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Immortal	By : zoni Category: > Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???) Views: 4535 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji. I do not make any money off of my fan fiction.

Chapter List
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Chapter Three

The sky outside is finally turning black as I walk down the sidewalk toward John Anderson's apartment. My master called seven minutes ago and requested my presence in his home. Once again, he has decided to entertain guests. I take it that I am to be part of the entertainment. As he requested, I changed into more colorful clothing than I usually wear. He detests my preference for black and white suit ensembles. Between my current and former masters, I haven't had a day this busy in nearly a year.

My young master. Only a few moments before, he was standing in front of me. I can still remember the sound of his voice. Even with whatever I may have to do tonight, I hope that thoughts of him will distract me. I have no doubt that I will call the number that he gave me. There are complications, it is true, but complications do not change the fact that I have already made my decision. I would be lying if I said that I did not wish to serve him once more.

Even being in his presence for the short while that he remained in my apartment, I was reminded of how very much I truly enjoyed being his butler. I am quite used to playing different roles, a new life for each master I serve. Very rarely do I actually find myself looking forward to the duties that I perform for them. While I was in his service, I truly became a butler befitting the Phantomhive family. At some point, it had ceased to be simply an act. I must admit, that sort of existence is not a poor one.

The complication that exists, the very one whose home I am swiftly walking toward at this moment, is John Anderson. While I admit that I wish to return to the service of my young master, I will admit that I am conflicted by the idea of serving him while still bound to Anderson. While difficult to explain, I feel as though it would be disrespectful to my young master if I could not give him my full attention at any time that he might require it. It feels inappropriate to serve both of them at once. Demons do not form relationships in the way that humans do. Therefore, I cannot say for certain, but I believe that I am beginning to understand the feeling of infidelity. Perhaps it is truly impossible to serve two masters.

Even if I was to return to the service of Ciel Phantomhive, I am aware that things have changed. I have no idea what his lifestyle is like now, or even what he has gone through in the past century. The lifestyle of the noblesse of Britain is dead. In it's place there exists a less elegant world of businesses, scandals and false fortunes. That doesn't really matter to me. I am more concerned with the changes between myself and my young master. After more than one hundred and twenty years, I wonder if it is really possible for me to return to the master that I abandoned. I have little doubt that trust would be a fragile thing for a very long while with him. My young master has always been very intelligent, but never very trusting.

Very honestly, I expected him to leave after what I told him earlier. The true reason behind my motivation for leaving. Even though he knows that I cared, and still care, for him more than I should, he has still asked for me to call him. Perhaps I have been the foolish one in this case. My mind replays the last few words of our conversation and I can still hear him telling me that I was not the only one who felt that way.

Even before I left his side, I knew that he was attracted to me. Part of a demon's deceit is their charm and appeal. I am quite used to dealing with that reaction from other people. However, it was unacceptable for my young master to feel that way about myself for any number of reasons. Social standards, his fiancée and my desire for him to live a full and normal life were some of the many reasons that I chose not to act on that. He was young. At that age, it was normal for him to feel that way about someone. I was not surprised that I was the target of those feelings. However, the fleeting emotions of teenagers are even less predictable than the weather. Humans are fickle creatures and they are even more easily distracted than most demons. When I left, I had expected him to move on and forget. Eventually, he would marry Lady Elizabeth and realize his potential as Earl Phantomhive. I would become little more than a memory to the boy who I once called master. I never expected him to have some residual care to that end. Then again, I had not thought that I would still feel as strongly about him as I so very clearly do. It would seem that I have underestimated both my young master and myself.

I can see the brick facade of John Anderson's overpriced apartment building coming quickly into view. Quickly, I make my way inside and head up to his apartment. Even two floors away, the music is loud enough to shake the walls. Loud, tinny and having no class whatsoever. How very like my master. The elevator comes to a standstill and I make my way out into the hallway, crossing the distance to his front door in an instant. There is no need for me to knock; the door is already open several inches. Inside, the stench of alcohol, drugs and sweat permeates the air. A large crowd of people inhabits the space. I never would have imagined that so many people could have fit into such a relatively tiny area.

Pushing my way through the pulsing crowd, I search the apartment for John Anderson. There is barely enough room to walk. I can't hear my own thoughts over the din of conversation and music. Several minutes of searching reveal my master's location. I find him in his bedroom. The door stands wide open, but the lights inside are turned off. The mattress of his bed is bare. All of the coverings for it have been tossed on the floor beside it. He lays on top of the bare faux-silk mattress top in nothing but an unfastened pair of trousers, two mostly naked women draped over top of him. One is a stranger, but I recognize the other as a cheap prostitute that Mr. Anderson favors. They smell of sex and urine. Disgusting. At least they are breathing. For a moment, I had wondered if he had called me here to dispose of someone he had accidentally killed. His lifestyle is degrading and filthy to me.

