Chapter 8
Author's note: My, my, it's been a long month. No need to go into details, but the mun and I have had a full schedule. We're quite far behind on updates, and we apologize for the wait.
~xox~
Vincent groaned, rubbing his temples with his fingers as he leaned back in his high-backed chair in his office. The work load that day wasn't particularly heavy, but his mind was on Rachel. She was overdue, and could go into labor at any moment. Knowing that, he found it near impossible to focus on anything.
Giving up for the moment, he stood and walked over to the large window behind his desk, his hot tea in hand as he looked out at the snow starting to fall, blanketing the ground in the perfect white that reflected the sunlight in a sparkling beauty.
There was a knock at his office door. "Vincent?" Came Rachel's muffled, strained voice from the other side. "Am I disturbing you?"
"Of course not! How are you feeling? any pain?" Vincent abandoned his post and hurried to the door as his wife opened it and stepped in.
Rachel had both hands over her extended abdomen, and she was rubbing it in circular motions. A few strands of golden hair had fallen free of the piled twist she'd styled it into, and a lock fell over her eye as she looked down at her belly.
"I think perhaps we should rouse the doctor and call the Undertaker, darling. I've begun having contractions."
"Why are you so calm!" her husband cried out, taking her hands, "Why are you walking around? Hurry, we need to get you to bed! Tanaka!" He called out, frantically, but gently guiding his wife back out of his office, "Call for the Doctor and Undertaker!"
"Oh really, Vincent," sighed Rachel as the butler's hurried footsteps could be heard in the hallway. "We've gone over this with Dr. Primrose many times. This baby won't be born immediately, and I could have contractions all day long, before my labor actually starts. Please, don't hustle me off to bed immediately. The doctor said it's best for a healthy mother to be active for as long as she can, before she must be confined to the birthing bed...don't you remember?"
"...No," Vincent admitted, and then sighed, "I'm sorry, Rachel...I've just been waiting for this all week. I want to meet our child, and I want to see you safely through this."
"Dr. Primrose says I am in the best shape I could possibly be in," she soothed with a smile. "You needn't apologize; just try to stay calm for me. I'm frightened enough on my own."
She squeezed his hand and laughed unsteadily. The maid poked her head in and announced that the doctor was on his way to the office, and Rachel kissed her husband on the cheek.
"Have faith, darling. That and your strength is what I need the most."
The man flushed, "I don't see how you can be so calm about this." He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her neck tenderly, "You're about to be a mother."
She trembled a little and sucked in a sharp breath as another contraction began. "Trust me; I'm only calm on the outside. Panicking won't be good for me or the baby."
~xox~
Undertaker was up and moving before he even finished replacing the phone on its cradle. A whirlwind of black garments and silver hair, he rushed around in a chaotic manner and tried to get organized.
"Apothecary bag, medical bag, medical book," he muttered to himself, inadvertently giving an encore of his rush the night that Vincent had been shot at. A mouse squeaked as he slammed a door, and he cast a glance at its hole.
"Quiet, Swiss. This is an important night." A wide grin split his mouth, revealing the glint of ivory teeth. "A little Phantomhive is going to be born."
He double checked everything-this time remembering to pocket his keys-and he put on his hat. He turned the sign over and rushed out the door, locking it behind him.
He nearly made it out of his shop without incident, but he was so preoccupied with the impending birth that he failed to notice the patch of ice outside his shop. He went down hard, his top hat falling off his head and his luggage flying up into the air as he fell on his back.
"Ouch."
Winded, he climbed painfully to his feet and he gathered his things up. Fortunately, there was nobody nearby to see his tumble. Now limping a little, the retired Shinigami went around back to get his donkey and wagon ready.
~xox~
Vincent was pacing. He couldn't help it; he was too anxious to sit calmly as he waited for the doctor to say that the baby was ready-that Rachel's water broke. He knew his inability to sit still wasn't helping, but what else could he do? How did the men before him handle such a situation?
Undertaker arrived at the manor and Tanaka immediately escorted him into the billiard room, where poor Vincent was pacing back and forth, trying to stay out of the way and keep calm. He had a glass of port in his hand and the billiard balls lay scattered and forgotten over the table.
"The doctor ordered him out of the room when his anxiety began to upset Lady Rachel," whispered the butler in explanation. "She has not gone into full labor yet, sir."
Undertaker nodded, and he allowed the footman to take his bags. "Tell Dr. Primrose I'm here and ready to assist him, if necessary."
Tanaka bowed. "Right away, Master Undertaker."
The butler left them alone in the billiard room and Undertaker approached Vincent with a smile, putting his hands on his shoulders and halting him in his tracks. "You'll wear a groove in the floor, my dear. Take a deep breath. Your lady is doing well, and the nipper is too. Childbirth takes time."
