Chapter 16 – Spring Moon
(Published: 12.15.12 - Beta: RavingScholar, Cloud Link Zero, Zaralann)
It had been a week since Medea first arrival at the Emiya's estate, and they had been relatively calm days. Not being subjected to the whims of a self-centered Magus helped immeasurably in the mood department. She had most of the day to herself considering that Shirou was away at school, and some evenings he worked somewhere in town.
The young man didn't cease to surprise her in some way every day. He was hard working and painfully honest, and though he was quite strong for a human being, his confident personality had not a single trace of arrogance. He provided all the small things she required to live as a human without waiting for her to ask, and in addition he allowed her into his Workshop without restriction.
Granted, by what she figured about his Magecraft he really didn't have any Mystery worth protecting, and it wasn't like he could keep her out if she wanted to enter. Nonetheless, his openness was a refreshing change.
She saw him perform his Magecraft in the building called a dojo a few times. There was nothing remarkable about it, but the degree of control he had over his moderate reserves was definitely far above the average even by her standards. It made sense since he seemed to lack any particular talent in the field, but frankly it was surprising he even stuck with practicing Thaumaturgy considering his progress so far. Certainly there were advantages to his use of Reinforcement, she wouldn't deny that…but the sheer amount of time and effort he invested to develop that skill to such a level was not equal to the benefits he reaped. Of course, it was once more a testament to his character that he was willing to follow a path without an obvious gain. With regards to determination and dedication to his goals, it could be said that he far surpassed most practitioners of the craft.
This side of his character shined even in the most difficult moments of his life. Such as the one Medea was witnessing that early morning and every morning before that.
Like he had promised, the former assassin Kuzuki Soichirou came every morning and trained Shirou in his fighting style…if you could call a unilateral beating as training, that is. For seven days Emiya Shirou was on the receiving end of a vicious beat down at the hands of his so-called teacher. Truth to be told Medea was amazed by both men. Kuzuki's style and skills were something that even she, a Heroic Spirit, had a hard time grasping. Certainly she wasn't the most prominent front line fighter, far from it in fact, but in her life she had seen other Throne worthy heroes clash against each other and none of them moved like he did.
There was no dodging his blows. It just wasn't possible. Every time Shirou parried he found himself caught in a hold. Every time he dodged he was struck from a different angle.
An entire week progressed like that, with Shirou being unable to match his teacher's skill and it wasn't for a lack of improvement either. She could tell that every day, beating after beating, he got a little better, faster, more precise. His reflexes had improved a great deal, but the difference in skill was still overwhelming.
Still, he persisted in spite of the obvious pain Kuzuki caused him with every strike. His dedication only reinforced Medea's conviction that Shirou couldn't be considered a boy by any stretch of the imagination. His resolve warranted her respect, if anything.
Through pain and sore muscles, Shirou had to recognize once more that Kuzuki did in fact take his teaching duties quite seriously. The teenage Magus had requested to step up his training and his Sensei complied.
"Ghh," he protested as Kuzuki stared down on his fallen form.
"Not good enough, Emiya-kun," the teacher replied as if he understood the meaning behind Shirou's moaning. "You must not react to an attack. You must anticipate it."
"Ghk," he agreed with a short nod. That was much easier said than done, though. The theory of anticipating an opponent's attack by reading its body language was a sound one, but not so easy to put into practice. A lot of experience was required to pull it off and Kuzuki appeared intent on beating it into him. Quite literally, in fact.
"That's enough for today. We'll continue tomorrow. You should get ready for school now."
"Yeah," Shirou replied, having finally restored his ability to form words. Seriously, if it weren't for his accelerated healing rate, there was no way he could speak, much less think about attending classes for a couple of days. Instead, he would probably be fine in a couple of hours and more than ready to take another bea—er, resume his training the next day.
Kuzuki silently showed himself out, as usual. When he left Caster approached Shirou, looking down at him with an expression caught between puzzlement and amusement.
"Shirou-san. Are you alright?"
"Sorta," he replied, doing his best not to use a single muscle more than needed to form words. "I'll be better soon."
"If you say so," she smiled, "though I wonder if perhaps you have a masochist streak in you."
"… Sensei's technique," he grunted, "is not something I can hope to master without sacrifices. A little physical pain is nothing compared to what I gain." He pulled up to a sitting position and winced. Boy, was there any part of his body that didn't hurt?
"I can understand that," Caster replied, offering her hand to help him get up. Shirou took it and stood, noticing only after he released her that it had been the first instance of physical contact they shared after he had… changed her clothes while she was unconscious. Recalling that embarrassing moment, Shirou was actually glad that his face already had a bluish tinge otherwise she might have caught onto his line of thinking.
She never called him out on that, probably figuring by herself that he meant no disrespect and that the situation demanded it. She did, however, keep a small distance from him, even when he taught her how to use his computer and other modern common tools she had no familiarity with.
It was to be expected, he supposed. Anyone would be uncomfortable with being undressed and touched by a stranger while unconscious, no matter the circumstances. It was a relief that she had finally come to trust him enough as not to be repulsed by a simple contact with him. It was a far cry from a declaration of friendship, but if there was one thing Shirou had learned in sixteen years it was that small steps and lots of patience usually went for the distance.
"Is there something on my face?" she asked noticing his stare.
"Ah, no. Sorry I was just lost in thoughts," he said with a shaky chuckle." Well, I should get cleaned up now."
"Yes, you really should," she agreed restoring a measure of distance. Well, no one ever came out from any form of physical training smelling like roses, did they?
School life had returned to its normal routine. The aftermath of Archer's latest known exploit was winding down even though it remained a topic of major interest. Most of the news networks had left the city, leaving only a small contingent of stubborn reporters.
Even then, Shirou was still worried about the presence of the mass media in town. The Holy Grail War was probably the single most dangerous threat initiated by Magi worldwide to the rule of secrecy. Certainly, the supervisor would make sure that no curious eyes remained pointed on the city when the conflict was in full swing, but perhaps it was better to have Archer sighted in some other place; possibly on the other side of the country.
Another matter of worry for the red haired vigilante was the other Magus: Tohsaka Rin. Since the whole Guilford debacle, his schoolmate had been extremely aloof. After Yukiko's initial rescue they were on cordial terms and often ate lunch together, much to Issei's dismay. Now, she no longer sought him out, and when he initiated a conversation she always treated him with a measure of carefulness.
