3: pretended
"Milord," the voice prodded him awake, "they've arrived."
Vincent blinked and parted his arm from his face and met Kagome's cool gaze. "That took longer than expected." He felt like he slept for an hour.
Clearing her throat, she agreed and flickered her eyes to the grandfather clock to confirm, "They've been outside for well over 10 minutes. Lady Midford," her lord grimaced at the dip in her tone, "was especially upset. The…butler soothed her temper. That was all I could discern." She apologized.
Kagome's special senses were limited to seeing presences, intentions, and moods. Vincent vaguely recalled her describing it as auras, with unique colorings to set them apart from other life-forms. She cannot hear words, she could only understand what she sees.
It was a terribly useful ability, a true asset to Vincent and his family. Few knew of her unique talents and delicate beauty, and fewer still knew of her unwavering loyalty and willingness to kill on command. She was not a tool to be abandoned and be left to rust.
Yet despite this, Vincent felt a desperate urge to lock her away from the real world and safeguard her from all harm. He knew he should not. Kagome would have rotted away even further in her cage, no matter how gilded it is. He knew this.
He knew this.
"That's fine, it's likely to do with the manor." Vincent shifted, fixing his suit. Preening himself was a pointless attempt, but it was a force of habit when they were expecting guests. Combing back his hair, he puffed and gestured at himself, "Do I look decent?"
Kagome tilted her head, "Are you fishing for compliments or do you want my honesty?" She tugged on her side braid, as if telling him she looked worse off than he was. It was pitifully short, the longest strands hanging low at her collarbones, and was chopped crudely at an angle to her ear. Kagome's only saving grace was the wispy strands of black hair falling around her face just enough to hide most of her burns.
This girl. "…Fair enough." Vincent dragged his hand down. Blowing out a breath, he clasped on the armrests and pushed his back into his chair. "We both look miserable."
"My lord looks as handsome as ever," Kagome's voice interrupted his grumbling and he peered at his songbird, "you are tired and are needing some sleep. That's all."
Vincent snorted, though a bit flattered, "You needn't to lie, dear girl."
"I don't lie." her words flustered Vincent, not missing her sincerity. Kagome looked as if she intended to reach out to brush her fingers over his cheek, but refrained and gripped her hand. "We survived Hell twice over. It is a given milord wouldn't look his finest." Scratching her jagged nails on the coarse fabrics on her palms, Kagome folded her hands on her skirt, "I am only sorry that I cannot present myself any better next to you."
He didn't agree and parted his lips, "Girl—"
Distantly, frank voices reached his ears. Voices he both dreaded and missed, and they all rang confusion and hope. Someone promptly silenced a childish whine. No more chatters tailed the chide. A slow stampede of footsteps thundered outside the room.
Someone questioned about the wheelchair.
Kagome turned her head to the door and announced quietly to Vincent's ears, "They're here." She scuffled her feet on the floor but gave up quickly after, "I'd stand but—"
As the doorknob turned, Vincent threw an accusing finger at her and mustered out a quick retort, "Don't. Stay put." He considered standing but kept put instead. Today was not a good day for his lame pelvis.
"Milord," the door swung open and revealed Tanaka. Falling in a slight bow, he waved an arm at a gaggle of four familiar bodies, "your guests are here."
Through the doorway, white faces stared back. Vincent could only manage a weak smile, feeling so small for the first time in so many years, "Frannie," his laugh was pitiful, tired, "hope you and your family are doing well."
The blond woman stared blankly at his face, seconds ticking by before her pale eyes shot wide. "Br—?" Trembling, Francis lost her steely composure and crumbled. Yanking her handkerchief to smother her cries, she wheezed in disbelief, "Brother, you—!?" She collapsed, with her husband catching her waist.
Peeking over her tall father's legs, confused by her mother's reaction, a young girl stepped out. No taller than his waistline, she was a small thing—doe-eyed and baby-faced. But, she was the small thing he felt a strange instinctive fear of.
Blinking her emerald green eyes, she saw Vincent's smile first. Black hair entered her sight, and familiarity settled in her mind. The girl gaped, "Uncle Vinny!" Her golden blonde hair, glistering under the artificial lights, bounced when she launched herself off the floor.