Vincent started and looked up into the face of his lover, wondering briefly when the man had arrived. he sighed and shook his head, "I can not help it. It's been getting worse all week. 'what if its early?' 'what if its on time?' 'how late will this go?'...Undertaker, what if I don't make a good father?"
Undertaker reached out to caress his face, still smiling. "Codswallop. You'll make a fine parent, and so will the missus. First time jitters are commonplace amongst expecting parents. Right now, what you need to focus on is supporting your wife and staying as calm as possible. You're doing neither jack nor shit for yourself by worrying your head over the far future, my lord. Trust me in this."
"I keep getting sent away." Vincent frowned with a sigh. "I'm not cut out for this wait."
Undertaker put an arm around him and guided him over to the bar. "Most expecting fathers aren't, in my experience...least the ones that care enough to be nervous. I'd say your concern does your wife and child credit. You're a good husband, and you'll be a good father, too."
He took Vincent's glass from him and he refreshed his drink, before pouring himself a snifter of brandy. "Don't sulk about it. There's a reason the men go and smoke while the wives labor. Mum picks up on your anxiety, and she's got enough of her own to deal with. I'm sure when her water breaks and it's time for her to begin pushing, we can arrange for you to be there holding her hand. Until then, you're best off letting the doctor and his nurse coach her and prepare her. They'll keep her calm and the birth will go a lot smoother on mother and child, that way."
He clinked his glass against Vincent's, and he grinned. "Maybe it would make you feel better to know I nearly cracked my fool head open on my way out the door to come here. You're not alone in your excitement, my dear." He winked at him and took a swallow of brandy.
"I do wish you'd be careful, old man, I fear any more injury to your head and you'll loose your mind completely." he teased, trying out a smile before sipping his drink and letting out a sigh.
Undertaker smirked. "My old noggin's as hard as a rock. You ought to know that."
A low, feminine cry of discomfort came from further down the hall, and the mortician frowned and stopped Vincent when he started to impulsively go to his wife. "They'll send for you, when the time is right," he reminded. "Birthing pains are an unfortunate part of reproduction for women, my dear, but you must remember they are designed to endure it. If there are any complications—which I doubt there will be—Dr. Primrose will send for me to help. He's a very good doctor. Trust in him, and trust in your wife."
Contrary to his encouraging words, he drank his brandy down in one swallow and poured himself another, more nervous than he cared to admit. "Now, let's talk about something else for a while. There was another murder in the Queen's palace last week. This time, it was one of her scullery maids. Did you hear anything about it?"
He presumed that he didn't, because Vincent ordinarily shared it with him whenever he was put on an investigative assignment...but the Earl was a very distracted young man, these days.
"No, I have not received any word of such a thing." Vincent shook his head.
"As I thought," sighed the reaper.
This meant Her Majesty was slowly phasing her guard dog out, keeping him in the dark whenever possible to avoid leaking too many secrets to him. There was no telling when or why she decided that Vincent was no longer a trustworthy subject. Perhaps it was just her way to eventually rid herself of all agents, once they came to know too much...or perhaps the rising favor of the Grey house had something to do with it. It wasn't beyond the scope of imagination to imagine the Queen being influenced by someone else. Her husband was ill and she hadn't been quite herself for some time.
He considered discussing these concerns with Vincent, but he thought better of it. The Earl had enough on his plate as it was, without him adding more. He parted his lips to say something distracting to his companion; perhaps a joke...but then Tanaka came into the Billiard room with a bow.
"My lord, the Countess' water has broken," he informed, "and the doctor says she is ready to begin pushing. She requests your presence at her side."
The earl jumped up, abandoning his glass as he rushed out of the room ahead of Undertaker and his butler. Bursting into the room, he startled Rachel's lady in waiting, causing the poor girl to nearly drop the warm towels she was bringing into the room.
He rushed to his wife's side and took her hand as he half sat on the edge of the bed and kissed her knuckles.
"Hello, darling," Rachel said with a strained smile, sweat plastering her blonde hair to her forehead. She looked up as the Undertaker poked his head in and waved, and she chuckled unevenly. "And you, sir. I...ooohhh! I'm ready to...bring him into the world."
"'Him'?" asked the mortician with a smile. "You sound sure of that, milady."
Rachel nodded, sucking in a few quick breaths. "I am...now. Boys are always...trouble."
Undertaker laughed. "I'll leave you to it, then. I'll be just outside, if I'm needed."
"Thank you." She felt another contraction ripping through her and she couldn't help but bear down. She clenched her teeth and squeezed her husband's hand tightly as she followed the dictates of her body.
"That's it, Countess," encouraged Dr. Primrose. "Your body knows what must be done. Trust in your instincts."
