Author's Note(s): Eh?! Gomen ne! Didn't mean for this to take so long, but I am a very slow person when it comes to writing. So, please excuse the lateness na? Etto, excuse the ooc-ness of Riff (and possibly Oscar) as well. It's been a minute since I've read the manga so…and if this installment looks screwy, it's because my friend/beta is on a very long vacation. ^^; So yeah. I'm in dire need for a beta at the moment. x.x; Criticism? Yes, very much needed.

Disclaimer: Hakushaku/Count Cain/Earl Cain does not belong to me, but to Yuki Kaori-san.

Fateful Night

"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."

"Riff, I do believe that these cookies are done."

Riff gazed up from the sugar dough he had been kneading, giving the oven a contemplative look. "But Miss Merryweather, we just put that batch in less than five minutes ago."

Merryweather Hargreaves stepped away from the oven, a tiny frown on her angelic face. Riff noticed the faint yet distinct similarities the young girl and her eldest and only brother possessed, which notably ceased all doubts about whether the girl was a Hargreaves or not.

He looked down at the dough; an irrepressible gloom snaked stealthily into him.

His master's presence had been missing since noon, the time when he had suggested that he tend to Merryweather and her needs for the day. Riff had complied with ease, not noticing anything out of the abnormal on his lord's face. When he returned home however, Cain was nowhere to be found. He was just about to dial the Count's uncle when a familiar face popped into the kitchen and reassured him that he would find the missing Earl. Riff had only nodded and attempted to join Oscar in his search, but the man had made it quite clear that he should remain at the mansion until they returned.

Hadn't that been nearly three hours ago? Riff's mind was slowly dawdling towards the worse.

"Riff? Hey! Riff!"

He blinked sky blue eyes slightly glossy from tuning his surroundings out. He resembled a deer in headlights, just barely able to decipher the blinding glare ahead of him.

Merryweather's eyebrows were knit in concern, having seen such an expression for the fourth time that evening. She wavered between wanting to confront the valet about his tedious thoughts and slapping some sense into him. Of course she knew that he was worried about her brother, but she was also well aware of her brother's strength, and how well he could escape any situation. They were child-like thoughts, but she was a child after all.

She glared down at Riff's hands, half expecting his gaze to follow hers. Debating over what to do was out of the question now, so she decided to question him. "What's wrong?"

Riff followed the blue-eyed girl's gaze, feeling a gush of heat stinging his cheeks. He had unconsciously dug both of his hands into the slick dough, concealing them out of sight. Carefully, he slipped them out, rubbing the sleek substance on his apron. It seemed like such a mechanical gesture, as if he had stuck his hands in dough many times before.

"I'm sorry Miss Merryweather, but my mind's a bit preoccupied at the moment."

"I'll say," she remarked quietly, noting the somber timbre in the man's tone. There wasn't an air of finality in his confession, so she continued to prod while confirming the obvious. "Are you worried about my brother?"

A tiny sad smile fleeted onto the butler's lips. Though it was such a miniscule gesture, Merryweather could tell that it was taking all of Riff's sanity not to abandon her and take off into the night for Cain.

"Yes, I am."

She smiled knowingly, perking up a bit. Next question. "Riff, do you like my brother?"

Riff blinked once again, surprised at such an inquiry. "Why, of course. I've known my master since he was twelve years old, and I've sworn my life to him. So I…I…"

Merryweather cocked a finely done eyebrow. Well now, that wasn't the answer she was looking for. Sometimes she wondered if the gift of being vaguely blunt originated from women. If so, there was no debate on which gender overruled the other.

She placed her elbows on the table, then cupped her cheeks with her small hands. She was going to pose the question once more. "No, do you like my brother?" She placed a heavy emphasis on the word like, making sure he wouldn't dodge her question again.

What wasn't expected was a physical response from the devoted attendant, for his entire face was the color of a ripe tomato. That and his eyes were downcast.

"Miss Merryweather…I…that is…"

Unfortunately for Riff, the younger Hargreaves prodded further. "Yes, Riff?"

For some reason, Riff found his fractured dough to be much more interesting than the occurring conversation at the moment. So he chose to stare down at it, hoping that the question would fly away, like one of those pesky gnats.