"Mr. Anderson," I say, trying to get his attention. On the bare bed, he stirs. Several moments pass as he makes his way to consciousness. As he sits up, he pushes the women off of him, snorting indignantly as one of them protests.

He tucks himself into his pants and zips the fly, wiping one hand on the leg of the trousers. "You're late, and what the fuck are you wearing?"

"My apologies, master," I say. "No more than twenty minutes has passed since I received your call. I felt that the clothing was appropriate and it is also colorful, as per your request."

Anderson eyes me cautiously. I do not particularly enjoy wearing colorful clothing. However, as he wished, I am wearing a green shirt and khakis. Try though I might, I could not bring myself to wear what he would consider party clothing. He had not specified what style of clothing to wear, at any rate. Apparently, his problem with my manner of dress is not major enough for him to insist on having me change. Finally, he runs a hand through what little hair is on his head. "Fine. Get to work."

"What would you like for me to do, master?" I ask.

"Whatever. Entertain the guests. Keep them happy. Whatever the fuck they want. And I do mean whatever they want." He snorts heavily and then swallows as if he has just discovered something stuck in his throat. "You better not fuck this up."

How eloquent. I offer a short bow. "As you wish."

Turning, I walk back through the bedroom door and head toward his living room. Behind me, I can hear him lifting himself off of the bed. The springs in his mattress groan with relief at no longer having to support his weight.

He shuffles forward, reaching me just as I enter the living room. His thick hand lands on my shoulders, fingers barely able to wrap them due to the difference in our height. Or perhaps due to his lack of fitness. "Hey, everybody!" His voice is loud, but he still only manages to attract the attention of five or six people standing nearby. That is apparently enough. "I've brought you all a little party favor. He's up for anything, so have fun!"

His hand slides to my back and he pushes me forward. I allow myself to move a couple of steps. The people around us laugh lightly. There are a couple of raucous hoots and hollers. I turn to look at John Anderson, but he is already sauntering back to his sleeping quarters, a bottle of something alcoholic in one hand.

The crowd returns to their meaningless conversations. For the most part, my entrance goes unnoticed even with the introduction. Then, out of the crowd, I see a woman wandering up to me. She's abnormally thin, nearly to the point of being anorexic. That would make perfect sense, and it would go nicely with the track marks on her arms and the bruises that I can see on her neck and wrists. Her scanty clothing does little to hide them. As she walks up, she makes a show of flipping her bottle blond hair back and forth. "Hey there, handsome."

"Good evening," I respond, ever courteous. Though, in honesty, there is little need for courtesy here.

She places a hand on my arm, trying to steady herself as she totters back and forth on her too-high heels. "You're not like John's usual crowd, are you? You're classy. Real quality-like. What're you doing in a place like this?"

She smells of vomit and cocaine. How positively vile. I smile charmingly. "I am here to keep people such as yourself entertained."

"Oh, is that so?" She moves the hand that was on my arm to my chest, stroking red fingernails over the fabric of my shirt. "Well, I could use a little entertainment. You up for a little fun, hot stuff? I'll bet you're packing..."

"Of course," I say. Taking hold of her arm, I turn and lead her back down the hall toward the spare bedroom.

Despite the fact that my apartment is only mediocre in the level of its furnishings, it happens to have a state of the art shower. I had it put in after the first such incident at one of John Anderson's parties. The hot water is relaxing even for one such as myself. After an hour underneath of it, however, I still feel like there is dirt stuck to my skin. The events that occur at those parties disgust me to a point that I would probably find remarkable if I were not personally involved. Over the centuries, I have corrupted thousands of bodies and souls with my hands and lips. I cannot even count the number. And yet, the things that I have been made to do in the name of John Anderson are among some of the worst.

However, that is done now. Night has passed. It's morning. I have already given Mr. Anderson his stock tips and pastries for the day. Light creeps through the window of my bathroom as I turn off the shower and step out onto my bath mat, toweling myself dry. I do not bother with dressing in the bathroom. A quick glance toward the wastebasket confirms that I have already disposed of the clothing from the previous night's activities. Leaving the bathroom door open to allow the steam to dissipate, I walk quickly to the bedroom.

The bed in my room isn't used frequently. When I feel the desire to sleep, I usually only allow myself an hour or two. It isn't as though I actually need the rest. However, I still make full use of the room. I towel my hair off as I look at the nightstand. The small black cell phone sits on the false cherry wood of the stand next to the white business card that my young master gave me yesterday. That innocent white card manages to capture my attention. Things such as that party would never have happened in the service of Ciel Phantomhive. Unexpectedly, I find myself missing his presence. There is no guarantee that I can make him as to when I can return to his service. However, I do want to see him.