Nodding, unable to respond verbally while bearing down, she did as encouraged. Her thighs clenched up, her stomach went hard and a moan escaped her lips. Undertaker stood respectfully outside and listened to her struggles, and he was thankful not to be a woman. Human reproduction was so complex and messy, compared to the Shinigami method of increasing their numbers. Once upon a time, he'd considered adopting a human child, just to see what it was like to be a parent and raise a youngling to adulthood. He'd trained many fledgling reapers in his day, but it wasn't the same thing. Now he was glad that he never took on that responsibility. Any child raised by him would likely require therapy before it even reached puberty.
Undertaker chuckled at the thought, but his amusement faded quickly at the sound of agony coming from within the master chamber. He winced in sympathy for the young woman as her birthing pains grew more severe, the closer she came to delivery. At least there weren't any complications, and that was a blessing. Many a poor lass died giving birth, and they didn't even have a choice whether or not to take that risk, unless they joined a convent. Women of all walks of life were expected to become mothers as soon as they were reproductively mature enough to start breeding, and those who failed or neglected to do so were looked down upon.
No, he would not want to be a human woman, in this era.
Vincent comforted his wife, trying to sooth her through the pain, but his attempts only earned his hand a sharper squeeze, causing him to yelp. But he said nothing. what was a cracked hand in comparison to what she was going through?
~xox~
Hours passed as the Countess struggled to bring her child into the world, and just when Undertaker thought they might need to intervene with surgery, he heard the doctor exclaim that the baby's head was crowning. Forgetting propriety in his excitement, the reaper went into the room to see, and to offer his support.
"Sir," said Rachel's handmaiden, "You must wait outside! It isn't proper for-"
"Let him stay," Rachel demanded breathlessly. "We want...him here...aahh!"
"You're doing well, darlin'," assured Undertaker with a grin as he checked the progress. "It won't be long now."
"Indeed, once you get the head out, the rest slips out like butter." The doctor nodded.
Vincent kissed her forehead, "Just a little more, love."
Following instructions, Rachel began to bear down with all her might. After a few more hard pushes, she felt the burn and tearing as the baby's head passed. The doctor cleared the child's airways and it let out a protesting wail. As promised, the rest followed relatively easily.
"It's a boy!" Exclaimed Dr. Primrose.
Vincent smiled, brushing Rachel's hair out of her face, "You did it, love."
The baby boy was cleaned up and wrapped in a warm blanket before passed to his mother.
"He's beautiful...Rachel..." The earl smiled wider as they looked at their son.
"Next time-you do the painful thing and I'll tell you good job," she panted, smiling down at their son. "He looks so much like you."
Undertaker leaned over the proud couple and he grinned widely, nodding. "Indeed. He might be the spitting image of Vincent when he was born, except he's got your eyes, Rachel."
The baby's dark hair shared the blue-ish highlights of his father's, and he looked around with inquisitive blue eyes. "I can see the wit in those eyes," said the mortician. "He's working things out, trying to figure out who all these strange people are around him. He'll be a crafty one, your little Ciel."
The baby's eyes snapped unsteadily to Undertaker, and his face twisted into a look of utter confusion, then wonderment when he spotted the long braid falling over the man's shoulders. with a gasp-like noise, he reached forward and after a few attempts he grabbed hold the end with his little fingers.
About to stick it in his mouth, his eyes found his mother and he grinned, giving off a giggle.
"Well, he already knows who his favorite is." Vincent smiled, tickling lightly under Ciel's chin.
Undertaker chuckled, allowing the child to gum his braid for a moment before retrieving it from his grasp. "He'll be a tenacious lad, no doubt. Congratulations, you two. You did a fine job making him."
Vincent chuckled, "He's perfect." he nodded and kissed Rachel's temple.
"Gentlemen, I'm afraid you need to clear the room for a few moments," said Dr. Primrose. "We still need to clean up the afterbirth, and the nurse will need to help Lady Phantomhive with the first feeding. All of us men hovering around will surely impede the new mother's adaptation to nursing and make her uncomfortable. You may return to spend time with your wife and new son after she's nursed him, Lord Phantomhive."
Undertaker actually blushed a little at that, though there wasn't a single part of the female body he wasn't familiar with. "Right, then. Back to the Billiard room with us for now then, my lord."
"...Right." The earl nodded and kissed his wife once more and reluctantly pulled away from his family, joining Undertaker at the door.
~xox~
After mother and son bonded, Vincent was able to have his turn holding and bonding with him. Rachel fell into an exhausted sleep and the doctor treated her and sent for a wet nurse to help out, until the Countess was strong enough to nurse Ciel exclusively. He explained to Vincent that the first feed was the most important one, and they could keep the wet nurse under their employment for as long as Rachel desired. Undertaker got to hold the baby as well, though he shied away from it at first. With Vincent's coaxing, he hesitantly took the tiny mortal in his arms, supporting his head carefully as he looked down at him. The baby took hold of his braid again and looked up at him curiously as the mortician grinned down at him, and suddenly, Undertaker was stricken by another precognitive flash. When gazing into Ciel's innocent blue eyes, he saw a vision of narrow, ruby demon eyes looking back at him from a void.
