Author's Note: Yeah, these are somewhat of a must, right? Eh, well, this fic takes place after…*checks* Kafka, but sometime before Mark of the Red Ram (Part One). Cain's a bit ooc, because it was late, and it was my birthday. Anywho, criticism is most welcome and so and so forth. Enjoy. Oh, and warnings for a pondering Cain…very scary. And a big thanks to my best friend for reading over this. ^^ *chuus her!*
Disclaimer: (Okay, yeah, this is a complete must right here!) Count Cain/Earl Cain/Hakushaku does not belong to me, but to the goddess herself, Yuki Kaori. *bows*
Fateful Night
"Would you like this wrapped, sir?"
The young brunette provided a short, curt nod; eyes lingering upon the leather bound books he had just given the clerk.
"Yes, please."
Flashing a tiny smile with perfectly aligned teeth, the blonde-haired clerk turned away from him, heading towards a table approximately five feet away. The young man's eyes began to survey the small yet quaint shop of antiques. He surmised this, mainly because everything looked so simple and priceless. Someone had once explained to him that if an item looked regular in a somewhat classical way, then that item was indeed an antique. He wasn't exactly sure if they had meant that or not, especially since he had been fairly young at the time.
Cain C. Hargreaves shrugged, ignoring the clashing and rustling of wrapping paper in the background. He had bought his beloved little sister a collection of fairytales. They weren't the actual 'prince comes on a white horse to save the princess' sort of tales, but they were equitably close.
A grumble of frustration emitted from behind him, along with the final thrashing of the noisy paper. He quietly gazed over his shoulder to inspect the poor clerk, whose back was still facing him. Just an hour ago, the clerk from a nearby tailor shop was cursing under his breath colorfully, trying his best to stuff Riff's now newly bought coat. Just a week ago he had purposely instructed his valet to escort his dear sister to an ice cream parlor, giving him the perfect opportunity to snoop around the older man's room. Of course Riff's closet was the neatest yet most predictable portal he had thumbed through. Though the stiffly pressed suits and starched shirts had been cleaned quite thoroughly, there was still that light, intoxicating scent of musk that clung to his garments tightly. The aroma was vague, but it still caused a dizzying affect, numbing his mind and hypnotizing his fingers, for they lingered and briskly ran themselves up and down the soft black sleeves impulsively. The sleeves felt like crushed velvet, causing his mind to wonder aimlessly about the arms that would be encased in the fabric the following day or the following day after that.
That's when he had finally come to, quickly snatched the jacket out of the closet, and scrambled for the door. Never mind the hideous blush that had warmed and infused his face with crimson, and the fact that he found himself mumbling about what had occurred.
Cain could feel the flaming heat return to his face once again. He thought he had repressed that incident deep within a pocket of his brain, hoping that it would disperse when something important would wander in.
And the fact that nothing had came along as of late (not even his pestering Uncle Neil for Christ's sake) only added more emphasis to this recurring memory.
"Sir? Sir! Your gift, it's ready!"
Cain whirled around, eyeing the clerk questionably. Her thin, dark brown eyebrows were knit together, matching the fierceness of her pale blue irises. He could tell she was staring at his abnormal orbs, because the intensity had swiftly subsided, melting into curiosity and…fear?
He offered the woman a nod of thanks, taking the now wrapped present in the crook of his left arm. Reaching in his coat pocket for the proper amount of money, he handed it to her, and wished her an early Merry Christmas.
Once he stepped outside, the chilling winds nipped at his exposed face, slashing it with cool, invisible cuts. It had snowed the day before, leaving England in an encasement of plush pristine grandness. The country was like one of those snow globes now, minus the shaking and jerking about.
He placed his hat on his head, heading south. He had chosen to come alone on this journey--no carriage, no servant, and absolutely, no Riff. Though it would've been the brightest idea to have a carriage waiting, he had thought against it, deciding that walking was the only way he could think things out now. The jarring that the carriage provided would only ramble and rupture the delicateness of the matter, thus, making him stuff it in the corner of his mind once more.
