III - Fever Pitch

"Hey, hey! What the—?"

Lancer seized the girl by the shoulders before she toppled forwards, then shaking her a few times back and forth with no immediate results. She weighed almost nothing, like a feather blown from glass in his hands: delicate and fragile and terribly, terribly breakable. It would have been easy to kill her yesterday, and it would be easy to kill her now. Stab her heart, break her neck, all very easy. Like Kotomine said, no one was going to miss her anyway.

Yet, seeing someone so vulnerable, he had no reason to chase her, no drive to do her harm. She lacked the natural fight or flight instinct, which in all truth Lancer needed to see displayed by both the hunters and the hunted. He rarely encountered anyone actively seeking death, and when he finally did, he found he could not fulfill that wish. He kept asking himself why.

Letting such an easy target go was a failure on his part. When he found an unsuspecting enemy Master at dusk today he decided he'd take out his frustrations on the Berserker-class Servant, only to find himself too distracted for battle, landing him in a rather painful position. He knew going back to the church would only get him in trouble with his Master, but he could hardly think about consequences at the given moment. What remained of his anger must have led him back to the girl, though regrettably she had to see him in such a sorry state. It was in many ways humiliating.

Heaving a sigh, Lancer lay the girl down on the bathroom floor and stood to leave, like he'd never even been there, his curiosity sated. She did indeed possess Magic Circuits, but it appeared that the quality and quantity were poor, nothing demanding further investigation.

He began to walk out when the girl shifted, curling up against the tremors wracking her thin body. Chilled, he figured, but that wasn't his problem. Again he turned around, only stopping when he heard her cough softly. Then it struck him: if she was sick, it may not have been her Magic Circuits that were the problem. He returned to her side and knelt down, reaching out for her face, pausing just inches away. After what he'd done, it felt like a sin to lay hands on her. Not that this would be the worst he'd done before.

His fingertips barely brushed her forehead when he detected an elevated temperature. The girl was struggling to breathe, showing feverish symptoms, cheeks flushed and warm. Every now and then her eyelids fluttered but she did not awaken.

After a brief moment of silence he slipped one arm under her knees, the other used to support her shoulders, and stood, walking out of the bathroom and towards the bedroom he spotted at the end of the hall.

The room was sparsely decorated, the walls white and bare, a twin-size Western bed in the leftmost corner accompanied by a simple wooden bureau. There was a closet with a sliding door adjacent to the curtained window which faced the entrance and allowed starlight into the space. Lancer took a sweeping glance around before he entered and placed her down on the bed, right atop the sheets and blankets. She would have to get in herself if she wanted.

With that done, he faced the hallway and considered the hole in the floor from a distance when he felt soft fingers slide delicately around his wrist.

"Don't go."

The girl was still unconscious yet her lips formed those barely audible words in startling lucidity. She rolled onto her side and pulled his hand closer, resting her forehead against the cool skin, a contented sigh escaping into the quiet. Lancer allowed himself a grim smile. She wouldn't be saying things like that if she had her eyes open.

With that idiotic look of security, Lancer wondered if, perhaps, she was just too stupid to be afraid.

Atosaki awoke with a start, eyes flashing up to the view of a darkened ceiling washed by moonlight. A confused jumble of memories swept through her head, her fever only exacerbating her delirium. For a moment she thought she was a child again and her mother or father would be home to take care of her. No, she was painfully alone in the weakness. She could not remember what led up to this moment, besides passing out in the bathroom. It seemed the better option was to curl up in bed and pull the sheets over her head.

Eventually she asked herself, how exactly did she get on top of the bed?

Pondering the question, Atosaki slowly rolled off the mattress to pull back the blankets and jump in. When she finally felt settled she looked out the window and the surrounding trees of comfort. She needed familiarity, looking around her room and knowing everything was as it should be. Physically, anyway.

However, reaching the corner of the room, Atosaki had to do a double take and realized that someone was there, watching, most certainly out of place. Feverish, she didn't register him as anything but a hallucination until he walked toward her, red irises almost glowing against the dimly-lit darkness. He hardly registered as the man who attacked her one night ago, though Atosaki wouldn't have the strength to scream even if she did realize it.

With a groan she sat forward, searched blindly around the nightstand beside her and found a full glass of water there. She picked it up once the man approached the foot of her bed and, calmly, splashed the entire cup in his face.

And then she jumped when he swore loudly, wiping at his eyes and shaking his head.