Frowning, the reaper kept it to himself. He was tired, and he couldn't be certain it wasn't just his imagination. It had only lasted for half a second, after all. He smiled again as the baby gurgled, and he rocked him a little.
"Quiet little fellow," he mused softly to the doting young father standing beside him. "I wonder how long that will last."
"Not very," predicted Dr. Primrose with a mild chuckle. He looked at Vincent. "Enjoy the quiet while you can, my lord. Babies can't help but be selfish little creatures, and your son will make that very apparent, sooner or later. Agreeing to the wet nurse while your wife recovers was a wise choice."
"He's not the only one. Poor Rachel having to put up with two greedy men." Vincent chuckled, "And of course I'll hire one, if it'll make things easier for her."
Dr. Primrose nodded. "It's a common practice amongst the noble-born, Earl. Some might think it's arrogance, but I know for a fact that social responsibilities and affairs of the state take up a lot of time and energy. I imagine Lady Rachel will only require help for the first week or so, and then she'll want to nurse him on her own. You can quote me on that, too."
Undertaker laughed. "The Countess is so stubborn that I doubt she'll go more than a couple of days with outside help, but it's a capital idea, guvnor. It'll give her time to rest and recover."
Vincent nodded, "She is a very strong woman who wouldn't want the help longer than she thinks is necessary."
"Indeed," agreed the Undertaker. "You made a smart match for yourself with her."
The reaper cast one more look at the bedroom door, his thoughts swirling with the possible meaning behind the omens he'd seen.
~xox~
A little over three months later, word came from the underworld that the assassin who had tried to poison Vincent was also the one that took a shot at him at the ball; just as Undertaker suspected. After speaking over the phone with one of his contacts, the mortician grinned.
"Thank you, Mr. Tully. I'll see to it that you're rewarded for this information...if it leads to my quarry as you say. Have a good evening."
He hung up the phone and he scooted his chair back to stand up. He currently had no clients to work on, so there was no point in waiting around to get things taken care of. He went down into the basement to make preparations and set up his tools, and then he came back up to the shop to phone his lover.
"Evening, Mr. Tanaka," he greeted when the butler answered the phone. "I'd like to speak with the lord of the house, if you please."
"Of course, sir," answered Tanaka. "I shall inform him immediately. Please hold."
Undertaker waited patiently, absently drumming his nails on the worn wood of his desk. He looked down at the surface and he sighed. How long had he had this desk, now? It was splintering; he'd had to dig one out of his palm earlier that morning. It was time to get a new one, more likely than not.
Vincent spoke into the phone and Undertaker's grin returned. "Hullo, Earl. I think I've just discovered the identity of your would-be assassin...the one who put me in my grave. He could possibly be the sniper, as well. How do you feel about tracking him down with me and demonstrating why he shouldn't have trifled with us, hmm?"
On the other end, there was the sound of a muffled shuffling, followed by the sound of Vincent's voice; "No, Ciel, Daddy needs that to talk to Uncle Undertaker-Please don't drool on the mouth piece!"
"Ghahhhh brububu!"
The shuffling happened again and Vincent spoke up, a slight laugh in his voice, "I'm sorry, Junior wanted to say hi, I guess. he's been pulling on the phone cords all week when I or Rachel are holding him while on the phone."
"Nananadoo!"
"-Anyway, you said something about the man who killed you before the phone fell from my ear?"
Undertaker had to take a moment to compose himself. Suppressing snickers of amusement, he cleared his throat and tried again. "I was saying I think one of my sources may have found the assassin that got away that night. Fancy a fox hunt with me, love?"
"Well, Someone has to make sure you don't die again." Vincent nodded, turning his head so that Ciel couldn't reach the cord of the phone again, "Besides, It'll be nice to spend time alone again as we rid ourselves of a danger to my family and those I care the most for."
"Excellent," said Undertaker with a predatory grin. "Just tell the missus we're investigating an assignment. No sense worrying her when we don't know for certain this is our bloke. I'll know if it's him when we find him...I've got his energy imprinted from that night and I saw his face. Maybe after we handle this, we can finally sit down and have that talk with her."
"Yes, She doesn't need any more—Ciel, no here, play with this—she has her hands full as it is. she takes care of Ciel more than anyone. she doesn't like the servants having him too long. I foresee him being quite the mother's boy. When did you wish to go after him? this evening or afternoon?"
"Tonight," answered the mortician. "That should give you some time to prepare and explain to Lady Rachel. Meet at my shop at dusk, and we'll have our hunt."
"Very well. I'll have Tanaka prepare my carriage after supper."
"Mmmmnah!" Ciel cooed as he played with his stuffed toy Vincent had given him.