"Lizzie!" her brother barked, but Lizzie paid him no mind. She lunged toward her uncle like a predator pouncing on its fear-paralyzed prey.
Realizing the reason behind the dread, Vincent immediately braced himself for the world of pain. Snapping his eyes shut, he hissed a wince and tensions filled his body. Seconds ticked. Feet trampling across the rug, he could feel them vibrating underneath his soles.
Yet, despite his expectations, scorching pain never arrived.
"Young mistress," His dear girl's voice entered his ears and cut the child's excitement short, "refrain from that behavior this instant." Lizzie froze, her tiny hands hairbreadth from her uncle's knees.
Vincent never imagined he'd miss that sternness in Kagome's tone so, so much. He slumped and scuffled his dress shoes across the carpet. Tensions retreated from his body, but it left behind a lingering teeth-gritting pain in his lower body.
Bless his dear songbird, Vincent forgot how wonderful she was at wrangling wild rascals. Finally shuddering out a sigh of relief, he absently rubbed his thigh. Vincent bit back a wince at the twinge of discomfort stabbing up his leg.
That was too close of a call.
Tapping one of her heels, Kagome called for attention, "What was one lesson I taught you to always do?" Her expression was plain, but her lips had a tenseness to it.
Stomping her feet back in a stiff position, Lizzie squeaked, "Always ask if you can hug!" A force of habit, drilled in whenever she landed herself in trouble—or about to be. The girl blinked and relaxed the tension in her posture, confused by this sudden interruption. She turned to Kagome and gaped, her eyes glittering with glee, "Pretty Birdy—!" She grimaced and paused at her strange appearance. "Eh? Huh?…Pretty Birdy?"
Lizzie crossed her brows and stepped closer to examine the odd changes. As if she couldn't compute the current state of Kagome. This was the same beautiful woman who Lizzie admired for her intelligence and steadfastness, but why did Kagome look so different?
What happened to her face? Her lusciously long black hair? Why was she wearing so many bandages?
The young girl gripped her navy grey skirt and tugged. "…Are you hurt?" She barely caught the glimpse of Kagome's broken, brittle nails. A few were wrapped in thin layers of glazes.
Kagome grasped Lizzie's small hands and nodded, lowering her head to the girl's height. She held back that same sigh she released too many times before, "Very, young mistress. My lord and I are very hurt. That is why I stopped you from hugging him." Kagome shook her head at Lizzie's instant parting of her mouth, "It is okay, you didn't know."
Sobbing erupted in the background, an uncharacteristic trait of Lizzie's proud mother. Lizzie didn't want to look and pinned her doe-eyed gaze on Kagome's face and chewed up her pale lips. Thin cotton gauzes plastered on both cheeks, her neck wrapped in a dressing, and her inky black hair lost its shine and was cut jagged, "W—," Lizzie paused at the wrongness in Kagome's eyes—one of them changed colors, as if it went blind, "what happened to you?"
There was an illusion of a smile on Kagome's lips. "You should attend to your mother, young mistress." She encouraged softly. She pried Lizzie's fisted hands loose from her dress and gestured over her small shoulder, "Go."
TThe first word Lizzie wanted to say was a 'but—' but it never reached the tip of her tongue. Her mouth drying, Lizzie's eyes wandered to the endless layers of bandages and gauzes on Kagome's face and fell to her delicate hands. No words would come, though unanswered questions filled her young mind. Gnawing again on her bottom lips, Lizzie nodded so jerkily that her curled hair bounced. Pivoting at her little feet, she dashed back to her wailing mother.
"Mother," Lizzie breathed, wrapping her hands in her mother's solid arms. She tugged feebly, faintly smelling the fragrance from her neck, "mama…"
Francis sobbed.
The picture of only Vincent, was wrong.
She knew it.
Rachel didn't survive.
Her nephews didn't survive.
Only Vincent was left alive.
No parent…should ever outlive their children.
Francis took a few minutes to recompose herself. After her husband Alexis forced her to sit down on the uncomfortably stiff couch, her tears finally ran dry. Thinning her colored lips, Francis tightened her grips on her wrinkled handkerchief and felt sloppy stitching rubbing coarsely across her palms. She would have to apologize to her dear daughter later for ruining her embroidered gift.
