Monochrome Nights

[AU, Sebastian x Ciel] For fun, Detective Sebastian Michaels flirts with the wrong side of the law...and for some reason, the charming Earl Ciel Phantomhive finds himself flirting right back.

-

A/N: Holy moley!! 26 Reviews!! I think that's the most I've ever gotten on a single chapter...and for Kuroshitsuji too, since it's a smallish fandom just starting out, I didn't expect so many of you to read it. But thank you guys so, so much for proving me wrong with 500+ hits. I actually wasn't planning on finishing this chapter until maybe sometime next week? But wow. I love you guys, and I hope this chapter meets expectations, I had lots fun writing it!

II Chapter

Helplessly Odd

-

Ciel was griping, that much Elizabeth could tell, as she expertly maneuvered several layers of lacy skirts through the crowd, bearing a small slender glass three quarters of the way full with a pale sparkling green. The nice server had told her it was crushed mint leaves with lemonade, and it was a refreshing drink. And she was glad that she had brought it, by Ciel's expression, a refreshment was definitely what he needed--

"Lizzy." She felt his grip, cold and firm on her wrist, the one holding her skirts, "I'm leaving."

Elizabeth started, and hurried to keep up as Ciel dragged off to a corner, it took a lot not to spill lemonade from the glass. "Wait, what? Ciel, we can't just leave! We've barely even arrived!"

Ciel let go of her and ripped off his mask. "I don't care. I'm leaving anyway. My headache is getting worse."

She looked at him critically, "You just want to leave."

Ciel gave her a stern look, "I told you I had a splitting headache even before we came, Lizzy." His sigh was an irritated one as he turned away from her, "It's almost ten, anyway, and Finny's due any minute. You don't have to come with me; go back the Madame, if you wish."

Undeterred, Elizabeth pressed, because she was a well-groomed socialite of one of the most powerful families in London, her base instincts told her that she would be making a sordid mistake if she allowed the only surviving Phantomhive leave the Grande Masquerade without any fight! As if Ciel wasn't odd enough already.

"But it's going to look very strange if you leave and I didn't. Here, maybe this can make you feel better." Elizabeth handed him the glasses.

"Why do care so damn much about appearances, Elizabeth?" Her given name rolled off his tongue like a smooth blade of a knife. It made her wince, because usually when Ciel addressed her so properly, it meant that , "As far as I am concerned, I've already fulfilled my end of the bargain tenfold." Although he took the glass and tentatively sipped at it. It wasn't bad.

Elizabeth bit her lip, "Ciel--"

"Stop it, all right? I don't want to hear any excuses." Ciel rubbed his temple with one hand, "Stay and socialize, you don't do nearly enough of that, and it's going to be good for you, Lizzy, I'm tired, so I'm just going back to the villa to rest."

Her expression was a concerned one, "Are you really ill?"

Ciel shrugged, "Probably." Seeing how she wavered, he was quick to add, sealing off any argument that she could have made, "But it's nothing a proper night's rest wouldn't take care of. I'll be as good as new tomorrow."

The orchestra was tuning again, and Ciel saw that the couples were assembling on the dance floor again. There were several men sans partners lingering along the sidelines. He gave his fiancée a gentle shove.

"Go on, and don't worry about me." He managed a vague half smile, in spite of the prickling veins in his head. "...I'm sure Baron Verona would be very eager to claim you for a dance. You do look stunning." Only because he had forgotten to compliment her on her gown earlier.

It made all the difference. The concern didn't leave her eyes, but she smiled at him and kissed him chastely on the cheek before she rustled off to the dance floor, only to be swept away by one of the men, he wasn't quite sure who. And he wasn't quite sure why, but something told him that he should feel jealous, but didn't. Maybe it was just as the headache.

"Goodnight, Ciel."

--

In all honesty, the Undertaker didn't know what to make of his master's earlier order, before the doors were officially thrown open as an invitation for chaos. He had outdone himself this time, if he said so himself. Sebastian liked his mansion clean and spotless, and simple, but just for tonight, Tonight, under Sebastian's orders, the Undertaker had read Bram Stoker's Dracula six times from the front cover to the back and turned the Michaelis Manor into Dracula's castle.

Of course, the Undertaker could have easily turned it into something else, but he was indebted to Sebastian and thus, as odd as the man's whims were, the Undertaker met them. Just like fact that Sebastian Michaelis met the fact that he was odd, over and over again. And sometimes, even though the Undertaker had seen too much of many worlds to think of anything as odd...the single command that he had been given tonight was---for the lack of a more eloquent word?--odd.

"Keep an eye on young Phantomhive for me, won't you?"

The question had been asked so casually that the Undertaker had to pause, and look towards the man settled comfortably in his armchair of a throne. He didn't like it when Sebastian asked him something like that, because the Undertaker could never tell if he was serious. After all, Sebastian was an egotistic man, for the time being, and he seldom asked about other people.

"Phantomhive?" he had asked, with a raise of one brow, "You mean the boy visiting from London with his Aunt? Of all people..."