"It'd be nice if we could make things safe for Rachel and Ciel."
"We will," promised the reaper. Upon realizing what a shallow promise it was, he revised: "or as safe as can be expected, in this situation. I look forward to hunting this blood clot down with you, Earl. Toodles."
He hung up the phone, and he wondered what had possessed him to promise safety to begin with. They were Phantomhives, and if his time working with their family had taught him anything, it was that none of them would ever truly be "safe".
~xox~
Later that evening, a carriage pulled up the street outside the reaper's shop and the driver hopped from his bench to open the door for the Earl. Wearing a rather simple brown suit with a pinkish-peach ascot, Vincent stepped down and approached the door, thanking his driver and telling him that he would call for him later should he need a ride back to the manor.
He pushed open the door, the bell over the door ringing as he entered. "Undertaker?"
"Back here, love," called the reaper's voice from behind the curtain leading to his private living quarters.
Vincent walked between the lined coffins and ducked into the back, spotting his lover quickly. He walked up behind the reaper, slipping his arms around him in greeting and popping up onto his tows to press a kiss to the back of his neck where some skin was exposed from his hair being over his shoulders, "Evening."
"Mmm, evening, my dear. That's the sort of greeting I've missed."
Undertaker stepped back and made a sweeping gesture at the table before him. Laid out on it was a plethora of weapons ranging from medieval flails, axes and dirks to more modern pistols and daggers.
"Pick your poison. I know you favor your foils, but it never hurts to have a backup. Once you choose, we can have a spot of tea before we go."
"This is...quite the arsenal," Vincent observed with surprise. The man was a reaper, he would have assumed that that gigantic scythe with the thorns and skull on it would have been enough for him. It wasn't a mortal blade, after all. It was what legions and stories of magic and lore were made of.
Vincent had his Rapier strapped to his belt already and a dagger hidden in his boot in case he found himself too close to the man who had tried to kill him and his lover. But of course Undertaker was right. It'd be good to have a back-up, and he'd left his small hand gun at home with his wife. He had started to teach her to use it if she needed and it was small enough not to hurt her when she fired it. So, he scanned over the options presented to him. Finally, he chose a gun, slightly bigger than the one he kept under his pillow, in case he had to take the man out at a distance, and he held it up before slipping it into his inner pocket of his coat.
Undertaker grinned cunningly as he watched the young noble select his weapon of choice. "Sometimes a scythe is too quick. I can force information I need by cutting just enough to release a portion of cinematic records, but it's more interesting to draw it out of them this way, my lord. The first fellow that came after you died too quickly for my tastes."
"How Sadistic of you." Vincent smiled, taking his hand, "And have you chosen your weapon if your scythe is too quick?"
Undertaker chuckled and nodded. "Indeed, I have. It's a surprise, though. You'll see what it is once we've caught our quarry and subdued him."
He leaned in for a brief kiss, and he almost wished this visit was purely for frivolous purposes.
"Lets see about that tea," Vincent hummed against his lips, "Maybe if we find him fast enough we can celebrate in private? It's...been a while."
"I'd like nothing better," agreed the reaper with a smile. "Be right back with the tea, my dear."
Vincent nodded and slipped over onto the soft black couch near the lit hearth, relaxing against it. He liked how he could ignore property around his lover and relax like he had when he was younger. Slouching in his spot rather than keeping a stiff back.
Undertaker returned with the beverages; already having prepared Vincent's the way he knew he liked it. He sat down beside him and handed the steaming cup over, before relaxing with a sigh and giving the Earl's left knee a familiar squeeze.
"This is the one we're after," he said between sips, "I'm certain of it. I hope you're prepared to do whatever is necessary, love."
"My life is the target, but not the only one in danger. Rachel, Ciel...and he even made a very direct attempt upon your own life." Vincent sipped his tea and looked up at the reaper, "I take that seriously."
Undertaker smirked. "No doubt. That alone makes you a more dangerous man than he anticipated."
He stole a brief kiss from the Earl before sipping more tea. "We'll visit his current place of employment, first. He's working at the docks as his most recent cover. Seems he likes the low profile jobs; which is smart of the chap, I must admit."
Undertaker looked at him searchingly, measuring his resolve. "I've a plan to flush him out and get my jollies at the same time, but it requires some discomfort on your part."
Vincent frowned, "What did you have in mind?" he inquired, lowering his teacup.
"Well, the bloke's probably already heard about my miraculous return from the dead by now, but rumors have been surrounding me for decades. Some folk seem to think I'm a vampire, while others whisper that I'm a witch...tee-hee!"
Undertaker coughed into his hand to control his laughter. "Anyhow, he wouldn't suspect you of being a supernatural, even if some folk say you're in a contract with the Devil. If he thinks you're dead, he's not likely to suspect you'll rise again, and it might flush him out. He'd probably be livid if he thinks you've been shanked by some other assassin, after he failed to take you himself. Now, what I need is a disguise. All you need is to get into a coffin 'till he reveals himself."