So, trudging through the snow at a regular, walking pace, Cain's mind began to wander. He couldn't exactly place his feelings for the older man in a category just yet. Hell, he could barely identify them, let alone bear with them when he was alone. At first, the feelings hadn't really occurred to him. He had known the man almost half of his life, and he had been his first actual friend that remained by his side. Even after his father had disappeared that one fateful day, Riff had comforted him, reassured him that he would stay by his side while brushing away his final tears.
Their relationship consisted of a master and servant bond, as well as a father and son companionship (Riff, being that he was the oldest, replenished the fatherly side of such a bond). Most importantly, they were friends, so it worked out rather nicely.
But as of late, certain feelings were beginning to develop, blossoming right under his nose in fact. Whenever Riff helped him change into or helped shed his clothes, Cain had to bite his bottom lip from the cool knowledgeable fingers that brushed against his skin. The older man was careful not to harm his wounds in any shape or form, and was immeasurably gentle with him. However, his mind couldn't help but falter and wonder if that was the only reason why? Because of his wounds, or was it the fact that he knew enough about him to know how vulnerable the young master truly was?
Cain released a heavy, restless sigh, watching it come out as a puff of cold smoke. He realized how soft his thoughts were becoming, and quietly stashed the sack of mushiness away. This wasn't like him. This wasn't like him at all.
Coming to an abrupt halt, Cain placed the bag that possessed Riff's coat within it on the ground, and looked around curiously. Although he had been deeply immersed in his thoughts for the past five to seven minutes, he was still tuned in to his surroundings. So, of course, he could hear someone behind him, one who was mocking his pace at that.
However, he found no one.
He glanced about once more, as if not trusting the snow covered buildings and street. From a distance, he could hear the joyful caroling from a group of villagers, singing about how the kids better not pout or they had better not cry, along with the all knowing reason of why.
Cain, fully aware of what was going on now, continued his journey home. Yes, he was being followed, that was a known fact. Why the culprit decided to dash behind the building behind him, he didn't know, but he found it quite stupid. He had heard about the murders going on recently, how the victims were dragged in a desolate alley and stabbed mercilessly to death. The majority of the victims were mostly females, but a few males had been reported as well.
That was the thing about Cain: he was the new breed of victims. He was cool, calculating, and grew quite bored with the cat and mouse games, because he knew the alley scenario like the back of his hand.
"Hand. Bag. Riff's coat!"
He blinked frantically, spinning on his heel to retrieve the abandoned bag.
Unfortunately, he walked dead smack into the stalker.
"Damnit! Watch where you're going shrimp!" The man shouted gruffly.
"Your fault for being so close behind me, idiot!" Cain countered angrily, glaring into the man's face. He was quite a tall man; his frame of slight built if not more. He was young, reddish-blonde hair tousled neatly away from his face. The navy blue suit, along with its matching coat, complemented his dignified features immensely.
"For Christ's sake," Cain began to sulk inwardly, regretting not having that carriage right about now.
He sighed, pinching the bridge of nose irritably. "Oscar, why are you following me?"
Oscar smiled brightly, which only added more frustration to the young count. "Why, I came to protect the Count from the wandering perverts of England."
Cain eyed the man's sunny face like he always did, seeing the gush of amusement peppered upon his full lips. "You're not exactly pure, you know."
A look of hurt appeared upon Oscar's handsome face, but quickly evolved into a mischievous grin. He then threw his arm around Cain's shoulders, startling the teenager greatly.
"Now, how would you know that, dear Cain?" He inquired playfully, a mysterious glint in his dark brown eyes. Cain, of course, looked at him blandly, wondering if the man had something better else to do than harass him with his vulgarity.
"I wouldn't know," he shrugged carelessly, feeling Oscar's arm go up and then down with his shoulders. He then remembered the bag that contained Riff's coat!
"Oscar?" he peered over the man's shoulders, he found himself standing on the balls of his feet just to see over them. He saw nothing that looked like a bag though.
All of a sudden, strong arms encircled him around his waist, pulling him closer to Oscar's figure far more than he was comfortable with.
Resisting the urge to snap on the childish man, Cain glared ahead, attempting to catch a floating gray bag.
"What are you doing?"
"What does it look like?" Oscar returned, slightly muffled from having his face in Cain's coat.
"You're annoying, did you know that?"
"Mm-hmm. You told me that several times a few days ago, remember?"