He thought that perhaps she suspected him to be involved with the events of that night, but soon discarded that notion. Tohsaka was devious but her methods were actually quite straightforward. She would have either confronted him about her suspicions or tried to wiggle out the truth by making him slip during a conversation. Seeing how she almost avoided him, his theory is that she was trying to keep him out of the coming conflict by dissociating from him as much as possible. It was a temporary solution at best for the both of them.
Still, he couldn't bring himself to reveal his nature as a Magus to her. He really did enjoy her friendship, even now that she was on the wary side. He really had no desire to see the typical wall of mistrust so peculiar to Magi form between them.
So he kept silent, waiting for her to summon her Servant. At that point, she was more likely to listen to what he had to say without considering whether he was just trying to steal her mysteries or not. At least, that was what he was desperately trying to convince himself.
It took Waver the better part of a week to get to Japan and track down Guilford's whereabouts. As a sealing designate, the man had done a very good job hiding, at least in ways that would befuddle Magi. Most enforcers from the Association would have had a hard time, but Waver had a better knowledge of the country and of the mundane society at large. He was also feeling rather smug about it, though the feeling lasted only until he reached Guilford's place.
What was left of it anyway: a pile of burnt down ruins.
What should have been a luxurious villa in the woods outside of town was just a charred patch of ground. Very little remained of the building, just a few pieces of rubble that somehow survived what had to be an intense fire. A fire that apparently didn't so much as touch the leaves of the surrounding trees.
It didn't take a genius to figure out it had been the doing of a Magus, but if it had been Guildford himself in an attempt to literally burn his tracks or the handiwork of someone else Waver couldn't tell.
Either way he was back at square one, assuming that Vincent Guilford himself wasn't part of the blackened ruins of his mansion
"Sir," a voice called from the woods behind him in heavily accented English. "We found something."
Waver followed after the voice, quickly catching up with two dark haired figures, a man and a woman, dressed in business suits and each carrying a sturdy metal suitcase.
Cheung Jūn and Cheung Jìn were a couple of mercenary Magi from China. Jun the husband and Jìn the wife were renowned as one of the best teams of Magi for hire on the entire Asiatic continent.
It was awfully ironic that the Second Lord El-Melloi was kept safe by a group of mercenaries when his predecessor had met his end at the hands of one of them. Then again, the elders couldn't send actual enforcers to aid and protect him while he was secretly searching for a Sealing Designate for reasons that did not involve turning him into the Association. The Cheung duo was honor bound to secrecy, and their unaffiliated status with the Clock Tower meant that if things went south and they lost their lives in the line of duty, there was little chance that anyone would notice it.
To sum it up, they were both extremely skilled and extremely expendable. Exactly what the elders had been looking for.
"What is it?" Waver asked as he approached.
"There seems to be a passage here," the short, apparently unthreatening woman said pointing to what looked like a dried up well. "It leads all the way to the basement of the mansion."
"Is it safe?"
"It's stable enough to grant passage. I'll go ahead and check the rest," the man replied, jumping down the hole without using the ladder, his wife following after in the same fashion. Not to be outclassed, Waver did the same, landing smoothly at the bottom of the hole.
Watching him land without effort, the Chinese woman, who much like her husband had eyes so narrow that looked almost vulpine, gave him an appreciative look.
Not many Magi, and especially not a Lord from the Association accompanied their hired hands during their missions, and if they did they kept a respectable distance from the front line. In addition, Waver just showed that he possessed sufficient physical prowess and a degree of physical enhancement that most Magi didn't bother developing, unless they planned to go into battle. Waver knew all this, and his choice was deliberate. Jun and Jin might have been just hired help, but gaining someone's respect never hurt in the long run.
Neither mercenary discussed their employer's choice, figuring that he probably had the skill set to protect himself if needed be.
Silently they proceeded forward. The pass was mostly clear, at least until they reached the end of the narrow corridor, where they found what remained of the mansion's basement. Much like the surface portion, the place was mostly collapsed except for a few sections that survived the fury of the fire. No doubt it was thanks to the structural reinforcement and elaborate warding that all Magi applied to their Workshops. A necessary measure seeing that at times their experiment tended to be a little… volatile, and it would do no good to survive the direct backlash of a spell gone wrong only to die in the subsequent collapse.
Still, the fact that a part of the building survived at all was the first hint that it hadn't been work of Guilford himself. Barring a sudden escape, if the man had wanted to destroy all traces, he would have first removed the protections and then burned the place down.
Making their way through the rubble, they reached what was the core of the Workshop. What they found in there gave credit to Waver's initial analysis. The beheaded corpse of Vincent Guilford lay on his own operation table, his eyes, frozen open in death staring blindly at the intruders. His partially burned body still showed the signs of a surgical operation he had undergone, probably posthumously.
"Talk about Karma," Waver muttered.
"Sir?"
"It looks like Mr. Guilford has met his end just like his predecessor: killed and robbed of his Crest," he explained.
"I see," the woman nodded. "Do you intend to track the killer?"
"Of course. You have more experience than I do with bladed weapons. See what you can figure out about the killer from Vincent's corpse. I'll see what I can gather from what's left of his Workshop…if there's anything to find at all. This place was ransacked badly."
"Yes, Sir," the duo agreed as they proceeded to examine the corpse of the deceased Magus with the expert eye of those who had seen too many deaths to count.
An hour of work produced very little indication about the identity of the killer, though they were able to determine their height and the type of blade used: a Japanese katana of over 1.5 meters in length: definitely not a common weapon even in the very land where it had originated.
When they left they made sure that this time nothing of Guilford was left behind for anyone to find. It was unlikely that anyone would come looking to dig around, but there was no reason to leave compromising objects around that could turn the eyes of the Clock Tower in that direction. It was better to simply close all loose ends.
Driving the rented car they had left parked outside the woods, they returned to their hotel in a sour mood, at least in Waver's case. The entire operation up to that point had been a waste of time.
Forget being back to square one, Waver mused, the current situation was equal to being completely off of the board. His reason for being in Japan was to ensure that Guilford would uphold his part of the contract, and failing that, to make sure he wouldn't expose his dealing with the El-Melloi. This included shutting him up permanently if needed be.