Sebastian had given him a look, and took a sip of his tea. It was customary for Sebastian to take his afternoon tea at precisely four in the after noon, and it had to be Earl Grey tea with just a hint of lime and cinnamon. The Undertaker thought he was picky about these things, but Sebastian liked to think that he was just organized and orderly, and had everything under control.

"Have I ever done something so outrageous that you wouldn't expect?"

"Well...of course, but...Phantomhive?"

"Why not Phantomhive?"

The Undertaker shrugged one bony shoulder as he refilled his master's teacup, "In all honesty? Because he's barely sixteen, and he's engaged, and he's English. And he's loyal to Holmes. The odds are heavily against you, detective."

Sebastian had smirked a catlike smirk, "But you're here with me, Undertaker."

"I'm glad you have so much faith in me, master." The Undertaker wore a thin smirk of his own.

This time, the other man said nothing.

"But it is, as my master wishes."

--So he was here now, skulking within arm's reach of the young Phantomhive, who had taken advantage of the flurry that the start of a new set of Viennese Waltzes afforded him. For someone who was so clumsy on his feet, he was really rather nimble while he was running away.

"And under no circumstances is he to leave without my knowing."

And the Undertaker had to wonder why Sebastian even bothered to ask him something like that, Sebastian knew, whether or not the Undertaker felt it was necessary to tell him or not. When on the hunt, he was as avid as any hawk, watching his prey without watching.

Phantomhive had reached the door, grasped the handle.

"I'm disappointed, Earl Phantomhive, I'd thought the English would have better manners, non?"

The Undertaker pressed himself tightly against the wall, next to a gargoyle who leered menacingly at the wide hallway. Sebastian stood there, towering over young Phantomhive with his smirk that made legions of ladies swoon—but the only slight drawback here was that young Phantomhive was no lady.

He wasn't close enough to see the earl's exact expression, but by the venomous bite that seemed too earnest for so young a voice, he guessed it wasn't pretty.

"...As far as manners go, I think the French are even more atrocious than the English, Detective Michaelis."

"And why is that, Ciel?" If anything, Sebastian sounded wholly amused. Like a cat watching a cornered rat.

"My name is Phantomhive, detective. Address me properly, if at all." Phantomhive's knuckles turned white from clutching the door handle, "I didn't think the proper host would go through so much to personally stalk their guests. I"m feeling unwell, so I'm retiring early."

"Alone?"

"Lizzy wanted to stay, and I said she could." young Phantomhive's gaze dropped to the marble tiles. Despite himself, the Undertaker smirked. "Not that it's any of your business." He hastily added, as if he had almost forgotten.

"But of course." Sebastian's voice was silky smooth, like a bowl of sweet cream. "You must be very much in love with her."

"Whether I am or not, that is also none of your business whatsoever." The boy set his chin stubbornly. "I'm going, if you'll excuse me--"

"I most certainly will not." And his master's answer made the Undertaker double over in silent laughter, clutching the gargoyle for support,

"I said I was feeling unwell--"

"And that's no excuse for you to refuse a walk with me." So saying, Sebastian unhooked his thin mask and laid it on the small porcelain end table next to the coat rack with a mountain of coats on it. "If you're suffering from a headache, I daresay fresh night air will do you good."

"I--"

Sebastian proceeded to pluck the boy's coat off the rack from him, a lovely affair of dark fur and a white wolf ruff. "Come now, it's not good for the future Lady Phantomhive to do all the socializing, you shouldn't be so dependent upon her."

"So you have been stalking me." Phantomhive grumbled, but he let Sebastian help him into the coat. "I thought you would be better than that."

"Well, I'm not." Sebastian's grin was a triumphant one. "Come on."

--

There was something wrong with all this. As far as Ciel could tell, the Grande Masquerade was the party of the year, and the streets were still because everyone in upperscale Paris was currently making merry in the Michaelis Manor, while the master of the house longed to escape from it? It made no sense, but something told Ciel that Sebastian Michaelis was a man of contradictions, no matter how many excuses he made.

But then Ciel remembered that the Michaelis Manor wasn't really on the glamorous side of town, because the sidewalks had cracks in them, and the houses they passed grew more dilapidated by the street. He saw an old beggar woman hunched over, and there was an uneven hump on her back. Her face was pallid and wrinkled in too many places, although her hands with their slender fingers told Ciel that she was still a young woman.

Unconsciously, he stepped closer to Sebastian—Detective Michaelis.

"She has children, five of them." The older man's breath tickled his ears warmly, and Ciel almost winced. "And all of them are starving, and I think one is dead."

The image of the hunchback woman surrounded by five starving children—and possibly one dead child, was a thought that filled Ciel's mouth with bile. He shivered. "That's disgusting." He sounded almost as bitter as his mouth tasted.

"Is it?"

"Of course it is."

"But she can't help it, you see." Sebastian continued, as if Ciel's answer meant nothing to him, since it probably didn't. "She used to be a rich woman, richer than I am now, but she wasted her gold and silver on her three husbands. She thought she loved them all, but they did not love her. They beat her."

