Chapter Eight

Language of the Soul

Kiritsugu was fighting the strongest urge yet that he'd had for a cigarette since coming to the Einzberns' castle and running out of his preferred brand. But now that Irisviel was pregnant, he'd resolved to quit altogether for her and the baby's sake. Not that Irisviel had been a big fan of his smoking habit to begin with, but he wasn't about to complicate matters more.

Still, he couldn't help the itch for one as he stood at the window just outside of the very same alchemy workshop where Irisviel had been created. He brooded over the permanently frozen scene outside with a heavy frown, fighting against not only his desperation for a cigarette, but also many a word he would have like to have said to Jubstacheit, yet could not if he still wanted to protect his role in the coming Grail War.

So, left alone with such frustration eating at him, he waited, chewing on a thumbnail while Acht was in that chamber with Irisviel, performing his ridiculous adjustments on the fetus growing inside her. At its most basic, Kiritsugu was aware that, among many other things, the Einzbern patriarch was ensuring the sex of the child would be female, to fit the homunculus mold based on the belief that female bodies were best suited to be vessels for the Holy Grail because in terms of biology they were naturally occurring vessels for life itself, which was the reason a being like Irisviel had been gifted with a working womb in the first place. But then there were other things Acht would do, on a daily basis, to ensure the birth of a child that would be unlike any other.

It was entirely unfair, dooming that child's life from the start. Not that the fact that life was unfair was any news to Kiritsugu, but considering it from the perspective of the unborn, it was almost as if the world deliberately tricked any child that came into it that it was a miracle to be born until they come to grips with the hand they were dealt. In his travels, Kiritsugu had seen many people with his dark, cold, sad eyes, children being no exception. Some he had observed in heights of great happiness, blissfully ignorant about the suffering of the world, and others he had seen in the very thick of that same suffering, staring back at him with expressions as equally empty as his had been. No matter what though, any child that circumstance had forced him to kill had looked up at him with anything from an expression of the world having betrayed them to an expression of naive curiosity, right before he would pull the trigger.

Such musings inspired second thoughts concerning Irisviel's having this child, aside from what Jubstacheit wanted out of it. How on earth could he even begin to consider his calling himself a father when he had the blood even of children on his hands, the blood of his father?

But just as this new darkness threatened to swallow him like all the darknesses before, the door to the workshop opened and Irisviel appeared, looking a little paler than usual, but happy as she caressed the flat of her stomach with her hand. She had a reflective expression, a soft smile touching her lips, as though she were imagining the very tiny life already growing within, even as just a cluster of alchemically altered, dividing cells. And then she discovered Kiritsugu standing vigil there, waiting for her, and her smile brightened to its fullest, as though she were illuminated from within by pure happiness at seeing him.

And then she said, very demurely, "I told you didn't have to come if you didn't want to."

Kiritsugu shook his head. "I know. But why wouldn't I come? I'm your husband. That's all there is to it."

"I know you're still furious about all of this though."

"But my refusing to acknowledge it won't change anything. And besides, it's enough now to see that when you come out, you'll have a smile on your face."

"Ah…."

Kiritsugu closed the gap between them as Irisviel shut the workshop door. He offered his hand to her and she took it, and the two of them walked down the hall together, making for the library.

"How was it?" he asked her in a sober undertone.

"It was fine," Irisviel assured him, but something changed in that lovely smile of hers when she said this.

"Iri…."

"Really, I'm not trying to be brave or anything. If you want to know the truth of it, it's really boring. We don't speak, Grandpapa's too caught up in his alchemic incantations, and I just sit there while he pokes and prods at me. Ever since you and I started discussing things like emotional relationships between parents and children, I've really thought a lot about why is it Grandpapa always has me refer to him as such, aside from our…unconventional genetic ties to each other. I've made an attempt or two to build on that, but…it's clear that Grandpapa has no more affection for me than that of an artist who fawns over his own work. There is a kind of love to be sure, but it's rather selfish. He praises me because I am proof of his genius."

I could have told you that, Kiritsugu thought, but he couldn't help a small, secret smile of pride that Irisviel, in the end, had come to this conclusion on her own.