But now Guilford was dead, and he hadn't the slightest clue who had done the deed. Waver couldn't bring himself to mourn the deceased Magus. His death was fitting for a monster like him, who had killed his master and stole his Crest.
The problem was that Waver couldn't be sure if the Sealing Designate had left any clue about his dealings that his killer could have found. He certainly couldn't afford to cross his finger and ignore the situation, hoping that it wouldn't come and bite him in the ass later on.
Sighing heavily, he hanged in coat and went for the fridge, turning on the television but cutting the sound. He needed a drink, possibly alcoholic, and some distraction before burning in brain on useless thoughts. How was he supposed to track this person or persons without the slightest clue about his identity? It wasn't like he ran around with a katana strapped to his back, was it? And even if he did, where was Waver supposed to look for him? On television?
On cue, his eyes shifted to the muted appliance that was broadcasting a special on the teen vigilante that had recently become popular in Japan. Waver's eye widened and the shock forced him to gasp, sending his drink down the wrong pipe.
"Pffftt!" he shamelessly spat his drink in Jun's face.
"What the hell," the Chinese man snapped in a show of anger unusual for the collected Magus-for-hire.
Coughing out the remnants of the fluid, Waver frantically pointed at the television where the newscaster was once more showing the images of the local vigilante's last known exploit.
The figure of the teenager with an unconscious girl cradled in his arms stood proudly his back turned to a burning warehouse. Securely strapped on his back was a katana whose length was certainly not common and definitely the kind of weapon they had been looking for.
"Oh," Jin said at her husband's side, following their choking employer's finger.
"Oh?" Waver coughed, "Oh? We have a rogue Magus being exposed as a vigilante on TV and 'Oh' is the best you can say?"
"Frankly sir, I don't see how fussing over it would change anything," the woman answered coolly. "As a matter of fact, we now have a new trail to follow. I daresay this Magus' foolishness has become our advantage in this instance."
"Hrmm," Waver conceded begrudgingly, regaining his composure. This new development was extremely unsettling. The whole point of Waver's presence in Japan, in spite of what the elders expected of him, was to keep the eyes of the Association away from their dealings with a Sealing Designate.
If another Magus was publicly stirring up trouble, the Clock Tower could be forced to send its enforcer, with a considerable risk of Waver being caught in the ensuing shit-storm. He had to deal with this stupid kid and he had to do it fast, before the entire situation could truly go FUBAR.
"Plan a patrol route," he ordered to his hired assistants and bodyguards. "We are going to scour this city every single night until we find this guy. In the meantime, I'm going to see if the local authorities know more about this Archer than the media does."
"Understood," they confirmed at once. They immediately went to attend this new task while Waver turned around and left for the police station. A few inquiries would hopefully give him a better way to track this idiot than spending to night trying to spot him over the city.
Karma, Shirou mused, was a bitch.
He should have known that he couldn't escape the punishment for his sins. He was ready to take responsibility for what he had done, of course, but he certainly didn't expect retribution to come knocking at his door in such a manner.
He had just come of the bath. After putting on a pair of boxers and his usual set of jeans (of which he had several pairs), he started drying his still damp hair with a towel. Examining his reflection in the mirror, Shirou noticed that most of his bruises were already gone. A few bluish spots remained but nothing that his shirt couldn't hide. Thankfully he didn't have PE at school that day, so there wasn't even the issue of somebody noticing. Of course, Shirou couldn't take into account the following events.
He was just about finished when the unexpected struck.
"KYAAAAA," a pair of feminine voices cried not too far away, accompanied by a ruckus of metal hitting wood several times.
Overriding his common sense, Shirou's 'Saving People' primary instinct kicked in and he dashed out of the bathroom in a leap. Following the noises he ran to the kitchen, slamming the door open.
A few minutes earlier
Medea ushered Shirou to the bathroom for a much needed clean up. It wasn't like he really smelled bad, but she wanted him out of the way for a few minutes so that she could do as she pleased in his Sancta Santorum. No, not his Workshop: his kitchen.
In the few past days, Medea had gotten the chance to get to know her host a little better. Heroic behavior aside, he appeared to be a genuinely kind person who allowed pretty much everyone to do as they pleased around him without restriction. There was but one thing he seemed to treasure beyond words and that was his cooking skills and the tools he needed to perform. Not even his surrogate sister was allowed behind the kitchen counter. Only Sakura had unrestricted access, and that was only after Shirou had strictly taught her in the way of handling foods.
Frankly, if she hadn't experienced firsthand the wonders of his culinary ability, Medea would have ridiculed him for having such an unmanly interest. Of course, she didn't even consider doing such a thing since one of the major perks of this unspoken alliance was being able to savor his delicacies three times a day.
Still, she was a Magus and she understood the concept of equivalent exchange better than anyone else. No matter what Shirou said about it, she was in his debt and at the current time there was very little she could do to even things out. So, she decided, she would take care of breakfast for once.
She realized only when she started checking the kitchen cabinets in search of ingredients that she didn't know a single thing about this country's recipes and that there wasn't a single ingredient to make a dish from her own country. Still, she couldn't quite give up. She was a prideful woman, perhaps too prideful for her own good, and she wasn't about to give up only because of a minor obstacle.
"Ah, Megissa-san?" the voice of Sakura called from the door.
"Ah, Sakura-san. Good morning."
"Good morning. Ano… what are you doing in the kitchen, Megissa-san."
"I was trying to prepare something for breakfast," she explained. "Shirou-san is in the bathroom and I wanted to take care of kitchen duties for a chance."
"There's no need for you to do that," Sakura replied moving into the small space of the kitchen, her voice sounding firmer than it ever had before. "I will take care of cooking."
"No, no. I insist. There is just so much freeloading a person can do," Medea said with a smile meant to be disarming.
"You shouldn't worry," she replied again more firmly. "I'll take care of cooking."
Medea realized that the usually shy and soft-spoken girl was being particularly forceful and straightforward. She usually got her point across by discussing her motives but she had never once stood her ground so firmly. Holding back a smirk, Medea realized that Sakura wasn't so much trying to be a graceful host as she was defending her territory: the small portion of the world that belonged only to her and the much oblivious object of her affections. It was cute, really.
Then again, it wasn't like Medea really cared about what other people wanted when it was in direct opposition to her desires.