Lizzie worked hard on it. Despite the messy stitchings in the shape of what Francis was sure was a rabbit, she could not help but cherish the childish gift. Only, to have ruined it. Fumbling her thumbs over the soft fabric, the cloth calmed Francis down some. She took a deep breath.
It was not cleansing as she hoped and she can taste the subtle sweetness in the air, but an unpleasant sweet. It made her twitch, recognizing it as one of her brother's favorite cigars, but Francis pinned her tongue down from it. Even she wouldn't have the heart to deny Vincent his urges to find temporary relief from his pain.
Plastering on her usual stoic mask, she sniffed and cleared her throat, "Brother," Francis pretended her eyes were not puffy and red, she narrowed her gaze at Vincent, "w—what," words came hard, but she forced them out with an unintended bite she couldn't afford to take back, "happened?"
Why were you alive?
Vincent knew that was his sister's true question. Despite the bitter taste behind the idea of his own extended family preferring him dead over his own children, his smile sharpened, "An ambush." He simply said.
"…intruders who set your home ablaze?" Francis muttered. There had to be many, to catch Vincent and his people off-guarded. She couldn't comprehend such ideas.
But, who?
What enemy of theirs would have such manpower and skills to knock Vincent's entire chess pieces off in one go?
"Frans, dear," Alexis interrupted Francis' thinking and pressed a hand on the small of his wife's back. He was well aware of her dangerous habit of spiraling herself into an abyss he couldn't pull her out from, so he prodded her again, "eyes forward."
Francis tilted her head into a swift nod, with a slightly apologetic edge to her husband. Eyes forward, she reminded herself not to lose sight of her path. "Who?"
"I," Vincent lost that pretend smile and he sported that painful heaviness in his exhausted gaze. He averted his attention and tightened his grips under his chin, "do not know." His voice cracked and his shoulders sagged in complete defeat.
Francis had never seen her brother looking so worn out, battered, and ruined before in her entire life. Even during their mother's funeral, Vincent still mustered that awfully perfect smile of his. His eyes glistened, but no tear ever shed for their dear mother's tragic passing.
Once upon a time, she thought him heartless. A monster who was good at pretending to have emotions. Francis was but a child then, not fully understanding her cursed bloodline. She had not realized that death would always await them from every corner. Vincent had to play the role of a pretender, to survive and protect those he held dear.
She understood that almost too late, at the expense of her brother's pain. Francis took up blades since, choosing to defy the expectations placed on her. She vowed to never be that weak child again, to put her brother in danger for her safety. Her determination to prove herself was near neck-breaking, as she found herself in an impressive position in Her Majesty's Royal court. A position unheard of for a woman to hold.
But never once had she seen Vincent like this. Bruised and abused, yes, but emotionally broken…she could not comprehend such a sight. He was always so strong, even in the face of even Death. Foolishly smiling to spite his enemies, Vincent pretended and played the chessboard of life to deal with his own wicked hands to appease the Queen and her courtyard of idiots and the pathetic.
A game of both life and death. He had to be clever and quick.
Vincent Phantomhive was raised to be both a weapon to kill on command and a shield to protect the weak. Trivial emotions were weaknesses. All decisions he made had to be calculated, and all risks were taken into careful account. Even his marriage had to be done with thorough considerations.
He needed a wife who would understand and accept his miserable duties without a question. A complaint wife, who would listen but holds no fear toward her husband and keeps her heart open for their children. Love was optional.
Francis faintly recalled how one of the marriage candidates was considered too unstable for Vincent's liking. Her older sister was of sound mind and was surprisingly accepting of Vincent's blood-drenched position under the Queen's order so she was selected instead. Oh, Rachel…As foolish as it may be, Francis was glad for Vincent to have found love with his chosen wife.
He seemed so…human with her. More human than he ever was, growing up as the true heir of the blood-drenched family name.
Yet Francis never imagined he would know how to weep tears. Having a family was a risk, but a necessary one to continue their bloodline. Vincent knew this, and yet…
"I'll," Vincent's choke wretched Francis' heart, "find them." His voice was harsh, so harsh that Francis could feel her heart tumbling down to the deepest pit of her empty stomach, "I will find them."