I finish drying my hair and sit down on the bed, picking up the cell phone. Looking at the card, I dial the number and hit the green button to place the call. I press the phone to my ear. It rings twice, and then I hear a familiar voice at the other end. "Yes?"

"Young master," I say, "would it be possible for you to see me today?"

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes." Click. The line goes dead. Snapping the phone closed, I set it back down on my nightstand. I have had the phone for nearly a year, since just after John Anderson and I formed our contract. That is the first time that I have ever felt that it merited worth.

Fifteen minutes is not a long span of time, especially not for a demon. And yet, I find myself spending longer than necessary dressing and brushing my hair. Even so, the minutes tick slowly by as I wait for him. Then, there is a knock at the door. I walk through the apartment and pull it open. Once again, Ciel Phantomhive is standing in my doorway.

He walks through the door as I lift a hand to motion him inside. I can feel myself smiling. "Young master."

"Sebastian," he nods. For a long moment, the two of us stand there regarding one another. Yet again, I am struck by the uncanny feeling of seeing him in front of me after so long.

He isn't keeping his distance from me today. Instead, he is actually standing rather close to me. I am well aware that it's very rude to stare, but he doesn't seem to mind. He is looking at me every bit as intently as I am looking at him. Perhaps he is still suspicious of me. I feel as though it has been far too long since I have seen his face. I am tempted to reach up and brush the hair out of his eyes, but even then I know that I would not be able to see the mark of our contract. The eye patch is firmly in place today. However, I still find myself unable to resist touching him in some way. Bending slightly, I reach down and straighten the collar of his shirt. He takes a breath, but shows no other reaction to what I am doing.

After I finish, he asks, "What did you want to see me about?"

"You came all the way out here without even knowing that much?" I find that amusing.

"I just wanted to," he responds. "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all," I tell him. He looks up at me and then walks into the living room and sits down. Ever the gracious host, I figure I should at least offer him refreshments. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Yes." He pauses, and then finishes quietly. "... tea."

I offer him a short bow and then walk into the kitchen. My cupboards are not well stocked, only so much so that it might appear that someone lives here. Even so, I do keep loose leaf tea. I haven't really had a reason for it. I suppose that, for a demon, it is incredibly sentimental of me to keep something like that around. This is the first time that I have actually allowed previous contracts to affect my lifestyle. When I first entered into a contract with Ciel Phantomhive and began living in his manor house, I did not bring so much as a single personal belonging with me. And yet, here I find myself keeping such silly things as jasmine tea. I boil water and prepare the tea for my young master.

Returning to the living room, I hand him the cup and a saucer. Today, he is sitting in the chair nearest to the couch. I sit down on the couch seat closest to him. He lifts the tea cup delicately and sips at it. I take it that he hasn't been drinking much tea in the past century or so. His nose wrinkles slightly at the taste. "My apologies, young master. I am afraid the quality of tea has declined in the time that has passed."

"No," he shakes his head. "It tastes fine."

We sit in companionable silence for a long while. Eventually, curiosity gets the best of me. "Young master, I have a question."

"What is it?"

"I must admit that, after running into you yesterday morning, I became curious. I looked into information about yourself," I say. "I was wondering why everything that I find says that you died in 1892."

For a moment, he thinks about how to respond. "Tanaka was the first one who noticed that I wasn't aging. When he began to suspect that something was off, he looked at measurements from my tailors and photographs of myself. He thought very carefully before mentioning his suspicions to me. He had no explanation to offer, only the problem. It was a month before my sixteenth birthday and yet I hadn't aged a day since I was thirteen.

"In the terms of years, that short of a span of time isn't much to speak of, but even I knew that it wasn't normal. Tanaka wasn't the only one who had noticed. The Queen had mentioned it more than once. My appearance was causing rumors in the higher echelons of the social circles, especially when I appeared in public with Lizzy. Unlike myself, she was growing up quickly. She was a beautiful young woman. Toward the end, I looked even more like a small child when standing next to her.

"The rumors were actually causing problems for Funtom Company. We lost several business deals because of some story being passed around that I was terminally ill and that the company was about to go under. We decided in the space of a week that it would be best if I appeared to die. The company could continue on under Tanaka's guidance. I would simply wait elsewhere for a more opportune time to return and take the company back. It wasn't just the fact that I wasn't aging that did it. There was a string of assassinations that were happening at that point in time. Other people who worked for Her Majesty like I did were being killed. Queen Victoria provided the initial suggestion both for my safety and for the sake of the work that I did for her. We simply made it happen. It was merely coincidence that I became very ill around the same time. The bout of pneumonia provided the perfect cover story.