"You're too kind, Sakura-san," she replied, dismissing her words. "However, this is truly no bother."
She reached for a pot on the upper shelf of the kitchen, only to be intercepted by the purple haired girl.
"I insist that you let me do this," Sakura demanded while pulling the pot.
"And I insist on doing this myself," Medea said politely but with an annoyed frown, pulling the pot back to her.
In a manner that would have looked ridiculous to any spectator, the two women began vying for the hapless pot by pulling it back and forth. Soon enough, their exchange escalated wildly until they both ended up bumping against the still open cabinet. The things inside trembled, wobbled and ultimately toppled over the duo.
"KYAAAAA," they both shrieked, falling to the ground under the unexpected onslaught of the vengeful kitchen appliances. "Ow, ow, ow," they both cried nursing their heads.
When the last pan finally stopped clattering, the sound of rushing footsteps could be heard from the nearby corridor. The door to the living room burst open and Shirou ran inside with a worried expression on his face.
'Oh my,' Medea thought, staring at him. In his evident rush he had forgotten to put in a shirt and his unbuttoned jeans were riding low on his exposed torso, showing his defined abdomen and chest still partially wet from the bath. Medea was admittedly far from inexperienced on the subject of a man's body, but she had to admit to herself that Emiya Shirou was a fine specimen of his species. Of course, there was no outward indication of that line of though on her face.
Sakura, on the other hand was having a significantly harder time of hiding her appreciation for the half naked man. In fact, the amount of red on her face was giving the room an entirely different light, and her gaping mouth was not unlike that of a frozen fish. She had even stopped rubbing her head from the shock of seeing the boy she had a crush on walk toward her with more skin exposed than usual.
"What happened? Are you alright?" he asked worriedly.
"Ah. Uh," Sakura replied intelligently. It looked like she was having some difficulty engaging the part of her brain that controlled speech.
"Sakura, Megissa-san, are you hurt?" he asked, getting closer and dropping to one knee to help his friend.
"Buh!" Sakura spluttered, getting an eyeful of Shirou's muscles from up close as he pulled her up to her feet.
"We are both fine, Shirou-san," Medea replied with a smile, unable to refrain from smiling at the younger girl's antics. "Just a minor kitchen accident."
"Minor accident? Megissa-san, Sakura isn't speaking. Did she hit her head? Look she isn't responding to anything I do," he pointed out as he waved his hand in front of her eyes and snapped his fingers to catch her attention with little results. She just kept staring at his chest like her gaze had been glued to it.
"Ah. I don't think that's caused by any injury she might have received, but rather by your, hm, choice in attire," Medea said, shooting a pointed glance at his exposed chest.
"My choice in…," he looked down at himself and his eyes widened in realization. By then his jeans were threatening to fall off completely, exposing what remained to be seen in the process. "Buh!" he sputtered just as Sakura previously had, going as far as to imitate the same shade of red the purple haired girl was sporting on her face.
Faster than Medea thought possible for a human without the employment of Magecraft, Shirou let go of the barely standing girl and pulled up his pants, bolting out of the door in a blur. "I'm sorry!" he shouted without turning around and disappeared, presumably back in the bathroom.
Medea chuckled and shook her head in honest amusement. Truly this was a good place to spend he days. A private room, good food and even comedic relief: there wasn't much more one could ask for from lodging, was there?
Sakura's face burned so deeply she thought might have gotten a fever. When Shirou finally disappeared from the kitchen, to her relief and simultaneous disappointment, her embarrassment was sustained by the shamefulness of her reaction. Like a perverted old man, she just ogled him the entire time, going as far as to completely tune out his words.
She didn't do it on purpose. She just couldn't help but stare at those strong biceps, those wide pectorals, those abs that seemed carved into wood, as well as the hint of his lower backside she managed to glimpse as he made his retreat.
In response to her body warming up improperly, the things in her body squirmed and trashed against the confines of her mind. Her body was heating up with the accursed impulse that had been engraved into her. She tried her best to beat it down, like she did so many times around her Senpai, but in this occasion she was having a harder time than usual, if that were even possible.
When it was Shinji her mind found it horrible, even abhorrent, but this time it was more complex. Try as she might, she couldn't associate the image now burned into her mind with something undesired. She did very much desire what she had seen, and the thing took advantage of her weaker mental state to push its craving to the front of her mind.
Already a familiar and unwelcome dampness was making itself known, making her squirm unpleasantly. Breathing normally was getting harder by the minute, and she had to make a conscious effort to hold her hands in place.
No good. It was absolutely no good. At this rate she wouldn't be able to hold back. She had to get away and take care of this…impulse before it could get strong enough to override her control.
"Sakura-san, are you feeling unwell?" Megissa asked. "I was joking before, but perhaps you were hurt more than I thought."
"Ah, no. I'm feeling just a bit lightheaded right now," Sakura replied with a shaky smile.
"Are you sure?" the older woman asked reaching out to touch her forehead. "Maybe you should lay down a moment and rest."
"No, no," she dismissed. "I'm fine, really. I'll be alright in just a moment."
"If you say so," Megissa shrugged. "By the way, in the end it looks like we aren't going to cook breakfast at all. Perhaps we should put things back as they were before we cause any more damage."
"Yes," she cringed. "That would be best."
"I'll help," Shirou said as he came back, now wearing his trademark blue sleeved shirt. He made a point not look at her. God, he was probably thinking she was a pervert or something. Of course he didn't want to look at her.
Still, the close proximity as they went to restore order in the kitchen wafted the smell of shampoo that came from his hair, making her heart throb. She wanted to reach out and touch him, pulling him to her and crushing her lips on his and…
"Sakura? You're awfully pale. Are you feeling sick?" he reached out and touched her forehead with his hand. Not whimpering was the best she could do. Her breath sped up, as did her heart. Her body burned from within, demanding her to take action and to satisfy the need.
No! She had to get away. Now!
"I… I'm sorry Senpai," she smiled without giving away the real emotion behind her unrest. "I'm not feeling really good right now."
"Do you need to lay down? You can use one of the futons."
"No… I just need to wash my face and rest a little," she moved, headed to the bathroom but her body failed her and she toppled forward. Fortunately and unfortunately at the same time, Shirou stretched his arm and caught her before she could hit the floor. The warmth spreading from the point of contact diffused into her like a heavily addicting drug.
