simply resumes munching on his cookie, having no trouble whatsoever absorbing all that his guest had said. He had long since adjusted to the routine of listening to certain snippets of Eve's day, though frequently interrupting her monologues with random outbursts of laughter and poking questions that often prod the train of conversation off it's rails, and then offering his inquiries and sagely, experienced, usually useless advice, is never below him. Today, he decides, the former is more appropriate. Gulping down his biscuit with relish, he chases it down with a slurp of earl grey. "Not worried at all about this, are you? How unlike your usual behaviour..." The words creep from his mouth like a hiss from a snake, his voice gaining a slightly more serious and dark quality to it. Nether the less, he is still teasing rather vehemently; the leering, unconcerned grin and cheery gesture of his hand on his chin is testament to that.

"No, I'm not." Eve replies, evenly, calmly, being her beaker to her lips once more. "It already came for me once, I already know what will happen. Doppelgängers torment their targets through impersonations and hauntings, but this time, I'll be ready." As one of her hands lower her tea to her lap, so does her other arm, down to the scythe that she had been sharpening (before Undertaker have her the offer of a break of tea and cookies, which she decided to accept) and stroking it absent-mindedly. "It will come, we will fight, and I will win. I'm sure of it."

"My, my, all by yourself? You seem quite confident of that."

"I do. If I want to truly combat it's tactics, I need to adopt a different mentality, it's no use growing paranoid from now on." Knowing the enemy's strategy is but part of the battle, and, Eve had told herself back when she had been hurrying through those stark white halls to get back to Undertaker, perhaps changing her way of thinking to suit that is the next. A pinch more of optimism and grain of friendliness may just nudge her position enough to avoid the strife or torment the doppleganger is no doubt planning. "A defence mechanism, you see. Besides, I have you, don't I?"

"Why, I'm flattered!"

"... That won't convince you to train me tomorrow, will it?"

"Not quite, no."

"Damn." Puffing slightly with disappointment, Eve admits mentally admits defeat for the third instance she had tried cajoling the mortician to return one more time to the Reaper Association in the past half hour. "Well, I got closer. Are you sure you don't want to come? I'm sure if Mister Spears finds out he'll set up a tea table just for you. Imagine! Free tea!"

"Now, now." Undertaker wags his taloned finger teasingly at the girl. "I only ever take one thing for payment, and you know it. Any other kind of currency is worth quite little in comparison."

And then, as the mortician is chastising her with a thin veil of merriness and cheer, Eve thinks of something.

Something daring and almost wholly unimaginable of her, (almost,) but she thinks it anyway, and in a spur of the moment decision, goes ahead with it, because why not, if she is trying to become different than who she usually is anyways, even though what she finds out from this may be way less than what she had wants, or expects, or hopes for.

"Is it really laughter you're looking for?" She finds herself asking with scrutiny, her voice somewhat mimicking how the other reaper's had changed earlier, becoming lower, curious, more breath-filled. Slowly, she rises from her seat stretching like a cat, relaxed but alert, and creeps towards the mortician. "Or the illusion of happiness it offers you?" She watches as the poignant question seems to wipe the smile right off his face, and listens for an answer that does not come. Bit by bit, she closes in, and neither party makes any move to stop what is happening.

Even though they are her words slipping from her lips like silk smoothing over a finger's touch, her slow impromptu actions that are gradually bringing the two of them closer and closer, her legs that are straddling him at the hips and her arms that are draped over his shoulders, Eve is the one with the slightly catching breath and steadily rising heartbeat. She is actually doing this, touching and, dare she say, tempting the one person who she will probably ever consider being so close to for the rest of her life. She is going to offer this person the one thing she does not want to just to see if he will take it despite that.

She is about to see whether she can truly trust him.

"If that's what you're truly looking for," She offers, "I can try paying you a different way."
By this point Eve is leaning right over him, their faces hovering inches away from another. Undertaker does not smile, nor move, save for the slight narrowing of his eyelids and soft movement of his mouth as the female before him presses hers against it. The contact of flesh and teeth is drastically different from the last one they had shared: more hot like the coals of a fire, just on the edge of smouldering and building into flame, and intimate with the pressure of one holding a person they never want to let go.

"You really have changed." He murmurs when they break apart, easily heard over the soft sound of breathing and rustling fabric as Eve rocks their hips together slightly and threads her fingers through his hair, drawing it back. "And so quick..."