That is a promise, was left unsaid.
"I—" Francis parted her red lips, but Alexis stood up and interrupted.
Thumping a fist on his chest, Alexis dropped on a knee and bowed before the broken lord. "In the name of Midford, I will assist you. Fulfill your hunt for righteousness, to lay their souls to rest." His voice was strong, unwavering, exactly like a knight he truly was.
Vincent was quiet, complementing his words. With a long breath, he shook his head. "No. Stay with your family. Protect them." His chuckle was low, fake, but the sorrow in his expression was as tangible as truth. "I do not need to know more losses than I do now."
"Vincent—" Alexis tried, but his wife's quiet tuts had him sealing his lips.
"Brother…" Francis murmured. Seeing her brother's unmoving expression, she inhaled and nodded, "Alexis." Softly, she summoned him back to her side. Her husband obeyed without a question and settled stiffly back in his original seat. He paid his questioning son no mind and silenced him with a hand.
Exhaling a long breath to clear out the growing murkiness in her lungs, Francis caught a glance at the sullen Kagome. She felt a twinge of pity for her, an emotion she rarely experienced since her knighthood. Whatever happened to Kagome, she fought bravely. The wounds she wore, will become tale-telling marks of a warrior's.
A fair punishment, for her failures to protect.
She at the very least deserved some semblances of respect, for enduring all she could to protect.
She was only human.
Tearing her narrowing eyes away, Francis turned her head to Vincent. She mulled over her words in her mind before she discarded them all. Too many things to say, too many questions to ask, but Vincent did not need to hear them all. He had been through enough. Instead, Francis whispered, "Brother, what will you do now?"
With a grim set of expressions, Vincent tapped his thumbs together and hummed, "Recover. Dear girl and I are still gravely injured and will need time to heal." He lifted his eyes to the ceiling and pushed his back to the chair, the leather gloves pulling taut over his knuckles. He was quiet.
Francis briefly wondered if her brother ever rested at all.
Vincent resumed, his voice eerily even, "I called you all here so to witness my existence and to prove I'm alive to revoke the…" his lips thinned. Vincent tore his attention from the ceiling and faced his sister and her family, "death certificate. When we're ready, I would like to ask you to spread the word that the Phantomhive is not yet dead. Tell all that the Queen's Watchdogs would not die so easily." He weighed his following words, "Next week should be sufficient time for you to decide whose ears to share. Spend it at a small party, to trusted friends. However you decide to do so, is irrelevant to me. If we go to Her Majesty now, we will place ourselves in more danger." Vincent grimaced at the thought, "So it is ideal to control the spread of this information—of our living status, as much as possible. People will find out one way or another, but if we can breathe for one more week, it would be better."
Francis nodded firmly, noting the way her brother pressed his fingers on his temple, "I will make sure that my children will keep quiet until then." She narrowed her eyes at her son and daughter. Both paled and quickly bobbed their heads, satisfying their mother. Francis redirected back to Vincent, "What's of your assets? The Royal Family seized most of it, but we managed to take what's left. I will see to it they are returned."
Shrugging, Vincent admitted, "Most of it, Her Majesty will hand back, but I may have to start from scratch again with the Phantomhive Co." What a shame. It was their grandfather's legacy. "It's fine. I know my connections and we are due for a fresh start, regardless."
"I," Francis mirrored her brother's tired posture and lowered her shoulders, "see."
For a moment, gloomy silence held reign.
Elizabeth squirmed on her brother's lap, antsy and not liking the heavy atmosphere. At one kick on his shin, the brother placed his face next to her ear. "Lizzie," he hissed into her golden hair, "stop moving. I am just as uncomfortable as you are!"
"Sorry, Eddie." Elizabeth wilted under Edward's arms and stilled her feet. There were so many questions in her mind that they had her hands and feet buzzing with curiosity.
Where was Ciel? Where was—?
Francis clacked her heels on the floor, muffled by the expensive rug, and cracked Elizabeth out from her thoughts, "Vincent," she turned into a near-perfect statue, with not a hair out of place. She stared at her brother, "what…" the usual perfectness Francis exhibited wavered, "would you like to do about your…grave?"