"Sakura, let me help you," Shirou said with a voice heavy with concern.
"N-no," she stuttered. "I can stand by myself."
"Nonsense," he dismissed. "You're about to pass out."
"Bathroom… please," she finally conceded, knowing that she couldn't turn him away when he thought she needed help.
"Just a moment," he moved her arm around his shoulder while his hand snuck around her waist, pulling her close. Could he hear it, she wondered, the frantic beating of her heart? Could he guess just by that her secret desire, enhanced by the Matou Worm Crest but not fake in the slightest?
A small part of her hoped that he could. A not so small part of her hoped that he would take advantage of it. Right there and then, she wanted him to ravish her. She was far too gone to care about Megissa seeing him taking her on the kitchen counter. She wanted her to know that he was hers. What better way than to have her watch while he took her in any conceivable manner and then…
"Sakura," he called, snapping her out of her lust induced haze. They were already in front of the bathroom and she hadn't even noticed they had walked all the way there.
"Thank you Senpai," she said slipping out of his hold and missing the contact immediately. "I'll be fine by myself now."
"You sure? I could, uh… ask Megissa-san to help you in there or something."
"No. There's really no need," she said slipping past the door.
"Okay. If you need anything just call okay."
" Yes, thank you Senpai." Oh, if only he knew what she truly wanted he would be utterly repulsed by her. If he knew how twisted and depraved they made her to be he wouldn't want to be anywhere near her. But he didn't know he so she closed the door behind her, shutting him out.
With trembling hands she turned the key twice, making sure it was properly locked. She couldn't live with herself if he decided to check up on her and saw her doing what she was about to do. Caught between shame and desire she set herself to take care of her burning desire as best as the situation allowed her.
While Shirou escorted Sakura to the bathroom, Medea continued to clean the kitchen from the mess she had contributed to create. Her thoughts, however were focused on the purple haired girl. Aside from her obvious possessiveness of the redhead boy, there was something about her that Medea couldn't quite pinpoint.
Sakura was normally jovial but there was something… dark about her that unsettled the Servant. She didn't think Shirou knew of this, otherwise he would probably have confronted her about whatever it was that bothered her until he found a solution.
It didn't seem that she had any ill intentions about her host; in fact, it seemed like she wanted to keep him out of her problems entirely. Medea could certainly live with, that but she would make a point to keep an eye on the girl, just in case.
That being said, the other major problem of "getting breakfast ready" still needed to be solved.
"I'll take care of it," Shirou said as he returned to the kitchen once more. For a moment Medea wondered if he had read her mind.
"Of course," she said, stepping aside. "I'm sorry for this."
"It's okay," he chuckled. "There's no damage done. So, what did you want to cook?"
"Actually, I don't really know," she replied, feeling a little sheepish. "I didn't think about it until I started and then I just figured out that there's no recipe I know of that I can cook with the ingredients here."
"Hmm," he nodded. "Do you want me to teach you some of the local recipes? I'm warning you though, you're sworn to secrecy about everything you learn in here."
Much to her own surprise she laughed a short but heartfelt laugh. "My, you seem to treasure your recipes more than your other… crafts," she concluded vaguely to avoid risks of being overheard.
"Yes, well. To be completely honest, of all the things I can do, this is my favorite."
"How so? I mean, your other hobbies are quite remarkable, if a little foolish. Don't you enjoy doing what you do?"
"I honestly do, but with the things I cook I can make people smile without anyone being hurt over it."
"You… really do care about others, don't you?" It wasn't so much a question as an observation.
"I try. Many awful things in this world wouldn't happen if more people just tried to help each other."
"I suppose so," she replied evenly. Of course she thought he was correct. A great deal of ugly things in life could be avoided if people weren't just so focused on themselves and their own selfish wishes. However, she knew quite well just how unlikely such a thing was from happening. People were driven by their own desires and would stop at nothing to achieve them, even trampling over somebody else's happiness.
For that reason, his words and his behavior annoyed her a bit. There had been no one willing to help her throughout her whole life. No, in fact people were more than willing to push their sin and ugliness onto her, making her a scapegoat for all of their faults.
She was nauseated by this, just as much as she was nauseated by him. Couldn't he see that people weren't worthy of being saved? Couldn't he see that those he helped would turn against him at their earliest convenience, forgetting that he had sacrificed of himself for them in the first place?
Even taking her into his home was a foolish choice. As soon as it was useful she would sacrifice him without a second thought, either controlling or manipulating him into doing her bidding. Well, perhaps if she were feeling generous, she could allow him to acknowledge his mistake when the time came.
In the meantime, she would squeeze him for all he was worth.
When Sakura returned from the bathroom she was looking a lot better, if still a little pale. She adamantly refused to skip school for the day, regardless of Shirou insistence over the matter. Finally, she cornered him by asking if he would have stayed home if he were in her place. Shirou was many things, but a liar he was not, so he conceded that he too would have gone to school even if he felt a little under the weather.
However, Sakura's health problems appeared to be the least of her concerns. As they left the house they run into her brother, Shinji. The elder Matou seemed to be in a pretty awful mood, which only worsened when he saw them together.
"Oi, Sakura," he shouted at her."
"Nii-san, good morning," Sakura said, voice dimming slightly.
"Don't 'good morning' you idiot girl," he said, storming toward her. "You were supposed to meet me half an hour ago."
"Ah, I'm sorry I completely forgot."
"Tch. If you're so airheaded that you can forget about your own brother, then perhaps you should focus more on your family instead of on… outsiders."
"Nii-san, Emiya-senpai is…"
"Quiet," he hissed, "and you, Emiya. Stop taking advantage of my sister all the time. Tell her to stop coming over at your place every single day," he said angrily.
"Nii-san, please. I don't…," she was stopped when Shirou moved an arm between her and her looming brother.
"Shinji, I'm not really sure what's the issue here," Shirou said, giving Shinji a firm look. "Sakura felt sick this morning so we are a little late, but it's hardly her fault. As for your request, I'm afraid I can't really do anything about it. My house is open to my friends every time they want to come by. That goes for you as well, of course."
"Tch. Whatever," Shinji said with no small amount of disgust. "Sakura, see that it doesn't happen again. Emiya, you damn snail, start moving or we'll be late for classes."
"Right," Shirou agreed, "I'll see you later, Sakura. Don't overexert yourself if you're still feeling sick okay?"