Cain rolled his eyes, pulling away from the unrequited embrace with ease. He then gave Oscar a look that bordered on dirty, as if his next question had better received the proper answer. "Did you so happen to see a bag in your path before I bumped into you?"
Rubbing his chin with his forefinger and thumb thoughtfully, Oscar ignored Cain's disgusted look, recalling something that resembled a bag that had been in his path. Yeah, he had nearly tripped over it. "Um, sort of gray?"
Technically, it was gray, but Cain's glare lifted automatically from the hope that probed through as he nodded. "Yes. Do you know where it is now?"
The man shrugged, witnessing the look of hope wash off of the younger man's face at his reply. "I saw it, but I honestly assumed that you were someone else."
Cain raised an elegant eyebrow at this, shifting between wanting to smack Oscar with his cane, or whacking him over the head with Merryweather's present repeatedly.
That's when he spotted the bag.
"Oh, great. Cat and mouse with a stranger," he thought dishearteningly, dislodging himself away from the older man immediately. He was going to retrieve that bag no matter what.
"Cain?" Oscar watched as the Count dashed away from him blindly, obviously having found what he was searching for. He pouted. Though Cain seemed to despise being bothered by his childish antics, Oscar enjoyed the teenager's presence, even if it was to pester him. Somehow, it became his mini ritual to greet the sullen looking boy with a cheery smile and a dose of affection. In his eyes, Cain probably thought he was an absolute nuisance to want to perform annoy him so badly.
He would wait, he concluded. Because even an idiot wouldn't travel on foot alone with all these murders swarming about.
~~\/\/\/\/\/\/ /\/\/\/\/\ /\/\/\/\/\/~~
Cain raced across the emptying street, feet pounding against the road heavily. The culprit had been a brunette male, like himself, turning into a nearby alley. Chances were, the man could have been a psycho, or a murderer, in fact, but somehow, he had a strong feeling that that wasn't so.
He entered the dark cavern that led away from the shops and the street, inspecting his surroundings cautiously. The bag could be heard in the background, rumbling and thumping about upon the thief's leg stubbornly. He followed the noise in full stealth, rounding a sharp corner.
And that's when his legs stopped.
The bag was before his feet, thankfully, the minion having placed it there probably. But the figure that stood no less than ten meters away from him had caused his entire body to become a rigid pulse. He looked like a beautifully sculpted, yet twisted, statue.
A tall and slender frame towered through the shadows defiantly. His white ash hair provided an air of femininity, but was dominated by his mysterious aura. Pale blue eyes, barely hidden behind a pair of thin glasses, bored through the younger man amusedly. He resembled one of those angels that Cain was so used to seeing in long ago painted portraits, sans the arrogant look in his eyes.
But this man was no angel or saint. Devil incarnate wouldn't fit him at all either.
As if sensing these thoughts, a broad, sickening grin embraced his lips slowly, eyes never budging from Cain's green orbs, speckled with gold.
"It's nice seeing you again, Cain," saying this only made the grin stretch further, as if it were a source of his sinister merriment.
Cain, who'd been silently hoping for someone to show up and snatch him away, immediately composed himself. They'd find him, right? He was just in the alley...anyone could…
He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to release himself of such thoughts. The faint melody of carolers filtered through his ears, causing a wave of calm to settle upon his chest. Even though he wasn't in the crowd, listening and basking in the joy of the Christmas spirit, he could hear the song perfectly.
"Silent night, holy night
All is calm all is bright
'Round yon virgin, Mother and Child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly, peaceeeee
Sleep in heavenly peaceee…"
A small, knowing grin etched itself upon Cain's lips. The song was oddly comforting in such a frightful situation, but he couldn't help the peacefulness that seeped through his coat, through his clothes, and rubbed itself upon his skin, which was covered with goose bumps.
He gazed up at the man, expression blank, but the smile hardly faltering.
"The pleasure is all mine, Doctor Jezebel Disareli."
"Silent night, holy night,
Shepherds quake at the sight
Glories stream from heaven afar,
Heav'nly hosts sing Alleluia
Christ the Savior is born
Christ the Savior is born."
To be continued…?
Author's Note: Once you think about it, this does seem like it takes place in an alternate universe. I won't go into why, because I think you all know. ^^; Believe that Oscar was just tossed in this fic because he amuses me, so sorry. ^^;