A grave silence stretched out. When Sebastian finally responded, his tone was dry and sardonic. "Shall we start tonight then, or should I pencil you in for later this week?"
Ciel remained firmly silent. Sebastian continued, dropping any pretense of amusement. "What you are asking for is dangerous and stupid. You would be throwing away your future."
"What do you care?"
Sebastian's face seemed to melt back into the shadows. "You are my student, and besides that, I have a certain responsibility for you otherwise. The least I can do is refuse to entertain what you are asking of me."
"Would you drop the act?"
Sebastian was guarded. "Say I indulge you. What then? You singlehandedly take out everyone responsible for your every tragedy, and everyone who might avenge them, until there's no one left? You have no idea what you're asking."
"I don't have to do it alone," Ciel said. "Not if you help me."
"Listen," Sebastian hissed, grabbing Ciel firmly by the shoulders. "I'm not giving up my whole life to help you pursue some revenge fantasy."
Ciel shrugged his hands off. "Then you shouldn't have helped ruin my life," he said venomously.
"It's more complicated than that," Sebastian said.
Ciel looked him hard in the eye, cold and distant as the stars. "Do you know who killed my parents?"
"No," Sebastian said fervently, without hesitation.
"Do you know who took me, after...?"
Sebastian didn't reply right away. Ciel felt like punching him. "Answer me."
"Yes."
A sick weight dropped into Ciel's stomach; he thought he might throw up. "You bastard," he said, his voice low and even. "You fucking arsehole."
Sebastian held up a hand, placating. Damage control. Ciel wanted to scream. "You don't understand."
"Understand?" Ciel's voice was like a winter storm, freezing and destructive. "Please, by all means, enlighten me."
"Yes, I know the people who took you. But believe me when I say, I had no part in it." Sebastian said.
"You knew exactly what they were going to do to me. I could fucking kill you," Ciel said in that same low, steady voice.
A chilly wind blew through the garden, sending wispy clouds scudding across the sky. The moon peeked out, pallid and dispassionate.
Sebastian sighed. "I understand you're angry—"
"Shut up. Shut the fuck up. This isn't a negotiation."
Perhaps succumbing to the futility of it all, Sebastian didn't argue.
Ciel continued, the edges of his voice still quaking with controlled anger. "I need you to teach me how to kill." When Sebastian opened his mouth to protest, Ciel held up a hand, silencing him. "In exchange," he said, his eyes flashing murderously, "I won't have you sent to prison for the rest of your life."
Sebastian's eyes widened in shock briefly before he closed them with a soft laugh. "I'd say that I've covered my tracks well enough, but I don't suppose that's what you meant."
Ciel tilted his head in regal acknowledgement. "Shattered though it may be, the house of Phantomhive is still well-connected in the criminal underworld. It doesn't really matter if you're guilty in a court of law; in the shadows, the absolute truth is good enough." He smiled smugly. "My word is as good as a death sentence."
Sebastian smiled slyly with something like fondness. "I always knew you were a poisonous little snake."
The wind was starting to pick up; against the artificial warmth of alcohol and the hot blood rush of anger, it was a welcome relief. More clouds had gathered in the sky, obscuring the moon once more.
Sebastian's next words were almost lost, drowned out by the rustling of leaves and the eerie moan of the wind. "If I have to throw my life away for anyone, I'm glad it's you."
Ciel didn't know how to respond to that; he wasn't even sure if he was supposed to have heard it. "Thank you," he said stiffly, about 30 seconds too late.
With good grace, Sebastian let the moment slide. He was almost dreamy, lost in nostalgia or something darker. He spoke not to Ciel, but to the inconsistent sky. "I never knew your parents personally, but I knew their names. We had more than a few acquaintances in common, including the men who took you. I'd done a few...odd jobs"—Ciel waved a hand impatiently; he didn't care for euphemisms—"for one of them when I was...ah, I must have been about 24? Back then, he was running a low-level hustle, grabbing runaways and teenage junkies. That was Stefan.
"The underworld brought us together, from time to time. I knew who he was―I knew what he was―but I was young and selfish and I didn't worry about it. I was a handful of incredibly lucky breaks removed from being one of those runaways, and I was too stupid to see it. In a way, I thought...they deserved it."
Ciel's face was impassive, but a prickling disgust roiled beneath the stillness.
Sebastian shook his head and went on, still in that disconnected way. "Then Michael came along.
"I don't know where he came from, but he was...a different breed. He was sharp and resourceful and terrifying, a charismatic outlaw. It seemed like he could twist anyone to his will. He had connections all across the continent, and soon he and his men and Stefan were running a full-scale operation, trafficking in kids from Russia and Eastern Europe.
"He seemed to delight in petty cruelty, in hurting. I only worked for him once; it was my personal policy not to ask questions, so I didn't know anything about the target. I just remember him asking me to...make it slow." Sebastian pronounced the word with distaste, an insulted artist. "An unprofessional practice that I did not employ, but still. The request stood out in my memory."
