A brief content warning for abuse later in the chapter.

Rin still had not slept by the time Shirou came downstairs, and she was becoming very zen about it.

"Shirou? If you don't cook something for me very, very soon, I'm going to feed you to Berserker myself," she said sweetly.

Tranquil as a pond.

She'd tried to sleep, but when she'd laid down on the couch (a couch! like some kind of animal!), all that had filled her mind were Berserker's cacophonous roars, and the weight of Shirou trembling and wailing voicelessly in her arms. She tolerated that for a little while, but it turned out that her limit on this one was about five minutes, so she'd gotten right back up.

First order of business was a change of clothes, and her legs were so leaden that it had been tempting to just change right there in her bedroom. Shirou was probably going to be unconscious for the next week, after all, so what was the risk? The less walking around she had to do, the better.

Her shirt had been halfway off before she remembered that Assassin was probably still in the room, just sort of silently existing, and she'd sheepishly slunk off to the next room to do that. Then, of course, she remembered the existence of baths, and had dragged herself further down the hallway to the guest bathroom, slowly shedding clothing as she went (Archer was still unconscious at this point, but she'd forgotten he was actually in the house), at which point she collapsed in the tub.

Ten minutes probably passed before she remembered to turn the water on. She kicked weakly at the faucet with her foot.

Her moan of relief when the scalding water hit her aching, limp body was probably more than a little indecent, but unless Assassin was the type of guy to peep on naked girls in the bath, no one would have heard. She didn't… she didn't think he was, but she gave the empty corner of the bathroom a suspicious glare over the rim of the tub anyway, just in case.

She floated there, semi-conscious, for long enough that the water (a cloudy brownish-red after most of the crud had soaked off her body, but she struggled to care) had started to go tepid, and her fingers were pruny. She drained the bath and filled it again with fresh, newly-hot water. This time, she forced herself to sit up and actually go about the process of getting clean. She'd never realized how much energy it took to wash her hair, and in a fit of vindictive rage seriously considered cutting it all off just so she wouldn't have to deal with it. The only thing that stopped her, in her more-than-slightly-delirious haze, was remembering that the nearest scissors were downstairs, and fuck stairs right now.

When she finally pulled herself from the bath, less dripping wet and more waterlogged like a drowned rat, she slowly, gingerly, dressed herself in the yellow, cat-face-print pajamas that had been the first thing she could think to grab. They were comfortable, but they were also deeply embarrassing, and it was possible that Shirou would have to die if she was still wearing them when he woke up.

But god, they were just so soft.

The stairs took about five minutes to descend, and when she reached the bottom, clutching the railing for dear life, she saw Archer, his eyes open, watching her with a barely-concealed glimmer of joy in his face.

Her face twisted into something ugly. "Do not. Speak."

Archer mimed zipping his lips shut, but his grin was wide enough that she found herself imagining the top of his head just sort of tipping backward and dangling there.

Morbid. What the fuck was her problem?

She shuffled closer, grimacing. "So I know you can get around just fine in spirit form, but can you do anything useful like this?"

Archer shook his head from where he was seated. He was still a mangled mess, but at least he wasn't bleeding all over her furniture anymore.

"How long until you can?"

Archer shrugged.

Irritation thudded distantly in her chest. "Don't be a jackass. You can talk."

"A couple hours before I can get up and do household chores. I should be able to fight by tomorrow, but I won't be back up to full strength for a few days. It'll go faster if you set up a transfer circle." He smirked, but it looked like it hurt his face a little to do so. "I don't think either of us are up for anything more direct." At least he was feeling strong enough to make his voice sound absolutely infuriating.

"Gross. I'll…" She stared longingly at a big, comfy chair in the corner of the room. It called her. It beckoned her. "I'll go do that, then."

Archer gestured grandly at his busted body. "You know where to find me."

It took almost an hour to get the circle set up in the basement because she kept fucking up the linework, and then another fifteen minutes to check her work to her satisfaction. She called him over, shouting plaintively up the stairs, and he took his sweet-ass time getting there. "You called?"