"Riff?"

Oh God.

"Riff? Sir Oscar is in the living quarters and he wishes to speak with you."

He turned around, finding a slightly older servant maiden standing by the doorframe. She was stocky and had a walk to match her physical demeanor. Small ringlets of blonde protruded out of her tight bun, giving her hair an overall neatly mussed style.

Riff emerged from his chair, thanked the woman with a nod, and walked past her.

Wait, she didn't mention Master Cain being with him, Riff's eyebrows furrowed greatly at this. He could practically feel the lump of panic forming in his throat right now.

Entering the living quarters with a forced casual grace, Riff caught sight of the reddish blonde, who was standing before a portrait, examining its contents closely. Riff recognized the painting with relative ease. It was a gift to the Hargreaves' many decades ago from another family, the Gustovs. Cain had once explained to him who the distinguished gentleman was in the framed portrait, but the cocky youth had thrown a vulgar comment into the lesson, immediately derailing his attentiveness into astonishment.

Cain…

"Sir Oscar?"

Oscar whirled on his heel slowly, as if he possessed all the time in the world. His eyes were dull and glossy from being in the snow and its blistering winds. His face was blotched with red spots from where the damp yet threatening breeze had slapped and whipped his skin. Nevertheless, he flashed a warm smile, studying Cain's butler with cool, calculating eyes.

"Nice apron there."

Riff looked down at the kitchen garment embarrassingly. It was a simple black apron, adorned with white lace. Merryweather had chosen it for him, saying adoringly how the lacy ruffles made him seem even more masculine than before. Naturally, he didn't buy such a horrid coax, but her big baby blue eyes had pleaded with him to at least wear it in the kitchen.

He sighed, returning his attention to Oscar, who wore a friendly but all too knowing grin. Any other day, Riff would've mirrored the younger man, but not today. His infinite amount of patience was most certainly dwindling down by the minute, striking his adrenaline maddeningly.

Riff licked his full lips nervously, approaching the sofa that almost divided the room into a nice half. "So? Did you find him? Why isn't he here with you?"

It was now Oscar's turn to blink. The valet's tone evolved from being neutrally gentle to sorrowful and panicky. Though he didn't know anything about Riff, Oscar knew and witnessed enough to know that the man cared for Cain almost deeply. Riff was the count's mother, father, brother, and caretaker all wrapped into one that was most certain. And…and possibly…something more?

Oscar smiled bitterly, torn between giving the man a full out lie and telling him the truth. The latter, thankfully, won.

"Yes, I found him."

Riff looked somewhat relieved at this, but persisted. "Where is he now? Why didn't he accompany you?"

Unfortunately, Oscar didn't have an answer for either question. Well, there was one obvious reason (Cain was too peeved with him to ride in the same carriage with him), but it was irrelevant, and would probably set Riff completely off. Providing him with the truth that Cain had ran away from him to retrieve a bag and never returned, oh yeah, that would probably keep Riff cooled down. Yeah, right.

However, the truth prevailed once again, and he began to supply what had happened hesitantly.

"I ran into Cain, yes. At first I didn't know it was him, but I guess it was the cane that sort of tipped me off while he was walking. Anyway, he had just walked out of some antique shop and I followed him for a bit," he chuckled uneasily, "you know how Cain is; he can easily suspect that someone's following him and all that. So, um…he stopped for a few seconds, accidentally left a bag behind, and continued for home. I guess he realized that his hand felt quite empty, so he whirled around and bumped into me."

Riff stared at him blankly. His left hand was clutching the arm of the plush cream sofa.

Oscar swallowed hard, but continued. "We conversed," now that was a damn lie. He could even spot a ghost of a frown on Riff's face before the man could restrain himself. "But I guess he spotted what he was looking for, because he took off."

After the non-plush explanation, there was a chilling silence that filtered through the room. Its icy fingertips nipped at Oscar viciously, causing him to rub his neck uncomfortably. It felt like the wind from outside had seeped through a crack and sickened the once homely atmosphere with a wintry spell.

"Where is he?" Riff demanded in an icy tone, leaving no room for more explanations.