Irisviel went on. "It's nothing I can't handle, but the process itself is so tedious. But then I feel a little guilty about it because this concerns the child you and I are having, that's beginning to grow inside me. On the other hand, I feel much happier about it now I'm with you again."

The loveliness of her smile regained its normalcy, easy and true, and evidence of the woman Kiritsugu loved, her soul.

Which unfortunately brought up another cause of anxiety for him: homunculi, by definition, were self-functioning humanoids that were soulless, because they were man-made, rather than born. At the same time though, Irisviel had grown into something so much more than that, just because of all that Kiritsugu was teaching her, he desperately wanted to believe that in this way, she had in fact gained a soul, something his own soul could follow when—

"Kiritsugu?"

Irisviel peered at him with a mixture of concern and confusion for his suddenly withdrawn attitude, the way his walking pace had slowed compared to hers, to the point that she was tugging him behind her.

Kiritsugu looked at her, and he battled between feeling lost and feeling certain of himself. Heaving a sigh, he resumed his pace with her. "I think perhaps…today…we might begin a discussion on human souls."

"'Human souls'?"

"Yes. To start, how much do you yourself know about them? I would imagine that an alchemist like Acht would have mentioned something about them to you, even in passing."

"He did mention them, but only in passing."

"Hmmm. Maybe he thought you didn't need to concern yourself with them."

"Well he said that I couldn't possibly ever have one."

"Eh?"

Irisviel shook back her hair in that particular way she'd developed for when she was about to take advantage of the opportunity of teaching something to Kiritsugu, rather than it being the usual other way around. "Well, being a mage—if an unconventional one—you are familiar with the concept of 'origins', yes?"

"I—Yes."

Kiritsugu still wasn't sure if he would ever share with Irisviel the magical aspect of his decidedly non-magical weapons, like the nature of the "origin rounds" Natalia had made for him so long ago out of a powdering of his own ribs—one of the reasons that in his youth he had felt a mixture of both love and fear for the woman he'd looked up to as his mother as well as mentor.

Meanwhile, Irisviel was saying, "Then you know that to have an origin means to have a soul that sprang forth from it in the beginning, and that that forms the basis for their essence as a person as they are born and reborn over the years—born in the…traditional sense." She fixed Kiritsugu with an ethereal look in her crimson eyes. "I was not born in the traditional sense, so there was no possibility of my springing forth from any kind of origin. Souls are built over time from many years of rebirth, but I began as an empty shell with nothing but pure logic and instinct to guide me. I have sprung from no origin, and I have not spent centuries of rebirth developing any kind of soul as a result."

At such an explanation, Kiritsugu was overcome with anger touching him like frostbite. "Kuso," he muttered under his breath, at which Irisviel blinked, regaining her childlike awe at his habit of throwing out a swearword now and then—though since marrying her, Kiritsugu had been doing his best to reign that habit in.

"What is it?"

"I don't believe that."

"But…Grandpapa said—"

"It's bullshit," Kiritsugu hissed.

Irisviel withdrew her hand from him, and this time it was she who stopped walking. "Kiritsugu." While she still wasn't very familiar with Japanese swears, in her native tongue of German she could pick them out with relative ease, especially when it came to the accompanying tone of voice.

Kiritsugu gave an exasperated sigh, stopping too, tipping his head back and raising his eyes to the vaulted hall ceiling. "I'm sorry, Iri. I do know about origins, and I've used such power to my advantage in the past. But I can't believe…after you…that that's all there is…to gain a soul. Saying someone like you can never possibly possess one…." He shook his head. "It's bullshit."

"Kiritsugu—"

"Nonsense then."

"But—"

"It's true, you haven't developed a soul in the traditional way—through generations of rebirth—but you've evolved…in your own way."

Kiritsugu at last fixed his eyes with Irisviel's wide ones, and when he did, he saw in her a spark of something that might have been hope.

Did the fact that Irisviel had been given the impression that she would never possess a soul, now that she'd learned of emotions, lure her into a secret despair?

When her husband considered this, he had no choice but to very contritely turn gentle, as he always did with her in the end. Apologetically, and with rare timidity, he offered her his hand again.

"Here. I'll show you."