She pointed. "Circle. In."

"Am I your dog, now?" he asked dryly, but he kept hobbling anyway. "I don't think that was in the contract."

Rin sighed, forcing down a cruel comment. "Look, I'm…" Ugh, do I have to say this? But it would be true, and her Servant had taken a whole lot more than a bullet for her at this point. "I'm glad you made it back. Maybe you're not such a weakling after all."

"Oh, big words," Archer said, but there was the ghost of a smile on his face. "I'm touched by your overwhelming sentimentality, Rin."

"Shut up. So I saw that sword you had," she said in as casual a tone as possible, determined to change the subject, as she poured a bit of her magic into the glowing red lines to get the energy flow started. Once it was going, it would mostly just keep rolling on its own, but she'd have to at least halfway pay attention that it didn't drain her dry.

"I have a lot of swords," Archer said blandly, stepping into the center of the circle. The lines flashed brighter for a moment, and then settled back into a mild glow.

"You know what I mean," she sighed; out of sheer spite, she sent a small electric shock through the link, and her janky old busted up Servant jumped a little. Serves you right, she thought, then felt a little guilty. He was already almost in two pieces. "I know my mythology. That was Excalibur, wasn't it?"

Archer rolled his eyes, but there was a tightness in his forehead that hadn't been there before. "Hardly. I know how much you'd like me to be, but I am not King Arthur."

"But-" Rin started to protest.

He held up a hand, and she was just tired enough that she let herself be interrupted. "What I do…" He sighed. "Think of it like projection. It's a similar principal. It helps me adapt and keep my enemies guessing. None of the weapons you've seen me use are my Noble Phantasm, but I think you probably knew that."

Rin could feel her brow furrowing thoughtfully, but god, she was so sleepy. "Projection magic sucks, though," she said bluntly.

Archer chuckled. "You're not wrong, but you're not right, either. The one you saw me create was the closest I could get to replicating that holy sword. It was a shitty copy, if I'm going to be honest. Far from my best work. I used Excalibur's legend as a base blueprint, but I couldn't create something of equal power. Even I have my limits."

"Work on that," Rin said. "I know a little about Excalibur. We could use the really powerful version that shoots beams."

With a flourish of his not-broken arm, Archer gave a humble bow that absolutely dripped with sarcasm. "As you command, Master. One laser-gun sword, coming right up."

She zapped him again before she could remember not to.

Getting back to the main level again felt Sisyphean, but she did eventually manage it.

And just when she was ready to try sleeping again, Shirou fell down the stairs.

She didn't burst into angry tears, but it was close.

"Contractor, move more slowly. Thy body is weak."

Shirou wasn't walking so much as his was perpetually falling forward, with his legs moving just fast enough to catch him with every step. "I'm okay," he panted. "I'll-" His foot made contact with something that wasn't the floor, and it was not stable. He had just enough time to say "huh?" before his feet were no longer under him.

He didn't remember tumbling down the stairs, but he sure did find himself in a heap at the bottom of them, with Rin staring at him from across the room in wide-eyed, open-mouthed befuddlement.

Shirou waved tentatively at her.

She buried her face in her hands.

"I'm okay," he offered truthfully.

This did not make her look any happier, unfortunately. She rolled her face down her hands, grimacing… and then she froze.

Shirou stared at her, not comprehending.

Her face went bright red.

Shirou frowned.

Rin stomped over, rage deeper than any he'd ever seen on her face before carved into her face like the visage of a malevolent god. She loomed over him silently.

Fear prickled the back of his neck. "Uh… Tohsaka? Are you okay?"

She leaned down, and the look of murderous fury morphed into a smile that was somehow even more terrifying. "Shirou?"

He swallowed. "Yeah?"

She gave his head a gentle, condescending pat that promised intense, brutal violence to come. "If you don't cook something for me very, very soon, I'm going to feed you to Berserker myself," she said, still smiling, then leaned down over him, tore away the black bra that had apparently been wrapped around his foot, and marched back up the stairs.