Ciel looked up at him, "It is disgusting." He articulated stubbornly, shoving gloved hands into his pockets.

"But it's real, Phantomhive, it's more tangible than the stupid Masquerade I have the misfortune to host every year. This is real life, and that woman, even though she has suffered many hardships, she has seen more of the world than any baron or viscount. Is it still disgusting?"

For a moment, Ciel was shocked into silence, "...Why would you say something like that?"

"Because it's true, Phantomhive."

Ciel turned, the hobbling woman was long gone. "But I better she has never been to London."

"And it doesn't matter. Poverty there is just as real as the poverty here in Paris." Sebastian assured him. "Without all the jewels and all the fuss and feathers, Phantomhive, this is the haven that the wealthy have created for themselves, in the stead of this harsh reality which the woman embodies. The world that you live in isn't real."

"And this is?" Fresh air might have been helping his headache, but being in Sebastian Michaelis' company was refuting the cure wonderfully. Ciel could have sworn the pounding in his head just got worse.

"Who knows?"

Ciel shoved the questions away and kept his eyes on the nearest crack in the sidewalk as they continued on. He grabbed for the nearest excuse that he could find and clung to it like a protective amulet. "Well, I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised, Holmes did tell me you were hopelessly odd."

Thankfully, Sebastian said nothing else after that.

--

"Why are we going this way?" Ciel questioned, as his curiosity got better of him. They were back on Sebastian's property, but instead of just going through the front door, the other man had lead him through a complicated maze around the back of the manor, where there was a small trapdoor hidden beneath a bed of thin green moss.

"Because I'd rather not make a scene by waltzing through the front door—not that you could waltz, Phantomhive."

Ciel bit his lip and glared at him, "I resent that."

"But it's true, isn't it?"

Ciel said nothing. He watched as Sebastian bent and extracted a small key from his pocket. A sudden chill crawled up his spine. He wasn't the type to listen to rumors, but the stories that had circulated around Paris regarding Sebastian Michaelis' cellar---

"Are we going through you cellar?"

"My cellar is very clean. Don't worry."

Ciel was not convinced, "Do you keep a wolf in your cellar?" He pressed.

Sebastian just gave him a look, "Don't you know it's illegal in any European country to keep any exotic animals on private property, Phantomhive?"

"I have a hard time believing that you're an upstanding, law-abiding citizen, even if you carry a government title." Ciel crossed his arms. "I'm not going into your cellar."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, "Honestly...well, if it's any comfort to you, Pluto's somewhere in Austria, he won't be back until the end of the month."

No, it certain was not any comfort to Ciel that there was wolf on the loose somewhere in Austria, he did business there. But at least...there was no wolf waiting to maul him in the cellar. That was a little bit better.

"You go first, then."

--

As he had promised, Sebastian's cellar was indeed spotless and clean, and there was nothing in it but a few boxes of aging wine. Perhaps it was lucky that Angela had begged a holiday off of him, and since she was so fond of Pluto, he had consented, the condition being that she had to take extra precautions. Pluto was amusing enough, but things had gotten dull without him as of late (although Sebastian Michaelis was more admittedly a cat person.)

But as he had expected, Ciel Phantomhive was proving to be quite the distraction. He knew he had been right when he had thought to himself that the boy wasn't the run of the mill wealthy aristocrat...if Ciel Phantomhive could be considered that at all. He stopped to watch the boy try to shrug off his coat.

"Stop laughing at me." At last, the boy untangled himself from the complicated fastenings and glared at him.

"I'm not laughing."

The boy just glared some more.

Sebastian walked to him and settled a hand atop the boy's head, and as expected, Ciel swatted his hand away and took a few steps away from him.

"As I thought, you're endlessly entertaining, I like you, Phantomhive."

The boy stood there, as if he didn't know how to receive the new information bestowed upon him. Finally, he tipped his head, and said as proud as any noble, in a voice that bore no tremble, although the deep blues of his eyes told Sebastian that he was afraid.

"And you're still hopelessly odd, Detective."

Sebastian smiled at him, a tolerant smile, because he was a boy who didn't know any better, "Criminals are odd, you have to be a little bit odd if you wish to catch them."

"I think it's horrible."

Sebastian's lips twitched. "Of course you would." And then he turned, because he had picked up a rustle of a footstep. And indeed, right there against the wall, was a manically giggling Undertaker. He sighed.

"If you insist on eavesdropping, you might as well make yourself useful and bring us some refreshments. You will find us in the small sitting room next to my study."

Still giggling, the Undertaker went.

The boy, who wore a frown while watching the scene, crossed his arms, "I don't want refreshments."

"You shall have some anyway." Sebastian said with a dismissive wave, "Really, try not to be such a disagreeable guest, I'm trying my best."

"I'm hardly a guest." Ciel grumbled, as he picked at the white ruff on his coat, "It's more like you holding me hostage, Detective."