Irisviel considered him, but she only had to think about it for a moment. She too became gentle again, and accepted his hand, forgiving him his anger, as she always did and always would.

Up in the library, he went over books of philosophy and theology and stories and poetry that all had their own interpretations of the soul, and how they all seemed to be pointing to a truth that the soul existed, but had different ways of expressing that truth. It would become one of the more engrossing discussions of theirs in Kiritsugu's recollections, but that was really saying something since every discussion the two of them had and would have would, to him, be something worth recollecting.

They began with the philosophy and theology texts first to provide a basis for study, or at least all of what the Einzberns had available in the library, but that was an impressive amount, to say the least. As for poetry, that was no less so. In addition to the plethora of Japanese poetry that Kiritsugu had (admittedly) been surprised to discover, there was of course many Western classics, though not all of them were of Anglo-Saxon or Germanic, or even Latin or Greek in origin: there were some notable Spanish works as well, among others.

Kiritsugu passed his hand over one of these and opened to a chapter dedicated to poetry out of South America. He came across the name of a very famous Chilean poet by the name of Pablo Neruda.

"This man here," he said, tapping the name on the page, "says that 'laughter is the language of the soul'. When you developed your own sense of humor, learned how to laugh and what that meant, to me, that alone would be proof enough that you've gained a soul of your own."

"'Laughter is the language of the soul…'" Irisviel mused aloud. "Yes, that does make sense. After all, from the footage you've brought me of wild animals, not a one of them ever did anything like laugh. Well, the hyenas did, but you said that was just coincidentally the sound they made, that to humans it resembles laughter, but it has nothing to do with anything being found humorous, so it doesn't count."

Kiritsugu contemplated her as she read over one of Neruda's poems. "But yours…it's sincere."

Irisviel looked up at him and smiled, and while Kiritsugu sensed that in that smile she had found some respite in what he was telling her, there was a perceptiveness to it that he had to question.

"What is it?"

"Kiritsugu…are you…trying to reassure yourself as well?"

"I—" Kiritsugu swallowed, feeling as caught off-guard as the day Irisviel had first brought up the subject of love.

Why did she have to be able to see things so clearly, as if she had known who he was from the very start? Even as he knew that this was part of what it meant to love someone, to share a life with them by sharing with each other what each possessed in the depths of their hearts, he was very much guarded about it. Irisviel had certainly managed to get in far deeper than anyone else ever had, but ironically that just made it more difficult.

But then all at once she was able to read his silence for what it was, and said, very quietly, "I admit, when I realized I loved you…this did cross my mind…but now…I want to believe that you really have given me soul…and…."

There was no need to elaborate, to belabor the fact that deep inside Kiritsugu had begun to acknowledge that he did in fact fear the possibility that after all he would go through, even after the dim hope of reclaiming their future child's life, that not even in his own death would he ever be able to find Irisviel again. It was enough that her words and their implication moved Kiritsugu beyond anything he ever could have imagined, since for the longest time he'd utterly abandoned the idea of letting his heart grow so vulnerable again. But it was past being too late to prevent that anymore. Still, even as he felt that sensation of a blade running him through, for the first time since the day he sunk Natalia, if not before then, he felt too the threat of tears, and it was all he could do to hold them back so Irisviel wouldn't see.

No. No matter what, that was the one thing she could not see. He could not afford for her to see, nor could he afford to let it happen. Between them, her tears were the only tears he would permit to be shed.

That didn't mean though that he didn't find solace when she reached across the table and took his hand in hers. He clung to that hand, and went on reflecting the smile she was giving him, revealing nothing of the struggle within himself not to break.

And though Irisviel's smile was so full of pride and joy in herself, it was possible that she sensed that even when her husband was happy he was still in pain—which was entirely true for Kiritsugu, unfortunately. His life had taught him, among other things, that he would always have to be prepared to mourn those he grew close to despite his efforts not to, because it always seemed that in the end, he would lose them. With Irisviel, he had been more than certain of that from the start.

Yet she had convinced him to take a chance, because she wanted to give him a child, a future of his own that he could live for. And, truth be told, he had been foolishly too far gone in love with her to go on denying it in the end, too desperate for a reprieve from his own painful loneliness.

