Part Three: Idiosyncrasies: An English Gentleman's Observations on Polite Society

Chapter XII:
The Young Master, Bedside Visitation

Prince Soma Asman Kadar, the twenty-sixth son of the Raja of Bengal, was not what one would call…calm. In one of Ciel's better moods, the young Earl might have referred to the prince as behaving like a child on a sugar high. However, as the prince was currently near strangling him with a hug—and was crying on him; really did Soma have no manners at all?—Ciel was much less polite in thinking the prince was more like a demonic squirrel from the deepest depths of a sugar-y hell. That is to say, the Earl of Phantomhive would appreciate being allowed to breathe again, thank you very much.

"Ciel!" the prince wailed, clinging to the mortified Earl. "I was so worried about you!"

Ciel had the strangest feeling that he was about to break a rib as Soma refused to let go, and, trying to keep his irritation off his face, he drawled, "I am perfectly fine. I can't possibly imagine why you would be concerned."

Agni, Soma's dedicated manservant, stood near the window, his tanned face creased with joy to see his master's happiness and that Ciel was apparently fine. Awkwardly patting Soma once on the back, Ciel's single blue eye sought out Sebastian and, finding his butler lurking placidly by the door, wordlessly commanded him to rescue him from the death grip of his supposed best friend. (Though Ciel was still utterly convinced he had no idea when or how they had become friends.)

"Prince Soma, Mr. Agni, perhaps it might be best to let the young master rest for a moment," Sebastian suggested equably, smiling his usual contented smile at them. "He is still ill, after all. I could even prepare a light tea for you while you wait."

Chin resting on Ciel's head, Soma looked nervously between Agni and Sebastian before giving a tiny nod of assent. He, clearly, didn't want to leave Ciel's side, but his fear of Sebastian actually forcing him to leave seemed to outweigh his concern. He briefly tightened his grip on the child Earl and bid, "Do not get sicker, Ciel; I will be back soon to entertain you!"

He bolted from the room before anyone could grab him, leaving Ciel to sit there, horribly disheveled, wondering what the hell was going on and why it was happening to him.

"I am pleased you are well again, Lord Phantomhive," Agni told him with a bright smile. He bowed, his twin braids falling over his shoulder as he did so, and then exited the room at a much more casual pace than his overly excitable master.

As the door closed behind them, Ciel sighed and fell back onto his pillows, wondering who had been stupid enough to tell Soma he had taken ill. He nodded to Sebastian to excuse him and, before his butler could leave, instructed, "Sebastian, after you serve Soma, bring me my tea, as well."

"Certainly, sir," Sebastian replied with a bow before following the other two out of his master's bedroom.

Ciel tried to relax, basking in the silence around him. The fire in his front room's grate crackled merrily as it fought off the chill of the September air outside and Ciel could hear it even through his sturdy bedroom door. The sound of the fire and the distant wind was strangely calming. So quiet. So peaceful. When was the last time he'd felt this calm and relaxed? (Though the better question may have been why it took being ill to find a bit of peace in his life.) He casually draped an arm over his uncovered eye and tried to doze off until his tea was ready. His overheated body relaxed, limbs growing languid as the tension seeped from them. His head felt heavy against his pillow and he felt the lovely sensation of floating on a cloud.

They want us to die.

The boy jolted up in his bed, nearly flinging the covers from himself in his momentary panic. Breathing heavily, Ciel rested his head in his hands, careful not to touch his contract-scarred eye, and tried to soothe himself. It was utterly ridiculous for him to be afraid of a dream—a dream about someone he hated and whose soul had nearly been fused with his own, nonetheless—when it was impossible for the dream to have any truth to it. It had to be his subconscious rebelling while under the influence of an illness. Yes; of course that was all it was. Lecturing himself helped and, slowly, his breathing grew even and his pulse stopped thundering in his ears. He was fine. Perfectly fine.

His room suddenly felt too hot and, clad only in his nightshirt and underthings, he carefully went to curl up in one of the Queen Anne-styled armchairs in the front room with wobbly legs. He wrapped his nightshirt around his folded legs and tried to get comfortable. If he sat at the right angle, he could see out one of the windows. The wind swirled dead leaves around—each brightly coloured like flashes of flame in the air—and shook the grey, bare tree branches as forcefully as though the wind sought to subjugate them. The leaden sky echoed his mood—melancholy and taciturn, but still blank as a fresh slate board.