The graves of your family, was left unsaid.
Elizabeth stiffened.
Vincent curled his lips upward, but it wasn't a smile at all, "Dear girl and I would like to go to the cemetery by ourselves, if that's alright with you. Perhaps we'll go tomorrow once we had our reprise—"
A wail cut him short, as Elizabeth burst into tears, "C-Ciel isn't coming back? Si—" tears wouldn't stop falling from her eyes, hurting as much as they hurt before. All hopes she had, that it'd been a very cruel prank, had dashed to the dirt. "Ciel!" The second name fell into a warble. She sobbed and cried and fell into Edward's huddling.
"Oh, Elizabeth!" both Francis and Alexis launched to their daughter's side. Consoling her the best they could through her deafening wailings, they mumbled with lowered brows and busying hands to dry her tears and snots, "Elizabeth, Elizabeth, my sweet—"
All Vincent could do was to watch in envy, that his sister still had her children to embrace and comfort and he…didn't. Vincent stayed where he was and sighed grimly when Kagome hobbled few steps over, "Dear girl, you should've stayed put." He was too tired to lecture her. When Kagome pressed her weight and kneaded into his better shoulder, his eyes fell shut.
Kagome sat her chin on his head. She once again betrayed his expectations and touched him, defying the polite practices to respect her master's boundaries, "Yes, but you needed this more than you think you do." Pain festered in her whispering tone.
"Hah," Vincent laughed wetly and palmed his face. He unconsciously lend into Kagome's warmth and pressed his head into her chest, "you think so." His eyes were too dry to shed more tears. Seeing his sister hugging her child, hurts.
He never thought he would miss hearing his spoiled rotten boys' wailing so, so much. Their angry shouting matches, their petty quarreling (particularly often over Kagome), their peals of laughter, their off-tune singings, their mish-mashing the poor piano—fuck, Vincent missed hearing their voices.
Dammit.
Dammit.
Dammit!
He will return their sufferings to the murderers a hundred times fold!
"I think so, milord, I truly do think so." Kagome mumbled, offering what hug she could give with her broken state. Her small comfort once again quietened the enraged beast inside his mind.
Vincent quivered.
Grief still punctured the sterile air of his newly rebuilt manor.
The Midford family stayed long enough for their daughter to dry her red eyes and ate dinner the butler served in an impressively short period. Once their plates were emptied, they left without a proper farewell. Their silent sorrows were so deafening that it was unbearable to converse with them for more than brief exchanges. The moment their carriage retreated from Vincent's vision, he dropped a sigh of relief.
In a blink, he was already in the master bedroom.
It looked nothing like what it was before, but Vincent thought little of it. Fewer reminders of Rachel, the better. Yes, it is better this way. He thought remorsefully.
Settling in his new bed, Vincent blew air and grappled on the thick blanket. His pride was beyond mangled that he barely felt any humiliation. He felt like a cast-off, having to rely on help for something as simple as removing layers of clothes and putting on sleepwear. The shirt was easy enough, if uncomfortable.
Putting on the pants was something else. Tensions forming in his muscles from his day made his pain worse by several degrees when he tried tugging them off. He couldn't succeed and was forced to rely on the butler's help to redress himself.
But, fuck, imagine being his dear songbird. She was worse off and never once had she complained. Not a peep when the nurses send him out of the hospital room to redress her. For modesty, they explained.
Her wounds will need to be redressed.
Vincent clapped his face and dropped a strangled groan, "Oh, hell, who's going to help her?" There was no way in hell was he letting the demonic thing even come close to her person, let alone her vulnerable skin. Not when she was especially uncomfortable with his presence.
What a blind fool he was. His desire to return home from the hospital had him being inconsiderate to Kagome. They said she was fine to leave, but gave specific instructions to the butler instead. "Dammit." Vincent cursed, shambling from his bed to rush to his door and to run down to Kagome's room a few doors down.