Something in Irisviel though spoke so deeply to him as he was indeed reminded as the two of them retired to their room later that evening, the darkness of the snowy night almost taunting Kiritsugu from the window.

"Kiritsugu?"

Irisviel crossed the room from her vanity, where she'd finished brushing out her long silver hair, swathed in a silken nightgown that was much like the gold and white gown she wore by day. The silk itself was a delicate ivory color, and something else Kiritsugu had picked out for his wife as a kind of wedding present.

She was so soft...and so lovely...and it hurt him, not out of anything contrived—like a horribly written paperback romance—but because he wanted to be nothing but kind to her and make her happy, and yet, one day—

"You're still troubled," Irisviel observed matter-of-factly.

"Yes." Kiritsugu's voice came out in a whispered rasp. It was all he could manage.

And when Irisviel urged him with, "Tell me," he shook his head, insisting there was nothing more he had to say. She heaved a sigh that expressed a sense of defeat in her as he at last undid the buttons on the suit jacket he went on wearing even as he maintained temporary leave from his assassination work.

When he slid his shirt off next, it revealed his lean, bare back, at which point it appeared Irisviel found it in herself to ask about the oddly incomplete Magic Crest etched into it.

"I noticed before, but…right now I thought I could bring it up," she said.

At this, Kiritsugu couldn't help a reminiscing smile as he recalled the reason why asking about his Crest when she had seen it before hadn't exactly been good timing.

"It was from my father, Norikata," he explained. "But Natalia, in her bid to—in a way—adopt me, was only able—through supplications to the Mage's Association—to get part of it transferred to me. That's why it's incomplete." He still didn't go into anything further, like the existence and nature of his origin rounds.

Irisviel was now up on the mattress of their bed with her legs tucked underneath her, granting him breathing space. "I see."

Kiritsugu looked around and found her tracing circular patterns in the comforter with her finger.

"Do you…ever…miss him?" she asked him.

"Who? My father?"

"Yes."

"Hm. Well, I haven't really thought about him in a while but…. You know, I don't know. I don't even know…if I really miss Natalia anymore. I mean…I suppose at least, in her case, I sometimes catch myself finding things I wish I could tell her—and then there are the things I've wished I could tell her from the moment I felled her plane but…." Kiritsugu gave a sad, humorless laugh. "Maybe that's why I still wear this damn thing." He pensively stroked the black fabric of his suit jacket.

"Because you're subconsciously grieving?" Irisviel asked him pointe blank.

Kiritsugu dared to meet her crimson gaze, and the look she gave him was that sage one of hers that seemed particular to Einzbern homunculi.

No. Irisviel was her own person. She had to be. Because if she wasn't—

"Iri…."

Kiritsugu reached for his wife, feeling the inside of his stomach churning painfully with sensations of a building anxiety inside of him. And Irisviel heeded his summons and slid into the embrace he desired so desperately from her.

"Hold me as tight as you can," he murmured into her shoulder. "I don't even care if you squeeze too hard, if you hurt me. I just…need to feel you holding me as tight as possible."

"Okay." Irisviel sounded a little taken aback, but also still very understanding somehow.

So she hugged him very tight, so tight that he could feel his heart knocking against hers, and he clutched her all the tighter for it himself. And then he just concentrated on breathing in and out, her iris scent, walking the razor's edge of maintaining his sanity.

In his dreams that followed him in sleep, there arose a clear image of a girl he once knew, sparkling like the warm seawater, her skin browned to golden by the sun, her white dress hugging the curves of her body in a way that Kiritsugu had just been beginning to notice.

She laughed and waved at him from the beach.

Kiritsugu waved back. "Shirley!"

"Hey there, Kerry!" She gave him a playful nudge in the shoulder with her knuckles and then laughed and pointed at him, teasing. "Ah-ah, you flinched."

"Yeah, you got me." Kiritsugu rubbed his shoulder with boyish embarrassment, keener on admitting defeat than admitting that the real reason he'd flinched was because of the pleasant spark he'd felt at her lightning-quick touch.

"Well, I'll let it go this time." Shirley shook her ponytail superiorly. "I don't want to spoil your seeing such an awesome view. I always love the sea at sunset, you know? It's like it's bathed in glittering gold."