The door opened abruptly, quietly, and Ciel didn't need to turn toward it to know it was Sebastian.

"Young master…what are you doing out of bed?" the butler inquired, faintly chiding but not entirely surprised.

Ciel didn't answer for a long moment, continuing to stare out at the blustery day beyond his windows. Instead of simply saying the room was too warm, he said shortly, "I'm bored of sitting there, doing nothing. I would rather sit here, having the illusion of mobility instead of being chained to that bed until I'm completely healed."

There was a note of disapproval in Sebastian's eyes that faded almost instantly as he sat his tea tray down upon a nearby table. He tried to check the boy's temperature and Ciel waved his hand away. He felt fine. No headaches, no pain, nothing that suggested he was too ill to sit in an armchair. His stomach didn't even feel unsettled anymore. In fact, when Sebastian finally relinquished a tea cup and a plate of candied lemon scones into Ciel's possession, the Earl realized just how famished he was.

"This is green tea, isn't it?" he observed, closing his eyes as he sipped the warm beverage.

"Yes, my lord; of the sencha variety," Sebastian informed him evenly, polite smile never wavering and his tone as placid as he could manage it.

Ciel opened his eyes and observed him for a while as he meditatively ate a scone. He knew how to read body language better than most anyone—how to tell when someone was uncomfortable, angry, attracted, and saddened. How to tell those who were truthful from those who were liars. Sebastian's calm smile was fake; it was too practiced and even to be real (even someone who was truly content couldn't keep the same smile on their lips for such an extended period of time), and it never reached his eyes. That said, Ciel couldn't get a proper read on him otherwise. He showed no signs of falsehood, but there was always such a large amount of mischievousness and craftiness in his tone and attitude that Ciel was uncertain if his butler was always telling him the truth or always lying—just because the contract said Sebastian would never outright lie didn't mean he didn't twist things. Ciel wasn't naïve enough to believe Sebastian would never twist anything to suit his purposes, especially after all the times he had done just that. A demon would always be a demon.

"Sit," Ciel commanded, gesturing to the other Queen Anne. It was unnerving for Sebastian to loom over him in such a manner when Ciel was so annoyingly weak. He didn't like how his pulse was starting to pick up at the reminder, either.

"I'm afraid I cannot, young master. It would be highly improper—"

"It was not a request. Sit."

He said it sharply, as though speaking to a defiant pet, and, after a tense moment, Sebastian hesitated and carefully sat in the chair, crossing his legs elegantly to observe his master in a manner closer to that of a fellow gentleman than a butler. Ciel knew that, on some level, he ought to be annoyed by how comfortable Sebastian appeared to be, sitting on equal terms with him, but he was too interested in the undercurrent of tension running through his butler, only visible through the way he tightened his hands on his lap.

"Does it bother you so much?" Ciel inquired lightly, carefully licking the remains of lemon glaze from his fingertips.

"As I said, my lord, by societal standards it is highly improper. Personally…no, it does not."

Ciel acknowledged the statement with a low "hmm" of sound in the back of his throat, knowing perfectly well that, no matter what, Sebastian was prepared to leap to his feet if anyone so much as touched the door leading into the room. Interesting. Finished with his tea, he set his empty cup and saucer on the scones' plate and handed the stack over to Sebastian for him to set aside.

"We have a problem," Ciel observed, looking back out at the grey world outside. Despite it being several days later than promised, Sebastian had informed him at breakfast about the illness in London and what had happened to all those infected, but…something about it was bothering him. It didn't feel quite right. He felt like he was missing some key puzzle piece that was just beyond his grasp.

"And what would that be, my young lord?" Sebastian probed. He'd unfolded his hands from his lap and, elbow resting on the chair's arm, had leaned his head on his gloved hand in a manner that seemed strangely foppish to the Earl (not that he could really complain, seeing as he had ordered the butler to sit, after all).

Ciel banished that strange observation from his mind with a frown. "I am still alive." The questioning look Sebastian sent him was near scorching and Ciel added for clarification's sake: "According to your information, no one who has been infected in London has survived. Which means my condition should be getting worse, not better. If I were truly infected, I should not have woken up this morning. Either your information was wrong, Sebastian—which I doubt—or I momentarily succumbed to some other obscure illness. There is also a third option: that, whether because of some natural immunity or some other outside force, the illness is withdrawing. While I do not favor that theory, it would explain how the illness is being kept only to certain people." He paused and sent Sebastian a sharp look. "Undertaker said he could 'tell' you nothing, but not that there really wasn't anything else, am I right?"

