This is the fifth story in "How Not to Spend Eternity", in which Sebastian & Ciel deal with the aftermath of season 2 (or not). [1&2 "Do Not Stand at my Grave and Weep" and "The Contract" (posted together); 3 "Puer Aeternus"; 4 "Dogwood and Chestnut"] ... This is the beginning of a new arc, so technically? I suppose you could read it without having read the others? :)
! Warnings will appear BELOW each chapter, when relevant — I'll make a note of it above the chapter so you can scroll down if you want to read them :)
~~~although, I will put ONE general warning here: this story deals with some ***DISTURBING THEMES & language*** [to a greater extent than you might expect having read the previous stories in this series]
ok, that out of the way... see chapter warnings at end of chapter XD
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"I love my native city, more than my own soul."
— Niccolo Machiavelli
Capture the Moon
Now: 1961
1/ your robe
It was bright in these inner rooms. Lower levels. That's all Helen could think as she stared up into the ceiling, long rods of light crossed by metal strips, and the tiles around it, stained by water and neglect. It ought to be dark by rights, for there were no windows, and she was surprised by the fact that it distressed her. She'd never been an outdoors person. Not hardly.
Robert grunted, and spilled, and it was over. He thought she liked him. She must do, or she would have ordered her demon to kill him. Or perhaps it was merely that she tolerated Robert, who was, after all, only disgusting in petty, understandable ways. There was something comforting in that, she thought. Fixing their clothes under the harsh buzz of the lights, he offered her a cigarette and they smoked in silence.
"Hell of a day," Robert said at last. The words were dull, swallowed up by concrete. She breathed in tar.
"Yeah," she said. It was hard to remember a time that hadn't been; hard to remember the woman full of steely purpose who had gotten a job so secret and of such national importance. She'd known she deserved it as much as any of these men. She'd known she'd never have gotten it if it weren't for Jack, and she hated the demon, sometimes, for granting her wish. For reminding her how much he could do—how much she couldn't.
But she was a scientist. And this was war, moving with glacial inexorability, and there hadn't been anything else she knew she was so capable of; it was all worth it if only she could fight. If only she didn't die swallowed up by the concrete storeroom, where no Theseus could find his way. Fancies, of course. Just fancies. She knew the way out. She'd go home tonight; in three hours or four. If nothing else happened. If no one drugged her coffee on a lark. If she took coffee from the sad whirring machine in the corner of the room where her partners worked. If she didn't drug theirs. It was all a game, she had come to understand, and it was almost understandable, except that sometimes, reading over field notes like gibberish, full of holes before the censorship even kicked in, she wondered if they really were fighting the good fight. The end justified the means of course. She had to believe it, because no pure means had ever brought her anything she hadn't had to fight for by force.
Helen left first, slipping on her heels and walking out, putting away everything that wasn't the government scientist, as if she even knew what that was anymore.
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chapter warnings!
1) non-explicit sex
2) references to drugs (non-consensual)
3) yes, it's from the pov of an OC *gasp* — but don't worry, Ciel is still hanging around — the question is... where?