"Eh?" Kiritsugu tilted his head to one side. He'd never seen such a poetic side to her. She was definitely spritely and energetic and enthusiastic, and had an active imagination that fed off the legends of Arimago Island, but he'd never heard her wax lyrical about anything—except his father's work maybe.

And then she turned to him, her face so full of eagerness. "Tell me, Kerry: what kind of man do you want to grow up to be?"

"I…."

He hadn't been able to tell her then, and he still couldn't now. But when he didn't answer, her mood shifted to something very dark and very much unlike her. Now she outright glared at him as she demanded he give her a straight answer. Her eyes turned to vampiric red as she turned on him, and he soon realized that her face and her white dress were covered in blood.

"Why didn't you kill me, Kerry?" she growled. "It would have been so easy, but you were a weak, scared, little boy who couldn't act when he needed to…."

Kiritsugu, backed into a tree and trembling, felt like that frightened little boy again as he squeaked, "Sh-Shirley…."

"Kiritsugu."

Kiritsugu turned and came face to face with his father, who he hadn't realized until now had always possessed a certain emptiness in his eyes.

And I…inherited those eyes….

"Dad…" Kiritsugu croaked.

And then he found himself drowning in a sea of faces, all people he had killed, reaching out to him and begging to know why he wasn't able to save them, why they had had to be the ones to suffer death at his hands, regardless of their moral grounding in life?

And then Shirley, twisted into something demonic beyond the person she had truly been, shrieked, "Who died and made you God?!" before she managed to be the first among the crowd of the abandoned and the murdered to grab a hold of him and wrap her hands around his throat, pressing, harder and harder, down on his neck—

"Shir…ley…."

Even as Kiritsugu accepted that he deserved this onslaught, his survival instincts kicked in and he clawed at those hands he had once loved to release him as his windpipe grew smaller and smaller, all of those sad eyes watching him die as pitilessly as he had regarded them when he'd killed them—men, women, children—he had told them all with his eyes that their lives were worth nothing when compared to the larger picture, that no one life was worth saving, only the quantity mattered, because that was the only path that could be possible in such a sick world—

Still, he couldn't help gasping, "Please," as the last of the air in his lungs escaped him, no longer able to breathe—

He came awake, the dream falling away like a shattering of glass, and air flooded his lungs so violently—at least that's what it felt like after believing that he had been unable to draw breath—that he coughed harshly on it, leaping up into a sitting position, still clawing at his throat with his hands as he had in the dream.

He was shaking and covered in sweat, the bedroom dark and the light from the fireplace low from the dying embers. Still he coughed as he dragged more precious air into his lungs, but as reality fell back into place he let his hands relax, instead passing them over his chest to feel the pounding of his heart.

And then he felt the soft stirring beside him, and with a happiness he couldn't have fathomed he felt Irisviel there, sitting up beside him, touching him without hesitation, slipping her arms carefully around him and pressing her cheek against his bare shoulder.

"My love, what is it? You seem like you're terrified out of your mind."

"It's fine…it was just a nightmare."

"A nightmare?"

"A dream where something awful happens, instead of something pleasant." At this, Kiritsugu gave a bitter chuckle, his heart rate slowing to normal.

"Heavens, you're shaking," Irisviel muttered, and like before they fell asleep, she held him as tight as she could, as if making an effort to stop him shaking so much.

Very slowly, Kiritsugu felt that peace that her presence managed to give him, despite everything, descend upon him. Gratefully, he reached over and stroked back Irisviel's hair, and then he lifted her chin to meet his gaze.

"Thank you. I'm all right now."

Irisviel exhaled in relief. "Good. You had me worried there. I've never seen you like that."

"I guess I don't like giving into weaknesses like fear."

"Hm. But fear is part of how we survive danger, isn't it? We act based on fear as much as we do on love and anger."

"Well…that is true, but there is fear that compels action, and there is fear that does nothing but destroy. The latter is the fear that is nothing but a weakness."

"Ah…."

Kiritsugu heaved a sigh and pressed a kiss into his wife's hair before tucking her head underneath his chin as he held her back, just for a moment, reassured just in the feel of her breathing so gently in his arms.