The girl looks intently in his eyes, bright and alert, as she replies airily, "That's what I'm aiming for." She interjects a slight pause as what she is about to say sinks into her brain, as if coming to terms with the fact that she is finally confirming it in her own mind. "Changing. Leave my old self behind, and my old demons with them." Even though they both know at this pace, Eve is moving too fast. The question is, is Undertaker willing to slow her down...? "This is a possible start."

"But are you sure about what you're saying here, Eve?" Undertaker's two-toned gaze is held attentively with Eve's, heavy lidded with curiosity, as he draws up his own hands to frame the girl's face. That rougher, almost seductive hiss of his returns, but without any humorous smile to offset it, the mortician now sounds genuinely dark and brooding. "Offering up such a thing for payment." The last sentence sounds quite like a question, but is a little bit closer to a statement in tone.

"No." She admits, thinking of exactly what she had said. In retrospect, the very thought makes her skin crawl with imaginary parasites digging under her skin, (she is not ready) and her chest aches with thoughts of Kain, (she is not ready) but... "But... I'm prepared for whatever you do."

(Though really, she is not.)

"And if it's you, I won't mind, so much." Forehead nearly touching Undertaker's, the girl talks with a resolution she is determined to (appear to) possess. (Even though she is. Not. Ready.)

A thick silence fills the room like a gas; Eve can almost feel herself breathing it in, sense the tingle of it vining up her spine, but all the same she is almost painfully aware of Undertaker running his fingers along her jaw and neck, in the way one will absentmindedly fiddle with an object while thinking, and the unwavering stare that she can tell is concealing emotion he is barely hiding; conflict and desire and a strange sense of curiosity. She feels like the latter is boring straight through her, rattling skull and bones as it pierces through her with a shiver.

A part of her fears what might happen next, a second part, more well-hidden and locked away, knows that, in a sickening way, she will enjoy it despite the trauma she had received the last time she had been touched like anything remotely like this. Either way, Eve knows, she will not back out of what she had gotten herself into now. She had never initiated a plan without the intention to follow it through, and actually doing so, and the reaper sees no reason for her to start now. Whatever happens next is up to Undertaker to decide, and she will follow, no matter what. Such is the tie she had made in her mind between the two. A bond that she is about to deduce the nature of, whether she likes what she finds out or not.

When he finally speaks, and makes his choice known, however, Eve cannot help but mentally sigh with relief. "Then," The green-eyed reaper merely draws her in for a third kiss, the most chaste one yet, and announces, "I suppose this will be enough for now."

That's it?

The response is far less than Eve had expected, and she is momentarily taken aback.

She had offered all...

And he had taken next to none.

"That's it?"

She voices her opinion this time, forcing it out before it can catch on her throat and cause it to crack.

"Mmmm." Undertaker hums in agreement. "Don't think I don't know what you're trying here." A teasing grin splits his face once more, but quickly melts into a gentle smile. "Rest assured, this," he gestures by tapping the girl's hips, making her fight a blush, "Is not the price of companionship. Not it you do not wish it to be."

"...then what is?"

"As much as you want to give." Is the answer, simple, yet so much more complicated, as that.

So he knew already... Eve thinks, not sure whether to be surprised or the exact opposite. How much of me can he anticipate?

...

Ah, fuck it.

I have him.

I have him, and I can trust him, and that's good enough for me.

"Thank you."

...

With the mortician's eventual agreement to return once more to the Grim Reaper Association, Eve and Undertaker leave early the next day (with the retired reaper taking a moment to post a quick note on his door, saying that he is out for the moment and would any customers with any dead bodies needing to be buried please take them to the nearest other funeral director in town, even though they aren't nearly as good at making coffins,) to do a bit of practical training before Eve's shift officially starts. Never mind that she had of course triple-aced the practical portion of her exam, Undertaker snickers, there are some things one simply cannot learn from a stuffy moody textbook or quick practical session.

"Or, regrettably," He adds, "From thrashing trainees to bits."

Eve, who does not find this particularly amusing, tries to smile and laugh anyways to see if doing so would work like it does the other way around, and help her see the humour in it, but stops when her cheeks hurt as she tries too hard. Becoming a more pleasant, happier person, she reminds herself, is possibly one of the biggest challenges she has ever faced, so she should, in her best interests of not popping a brain vessel or injuring a facial muscle, attempt taking it slow. She will learn to laugh again one day, she knows. After all, she has an expert of laughter right at her side.