Shirou's face went bright red. "Sorry," he called weakly after her. He waited. She didn't respond. With a sigh, he looked in the direction he assumed Assassin was. "She probably didn't hear me."

"I'm sure," Assassin said from the opposite direction.

Ten minutes later, he was shuffling through Rin's kitchen and feeling a lot of conflicting things. He was in awe at her equipment; her stovetop had probably cost more than his house, and it was polished to a mirror sheen. A knife block bristled with cutting implements in a variety of shapes and sizes that he'd never seen before. Her fridge was so big he could almost have fit comfortably inside it.

On the other hand, her ingredient stores were… lackluster. Most of it was dried or canned, and there was distressingly little green. Frankly, he was pleasantly surprised when he stumbled on a bag of white rice. "Do you know if Archer is still alive? He didn't like… die in the last few minutes, right?"

"I sense his presence below."

Shirou paused, elbow-deep in pots and pans. "Below, like… in the basement, or in hell?"

"The basement."

"Oh. Well… good." He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Relief, then irritation, then guilt that he was irritated that someone hadn't died. Not like he would have given me the same courtesy. The clatter resumed as he took stock of what he had to work with. There were more varieties than he could actually identify, and none of it had been sorted with any rhyme or reason that he could see. "How does she live like this?"

"Comfortably and complacently, it would seem."

Shirou stood, narrowly avoiding banging his head on the counter, and started shuffling through a cabinet. Why was there so much peanut butter? "I don't think she's complacent. I mean, she's not lazy."

"People who have more money than they can spend in a lifetime come to rely on it. It becomes a crutch."

"I guess," Shirou said doubtfully. "It'd be nice to have more money to spend on meals. Feeding three people every day isn't cheap."

"Thou hast family? Thy home seemed rather bare to support more than thee."

"No," he started, then paused. "I mean, kind of? We're not related or anything, but Fuji-nee comes and mooches off of me a lot, and she's sort of like my big sister?" It was strange how normal this conversation felt. He actually had to remind himself that he was talking to a scary ghost. "She's a handful, but we kind of look out for each other. She's a teacher at the school I go to, though, so she likes to use that as a weapon." He still had yet to find even a single bottle of soy sauce. This was embarrassing. "And then there's Sakura. Sakura Matou. She's a year younger than me, but she's kind of my best friend. She usually comes over to help me cook breakfast." He shrugged. "That all probably sounds pretty boring to someone like you, huh?"

Assassin was strangely silent.

Shirou frowned. "Assassin?"

"Tell me about this Sakura," he said pensively, his voice coming from behind Shirou.

Shirou blinked. "Um, well…" It was funny; he could think of a million ways to describe Fuji-nee, but when it came to Sakura… She was just Sakura. "She's sweet. About a year and a half ago, I got hurt pretty bad at my job. I really couldn't use my arm at all. And I didn't know Sakura very well at the time, because she was just my friend Shinji's sister. She'd probably talked to me about a half dozen times in my whole life. She was so shy and quiet, and I think she was a little nervous about me back then." He opened a drawer, expecting to find silverware, and instead found it stuffed full of old pencils and notebooks. He pulled one out and opened it to the first page. It was empty. "But she showed up at my house, and started trying to help take care of me. Little stuff, you know? Cooking and cleaning, since it was hard with my arm. It must have been because she thought Shinji would be worried about me, since we weren't close before that." He smiled faintly. "She was hopeless. The kind of cook who'd throw water on a grease fire, just because she didn't know any better." As he spoke, he tore about a piece of paper and started scribbling a shopping list onto it. "But she wanted to learn, and I found out that it was fun to teach her, and she never stopped coming by, even when I was all healed. It was kind of inspiring. She tried so hard to be a better cook, even when she got hurt doing it, and now she's almost better than I am. You still there?"

"I am."