"Bye, Senpai. Take care of Nii-san for me, please."
"Don't worry. I'll make sure he doesn't get into too much trouble," he shouted as he ran after his wayward friend.
Sakura waved him off with a smile that suddenly dropped when he was out of sight. Without another word, she turned and resumed walking toward her school.
Two days later
Waver wasn't particularly happy with himself. The search for Archer hadn't born fruit in the least. That wasn't surprising when he considered that a Magus like Archer would probably be considered worthy of a Sealing Designation for jeopardizing the secret of Magecraft.
Then again, after investigating the rumor, he had to recognize that the vigilante had done a good job at hiding his real ability, to the point that Waver was beginning to doubt his initial estimation. Perhaps the boy wasn't a Magus, and was just associated with one. The tales of his exploits, those that he managed to gather from police officers with the application a subtle compulsion, spoke of an individual highly trained with a bow, hence the name Archer. Yet, they spoke also of an individual trained in barehanded fighting.
He was no doubt an extraordinary person in the eyes of the Mundanes, but under the scrutiny of a Magus he was just a competent fighter with a lot of preparation. In fact, if it weren't for his presumed involvement with Guilford, Waver would have had a hard time pegging him as a fellow practitioner of Thaumaturgy.
So perhaps the kid wasn't a complete fool, and he covered his bases well. There was still a possibility that he wasn't actually a Magus and that he either had been used to do someone else's dirty work, or that he was completely extraneous to the whole situation. That last didn't seem likely, but it was a possibility.
Guilford's death had certainly been the work of a Magus, seeing how his Crest had been removed with surgical precision. While this was Japan, there were very few katanas the size of the one that killed the Sealing Designate.
No, Archer's involvement was almost certain, and in any case it was the only lead he had to work with.
Still, Waver's thoughts were far from his current mission objective. Being back in Fuyuki, the place where he had met his King, Waver couldn't help but reminisce. The city was slightly different from what he recalled but that was true mostly for its central area, where businesses boomed and deflated every day. The residential areas were far less subjected to drastic changes in layout, and so it was very easy for Waver's feet to find the way back to that place.
The quiet neighborhood was just like he recalled. The barking of a dog somewhere was the loudest noise in earshot, and the setting sun was casting its warm crimson light over the landscape. Though he could have called a taxi, Waver preferred to walk toward his destination, and he did so until he stood in front of the familiar building that was the McKenzie house.
The cozy little house, where he had spent his days during the fourth Holy Grail War pretending to be the grandson of the elderly couple that lived there, hadn't changed one bit. It was so absolutely unchanged that it seemed like time had frozen around the place. He half expected to hear Iskandar's boisterous laughter coming from inside, drinking beer with the old man like they were old pals.
Truly, for being a King from Legends, Iskandar never did look down on anyone, be them friends, foes or just simple bystanders. He acknowledged everyone, even when facing them in battle, ready to tear them apart.
Memories of those few short days that contributed like few others to forge him into the self-assured man that he was now flashed inside his mind. He didn't know how long he stood there, but it must have been a long time considering that when the front door opened to snap him out of his reverie, the sun was almost entirely disappeared.
"Aren't you going to come inside, Waver?"
Glen McKenzie stood in front of him with the gate standing between them. The man who had managed to figure out on his own that Waver was not really his grandson despite being put under hypnosis, greeted the younger man with the same jovial smile he wore ten years before when he confronted him about his deception.
"Old man." Waver greeted. "How have you been?"
"As well as can be expected from a person my age," the elder replied, opening the gate so that the younger man could enter. "You've grown much, Waver."
"You on the other hand haven't changed one bit, gramps," Waver said with a small grin.
Glen grinned in response. "What can I say? We old folk have to keep ourselves in shape."
They walked inside and Waver could confirm that even the rest of the house had not suffered from the harshness of time. Still, one thing was clearly missing since the last time.
"How's Martha?" he asked, noticing the evident absence of the kind woman, who would have no doubt welcomed her grandson as soon as she knew he had arrived if she could.
"Not so well," Glen answered, his smile shifting to a bittersweet look. "She's upstairs now. She spends most of her time in bed lately."
"What's wrong with her?" Waver asked, unable to keep concern from leaking into his usually detached voice. It was just for a week and it had been only a pretense, but the elderly woman had loved him like her own blood, showing him more kindness in those few short days than he received in the years before and after combined. To say that he didn't care for her would have been an incredible lie.
"Nothing really, she's just old. Our time is coming, and it seems Martha's will come sooner than mine."
"I'm sorry," Waver said, cringing.
"Don't be," Glen said with a dismissive wave of the hand. "There is a time for everything to die, Waver, and neither of us has any regrets. We lived quiet and happy lives. There isn't much else we could have asked for."
"…," Waver had no reply to that. The truth of Glen's statement was undeniable. The very concept of Death existed in everything that had a definite form, as every Magus worth his salt knew. Still, the calm acceptance on Glen's face was something that Waver couldn't begin to grasp. As every practitioner of the Craft, Waver walked with Death, but every time he performed his mysteries it was a struggle to survive, to escape death's grasp and keep walking on his chosen path. To see someone accept his own passing with such contentment was a humbling experience. Still…
"Can I see her?" he asked, voice surprisingly small.
"Of course you can," Glen replied, his voice gentle. "She would be overjoyed to see her grandson once more."
"She doesn't know I'm here?"
"I haven't told her yet. I wasn't sure why you came. I still don't, by the way. I didn't want to her to be hurt if you decided not to visit her."
"Of course," he accepted easily. Over the years he kept in touch with the elderly couple, mostly by letter, but he never came to visit. Not so much because he didn't want to, but because being a Lord and an active member of the clock Tower were truly time consuming activities.
Still, that meant that the only time they had been together was when he deceived and exploited them for his own reasons. The old man never really cared nor blamed Waver for his deception, simply content that his wife had found some happiness in the fake grandson. Yet, it was no wonder he was cautious when it came to Waver.
Regardless of that, Waver nodded toward the stair, declaring his intention to see his grandmother. Glen nodded and preceded him on the stairs to the second floor. He then knocked on the door that Waver knew led to their bedroom.
"Dear, are you awake?" he asked.
"What is it, Glen?" the woman asked weakly. "I thought I heard you talking a moment ago? Did somebody come to visit?"