Battles, given the more formal and proper moniker of 'duels' when requested for officially in paperwork, can be set at any time and place, and against any number of people, but are usually coupled with certain restrictions. First, they cannot take place during working hours (a given) or any place where the resulting scuffle may interrupt the work of others (also very obvious, though some more unruly types of workers may goad others by accidentally-on-purposely involving them directly in fights. However, this rarely happens, since when it does all parties caught are usually given a hefty dose of paperwork to cure their over active behaviour.) Second, the ensuing fight cannot result in the lasting injury of any party, participating or otherwise; practical one on one - or one on two or one on three if that one is feeling particularly suicidal that day - is meant to be used to exercise or educate only. Third, any duel, before it can take place, must be requested and confirmed by the participators and then someone from General Affairs respectively.

These stipulations, the last one especially as it does not take more of a wave of Undertaker's hand (to many of the other reapers, his hand may well be a wand, one swish through the air and he can do magic!) for the flustered and glasses-polishing girl from the stall the two had gone to to stamp her approval seal on the flimsy pages that had been prepared only moments before, are not too hard for Eve and Undertaker to fill, and thus they find themselves, still quite early in the morning, on the rooftop. Incidentally, it so just so happens it is the same one Eve had taken the practical portion of her exam on, though it is not quite an incident or coincidence- after all, she had chosen this location precisely because she had been and fought here before.

Of course, the fourth rule is that while the challenger picks the time and place, it is the challenged that get to choose the weapon. "What will it be then?" Swords? A bow and arrow? She has throwing knives and daggers at her disposal, but Undertaker's tendency to enjoy setting up odd situations and watching people squirm through them tells her it will not be so simple.

The answer comes in the form of a flat thin board of wood, drawn from the fabric on Undertaker's sleeves with a flourish. "Here you go, luv." He giggles, as he tosses the stick towards her.

Catching it and gripping it between her fingers, Eve recognizes the board as one of the ones lying around the funeral parlour, decorated with carvings and foreign characters of thick black brush strokes done by a careful hand. "What is it, exactly?" She wonders aloud, for though she has seen the thing, or at least identical copies of it before, the reaper had never actually known anything else about such an odd piece of wood.

"A sotoba. A grave marker used by the Japanese." Undertaker explains as he wanders about the rooftop, as if distracted. "But that's enough talk, now shall we?" Now a good ten feet from his protégée thanks to his meandering, he beckons with a flap of fingers and a tugging smirk. He is unarmed and silently offering Eve the first move.

Right, Eve agrees. It is no longer the time for words.

Just the blur of limbs and wood as she strikes, sotoba at her side and ready to arc at the silver-haired man like a bat. The move is sudden and direct, but she plans to change that, knowing he will be ready with something. And so, just before the wood is supposed to make contact, she pulls a feint and jerks to the side, planting in her foot and digging it into the ground so she can use the momentum to stab the Sotoba into Undertaker's side.

Undertaker watches the girl come after him with a knowing smile on his face.

Then he draws his own board from the folds of his robe and splits the offending object right down the middle, pointed end piercing pointed end.

Then another one which he pretends to jab towards Eve's neck, causing her to leap backwards and skid, only to tense and frown as she realizes the trick. She is the one without a weapon now, and had given up her opportunity to snatch another one from Undertaker while she had been close enough.

Then yet another one that he tosses back to the student, laughing. This time around, the reaper knows, she will not be the first to make a move. Of course, that simply gives him more time to decide exactly how he will play with the girl. He is not about to 'help' her without having some fun for himself after all. "You should remember: three strikes and it's out for you! That's one right there, in case you didn't know~!" He takes the time to remind his student, eyes twinkling from underneath their canopy fringe.

"That's not particularly fair, is it?" Eve points out, Sotoba poised like a sword at the ready, eyes wary of her opponent. "Two against one, and all that."

Slinging a board over his shoulder, Undertaker points his other grave marker at the girl in good jest. "Ah, should've thought about that before asking me for help, didn't you? I'm not one to go easy on everyone... Especially since I gave you such a discount on this. You should owe me a laugh." He chuckles with taunting glee in his hidden eyes.

"...You're going to make me pay for it either way, aren't you?" Sagging slightly, Eve mumbles this with a slightly numb-sounding horror, like someone who had just realized that a terrible relative is coming to visit them for an absurdly long period of time, and then complained about only to sense that very person standing behind them.