"Indeed, he did. He was quite unwilling to say anymore, as well," Sebastian confirmed, practiced smile fading to be replaced with a singularly thoughtful expression. "I suppose I should have endeavored to force the information from him, young master, but I was of the opinion it would be of little help."

"It would not have been helpful," Ciel concurred decisively. He shifted in his seat until he was facing his butler and not the window. "And it is of little consequence, at the moment; I'm sure Undertaker is gone for now."

The Earl carefully twisted the hem of his nightshirt between his manicured fingers. It would be helpful if they knew someone who could actually tell them facts about the illness instead of assumptions. He didn't trust that the demoness Sebastian had mentioned to him actually knew anything or would even be willing to honestly help and he had no desire to come into contact with any reapers. The problem was that humans weren't very reliable when it came to matters of a supernatural nature and so it made no sense to trust them with such delicate questions. And so what was the best way to go about investigating? No one even knew there was a problem, after all, but something from the underworld was affecting British citizens and so, like the good guard dog he was, Ciel would not stand for it.

Standing for it or not, though, he still needed more information.

"Sebastian, after Soma and Agni are asleep—or gone, whichever comes first—I want you to copy down the last medical evaluations, the addresses for their places of residence and business, and any information that could tell us how all known victims spent their days and bring the information to me. Once charted and mapped, it might provide some sort of clue."

Sebastian tilted his head slightly, longish hair falling into his face as genuine cynical amusement twisted his expression. "Heavens, is that all?"

"Can you do it, or can you not?" Ciel inquired cooly, not in the mood to play as his lethargy grew. His body felt strangely like treacle and his overly-warm bed was starting to sound appealing again.

"Certainly, sir," Sebastian assured him, amusement not fading in the slightest. "If I could not gather simple information for my master, what kind of butler would I be?"

"But, before that, I want something sweet to help me sleep."

The corners of Sebastian's lips twitched slightly as though he was unsure what expression was suitable for this situation when he, most likely, didn't think Ciel needed any sweets in his current state. He was spared from having to decide as he suddenly hopped to his feet and picked up the tea tray. Ciel took it as his cue to go back to looking out the window as though nothing was bothering him or was on his mind. He'd barely managed to settle in before his door burst open and a hyper teenage prince burst into the room.

"Ci-el, I—" Soma broke off, noticing Ciel staring at him as if asking 'do you mind?' from his armchair. "Ciel! You should not be out of bed now!"

Before Ciel could form a protest, Soma had yanked him out of his chair and had begun dragging him back towards his bedchamber.

"Now, just you hang on! What in the blazes do you think you are doing?!" Ciel ranted, attempting to dig his heels into the rug and failing (if only because Soma was bigger and far more energetic). "If anything is going to make me ill, it's you dragging me about like a pup! Not me sitting in a chair!"

"No! I am your friend, Ciel, and, as your friend, I will see to your care and you will be healed in no time at all!" Soma told him assuredly. "If I take care of you, your rate of recovery will definitely improve."

Ciel protested the entire way to his bed, struggling as Soma prattled on about helping to heal Ciel faster. Agni's voice joined in the fray, praising Soma for his "generosity" and attempting to encourage Ciel to rest. As Ciel was stuffed back under the thick covers of his bed, he caught sight of Sebastian, lurking in the background as ever, and muttered grumpily, "Sebastian, just bring me something."

"Yes, my lord," Sebastian replied, failing to hide a smile.

Ciel tried not to say anything too harsh as Soma, now undeterred by Sebastian's absence, began fretting over him. He scowled. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.


AN: Promises to post more often-vanishes for almost two years; good going, self. Still not entirely back, though. Remembered I had this arc and thought you would like to see it, but I have nothing after it. I just can't really afford to keep up with Kuroshitsuji right now (money...) and my writing priorities are on a different series, at the moment. My apologies. I do intend to finish this, though. I really like the plot and, even though I had to scrap my original ending (which is why updates stopped) I'm still looking forward to finishing it. It's just going to be really slow going. I was considering putting this on Ao3, as well, though...if anyone thinks it's a good idea. As usual, reviews are very much appreciated. Cheers darlings. See you within the next week.