"Yes," the husband smiled, "we happen to have visitors."
"Who is it?"
Waver stepped into view, and for a moment Martha didn't seem to recognize him. Then her eyes widened and her mouth stretched into a brilliant smile.
"Waver," she said, saying the syllables of his name as if cherishing each one. "Oh, how nice of you to visit. Why didn't you tell us beforehand? I would have prepared something. Your favorite dishes, or…"
"No, there's no need," he placated her with a gesture of his hand as he walked to sit near the bed where she was laying. "Please don't get up on my behalf."
"What nonsense," she said as she began to get up. "I may be old, but I still can…"
Waver grasped her hands. "Granny, it's fine. I was in town for work and I thought to drop by. There's no need to bother with anything. I'm just glad I've got to see you."
"You're so kind Waver," the woman replied, moving to hug him from her seated position on the bed. "Now, if only my real grandson was as nice as you…"
Waver froze in the arms of the elderly woman, only to snap abruptly to stare at an equally shell-shocked Glen.
"Martha, you…" her husband swallowed. "How long have you known?"
"I'm not quite sure myself. One day I realized that I just knew that Waver wasn't our real grandson. It didn't matter though."
"Granny… why didn't you say anything?" Waver asked, stunned.
"Oh, you silly boy. Even if you really aren't our grandson, that doesn't change anything to us. You have been like family since those days, even if it was just an illusion." She continued to smile as she said, "Besides, it wasn't like you ever tried to harm us or anything. And you kept writing us even after that. You have been part of this family even when you no longer needed to, so how could I have considered you any differently?"
"I… thank you Granny."
"There's no need to thank me. If anything, I should thank you for bothering with an old woman in some far away country."
"It was no trouble at all," he smiled. "You are the best family I ever had."
Pulling back, the still smiling woman looked into his eyes. "Then if you don't mind, I'd like to know more about this grandson of mine."
"… You must understand that you cannot speak to anyone of what I'm about to say. Many lives would be at risk if you ever spoke of this."
"Of course," they both agreed.
Waver sat on the mattress and Glen did the same. Normally he would have absolutely avoided speaking of Magecraft related topics with a mundane, but this situation was special. Glen and Martha were really like family to him, and the likelihood of them crossing paths with the Association was nearly non-existent.
So Waver told him about his life, explaining the existence and the basic workings of Magecraft. The look of shock on their faces when he performed a few simple feats was absolutely amusing. They recovered from the surprise fairly quickly, though, and Waver continued his tale. He explained in layman's terms the Holy Grail War and his relationship with the tall muscled man who shared a room with him for a time, moving then to the following years and his career inside the Clock Tower as well as his reason for him to return in Japan.
He didn't give them any relevant information, so that they wouldn't be a threat to the rule of secrecy, but still told them enough to realize the gravity of his situation.
"To think that there are things like that out there," Martha mused. "Mages, Heroic Spirits and wish-granting artifacts."
"I wouldn't blame you if you didn't believe it," Waver conceded. "It does sound quite far-fetched."
"It's not that," Glen replied. "We do believe you. It makes a lot of sense considering what happened ten years ago. All those children, and that huge fire... was the terrorist attack on that hotel part of this Grail War?" Waver nodded. "How irresponsible. What were they thinking, fighting a war in the middle of a city?"
"Magi normally don't care much about the lives of others. That's why I must stress that you not speak of this with anyone. Not only would no one believe you, but if any other Magus ever caught wind of you knowing what little you do, it would spell certain death for you and everyone connected to you."
"We won't say anything," Martha promised, giving him another brilliant smile. "Thank you for sharing the truth with us."
"You seem to be very happy, Granny."
"That's because I am. I got to know my extra grandson a little better and I had the privilege to know that all those things I only read about in fairy-tales did exist at one point. Some still do." Her eyes took on a distant look, and her smile became wistful. "I had thought I had seen everything in my life but now I know there is so much more out there. It's a wonderful parting gift, Waver."
Waver smiled, but said in a firm voice, "I'm glad, but please remember what I told you. Speak to no one. There is still at least another couple of Magi in this city. One is the supervisor appointed from the Association. She's a high-schooler according to my info, but she should be as dangerous as any other Magus. She might not go as far as killing you, but she could erase your memories all the same."
"The other being this Archer kid I read about? Isn't what he's doing in contrast with what you told us about Magi? I mean helping people, not killing wanted wizards."
"Sealing Designates," Waver corrected, "but yes, that's the gist of it. They are oddities, but from time to time there are this kind of Magus that doesn't care about research and prefer to use their skills for more practical applications. A Magus like that participated in the last War, actually. He was Japanese too, now that I think about it and… no. Could it possibly be so simple?"
"Waver? Is something wrong?" Glen asked eyeing the suddenly pensive younger man.
"I… I must check something. I should go," he said standing up.
"Of course. Be careful out there."
"I will," he nodded. "I'll try and come visit again as soon as possible," he promised.
Leaving from the elderly couple's house, Waver lit up a cigar and fished a phone from his pocket, rapidly dialing a number.
"It's me. I think I might have an idea on the identity of our suspect. … . Yes, I'm positive. … The name?" he took a deep breath from his cigar and then exhaled the smoke slowly. "The name is Emiya."
In the darkness, the sound of sea was the only audible thing for a long time. Slowly other sounds came: shouting voices; agitated voices; angry voices. It was impossible to discern what they were saying.
In the distance, somebody was crying.
Then the voices became closer and clearer, but only one was familiar.
"I don't want this."
"I did not ask what would accommodate your convenience," a female voice replied, sounding unbelievably regal and at the same time incredibly indifferent.
"Evil is a necessary part of this world as well," another voice echoed, this one old and deep, even tinged with regret.
"I don't want this," ***** repeated. It was the only thing ***** could do.
"For the sake of Justice, we shall have you carry the burden of Evil," two groups of voices, both males and females commanded.
"I don't want this," ***** said, on the verge of tears.
"Carry the burden of Evil," one cried.
"Carry the burden of Evil," one demanded.
"Carry the burden of Evil," one pleaded.
"Carry the burden of Evil," the final commanded.
"NOOOOOOO!"
The swish of a blade, the ripping of flesh and the splatter of blood choked out everything but that final, desperate scream.