"Sorry, you just seemed quiet. Anyway, she used to be really… I don't know. Shy, and…" He grasped for words. "Not afraid, exactly, but like if you moved too fast, she'd just be gone." Anger stirred deep within him, and he pushed it away. He had an idea about all that, but… That was a long time ago. "But she's really come out of her shell. She smiles now. She smiles a lot." He found himself smiling as well at the thought. "I hope she really is happier, now."

"Is the girl a magus?"

Shirou laughed, tapping the pencil on the paper. "No way. She's got no idea about any of that. She's the most normal person I know."

"Hm."

"What? What's hm?"

Assassin spoke with steel in his voice. "Dost thou trust Sakura Matou?"

"Of course I do. Why wouldn't I trust her?" he replied with a snort. He added panko to the quickly lengthening list. Really, he just needed to buy a fully stocked pantry to salvage this mess, but he didn't have the budget for it.

Assassin was silent.

Shirou hesitated, the question really sinking in. After a moment, he put the pencil down and turned to face the voice, planting his feet in an implicit challenge. "Assassin, why wouldn't I trust her?"

"Thou mentioned her brother."

He blinked, the sudden change in subject throwing him for a loop. "Yeah, Shinji. What about him?"

"Dost thou trust Shinji Matou?" Assassin asked in exactly the same tone of voice.

Shirou opened his mouth to say "yes" as little more than a reflex, but he hesitated. This wasn't Sakura he was talking to, or even Tohsaka. "Honestly… No. He's… He used to be a good person, but something inside him changed." Phantom pain in his knuckles ached. "But he's not a Magus either, so it doesn't really matter much one way or the other, does it?"

"Dost thou know of any other Matous?"

"I met their grandfather the other night. He was a little creepy, but he seemed friendly." Shirou frowned. "Actually, he did say some weird stuff to me. Like... he knew me. He seemed confused, though. I think his name was Zouken." He paused, trying to think of why Assassin was so hung up on this topic. "Assassin? Did you know someone?"

"There was a man I became aware of named Kariya Matou. He was an honorable man, stricken with a cruel curse that had corroded his spirit as much as his body. I know not why he fought, but he had the sense of a man doing what he believed was the right thing, though he destroyed himself and the person he loved in the end."

"I don't think Sakura's ever mentioned a Kariya," Shirou said slowly.

"She would have been young when he died," Assassin mused. "It is unsurprising if she does not remember him. Perhaps he was an outlier in the Matou family. I do not believe it is completely unheard of."

"If you're implying that Sakura is an enemy, you're wrong," Shirou growled, surprised at his own heat. "She's not involved. Not in something like this."

Assassin actually sighed. "Thy trust is thine own. Nothing I say will shake it. Perhaps her brother is involved. Perhaps this grandfather you speak of. Perhaps Kariya was an amateur, and none of the larger Matou clan have any knowledge of magic. I merely advise caution, and to consider the possibility."

Of course not, he wanted to say. Instead, he forced himself to relax, unclenching fists he hadn't realized were tight, returning to the list. "How do you know any people, anyway? You were only summoned last night."

"I took part in the Fourth Holy Grail War," Assassin replied simply.

The pencil clattered to the counter, and Shirou found himself turning again in disbelief. "You… were there?" Flames danced on the back of his neck. "You were part of that?"

"The destruction was not entirely my doing, but yes. I was summoned as that War's Assassin as well."

Goosebumps rippled across his skin. Even hearing that… he was part of the conflict that lead to

hell on earth

all of that death and destruction.

He knew Assassin was a killer. It was implied in the title. But to be confronted with the reality of it was like being immersed in boiling ice.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"It was irrelevant. Very few loose ends were left."

His teeth creaked. "You mean everyone involved is dead."

"Not everyone. Three still lived at the end of the fight. One is dead. One I do not know the whereabouts of, but I believe him to be irrelevant. And one is the priest."

"Kotomine was a Master?"

"Yes. He and my Master were the last standing. His power was broken."