Ciel swallowed drily. He was sure Michael was the man with the ponytail, but he didn't want to speak and shatter Sebastian's fragile reverie; it was strange to hear him talk so freely, and at such length. It seemed like so much of Sebastian was hidden away, walled off in thorny secret gardens.
"Michael had been in Vienna for less than three years before he ruled the entire underworld. By then he was moving drugs and weapons in addition to people. It was through him and his men I first heard the name Phantomhive: British smugglers living across the border in Germany, whose operation rivaled Michael's.
"I don't think Michael ever thought of anyone as friend or foe, but rather as help or hindrance. He saw how the Phantomhives could be a help, and he reached out to them. Through the grapevine, so to speak, I sensed that their alliance was an uneasy one. There was no love or trust between them, and they all knew it.
"Together their empire spanned the better part of Europe, and probably extended east as well. The more powerful they became, the deeper the split between them. Again, this is all second- or third-hand, but it seemed like the Phantomhives refused to deal in human lives. Eventually, the Phantomhives agreed to leave Germany and return to London; looking back, I wonder if it wasn't because they'd discovered Rachel was pregnant.
"For a while, no one heard anything about them. It seemed like they'd gone straight. But the underworld has a pull on people. Eventually, it either consumes you or kills you. When I returned to London, the city was theirs, and everybody knew it. It seemed like they were untouchable. And then they were dead."
The words hit Ciel with a vestigial sadness. Every story about his parents had the same unhappy ending, met with the same mix of suppressed grief and panicky repulsion.
They're gone, and that's that, he thought to himself firmly, stifling his noisy, raw thoughts as if he were smothering them with a pillow. With great effort, he spoke steadily and calmly, breaking the lengthy silence that had stretched out. "So Michael found out, and he took me?"
Sebastian grimaced delicately, as if he'd been asked about an embarrassing secret someone else had spilled. "Some of his men had relocated to London; since the Phantomhives―your parents―wouldn't traffic in humans, the market was wide open."
"So...they killed my parents?" Ciel asked hoarsely. The words felt strange on his tongue; he spoke of his parents so infrequently that it felt like a foreign language.
Sebastian shook his head. "No. They just got lucky when they got a hold of you. And, who knows, maybe someone tipped them off. But, frankly, life for a criminal is easiest when there's a bigger, worse criminal in town. Those men had every incentive to keep the Phantomhives alive."
Stupidly, all he could think of was the age difference between himself and Sebastian. He wondered if Sebastian noticed it, too.
"Michael was in London at the time," Sebastian continued. "I'd turned down a job offer from him; I was trying to dig myself out of the slippery pit I'd so willingly jumped into. There were...rumors. After."
A hot tongue of flame licked the inside of Ciel's ribs. His voice was bitter and hard. "Such as?"
Maddeningly, Sebastian seemed neither to defend himself nor make excuses. "The Phantomhives' network seemed split between the opinion that their child had died in the same 'accident', and that he'd been snapped up by Michael's people. As I say, I was making every effort to disengage. I just...put it out of my mind."
"Thanks for that," Ciel muttered.
Another huge gust of wind swept through the garden, swelling like a crescendo, wailing and rattling the trees theatrically. Leaves drifted down around them, washed out and dull in the halfhearted darkness.
"My parents...chose their fate," Ciel said slowly, with a sureness that did not quite penetrate beneath the surface. "They were living on borrowed time and they knew it."
Naked surprise played across Sebastian's face for a half instant.
Ciel went on, the forced steady hardness in his voice giving way to genuine resolve. "I am alive. And I will fight until I'm not. The people who tortured and humiliated me will feel the weight of their actions." He looked sharply at Sebastian. "I don't care what I'm giving up; I'm living on borrowed time too, in my own way. And I want to use that time to get revenge. For myself."
In agreement or in resignation, Sebastian just nodded. A soft drizzle misted down around them, glittering in the dirty orange light of the distant streetlamps. Sparkly dew beaded up on Sebastian's coat and hair; each drop glistened like a crystal, an angelic, otherworldly effect. Ciel wondered if he was drunk.
"You realize, it's been almost nine years," Sebastian said.
Ciel nodded.
"I don't know anyone anymore. They might not even be alive," Sebastian said.
Ciel nodded.
Sebastian sighed, weary and grey as the cold wind. "We would both be better off if you just left the past behind."
"I don't care," Ciel said feverishly.
"Your solo still needs work."
"I don't care."
"Then consider this your first lesson: appearances matter. I insist you continue your studies, and I insist you perform at the winter concert. And surely," Sebastian said, "You realize by now that I expect quality."
Ciel snorted impatiently. "Fine. Add another lesson to our schedule, I suppose."
Sebastian arched an eyebrow.
"Or, whatever. I don't know how all this works," Ciel said, embarrassed and flustered.
"I need time," Sebastian said. "Give me...two weeks."
Ciel extended his hand formally. "Two weeks."
Sebastian shook it.
It started to rain, the fine mist becoming heavy but sparse droplets that pattered softly against the leaves above them. Sebastian arched his brows and looked around, as if he were noticing the weather for the first time.
