.

.

In the end, no one had won the Grail.

The fire had spread quicker than anyone had anticipated, and Waver would not have made it out alive were it not for Kiritsugu, dragging his body through the ashes and collapsing beneath the coal-black sky. The Grail, it seemed, was corrupt, and as thick drops of sulfur rain sizzled against the burning pavement, Waver couldn't help but think, how annoying, lying on his back and looking upwards, rain sliding down his dirt-smudged face like tears.

Across from him, Kiritsugu dug through the rubble, swallowed by smoke and falling on his knees. Waver turned his head, looking at the glint of a broken sword lying in the corner, and thought to himself that this was some kind of sick joke, that the universe was messing with them. It probably the stupidest thing he'd ever seen.

xXx

.

Life went on at the Clock Tower, as it always did.

Professor Archibald's office was in disarray, stacks and stacks of research strewn haphazardly in his office. His research was oblique and difficult to understand, and the other magi had given up making sense of the papers that were strewn on his desk, opting to collect the papers into boxes and heft them into storage. It wasn't until Waver volunteered to take over looking at the papers that his research was taken up again, the irony of Professor Archibald's least talented student taking over his life's work certainly not lost on him.

He kept Lancer's sword in the corner of his room, along with the precious few other items Lancer had left behind: the black medical sling, the thermos, a pair of left-handed scissors. The sword had been snapped in half by Gilgamesh, but it didn't take long for Waver to repair it. After the war, Waver had returned back to his room and was dismayed to see how little things had changed. He was hoping to see some proof of Lancer's life there, but other than the sling and the too-small shirts Waver had gotten him, it was as though Lancer was never there.

xXx

.

He visited the Mackenzies in the summer, using the summer break to catch up and help them around the house. Glen had long ago figured out that Waver wasn't really their grandson, but he didn't seem to care one way or the other, smiling and welcoming Waver back as if he were family. "Martha is planting tomatoes," Glen would say, and Waver would join them out in the backyard, sitting in the warm sunlight and hefting a basket of vegetables into the house.

He was sitting at the counter, his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, when Martha came back inside, dusting her hands off on her apron. "Waver-chan, be a dear and help me with this," Martha said, and Waver stood, dutifully lifting boxes and opening the door to the attic. With both hands hefting the box, he didn't bother turning on the light, taking the staircase to the upper floor before hefting the boxes against the wall.

There was a wedge of light that cut through an oval window above him, and in the light Waver could see motes of dust floating in the air.

"How is school going?" Martha asked, and Waver set down another box, wiping the side of his forehead with the back of his hand.

"It's okay," Waver said, and he started moving another box. "I actually took over one of my professor's research projects."

"Oh really? How nice!" Martha said, and Waver smiled.

He walked out into the livingroom, and stopped when he saw it: a small golden cross, mounted on the wall. "When did you get this?" Waver said, and Martha stepped behind him and smiled.

"Oh, we've always had it," Martha said. "I just recently found it in the attic. I thought it was time to put it out." Martha smiled.

"Waver-chan, have I ever told you about that time I saw an angel?"

"Angel?" Waver said. Martha smiled.

"Well. He might not have been an angel, but he certainly had the aura of one." Martha looked up, remembering. "I was walking up the stairs and you and Grandpa were away. My bad hip froze - I couldn't move, and there was no one there to help me."

"What happened?" Waver said. Martha smiled.

"My angel came and helped me," Martha said. "He was suddenly inside the house, even though the doors were locked, there was no way anyone could have gotten inside. I should have been frightened - he was a stranger, after all - but he was so kind, I knew he wouldn't do me any harm. He was there exactly when I needed help, and when I turned around, he was gone."

"Grandma!" Waver said. "You can't just trust weird people to help you out like that! Especially if he was in your house! What if he was a burglar?" Waver said. Martha laughed, softly.

"That's exactly what your Grandpa said," Martha said, winking. "But he was such a beautiful man. I remember, his arm was in a sling, but he was still able to carry me up the rest of the stairs."

"Wait, he had a sling?" Waver said. Martha nodded.

"Yes, a black sling. He had injured his arm. And I know what you're going to say," Martha said. "'Angels can't get injured!' But he was, and he still carried me like a princess, that day!" Martha giggled, delighted at the memory.

And Waver shook his head and laughed, because only an idiot would try to princess-carry someone with an injured arm.

.

.

.

end.