There is just a breath's width between when he responds verbally and physically. "Why, yes. Yes I am." Taking advantage of a ledge, and the increased height, the legendary reaper runs along it towards his victim/student. She sees him coming, and attempts to ram him off the edge of the building, but he leaps from the edge, almost floats, and instead of a solid body, the girl meets contact with only air, and her momentum ends up pushing her through it to the point where she would have met with much more empty, resistance-less air plummeting downwards, if she had not been pulled back.

The pressure of the front of her collar chokes her for a moment as its back is suddenly gripped and wrenched backwards, but she certainly is not distracted by it enough to let go of her one chance for victory, or look away from the one who means her defeat. "Don't think you're getting off so easy." Undertaker purrs, as he smacks Eve's board out of her grip and up, up, into the air she had nearly escaped into, stalking towards her, pushing her towards the centre of the roof.

For a few brief beats, the two look like a couple in tango, stepping this way and that rhythmically in close contact with each other, almost in a sensual embrace but for the wood jammed beneath the girl's chin, pressing in. This does not last long, though, as Eve catches her now falling sotoba from above and brings it down, hard, on the one forcing her head upwards, and then scrambles for cover.

As he closes in, the lunge becomes a sword strike, and Eve moves quickly, tilting her body to the left, hands tightly gripping her weapon, arms outstretched, to parry the blunt wood blow. An instance after this a second swing arcs towards her, and she bends back, 'sword' still at the ready. A barrage begins of stabs and jabs, which Eve half blocks, half endures half the time, until she manages to stop two simultaneous thrusts by holding her own weapon perpendicular to Undertaker's, and turn the whole lot to ashes with the fire that licks off her palms. "One." She says, of Undertaker's first 'strike', as she gestures to the black smears on the ground.

A tight smile. "Two." He shoots back, grinning like a Wonderland cat as he waves to the dust disintegrating in her palms. Eve draws the thin line of her mouth back, forced to acknowledge this. So apparently, he does not count two at a time as two separate strikes...

"Well then," Her mentor says, drawing from his apparently endless supply of grave markers (and Eve thought she had been good at hiding so many on her person- does he usually keep so many on him?) and tossing a single sotoba towards her. "Ladies first." He acknowledges, then reaches for a board of his own.

This time, Eve does not wait to let him do so, and strikes, cobra-fast, in a slice across his chest as soon as she sees the flash of smooth painted-on wood. The clash disarms Undertaker, and now his sotoba is the one sent flying. All she has to do to level his advantage over her is reach out and grab it, then burn it away, but as she looks skywards something else catches her eye: the unmistakable glint of burnished metal glinting in the sun. The mortician's lockets are suspended in the air for a brief moment, before plummeting right into Eve's open hand.

Disoriented by the shine, the girl looks on the trinket, the panels of glass showing off twists of hair, the thin but sturdy feeling chain weaving between her fingers. It feels warm, having been safely tucked close to Undertaker but moments ago. What is this? She wonders, but the question only last for a second before evaporating, as Eve is knocked without warning to the ground.

The mortician, who had just snatched his sotoba from the air and used it to sweep his student from behind the knees, moves to pin her down with his own body and wrest her own weapon from her hand. "Three." He hisses, as he snaps it in half with a splinter and shatter, smiling a smile that does not look like his usual one. It looks more dangerous, intimidating. "I think that's enough for the time being. Now, if I could have that back...?"

Eve blinks, having just registered her body making harsh contact with the roof, and the weight of her mentor on top of her, breathes in deep to catch her breath, blinks as if just waking up from a sleepwalk, and then realizes Undertaker's request. She fulfills it without complaint; the way he had said it gave her no reason to do otherwise.

"Thank you." He quips, suddenly back to his normal self. Lifting himself up and adjusting his hat, which had become dishevelled, he makes no indication of his momentarily change of attitude. "Let's go have some tea, shall we?"

"..." That was odd. The girl cannot help but think back on when she had just been forced to the floor a few moments ago. Such a thing had seed entirely out of character for Undertaker. However, in spite of this, the flash his eyes and dip of his snarl had lasted no more than heartbeat, no more memorable than a dream, so she soon shrugs it off and agrees. "Let's."

So. The next few chapters... Well, I don't know if I can pull them off. We'll see.