Ciel turned up the collar of his coat, the wool of which would soon become soaked and heavy. "I suppose we should call it a night, then."
"Indeed." Sebastian turned, making as if to leave the garden. Ciel snatched at his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.
"I'm still mad at you," Ciel hissed.
Sebastian smirked. "And I suppose you want me to make it up to you?"
"No." Ciel's grip tightened, his fingers talons around Sebastian's wrist. His fingernails dug into soft white skin shot through with blue veins. A dull voice at the back of his mind wished he could punch down into those veins and bleed Sebastian dry. "I'm telling you that I haven't made up my mind yet, that you're starting off on a bad foot." He released Sebastian. He hoped it hurt. "So don't disappoint me."
Annoyingly, Sebastian didn't flinch.
Ciel took a steadying breath; he'd rather talk about murder and revenge any day than what came next. "One more thing..." He cast his eyes down. "I need to find out what Trancy knows."
Sebastian was preternaturally still, quiet as a forest about to be ravaged by wildfire.
"By...any means necessary," Ciel said delicately, even though he knew Sebastian had gotten the drift.
"Do as you like," Sebastian said, placid as a black lake.
Ciel glared. "You're not exactly endearing yourself to me."
"Do you want me to stop you?" Sebastian snapped. "Grovel and beg you not to, for the sake of your ego?"
Ciel shrugged in a display of feigned carelessness. "Well, then. Glad we could come to an agreement. Two weeks." With that, he turned and strode toward the garden gate. "Good night," he tossed carelessly over his shoulder, "professor."
Absinthe and adrenaline pulsed through Ciel's veins like toxic sludge. He wondered how Trancy had managed to locate his flat and wished he could pull off a similar trick; he was too agitated and angry to just go home and go to bed.
And, quite frankly, Sebastian's transparent jealousy had turned him on.
An idea struck him: the chances were slim, but, perhaps...
A few strategic internet searches and a car ride later, Ciel was at the same glamorous bar Trancy had dragged him to a lifetime ago: The Earl, as he'd learned it was called.
The place was quiet; Ciel was unsurprised but still a little disheartened to see Trancy was not among the few patrons. He settled himself at the bar, scowling massively, and ordered a glass of red wine. As long as he was out, he figured he might as well drown his sorrows.
I am going to get very drunk, he decided.
The bartender, rather than the silver-haired woman who'd served him and Trancy, was a tall, dark-haired man with glasses. Not bad, thought Ciel as he drained his glass. He caught the man's attention and ordered another.
An idea struck him. "Hey, there's a blonde kid about my age that I think comes here a lot, Alois Trancy. Do you know him?"
The bartender sounded utterly bored. "Young master Trancy is here most evenings."
Ciel's pulse quickened. "What time?"
The bartender shrugged and turned away; he radiated cold indifference. Ciel huffed irritably and took a large swallow of wine. No matter; it was probably better not to try anything with Trancy tonight, anyway, not at the rate he was going.
His head was spinning and his cheeks were flushed, but his reckless, agitated anger had died down. He could feel himself fumbling his words as he paid the check, but he didn't care and the bartender was as impassive as ever.
He was clambering down awkwardly from the red leather barstool when a familiar voice froze him in his tracks. "Phantomhive?"
Alois Trancy sidled up beside Ciel; he seemed almost grave. "What are you doing here?"
"I was actually just leaving," Ciel said. Without the mad momentum he'd had earlier, he just felt tired and awkward. He just wanted to crawl into bed and possibly never come out.
Trancy shrugged; it was the first time Ciel had ever seen him looking remotely out of his element. "Suit yourself."
With that, he gracefully settled himself onto a barstool and signalled the bartender. "Hennessy, please, Claude."
"That's my drink, too," Ciel blurted.
Trancy turned and raised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch. "Oh?" he said, in a tone that most certainly did not invite further conversation.
"Listen," Ciel said urgently. "I need to talk to you. Meet me somewhere, tomorrow night."
Trancy frowned. "What do need to talk to me about?"
"About...well, about what we talked about last time." No matter how uninterested the bartender was in their conversation, he'd rather not be overheard.
"Fine." Trancy looked like he very much wanted to be alone; Ciel noticed that his whole body was turned toward the bartender, Claude.
"Meet me at my place, then, tomorrow night around 9."
"Yes, yes, fine," Trancy said, the slightest edge of irritation in his voice.
"Er, well, good night, then," Ciel said hastily. Trancy all but ignored him.
Ciel could use that pointless infatuation to his advantage, he thought as he left, the cold night air stinging his warm skin.
The wind had died down and the rain had settled into a sulky wet fog; the streets were empty and hushed. Ciel closed his eyes and savored the silence for a moment. The calm before the storm, he thought, as the car he'd called pulled up to the curb.
They drove away, swallowed up by the dark mist.
A/N: I actually live right near a bar called The Earl. It's quite nice. Also, did you know they spell "curb" like "kerb" in the UK? Isn't that stupid?