Shirou began connecting dots. "That's why you hated him so much, without even seeing him.

"It is one reason."

"And…" His eyes widened. "You won the last Grail War?"

"For a certain definition of 'won'. I was the last Servant standing, but the Grail was destroyed."

"Destroyed?"

"My master believed the Holy Grail was evil. I did not see the things he did, but I am inclined to agree. I destroyed it myself."

A thousand questions swirled confusingly around Shirou like a cloud of insects, but… did this information change anything? Did it mean his objective had changed? Whether the Holy Grail was something inherently destructive, or merely something with the potential to destroy in the wrong hands… The worst case scenario remained the same. "What happened when you broke it?"

"My form was obliterated at the moment of the Grail's death. I saw not what transpired after."

"But if you had to guess?"

"There was likely a backlash. There was not time to formulate a safe disposal method. We brought it as far from the people as we could in the limited time we had, to the center of the park, but I do not know how effective we were. My master was bathed in its curse in the process, but he would not allow me to touch it directly."

"The park," he breathed. "A backlash…" His vision wavered. Flames and screams and- Grasping at the counter for balance, he forced his shaking hand into a fist and punched his thigh hard enough to bruise. The images receded.

Assassin was silent for a long moment, while Shirou recovered. Until his fist stopped shaking.

"The thing that haunts thee. It was ten years ago, was it not?"

"You already know the answer to that," Shirou said quietly. His breath suddenly seemed deafening in the silence. "Was destroying it the right thing to do?"

"I believe it was. No good could have come from such a thing."

"Then that's it, right?" His heartbeat was beginning to return to normal. He just… had to bottle all that up again, and he'd be fine. "We need to find out how to destroy it for good, without a… backlash."

"Indeed."

"Then…" Shirou turned the idea over in his head. If anyone in this house was least useful when it came to formulating solutions to magical problems, it was probably him. Besides, he had cooking to do. "Hey, do me a favor."

Assassin was silent, which he took as assent.

"Can you go tell Tohsaka everything you just told me? I think she needs to hear all that stuff about the Grail being… you know, evil." She probably wouldn't believe it, actually. Still, though, she had to know. "Actually, give her like ten minutes. She seemed pretty cranky, so she probably needs to sleep."

"Should thou not be a part of such a conversation?"

Shirou shrugged. "Do I need to be? I don't know anything about magic, really. I'd probably just get in the way."

"It is unseemly for a Master to take such a passive role in his own affairs."

He threw up a hand in frustration, stuffing the list into his pocket. "Alright, we can tell her when we get back, then."

"Where art thou planning to go?" Assassin sounded dubious at best.

"Tohsaka said I should cook, right? I've gotta get some groceries." He made his way back to the stairs, carefully watching for any stray underwear that might betray him once again. As he looked down, he caught a whiff of something rank. Oh, that was him, wasn't it? "Oh, I need a shower."

"Is that prudent?"

"A shower?" Shirou snorted. "I doubt Tohsaka is going to run out of water in a place like this."

"Leaving the premises."

"Oh, uh. We've gotta eat, don't we? Well, us regular humans, anyway." He paused. "Do Servants eat? Should I make enough for Archer?" He didn't want to, but if Archer was here, it would be rude not to. He was a guest, after all.

Assassin's voice remained a constant distance behind him as he walked. "We do not require food for sustenance, but it can supplement the mana we receive from our Masters."

Damn it. "All the more reason I need to go, then." He put his hand on the bannister, then paused. He tilted his head back, giving Assassin the respect of looking at him, even if he couldn't see him. "Your old master. Was he a good man?"

"In the end, he was."

"Who was he?"

There was no sound but the distant ticking of a grandfather clock.

"Assassin?"

"To speak his name would be to diminish his sacrifice. He was not a man who desired fame or notoriety."

That seemed uncharacteristically sentimental of him, but Shirou decided to let it lie, for now. "Well, I hope I can live up to his example."

"Indeed."