Ignoring the sudden stabs in his lower spine, he lumbered to the doorknob. Biting back all the hisses of discomfort, he tried not to count his awkward steps on his brief way there. Grabbing it in the rush, Vincent twisted his hand on it and yanked it open.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when Kagome blinked at him. "…milord?" She lowered her fist, halting her knocks. Rocking her feet, she curled the same hand around a handle in her crutch, as if she was flustered at being caught.
"…why are you here?" Vincent tugged Kagome inside and thudded the door, before the butler could emerge and make his unwanted appearance. Navigating her to a nearby reading chair, he finally bit out a wince and pressed his hand on his lame pelvis. It did not dull the thundering numbness a single bit.
Kagome frowned, unwilling to take her seat, "…you were awake." She said simply.
Giving up on standing for more than a minute, Vincent landed down on his bed and huffed, "you were here because you saw how agitated I was?" He guessed, combing back his messy hair.
He hated Kagome's supernatural ability to sense moods, but only sometimes.
"Yes."
Vincent's laugh was dry. "You are such a frank girl."
Tilting her head, Kagome eyed him and wondered abput her lord's remark, "Why would I lie to you?"
"Never mind that," Vincent gestured at the metal box Kagome held in one hand, "what's this for?" He didn't miss it, having caught the sight of it the moment she stood before his door. It bored a white cross, and it registered for his mind—a medical box.
He felt almost silly asking.
"…my medicines and fresh dressings." She tucked in her bottom lip and shuffled her feet. For the first time in a long time Vincent had seen her, Kagome almost acted her young age. A beautiful 18 years old, who should be giggling and gossiping about handsome gentlemen, rumors, and love stories—not this blank-faced girl with the eyes of a war-torn soldier.
She never made that expression before.
Never in front of him.
It was surreal.
The moment he'd found her in that decorative cage in that auction, she had always been a little on the quiet side. Shy. Unwilling to display much affection, from reasons he was never told, as if her heart had been hurt too often to the point that she was unwilling to love again. Yet, she still had those small hopeful sparks in her gazes.
He remembered those pink blush in her cheeks, when his boys showed all of their affections for her. Confusion would shone brightly from her eyes, as if she wasn't sure what to do. If it was okay for her to love again.
She was a broken human, but she was still a human. Not incapable of loving again. To Vincent, this girl was healing. Kagome wasn't a doll, emotionless and merely pretty to look at, she still hoped as a human would.
Now, after enduring a horrifying tragedy, she was anything if not a broken doll.
She had given up. Clinging on the only thing she had left—him. Her only connection to living.
For her to be so flustered in front of her lord, he found a small hope that Kagome would be able to live again. Yet a slight joy that she would only display such emotions in front of him. To him. Only to him, her lord. His heart twisted in midst of maddening confusion of emotions.
Vincent shook his head of his thoughts. He gripped his hands, not wanting to assume any further than he already had. "Why do you have that with you here?" Vincent prodded, his voice gentle and with a crinkle under his eyes.
Kagome averted her face and flattened her feet on the floor, from embarrassment, "I…do not trust the butler and I cannot reach my back." Stepping forward, she held it out to her lord, "There is no one else here but you I truly trust. M, m—" she evened her voice and cleared her throat, "may I please ask for your help?"
Never thought he would see the day where his dear girl would swallow her pride and plead for his help. She was such a stubborn thing, unwilling to accept help and preferring to do everything herself that it had him reeling hearing her quiet request. Wondering if he hit his head earlier, Vincent accepted the box, "Of course, dear girl—come and sit on the bed." He angled himself around and patted on the thick blanket.
Kagome hesitated, "I might bleed—"
"It can be washed." Vincent interrupted, not accepting any argument. He pointed his finger sharply on the spot in front of him, "Sit." Neatly, he unhatched the box and revealed the components within.
"Yes," she obeyed, resigning to his commands, "milord." Awkwardly placing aside the crutches, Kagome settled on the mattress and turned her back toward Vincent. Shame penetrated even through her usual delicate atmosphere, her shoulders lowering before her lord and master.
Vincent tried not to grimace at Kagome's hair—at her everything. She was such a pretty thing, and it was all ruined by ugly hateful souls. Withholding a sigh, he erased his mind from the sudden bout of negativity and instructed, "Pull your nightdress down so I can see your back." He needed to unwind the old dressing.