But then Irisviel withdrew and peered up at him again, once more disturbed by something. Kiritsugu couldn't think what it might be until she thoughtfully and carefully reached up and touched the back of her hand to his clammy forehead, and he realized that there was a great difference in temperature between his skin and hers.

"Kiritsugu…darling…you're really burning up."

Maybe it was the fact that for the first time in a long time, Kiritsugu and his body had come to a full and complete stop, physically and mentally. Aside from this business with their unborn daughter, there was, for the first time, nothing too immediate to struggle with. This pause in all the running around he'd been doing for longer than he could remember was now catching up to him in the form of a purging fever.

At least that was the best way to explain it, as otherwise, there was really nothing wrong with him. Yes, there were aches and fatigue, but otherwise, there didn't appear to be any specific virus that would otherwise be the cause of such a fever. And yet, there it was.

And disregarding his protestations, Irisviel set herself to looking after him while he was ill. Meanwhile, it had been years since Kiritsugu had ever been looked after by anyone. It didn't sit well with him at first, and he was restless at being unable to do anything in the day that accomplished anything, and to simply lay there and recover with the help of fever-reducing tonics that Irisviel administered to him. It was all the more frustrating when Irisviel barred him from taking calls from Maiya himself, but then his wife quickly proved herself to be a formidable relayer of information, and truth be told, he knew from his bygone days of being ill as a boy that the only real way to get better any faster was to simply wait out the illness and get as much rest as possible, rather than push himself as he'd been forced to do in his older years.

So in the end, he surrendered to Irisviel. It seemed that when it came to his wife, it was all he could really do.

Still, it was strange in the hazy moments in which he would wake up to find Irisviel reading another one of the books he had given her, sometimes humming the tune to a song from one of the CDs he'd given her, a sound that was so sweet it was all like a happy dream. Or maybe it was the effect of the medicine. Truth be told, he didn't really care either way. He would wake up to this dreamy vision, half his face buried in the pillows on their bed, and he'd simply watch her, wanting nothing more than to float in this feeling of not having to concern himself with pressing daily details.

On the other hand, there remained the matter of Irisviel's continued sessions with Acht in the alchemy chamber so that old bastard could fiddle more with the life growing inside her. The fact that he was rendered physically weak made it more difficult to vent his pent up anger with the entire situation, not that he could really vent it even if he was able: he'd promised Irisviel that he wouldn't, if only to protect his position as the Einzbern Master in the Fourth Grail War. Because she did have a point, losing his position this way would make all he had sacrificed, his soul included, for naught. And if there was one of many things he couldn't abide by, it was meaningless sacrifice.

It was why he'd urged himself to keep going with what he'd started when he began his path of the assassin, to ensure that every life he took wasn't meaningless, but worth it in the grander scheme of things. When he saw that despite having killed his father to stop his Dead Apostle research and prevent more tragedies like the one on Arimago Island, that there were still unanswered for tragedies just like it all around the world regardless of what he'd done, he had to keep going in pursuit of his goal to give it meaning, to save as much of the world as he could.

Even with the barrage of nightmares, starting with the one he'd had when he'd first grown feverish, that were cropping up after so many dreamless nights. Again, he would have to say that it was his interaction with Irisviel that was the cause, but at the same time, in each instance where he woke up gasping for air, drenched in fever sweat, she was there to soothe him back to sleep, even when he made half-conscious protests like a child.

"No…I can't…" he'd moan. "I'll see them again…their faces…."

"Shhhhh, they're gone now, it wasn't real," she would whisper, pushing back his damp hair as she leaned over him. "I'm right here beside you," and then she would lay back down beside him and hold his hand until he found sleep again, the echoes of his memory of the dream floating away off his lips.

In the daybreak aftermath of this happening, he had felt nothing but shame in having been unable to keep himself from spilling his guts out with details of the dream, shame in having let that weakness show. But it kept happening, and Irisviel kept doing nothing but soothing him, and after a few more of these incidents, he quit wasting the energy it took to let it bother him. Somehow, the fact that she couldn't understand what it really meant to have such things haunt a person, it made him all the more willing to take comfort in her words and her presence. He held her tight against his feverish body, and it was all he could do not to cry out in a mixture of joy and grief.