Shirou woke up with a silent scream, bolting to a seated position. His body was covered, absolutely drenched in sweat, and his hands hurt from grasping the covers of his futon too tightly.
It took him several deep and ragged breaths before he managed swallow the thick knot in the back of his throat. A coppery taste filled his mouth. Brushing his lips with the back of one hand he could confirm that it was indeed blood. In his sleep he had clenched his jaw so tight he had drawn blood.
A glance at his clock revealed that it was barely three in the morning: far too early to be awake even by his standards. Still, the thought of going back to sleep was the farthest thing from his mind. His heart was still beating faster than normal to even contemplate the notion of lying back down. Besides, he needed a bath.
He stood up with a groan and slowly made his way to the bathroom. Five minutes later he was soaking in the water with just his head peeking out of the surface.
It happened again. That was the fourth time he had that particular dream, but it was the most intense and clear experience he had so far. It was so close, so real that he could almost reach out and stop it. He could almost touch the blade and prevent it from spilling blood.
Yet…it was so distant that he could never truly reach it. That blade couldn't be stopped because it already fell long ago, cutting things that weren't supposed to ever be separated and cursing someone to carry a burden that didn't belong to just one person.
Shirou was feeling sick. His brain was filled with things that he wasn't supposed to know. But they were also things that he couldn't turn away from, because that would have meant denying the pain they caused.
Shaking his head he slipped out of the water, feeling at least partially better than when he got in. Without hurry he dried himself and dressed in clean clothes before leaving the bathroom.
On the way back to his room he wasn't surprised to find her awake but still his breath was caught in his throat at the sight.
She stood on the patio, looking up at the clouded sky whose peeking moon bathed her ethereal features in an unnatural light. He wasn't quite sure how long he stood there, just staring at her like she could vanish as soon as the moon disappeared behind its bed of clouds.
"Can't sleep?" she asked, turning her head to him and breaking the spell that rooted him on the spot.
"Yeah," he replied lamely, still unable to form elaborate sentences. "You too?"
"… I dream of the past at times," she said after a moment. "Does it ever happen to you?"
"Sometimes," he admitted as he approached her, joining her in her cloud gazing.
"Is there something you regret?" she inquired. There was an evident curiosity in her voice, but also a tinge of the wariness typical of those who threaded on unknown grounds.
"Many things," he confessed. "Sins that I can never atone for."
She eyed him in silence for a long moment, almost as if she saw him for the first time just then.
"You don't believe in atonement, Shirou-san? You don't think people can redeem themselves?"
"I do believe in it. However, there's no real way to make up for the loss of things that can't be restored. The only compromise is to keep seeking it with every living breath. Then, maybe one day, at the end of my life I can die without regrets, knowing that I did everything in my power and beyond to balance what I sacrificed to get there."
"So young and already you're carrying such a heavy burden," she said, shaking her head. "You've piqued my interest, Shirou-kun. What is it that keeps you awake at night? What sin have you committed that you cannot look away from?"
"The sin of living where others did not," Shirou said without hesitation. "The sin of surviving by sacrificing the lives of others so that I could live a just a moment longer."
"… You?" Caster said, voice filled with doubt and surprise. "I don't think I can wrap my mind around this concept. You are the last person I know that I could imagine doing such a thing."
"Sometimes," he sighed, "our sins aren't really our choice, yet they are pushed on us regardless of what we want for ourselves. Nevertheless, they are ours to bear and to atone for."
Their gazes locked together and she stiffened, his words striking her deeper than any blade ever could. She didn't say anything nor did she need to. Her silence was all the acceptance he required. After all, even things not done and words not spoken have their own weight.
"I should go back to sleep," he said after a while, breaking the not uncomfortable silence.
"Good night, Shirou," she said to his retreating back.
"Pleasant dreams… Medea."
Medea didn't move, didn't breath, didn't think.
He knew. In a way that defied her comprehension he had found out.
Since when? How long had he known? Hours? Days? Weeks? Could it be the he knew from the very beginning? Could he be that he opened his home to her, the Witch of Betrayal, knowing full well the risk of such a choice?
Why? Why? Whywhywhy?
There was no answer that her mind could come up with. She was left with the knowledge that he was fully aware of what she could do. All her preemptive scheming, all the ways she thought she could exploit him to her gain weren't lost to him, and he had told her as much.
However, his admission wasn't meant to say that he was watching her, keeping his guard up against her treacheries. What he told her in calling her by her true name was: 'you don't have to hide'.
For the first time since the cursed day when her hand drew the length of Rule Breaker against the neck of her little brother, Medea had no place and no reason to hide.
It was the second most terrifying experience of her life, immediately after slaughtering her own brother for the sake of a man she didn't love or care for, manipulated by the Gods like a puppet. And yet…
Yet it was like a weight had been removed from her shoulders. A burden she had grown so accustomed to bearing for such a long time that she no longer knew it was still crushing her down. Her heart was beating in her chest at an accelerated rate, caught between panic and elation.
She should run, get away from there as fast as she could. Lies and deceits were her best weapon and only armor. Without them she was naked, defenseless, and weak.
But run where? Where could she go? Was there a place where could be accepted as herself, with all of her sins and faults? Could she run away from the one person who knew how tainted she truly was and not despised her for it?
She couldn't.
No matter how much she knew how weak she was in his regards without her web of lies…he just couldn't bring herself to leave.
Because she had been given an opportunity: a single chance to be something different from the embodiment of betrayal. Because he had forgiven her for her sins, even if she still had to atone for them, even if she could never truly be cleansed from them.
Defenseless but not alone, exposed but not despised, Medea did the only thing her confused mind allowed her to do. For the first time in her lives, Medea of Colchis cried tears of relief and -perhaps - happiness.
For the first time to her memory, hope wasn't just a word for dreamers and fools, but a distant promise shining down on her like a shy spring moon.
XXX
A/N.
Did it really take me a whole month to write this chapter? Yeah, it certainly did. Then again I also managed to update another of my fics and be sick in bed for a week, so I can say that I've been quite productive.
So, I already know that this chapter is going to raise more than a few eyebrows, especially because of Waver's intuition about Emiya and Shirou's knowledge of Medea's name.
Most of it will be explained in the next chapter but if you can't wait come ask question in my forums and you'll be answered.
That's it for now.
See ya!