"A coffin..? You want me to play dead?" he raised his eyebrow, "And just how am I to help take him down if I'm 'dead'?" The Earl was, understandably, none too thrilled with the idea of being locked up in a cramped, dark coffin for who knew how long.
"Only long enough to take him by surprise," explained the mortician. "I've already prepared a special coffin for you; with a hole discretely drilled into either side for air. Seeing you wake from the dead might shock him enough to slow him down and subdue him before he can run."
"...I'd almost rather wear a dress and go walking the docks," Vincent muttered, picking up his teacup and sipping, "Very well. but how is he to hear tonight of my 'untimely demise'?"
Undertaker laughed. "You traipsing around in a dress on the docks; that's a sight I'd pay to see. To answer your question, my lord, I take your 'body' to the docks, disguised as a footman from your household. I tell them that you passed in the night, slain by a poison delivered by an unknown party into your food. Your body is to be sent to Belgium for the autopsy-as recommended by the dear ol' Undertaker; who has an associate there that specializes in toxicology. If this fellow is working the docks like I suspect, he'll catch wind of it and he won't be able to resist having a peek for himself."
"No offense, but you have a flawed plan. No matter what you wear you are a very recognizable man." Vincent pointed out, "Your hair, scars, eyes..."
Undertaker's teeth flashed in a grin. He waved a hand over his face, and his nails retracted as he did so. When his hand completed the pass, the face looking back at Vincent was that of a stranger's, with a completely different bone structure and smooth, unmarked skin.
"Just a little trick I've learned over the years, Earl," he explained, brushing his pale bangs aside to gaze at him with remarkably human blue eyes. "How else do you think I traverse the Underworld for additional information, without my contacts realizing who I really am?"
He held up his hand for inspection, displaying his shortened black nails. "Unfortunately, I can't alter the color of my nails, skin or hair yet. Maybe I'll never master it, but this should suffice. I can tuck my hair up underneath a top hat and wear gloves to hide my nails. Not even our 'friend' should be able to recognize my face...until I drop the illusion and it's too late."
Vincent stared at him, "I'm not sure I like that look. But I guess as long as you drop it before we come back afterwards..."
The reaper grinned again, pleased that his lover preferred his natural visage over the illusionary one; scars and all. He gave his knee another squeeze and he nodded. "This face will be gone, once it's served it's purpose. Now drink up, so we can prepare."
"You just want to fit me in one of your custom coffins." Vincent smirked, finishing off his tea.
Undertaker chuckled into his cup, but his eyes lacked the usual sparkle of humor. "Actually, I'm trying to postpone the day when I'll have to lay you in a casket for good, my love. It's all fun and games 'till it becomes a reality, and I don't want that to happen for a long, long time."
"I know." He got up and kissed the reaper, "But you do offer a custom coffin to nearly everyone you meet."
Undertaker looked up at him from beneath the curtain of his bangs. "But none of them means so much to me as yours, my dear." He didn't smile, indicating how seriously he took it.
Vincent hesitated, then bent over to press their lips together. His fingers stroked the reaper's cheek gingerly as he whispered, "Don't worry...you won't have to see me to my grave tonight—or for a long time if either of us has anything to do with it."
"Right," said the mortician, shaking himself out of the sentimental moment. "Let's get me changed and you in the coffin. This should be a night to remember."
Vincent nodded, "Very well. I assume you have a footman's uniform already, then?"
Undertaker nodded. "Indeed." He stood up and he took the Earl's cup to put it in the sink with his own for washing. "I'll just be a moment."
He left the living room, put the teacups in the kitchen sink, and went into the bedroom to change into the suit and plain top hat he'd chosen for his costume. His illusion dropped as he changed into the ensemble, and he returned to the living room for Vincent's inspection.
Now dressed in a dandy footman's uniform composed of a three-piece suit of dark blue and black, silver buttons and a silver pocket watch chained to the right vest pocket, he bowed cordially to the young lord. His long, silver hair nearly swept the floor before he straightened up again.
"Well," said the reaper as he slipped on the dark gloves. "How do I look? Of course, it will be a more complete image once I stuff my hair under the hat and put on my 'street face' again."
"Very smart." Vincent stood up and walked over, tightening Undertaker's tie slightly, "With one minor adjustment. A Phantomhive servant wouldn't support a loose tie...at least that's what my father always insisted." He smiled and looked up at him, "Do you need help with your hair, then?"
"If you like," said the reaper. He took a seat on the armchair sitting diagonal to the fireplace, and he held the hat in his lap as Vincent gathered up his flowing locks.