Shinji squealed as his back hit the wall, his head colliding with the brick of the alley wall with a dull thunk. He stared at her with wide, incredulous eyes, before his gaze flickered to the pink-haired servant standing casually a few meters away. "I'm your Master, Rider! Help me!"

Rider shrugged with a bland, indifferent expression, her crop resting comfortably on her shoulder. "No... don't... stop..." She blew a bright pink bubble at him. It popped, and he stiffened in Sakura's grip.

She'd found Shinji at his favorite cafe; gaudy, expensive, and generally-empty as it was, she knew it made him feel powerful and rich. Even in the midst of something as dangerous as the Holy Grail War, he wouldn't pass up his daily opportunity to be fawned on by his inexplicable legion of admirers. That's where she'd found him — in the middle of a group of four girls, all of whom seemed smitten with his easy confidence.

Rider was lounging in the corner, thick white boots up on the table. She'd traded the lingerie for a white leather jacket, aviator sunglasses, and the shortest shorts Sakura had ever seen. She was pretty sure that the shorts said "delicious." It was less conspicuous than the frilly underwear, but only in the sense that a cannon was less conspicuous than a bomber. She looked supremely bored as she sipped coffee out of a heavy ceramic mug that was masquerading as dainty porcelain.

A deep shame gripped Sakura as she gazed upon her former Servant. You could just take Rider back right now. Instinctually, she knew that she could, and there would be nothing that Shinji could do to stop her. By all accounts, it would be the wisest move. Then she really would have the power to protect Senpai from the horrors of war.

But...

Servants were always reflections of their Masters in some way. Always. Rider was a reminder of the kind of person she truly was; the side of her that she kept hidden deep inside where no one but her would ever have to see it. If Senpai knew Rider was hers, he would know what kind of person Sakura was.

He thought she was good. He thought she was pure. The truth was enough to lace every breath with anxiety and to cruelly tighten her chest. Her thoughts were not lily-white. She was not unsullied. She hated. She was just as much of a monster as Rider, but that wasn't the worst of it.

Sakura was jealous of Rider. Senpai respected Sakura, but it was a false respect—respect based on a lie. She was desperate for respect, and she knew in her heart of hearts that she would never have or deserve it. Rider's carefree attitude. Her casual confidence. Her strength and her ability to make people fear her and want her. Rider never doubted herself, or had to remind herself that she was less than mud, or feared retribution. She lived life the way she wanted to live it, and damn anyone who said otherwise. Sakura envied Rider that.

It really wasn't any wonder she'd summoned such a Servant, when her own heart was so filthy.

Working up the courage to approach her brother had been hard, but he'd helped break through that particular wall. "Excuse me, ladies," he'd said smoothly, bowing deeply in an apology that the girls took as sincere, if exaggerated, but that Sakura instantly recognized as patronizing. "It seems that my poor, darling sister needs some help."

Shinji didn't think she'd seen how pathetically he behaved when Rider was looking at him, but she had seen. That was the image she had to hold in her head, no matter how melancholic it made her.

Nii-san is finally being treated the way he's always treated-

She should not be having such thoughts. Shame mingled with the bone-deep anxiety that coursed through her.

The girls had glanced over in her direction, and one of them actually giggled. When she hid her face behind her hair in shame, it wasn't an act, but she'd reminded herself that she wasn't here for her.

When Shinji had approached, smiling tersely, he'd put a heavy, threatening hand on her shoulder. It was an old tactic, but no less effective for its familiarity. "Yo. What's up, Sakura?" It all almost spilled out right there in the cafe, in front of all those classmates.

She'd shrunk away, and her voice was a mumble. "It's… something important. About…" She'd withdrawn further. "You know. The thing."

Shinji had grimaced, but he'd also put his other hand on her shoulder and spun her around, marching her without another word out to the alley behind the shop. Somewhere they'd be alone. That gave her time to think. To muster up her courage.

She'd never defied Shinji before. In small ways, once or twice, but not like this.

It's not for you, Sakura.