"The hell was that for?" the man demanded, like he really wanted to know.

She looked down at the cup and then at him and back at the cup.

"Uhm, needa make sure you're real," she slurred, massaging the bridge of her nose to ward off the siren call of an impending headache.

The man groaned in exasperation and got even closer, staring directly at her. She drew back from him, becoming more aware of who he was and what had transpired.

"So," she began casually, "you came crawling back here for help. Don't know what I did, but what now? Wanna take another shot at me?"

He shook his head. "It's only because you owe me."

"A-are you serious?" Atosaki frowned. "I owe you? Yeah, like I owe the freaking spear-wielding blue bodysuit assassin anything."

"No, I'm not the Assassin, but you got everything else right," the man mumbled, a half-smile on his lips, and then he crossed his arms, glancing off to the side. "Look, I didn't finish the job, so at least be a little grateful."

Atosaki's outraged expression softened. "Can I... can I ask you something?"

"Do whatever you want."

"Why?" she said quietly. "Why did you not?"

His eyes darted away from hers. "Doesn't really matter."

"...They say there was a triple homicide recently, a family, and only the youngest child survived. I don't mean to point fingers, but..."

"So you want to know if I killed them."

"Sort of," Atosaki admitted, but when he opened his mouth she stopped him. "No, don't tell me. It's okay."

The man quirked an eyebrow. "You're being awfully friendly for someone I tried to stab."

"Like you said, you didn't finish the job," replied Atosaki with a dry laugh, then turning serious. "You don't seem like a bad person in that respect. What got you into the business? Money? Pleasure? Personal vendetta?"

"Let's just say I'm under a contract. One I am obligated to uphold."

"I'm guessing there's a contractor involved too," Atosaki said, and when she looked at the man expectantly he nodded.

"You don't need to know any more than that. It all goes downhill from there."

A lapse of silence set in, and Atosaki drew her knees up to her chest and rested her head, eyes still watching the man.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"My...?"

"Y'know, even if it's a codename or whatever, I just wanna call you by something."

"Lancer," he said curtly.

She grinned. "Nice. Well, in case you don't know already, I'm Atosaki."

Lancer sighed, suddenly reaching out and touching her forehead. "There's no need for introductions. You're never going to see me again. Forget I was ever here."

Atosaki flinched at the sudden contact, unsure of what to say. She smiled sadly. "...Is that how you live? Everyone you meet... they come and go so fast. Do you get lonely?"

His hand suddenly fell away, his expression blank.

"Loneliness, huh," Lancer muttered. "Never noticed."

"Ah, I see. I was just wondering. That's good I guess, I don't like being lonely."

He turned towards the door, not looking at Atosaki. "The people you've lost are always with you, whether their memories act to haunt or comfort. I'm hoping for you it's the latter."

With that, Lancer vanished into thin air, leaving Atosaki shocked and wide-eyed.

"...Shoot, I should have asked about the magic. I can't even anymore..."

Too tired to question anything, Atosaki allowed herself to flop back down, falling asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Moving quickly across the city, Lancer tried not to think, tried to focus on the road ahead. He didn't want to think about that girl. She was the first person in this city who talked with him, at least outside of battle. Not that it was allowed, he was supposed to either kill the witness or wipe their mind, tricky and uncertain as the brainwashing rune tended to be. The things she said were so senseless too—lonely, he didn't need to worry about getting lonely. Even worse, she talked to him almost like a friend. Maybe she really was too stupid to be afraid.

What he found mildly interesting was her magic energy. Under normal circumstances it could only be held within the body, once released "evaporating" into the Greater Source unless used for a spell, but he sensed a constant flow circling around her, as if there were an invisible wall containing the output. He had utilized a rune to temporarily breach the barrier, and the flow of raw energy, without conversion to prana, transferred so much life force that it repaired his injuries, something like a healing soul transfer.

Depending on the quantity she could store and the quality of her Magic Circuits, a magus like that could potentially keep a Servant alive for the entire War without breaking a sweat. It was almost as if she generated mana like the world itself and held it in her atmosphere.

Of course, being untrained, Lancer doubted she would last too long, if she even managed to dig into her supply at all. Most magi who possessed the same abilities, if any at all, probably died early from overexertion. It would be best if he never brought it up, for her welfare.

Not that it mattered. Not that he was ever going to visit again.

Not that he found himself caring about her.