Oscar groped his throat feverishly; the inexplicable force of the voice had claimed his voice captive. He ran his tongue in his mouth, swabbing the insides for saliva to assist the remains of his vocal cords. Somehow, his mouth felt parched like a dry desert, while his tongue throbbed lightly.

In one swift motion, Riff made his way around the couch, closing the distance between them. Oscar could only watch in slight amazement at the servant's feline grace. However, such a movement was usually used in stealth for one's prey.

And Riff looked painfully calm for someone who was supposedly upset.

Riff, who was at least an inch taller than Oscar, seemed to loom over the other man dangerously. His eyes were slit into tiny venomous openings, giving him a cold, menacing look.

"I certainly hope you did not abandon Master Cain, Sir Oscar."

His words were sharp and poisonous, slicing through his membrane with a quick and simple squelch. He could tell whatever remained of his vital organs was now reduced to splotches of jelly, slowly deteriorating from the venom that Riff had properly secured in every syllable of his sentence.

Oscar shook his head eagerly, resembling a small helpless child. "N-n-no! When Cain ducked into an alley and stayed there far too long for my comfort, I rushed to his aid, but he wasn't there!"

Riff's placid expression began to tense slightly, his eyebrow quirking upward suspiciously. "An alley? You didn't mention that before sir."

Another nervous chuckle escaped past Oscar's lips. "I…uh…see…what had happened…"

The butler tore his face away from the man's weary look quickly, blindly charging his way towards the door. He could feel his heart racing through his throat; the ba-thump ba-dump beat vibrating hard and rhythmically.

"Riff! You just can't storm out there all alone! You've heard about all those murd--"

Riff turned on his heel sharply, instantly cutting Oscar off. Though his internal organs felt like they were going to combust from the heavy pounding of this heart, his outer appearance portrayed a man that was fully capable of wrecking havoc upon anyone that dared cross his path.

"Sir Oscar," he began in a venomous tone of voice, still maintaining his well-implanted manners, "I'm sorry, but if one conjures a promise to another, they must be able to fulfill that promise when the time comes."

Oscar's features were delved in confusion at the statement that had been tossed his way. He couldn't help but scrutinize Riff closely with his chocolate brown eyes. Of course, He was hoping for some kind of clarity.

"Riff…"

The manservant hurried for the Victorian chamber doors silently, reaching for the brass door latch…

…that began to twist open right before his fingertips.

The two men watched as the door slowly crept open, the dark figure revealing himself inch by inch. The agonizingly slow pace caused them to take an involuntary step forward.

Unknowingly, Riff found himself staring down at a pair orbs that were hideously familiar. The cat-eyed green irises sprinkled with specs of gold peered back at him, a haunting darkness seething through the unique, gleaming eyes.

Then there was that smile. That chillingly arrogant grin that knew and hid all in a mental vault chained with a child-like smugness. Only this time, that usual gesture of upturned lips, was now masked with a raw, sadistic bitterness. Even as the eyes continued to hold on to Riff's gaze his expression remained unchanged.

The swell of terror that had once possessed Riff's throat was beginning to grow bigger and thicker at the obscurity of the teenager's face. He seemed even more fragile than before, which alerted the valet immensely.

He licked his lips again, preparing to bombard the count with an array of questions of his whereabouts, of concerns, of…of…

Do you know how worried you've made me? Do you know I've been waiting for your return for almost twelve hours now? Do you know that a little 10-year-old has surmised my feelings for you in a complete nutshell?

Riff swallowed hard, unable to voice his thoughts at the moment. The only thing he could manage, was the name of his master who stood before him rigidly.

"Master Cain…"

The boy's lips curved even further across his face. His head tilted to the side almost merrily as he stared at the ghostly colored haired man. Then he began to move those crimson stained lips; a whispery hoarse voice tumbled out carelessly.

"Il pleut, Il pleut, Il fait beau."

Riff didn't have time to ponder or question this before Cain himself tumbled into his arms, lifelessly.

To be continued…

Author's Note: Okay, there's a reason for the little French part, but if I disclose the reason behind it, it'll just spoil you. ^^; However, it's supposed to mean: "It rains, it rains, the weather is nice." (Cain speaks French? Hrm…) Maybe the final installment will explain why it's in here, maybe it won't. ^.~