She wasn't standing up for herself. Not really. It didn't change the consequences that there would be. Shinji would hurt her. Badly. (Maybe bad enough that- She stopped herself.) But if it meant that she could stop something bad from happening...

It's standing up for him.

Then it would be worth it. There was a finite amount of misery in the world, and she would draw Senpai's to her, and he would be safe.

You don't deserve protection, but he does.

"So what is it?" Shinji had let go of her to cross his arms over his chest, skepticism on his face. Rider followed a good distance behind, leaning idly against the wall, pretending to check her nails while she surreptitiously scanned the street outside. She still had the ceramic mug in her other hand; Sakura was pretty sure it belonged to the cafe and was not supposed to leave with the customers. "If this isn't worth my time, I'll-"

Before she could give herself time to think, she'd darted forward, planted one hand on his chest, and halfway tackled him backward.

In the present, a few different emotions flashed across Shinji's face; rage, fear, careful consideration. Then, like none of it had ever been there at all, a mask of cool arrogance slid over his features. That smug smile that promised so much but actually said so little. The half-lidded, sleepy condescension in his eyes. "Sakura, what do you think you're doing?" He taunted slowly, as if he hadn't been whining for help just a few seconds before. "You know what happens when you touch me."

Her throat closed and her body shook and-

A closed fist, poised to strike hovers over her. She's bruised. battered. There's a trickle of blood out of the corner of her mouth. He's always been careful not to leave marks where people can see, never this blatant.

"What did I do?" she asks.

He spits off to the side, and his mouth twists into something hideous as the next blow comes.

-an apology rose in her chest.

Part of Sakura quailed. An old reflex. A powerful reflex. But not one that was useful right now. Surviving Sakura knew that sometimes, to get along, you had to know how to take a hit, and she would pay for this later. She wouldn't let herself forget that. I will pay for this later, and I will deserve it was an incessant mantra rattling around her skull.

But for now, she also remembered-

Senpai's knuckles are scabbed over when he answers the door that morning, and his lip looks like it had been split the night before, but his smile is as bright and welcoming as ever. "Good morning, Sakura!"

She's frozen. Her mouth opens and closes like a beached fish. She can't stop noticing details. The scabs are on both hands. There's the hint of a healing bruise on his neck. A lifetime of walking on eggshells means that she is very good at noticing details.

He blinks at her, confused. He genuinely doesn't know what she suddenly looks so upset about, she realizes.

"S-Senpai…" Her hands go to her mouth, and she knows how wide her eyes must be. "What happened? Are you okay?" But she knows before he answers.

He doesn't stop smiling, but his eyes harden in a way she's never seen from him. A vein ticks in his neck, but he rubs the back of his neck like he's just embarrassed. "Oh, it's nothing. I'm okay! Just a little accident. You know."

How many times has she said something that had been done to her was just an accident? Her being clumsy? "Your hands…" she says, but all she can manage is a whisper.

His smile fades just a hint, and it takes every fiber in her being not to flinch away from it. "Me and Shinji just had a disagreement yesterday. It's nothing to worry about. Guy stuff, you know."

She's horrified. Shinji has been hurt because she didn't hide herself well enough. She hadn't seen him the night before; how bad was it? How angry would he be at her? Her stomach clenches, but then something strange happens. There are tears in her eyes, but they aren't tears of fear or anger. Warmth spreads in her belly.

He blinks, worry suddenly written all over him. "Sakura? What is it? Are you okay?" He takes her hand, gentler than anyone she's ever known. "Come sit down, if you don't feel well. I'll make you some tea." He pulls her inside, but… no, that isn't right. It's not a forceful thing. He doesn't drag. He guides her. "Is the blueberry okay? I haven't gotten around to refilling your others."

She wants to say it, but her throat is too tight, and so she never actually does.

No one has ever fought for her before.

No one that hadn't ended up dead.