He had taught Irisviel what he knew of the world because he felt a mixture of both love and loathing for humanity: loathing for how awful it could be, but a love for the innocence that it possessed too, like it was nothing more than an incorrigible child he couldn't help wanting to protect and save. For him, it was a constant ache that was always there, just beneath the surface, the root of all that roiled so desperately and so passionately in his heart. And it was through simple kind things like her being with him when he needed her, that he regained a sense of purpose in what he hoped to achieve in eventually winning the Holy Grail. And with the life of their unborn child hanging in the balance, that too, gave him strength and hope he hadn't thought possible, and more of a reason to not give into despair than anything he had experienced beforehand.

He was pondering such things as he stared one afternoon up at the ceiling in a feverish haze, having woken up for once to find Irisviel not there because she was with Acht in the alchemy workshop. Time was crawling by in the quiet of the castle, the warmth surrounding him and protecting him from the bitter cold outside. But then, just as he was considering drifting off back to sleep, the door clicked open and Irisviel returned.

"Ah, you're awake," she said with a happy sigh in her voice. "You're looking a lot better today you know."

In spite of himself, Kiritsugu tried to smile for her for the same reason she smiled that way for him. "I think it's just the effect you have on me."

She leaned over him and touched the back of her hand to his forehead, and he caught her iris scent. Then she sat back in the nearby chair, looking satisfied. "I think you'll be right as rain soon enough. Did you manage to get a better sleep than last night?"

Kiritsugu sighed. "Somewhat. But I think I'll fare even better now you're here." The most he could do was reach over for her hand, but he had every intention of holding onto it as long as he could.

As she accepted his invitation and interlaced her fingers with his, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and he looked up at her as fixedly as she looked on him.

"Iri…you're too sweet to me."

"And you're too careful with me," Irisviel countered, and he managed a small, weak laugh.

And then she ventured to ask: "These nightmares you have…you tell me what they are…but is there any point to them?"

At this, Kiritsugu's chuckle was dry. "Huh. Well, in a way. Much like laughter, I suppose dreams are a language of the soul too, though much harder to understand." Then he added, raising his eyebrows at her, "And you have dreams as well as the ability to laugh. So…."

"Hmmm." Irisviel smiled with that ease that Kiritsugu's affirmation of an existence of a soul of her own gave her, and then she took a moment process what he'd said about dreams being another language of the soul before asking, "Then…is your soul so full of darkness then, if you keep having these nightmares?"

"Ah well…it doesn't have to mean that, in order for someone to have a nightmare—there can be any number of reasons—but I think in my case…I would be inclined to agree with you."

Irisviel ran her thumb over his knuckles. "Kiritsugu…you've told me that you've led…by all conventions…a reprehensible life…and at the end of the day…it's all been in pursuit of your own sense of justice for the world. All of this has been to make the world a better place, but in order to carry out something so ideal and noble, you have had to do less-than-ideal and less-than-noble things…and on top of that…sacrifice the lives of those you've loved…." Her crimson eyes grew overbright as they met his. "I only hope…that this time…when my time comes…I can not only save the world with the power of the Grail…but you too…simply because…in the end…I grew to fall in love with you…."

Kiritsugu bit his lip to stop its telltale tremble, and quickly brought Irisviel's soft knuckles to his lips and kissed them, never breaking his gaze with hers until he grew so tired that he only had the strength to close his eyes with his hot cheek pressed against her hand. In the creeping haze of oncoming sleep, he murmured against her skin, "Please…don't leave me…Iri…."

"I'm not leaving you," she told him, holding his hand more tightly, as though to keep him from drifting away from her. "Sleep as long as you want, I won't leave your side. Even when the day arrives when I must fulfill my destiny, I promise you, my love, I will always be with you. So don't worry. Don't worry about anything."

He felt her teardrops fall upon his hot skin like a sweet rain, and he squeezed her hand back again, peeling his eyes open just enough to offer her one last weak smile as she smiled back at him through those bright tears. And then the last of his strength left him and his eyes fell closed as he drifted off again, and after so many nights the last two weeks of nothing but nightmares, his heart was at last at peace for once while he slept.