Giving the silver locks a small twist, Vincent gathered it upon his lover's head and took the hat, carefully placing it over the gathered rope of hair and taking the time to push any stray hairs up under the rim before stepping back, "There."
Undertaker felt around the brim and he nodded in satisfaction. "Nicely done."
He stood up and he waved a gloved hand over his face. His features blurred and shifted, again altering until they looked like a stranger's.
"Now for the fun part, my lord. Let's get your coffin loaded into the carriage I've rented and get you nice and cozy inside."
They loaded the coffin into the rented carriage, and Vincent reluctantly climbed inside with Undertaker's encouragement. The reaper climbed into the driver's seat and snapped the reins to put the vehicle into motion.
On the ride, Vincent shifted uncomfortably in the coffin. the fit was snug and he had little room to move as he lay in the dark, surrounded by the silk lining. It didn't take him long to decide that sleeping in a coffin was something he was eager to avoid as long as possible, and he had to wonder how Undertaker felt so comfortable in them himself. though his being Death itself might have a lot to do with that. He could only lay in wait for his cue to pop out of the coffin, 'back from the dead', as it would seem.
~xox~
Undertaker pulled up to the "drop off" area of the docks, and he hopped down to hitch the horses to a post. He tipped his hat to the two workers that approached, and he fought a wicked grin back when he recognized the aura I'd the younger one. He hadn't quite expected him to make an appearance so soon; this would simplify things.
"Good evening," he said in a smooth, polite voice, keeping his tone as somber as possible. "I've a body to load on the next ferry to Belgium."
The younger one frowned slightly and studied his face, leaving the reaper to wonder if he partially recognized his voice despite his deliberately altered tone. He studied the man in return covertly, keeping his gaze mildly inquisitive. "I was told this was the correct dock to bring it."
The assassin's face was as Undertaker remembered it, save for the mustache now adorning his upper lip. The older one flipped through a notebook with a frown. "I don't see an invoice for any body in here. What's the name?"
"Of the deceased?" Undertaker's brows went up with feigned surprise. "Why, it's Earl Vincent Phantomhive, sir. Don't tell me nobody called it in. The Undertaker insisted on having an associate in Belgium examine the body."
His quarry immediately stiffened, eyes going to the back of the carriage. "Impossible," he muttered.
Undertaker suppressed another grin, doing his best to appear mildly offended and bereaved. "I assure you it is not, sir. The master of house Phantomhive passed away of poisoning, just this morning. The family mortician wants a second opinion from an associate of his who specializes in toxicology, before presenting his evidence to the Yard."
He dug into a pocket and secured a pouch of coin. "In fact, I have orders to offer incentive to keep this quiet. I expected someone to have already made the shipping arrangements, but they were meant to stress the importance of being discreet. The family and the yard don't wish for word to get out about this, until the investigation is finished."
The older man took the pouch and weighed it in his hand before opening it for a look inside. "I reckon this will keep our mouths shut for a time, eh Jimmy?" He nudged his younger companion.
"Jimmy" stared at the carriage. "I'd like to see the body."
When his companion looked at him in perplexity, he shrugged. "We need to know what condition it's in for the captain of the next vessel out."
The older one shrugged. "Fair enough; better you than me, at any rate. You hop in and have a look while I go and speak with the ferryman."
Undertaker watched the older one go, before giving his prey a polite nod and opening up the back of the carriage.
"After you, sir."
He couldn't quite contain his grin as the assassin fell into the trap and climbed into the back. The reaper hopped up behind him nimbly and shut the door. He took his hat off and allowed his mask to dissolve, revealing his true face. As the man stared at him with a sort of horrified recognition, Undertaker gave the verbal signal.
"Surprise! I told you it wouldn't be so easy to escape Death."
~xox~
That was his cue. A little earlier than he had suspected, but that was it. Vincent shifted and moved to push up on the lid. It stuck. He pushed harder-still it didn't budge.
Panicking slightly, the earl attempted to heave as much of his weight he could up into the lid to jar it open.
~xox~
Undertaker was oblivious to the Earl's plight, for as soon as the assassin realized he was in a trap, he lunged for the door and plowed it open bodily. With a curse, the reaper took off after him, trusting his companion to join the chase as soon as he climbed out of the coffin.
"I'm not finished with you yet," called the Undertaker, leaping through the air and soaring an impossible distance to cover twice the ground as his quarry. He landed before the startled man, manifesting his death scythe with a wild grin. Shaking his bangs aside, he stared into the human's eyes with the promise of death in his gaze. "It's a bit different when I'm not crippled by toxins, wouldn't you agree?"
The response to his question came in the form of a pistol firing from the hidden holster beneath the assassin's coat. Undertaker grimaced as the bullet pierced his lung and exited out back with a spray of blood. "This uniform was a rental," he coughed as his quarry took off running again, yelling for help. With a muttered complaint, the reaper cloaked himself from mortal view and gave chase. He'd gotten what he wanted; the assassin saw his face and knew who was coming for him. It no longer mattered if he couldn't see what was attacking him; he knew Death itself was on his trail.