She grit her teeth and ground her forearm harder into her brother's throat. He gave only a strangled grunt in response. He'd recover from the shock of being manhandled by her of all people in a few moments, and then he would probably take that swing, so she had to be fast. "Listen to me, Nii-san. I need you to do something for me."

"You're threatening me for a favor?" he choked.

Feeling Sakura wanted her to let go. Feeling Sakura wanted her to apologize. Feeling Sakura wanted to burst into tears and beg for mercy.

Feeling Sakura was not in the driver's seat right now.

"You're going to do something for me, or I will take Rider back from you. You won't be a Master anymore. You'll go back to being nothing." She was proud of how cold her voice was, in a distant sort of way. It wasn't something she had a lot of practice with. Not out loud.

His eyes widened, and his gaze flicked from her to Rider and back. Rider, for her part, actually looked interested, and she'd stopped popping her gum for the moment.

"I need you to find Senpai. Shirou. He's involved. I need you to make sure he's okay." She leaned in closer. So close their noses were almost touching. "And if something happens to him, and I take Rider back, something will happen to you." She smiled, and something in her expression seemed to terrify him. "Understand?"

He nodded frantically, and she released him. He grabbed his throat and doubled over, coughing. It was more than over-dramatic, but she didn't feel the fear anymore. It would be back soon, and likely stronger than before, but in this moment, she almost enjoyed his exaggerated reaction—enjoyed that she could make him squirm like that.

I'm glad I got to see that once, the cold, monstrous part of her whispered.

Feeling Sakura was wailing again, but she had to hold it together a little longer. She turned to Rider, who seemed to be having a tremendous time watching all of this, and this time her voice was more polite. "Will you please make sure he does that?" It still wasn't shaking. She marveled at that.

Rider blew a thoughtful bubble with her gum before replying. "You know what, kid, yeah. You impressed me. Maybe you do have a backbone after all." She winked, then leaned a little closer and patted Sakura's cheek. "It's cute! I'll make sure my doormat gets that done. It's just about the end of his free time for the day anyway."

Sakura gave a short bow. "Thank you." Senpai's going to be okay. My brother won't do anything if she might hurt him. It was almost enough all on its own to make her cry, but she had a lot of practice hiding her tears.

Rider waved her gratitude away. "Nah, it makes my job easier, too, if this kid is involved," she chirped. "I didn't expect anything useful out of that old geezer, but your old man actually had some good advice. I got my own thing I need to check out anyway."

Cold. No, not cold. Freezing. Goosebumps broke out all over her body, and she clamped her hands down hard on her thighs to keep them from shaking, but she kept it together well. "Do you mind if I ask?"

"Well, the only servant that's left unaccounted for is Assassin, right?"

Sakura nodded, but she didn't actually know that. She'd done everything she could to keep her head buried in the sand up until now.

Rider glanced at Shinji, who seemed to be working himself up into enough of a rage to come after her. "Hey, doormat! What'd I say? Touch your sister and you die."

Shinji made an "eep" sort of sound, and quickly looked down at his feet.

It didn't make her feel that much better, this time. Such a command would only protect her so long as Rider could see her.

"Anyway, your old man said that in the last war, the Assassin was a huge problem, yeah? Completely fucked him over." She frowned, and it was almost a pout. "He didn't say it, but I think that Assassin scared him. He thinks that if that Assassin enters the field, we've already lost. He wants to win this time, so he told me to make sure this Assassin isn't the same as last time."

It was everything she could do not to shake like a leaf. Stupid, stupid Sakura. She might have just put Senpai in more danger than he already had been, and there was no one to blame but herself. "And what if it is?"

Rider drained the rest of her coffee in one long pull, then let the mug fall carelessly to the ground. While she spoke, she idly kicked the larger pieces of shattered ceramic off to the side of the alley. "He didn't say. I didn't care enough to ask. He just said that we shouldn't worry about it. He's got 'a contingency.'"

Thank you again for all your continuing support! I've been absolutely blown away by all the attention I've been getting. I love seeing what you all have to say!

Next chapter: The Scattered and Lost