He did not ask how she could do everything else but her back on her own. Perhaps Kagome felt too weak and tired to do such a comprehensive work of it. Whatever her reasons were, Vincent was happy to humor her rare wishes.
Suppressing a flinch, Kagome nodded. Mutely, she grabbed the shoulders of her thin white gown and pulled down. Her eyes squeezing shut, Kagome kept her inner turmoils buried and hugged her arms around her bosom. Modesty was important.
She sensed Vincent's heart breaking all over again at the severity of what she endured. Apologies thickened on her tongue, wanting to split from her chapped lips. Yet, Kagome wisely kept her silence, thinned her pale lips, and bowed her back.
No uses in dwelling on past mistakes.
Vincent gritted until his jaws ached, his knuckles quaking over the thick layers of gauzes. It…covered a much bigger area than he had thought. How big were her burns? Surely her other wounds were not this big to warrant so many dressings. Swallowing his despair, he forced an inhale.
Exhaling.
"Don't bite your tongue, dear girl," Vincent murmured, though he could not stop a crack from breaking in his voice. "I'm undoing the dressing." A finger slipped inside the outermost layer.
Kagome dipped her head in a stiff nod.
His stomach nearly rejected his small dinner at the greasy sounds of fabric ripping from the skin. They were quiet, neither willing to speak while the lord saw the full extent of her injuries. The gauze gave away easily from the healing injury, but it still turned his insides green. Vincent pressed on without a word, mindful of Kagome's soft feminine curves, when he turned the fabric around her chest.
Abandoning the pink-red gauze on the floor, Vincent worked on cleaning what he could with the basin of water*. He was fortunate that the butler was thoughtful enough to fill it in his room with freshwater unprompted, before leaving to attend his other chores. Next time, he will attend to Kagome in the washroom. It would be easier to clean her wounds then.
In minutes, the floor was a mess of used cotton balls, empty vials, and bloodstained fabrics. His bed sported some dark spots from Kagome's changing, but Vincent held his tongue to spare her guilt. He did not care. It can be washed or replaced. Blood was nonissue for him.
It was so difficult not to wince every time he passed his eyes over the pink mottled skin on her back and the long stitches crisscrossing on one of her sides. Stabs from knives. Vincent nearly chewed off his tongue at seeing them again.
Her burns. The burn was the worst offender. It took up over the top half of her back, from under her hairline to the center of her spine. Forever marring Kagome's beauty and a painful reminder for their failures.
Most of it healed. But she tore those injuries open and added new wounds from her recklessness. This foolish girl…he thought in despair.*2
He dressed her wounds as quickly and carefully as he could with shaking hands.
Once he was satisfied with his work, Vincent pulled Kagome's dress up and settled the collar on her red shoulders. Hiding the evidence of his utter incompetence as her lord. Without a word, he palmed lightly on her back and rested his forehead between his hands—her shoulder blades. Shuddering a sigh, he slumped his body.
What was he supposed to say?
Oh, we're done, you can leave now.
How are you feeling?
Come back tomorrow. I'll help you again.
None of these sounded at all appropriate for him to say. They were heartless, detached—voided of all the fondness he felt for this girl. Instead, his fingers twitched for him to hug Kagome and to never let her go from his arms. Sinking her deeper in his embrace that she'd feel his warmth and he could feel her heartbeats.
"Milord?" Kagome brushed her fingers on Vincent's knuckles, before she thought better of it and pulled her hand away. She turned her head and saw only her lord's dark hair, his nostalgic cologne flooding her nose. She relaxed her tensions and murmured again, moving her knees closer to the edge of the lord's bed, "Milord…"
"Are," Vincent bit back a choke and resisted the urge to sink his fingers into her shoulders, "you leaving?"
Don't leave me.
He could not bear having an empty bed.
"To return to my room, yes." Kagome saw the cluttered mess from the corner of her eyes on the floor, "I'll clean up." She offered, though to Vincent's ears, it sounded automatic. Practiced.
"Leave them." Vincent said, almost curtly. Reeling from his snapping words, he hurried, "Ta—the butler will care of it in the morning." Vincent nearly forgot how offended Kagome was over his naming the demon after the grandfatherly gentleman. The very one they both knew and adored.