~xox~
Back in the coffin, Vincent began to panic, pushing as hard as he could on the stuck lid with the limited leverage he had, kicking the sides, and calling out; "UNDERTAKER! It's stuck! Let me out!" but of course no reply met him. He heard nothing outside his confines and it began to dawn on him that he had been left alone. "UNDERTAKER!"
~xox~
Panting, yelling for help, the assassin waved his arms at the dockworkers as he passed by. They saw nothing chasing him, and they stared in confusion as he ran by.
The panic settling over Vincent kept growing, tears pricking his eyes. He was being irrational. he knew that somewhere in his mind. Undertaker would let him out. but it was taking too long. and what if Undertaker got hurt and fell into a healing sleep again? What if they thought he was dead and he was buried alive in this coffin he was trapped in? His fear only intensified at the thoughts and he lost track of that tiny whisper of rationalization.
~xox~
Undertaker got ahead of his prey, touching down on the wooden planks and waiting with a grin on his face as the man who'd attempted to kill Vincent twice and himself once sprinted straight toward him. He braced himself for the impact and he laughed when the assassin ran flat into his chest with a startled "oof!", bouncing off of him to land on his back.
Undertaker picked him up and yanked his wrists behind his back, pinning them in place so that he could bind them with the manacles he'd brought from his basement. The young man was yelling at the top of his lungs and struggling as he was hoisted over the invisible reaper's shoulder.
To onlookers, it appeared that the assassin was hovering in mid-air. They wanted none of it. Those nearby when Undertaker began to run back toward the carriage with his burden jumped aside hastily, spooked by the sight of the kicking, screaming man gliding through the air.
Undertaker yanked open the carriage, knocked his captive out cold and searched around for his companion. "Vincent?"
"UN-DER-TAKE-R!" Vincent's muffled voice, along with a few padded thuds came from the still closed coffin.
Undertaker frowned at the coffin, wondering why in the world Vincent was still inside of it. He undid the latch and opened up the lid, his brows going up as he stared down at the gasping human. Vincent was as white as a sheet. "What are you still doing in there, love?"
Vincent sprang up, hugging the reaper tightly, trembling slightly, "It wouldn't open!" he gasped into the reaper's shoulder, his fingers gripping his jacket tighter.
Having never seen his lover like this; not even after the assassination attempts on him, Undertaker felt a moment of swift guilt. He must have forgotten about the safety lever inside the coffin, or else he'd failed to mention it to him. He so often forgot that mortals didn't appreciate coffins as he did. Waking up in one himself after his coma, realizing he'd been buried hadn't been as much fun as he would have expected. For Vincent to find himself trapped like that must have been terrifying.
"There, there. You're out, now. It's a shame our plan didn't go as intended, but at least we lured our quarry and captured him."
Someone began to knock on the carriage door, demanding to know what was going on in there. Undertaker peeled the Earl off of him and dumped the unconscious assassin into the coffin, shutting and locking it before putting on his "street face", stuffing his hair down the back of his coat and opening the door.
"There's been a mistake," he offered to the startled dock worker. He moved aside enough to reveal Vincent to view. "The earl wasn't dead after all. He awoke in his coffin, so I'll be returning him to the manor and calling on his physician to come and see him."
With that said, he slammed the door shut, leaving the man gaping in shock. Turning back to Vincent, he smiled whitely. "Well now, my lord; ought to hurry and get our friend to my shop for interrogation. How we handle it after that is up to you."
He approached him and rubbed his arms. "Are you going to be all right, love?"
Vincent nodded stiffly, "F-fine..." his voice squeaked out and he cleared his throat, regaining his demur, Though he was still quite white and shaken.
The earl let out a long sigh and sat on the coffin, resting his head back on the side of the carriage, "Remind me to say no to any future plans you have involving my getting into a coffin."
"I'll be sure to make a note of that," answered the reaper with amusement. "Sorry to put you through that, darlin'. Are you up to keeping an eye on our 'guest' while I drive us to the shop?"
Vincent nodded, "I still have my weapons, should he try anything." He sighed and took a few deep breaths, the color starting to return to his face, "That did not go according to plan..."
Undertaker smiled. "No, but it did work out in the end. I'll get us to our destination as quickly as possible. If that fellow wakes up and starts a ruckus, feel free to pop him on the noggin again."
With that said, the reaper exited the interior of the carriage and got back into the coachman's seat. He got the horses moving at a brisk pace, tearing through the streets of London as quickly as he could without running over pedestrians or attracting the attention of the police. He trusted Vincent's stoicism and ability to handle himself, but after such a fright, he didn't want to leave it to chance.
~xox~
-To be continued