Kagome grimaced, "That's not sanitary—"
He snorted, the abrupt noise striking the air in his bedroom like thunder. "Don't care. Those can be cleaned up." Vincent stroked her shoulders and sighed, her textured skin rubbing under his palms. It was dreadful to touch, but he couldn't bear to let go.
"A, ah," Kagome said little else and shifted. She was reaching out for her clutches.
Her feet barely touched the cold hardwood floor when Vincent blurted, "Stay." He snagged his fingers on her sleepwear. For a moment, he felt like a lost child. Should he be embarrassed about his loss of self-respect?
No. He didn't have it in himself to care anymore.
Kagome froze. Her blue eyes met his warm pair. "Milord?"
"Stay with me." He pleaded. Wrapping his other large hand on her tiny wrist, Vincent repeated, "Stay with me tonight."
Finally, the cracks in his mask grew until it all fell apart and slithered in pieces. Vincent crumpled, "I—I can't—" his breaths grew short and his eyes burned with tears that would never fall again.
Feeling the fabric of her dress crinkling in his fist, she pressed closer to him, "Milord," Kagome murmured and rose a hand, brushing aside a stray strand of his hair. Without thinking twice, she roped her arms around his neck and hang on him in a tight embrace, "I'll stay." She breathed into his ear, her slight fragrance of soap sinking into his nose and burned itself into his memory.
He could still smell that pungent stench of sulfur and smoke, choking his lungs and burning his throat.
choking his lungs and burning his throat.
choking his lungs and burning his throat.
choking his lungs and burning his throat—
Vincent did not settle until Kagome repeated her reassurance. I'll stay. He shuddered. Wrapping his arms around her small body, he buried his face in the crook of her neck. Clinging to her was all he could do, his mind darkened with fear and memories.
"I will never leave you." Kagome promised again. Breathing in his scent, the soap he used for his hair, she fluttered her eyes close. His palms spread wide on her taut ribs, nails scratching on her rough bandages and soft fabric of her nightgown, Kagome could not help but to relish in her lord's warmth. That he was still alive and breathing, his heart still beating against her chest.
Murmuring nonsenses, Vincent tightened his embrace. He kept her in his toned arms until needles danced under his skin. For a little while, the outside world meant nothing to him.
Vincent croaked, "Never leave me." She was all he had left.
"No," Kagome raked through his hair. Her voice quivered. "I never will. I promise I won't leave your side."
In her mind, it was an innocuous promise conjured by guilt and grief. For her lord, his rotten mind turned dark by her gentle words. Those very words she would never be allowed to take back.
In a breath, they were under the cover. Vincent buried his face under Kagome's neck and tied his arms around her body. She never stopped stroking his head, not saying a word, until her breathing slowed.
With her hand still entangled in his hair, Vincent inhaled and wondered how exhausted Kagome must have been. His eyes were heavy, but his mind buzzed with everything and nothing. One thing stood out from the rest.
He had Kagome now.
She was the only one left.
His dear girl.
His beautiful songbird.
Notes:
*1, in Victorian era, it was a common practice for people to wash themselves with a small basin and a pitcher of water kept in their bedrooms. For them, it was not necessary to submerge themselves in water to maintain the image of cleanliness and they washed only the essentials, such as hands, face, armpits, crotch, etc., in their daily morning routine. As such, most well-off families will have such basins nearby their beds. This was why Vincent happened to have a basin of water.
—It was also said that bathing in bathtub was only for men to enjoy and was a scandalous thing for ladies to partake in, but I believe that this may differ between families' personal cultures. I couldn't find too many references on this one online so please hold this bit with grains of salt until I am proven otherwise.
*2, I'm not sure if this is too clear but from my understanding, most severe burns typically heals within a month with good cares (though this also depends on the severity and how much on your body too). However, due to what Kagome did to herself and recklessly driving herself back to the Phantomhive manor for so many miles, barefooted, reopened her wounds and worsened her then-current state. I'm no medical student though and it's difficult for me to word this matter with delicate cares.
a/n: hope you all enjoyed this one! As always, leave a review if you can ❤️