"After I had recovered, I left England and placed Tanaka in charge of the company. He remained the company president until very shortly before his death in 1904. I returned to England upon hearing of his illness. Even though I was twenty-eight at the time, he seemed unsurprised by my appearance. He told me before he died that he always knew there was something different about me."

"He was a remarkable man," I tell him.

"Yes, he was," he agrees. "After his death, I decided to take over the running of the company once more."

"I had wondered why the company heads changed so frequently. With any other company, I would have thought the business was unstable."

He raises an eyebrow. "Is it really that noticeable?"

"Yes," I say, "just a bit. There's something of a pattern to it."

He lifts the tea cup to his lips and takes a sip. "I'm surprised that you didn't notice the other pattern."

"Other pattern?"

He smiles, then. The barest upturning of rosy lips. "All of the company presidents, and subsequently my own false identities, have been named after people that you and I knew when we were both at the manor house. The current president is Frederick Randall. I do not think that Lord Randall would appreciate the fact that I have combined his name with that of his subordinate, but I don't think that Fred Abberline would have minded."

I find myself snickering at that. Even after all this time, it would appear that my young master is still a child in more than just his appearance. "That is very unexpected of you, young master."

He looks at me in a way which suggests that he knows exactly why I find it amusing. It's almost a glare. "It was easier than coming up with something completely new."

"Is that all that you have been doing in all this time?" I ask.

"For the most part, yes. I'm here in New York on business for the new office that is being built here. I travel between the major offices and London most of the time. I still do work for the British government, though things have changed since you were with me last. All governments have their secrets. I am simply one more for Britain to deal with. It's largely thanks to them that I am able to change identities so regularly." He sips his tea and goes silent.

It would seem that he has no intention of inquiring as to my whereabouts for the past century. I am actually rather relieved at that. It is not as though I have anything that I wish to hide from him. Rather, it is more the fact that I have done nothing of note. Nothing at all, really. The fact that it is only within the past year that I have entered into a new contract is evidence of my self-imposed asylum. "I am very glad to see that my young master has done so well in my absence."

Looking at me directly, he asks, "Have you thought about what I said yesterday?"

I do not need to ask what he means. Somehow, the conversation doesn't seem as casual now as it was. I wonder how I should respond. There are really no right answers in this situation. As always, I suppose that honesty is the best policy. "Young master, I have regretted my decision to leave since the very first night that I made that choice. However..."

He sits up a little straighter in his chair and watches me. "However?"

"There are complications."

"What sort of complications?" Confusion is easy to read on his face. I imagine that he has become quite used to dealing with unexpected situations in his lengthy time as the many presidents of Funtom Company. I suppose that I am also an unexpected situation.

I feel a strange reluctance to explain the situation with John Anderson. In all honesty, it would be very poor form to mention my other master in front of him. This is also an unprecedented situation for me. Perhaps showing him would be the best way. I pull my left hand to my lips and tug off the cotton glove that I put on out of habit. The glove comes away easily enough and I hold the hand up for him to look at.

Almost without seeming to realize it, he sets the tea cup and saucer down on the coffee table. Then, he reaches out and takes hold of my left hand and studies the contract mark on my skin. His fingers are warm on my palm. "It looks... different than I remember," he says. Then, as his eyes trace the lines, I can see him realize why it looks different. His voice is disbelieving as he makes a very accurate guess. "Sebastian, are you in another contract?"

"Yes." My answer is simple and my voice serious.

"I see." In an instant, his face turns unreadable. He sits back slightly in his chair, letting my hand fall from his fingers.

"Young master, are you all right?" I ask. Rather than replying directly, he simply nods. "Would you like another cup of tea?" I can see that his cup is empty. Again, he nods in response as he stares at the floor. I stand and take the cup and saucer from the coffee table in front of him.

It only takes a moment in the kitchen to prepare him a cup of tea. When I return to the living room, he is on his feet. Without looking at me, he says, "I need to leave."

"Why do you need to leave, young master?" I set the dishes smoothly down onto the coffee table and turn to him. He will not look at me, even when I take a step closer to him.

"Sebastian," he says quietly.

"Yes?"

"When you left, why didn't the mark in my eye go away?"

Looking at him now, I feel a very deep sense of regret for leaving his side. Whatever forces drove me to abandon him now drive me to do exactly the opposite. I have already made my decision. John Anderson's time is nearly up. When he is dead, I will return to my true master's side. Reaching up, I tug at the thin cords that hold his eye patch in place and let it fall to the floor. Even though he isn't looking at me, I dislike having that seal covered up when it isn't necessary. Softly, I tell him the truth. "Young master, even though I may leave your side and ignore your orders, the agreement between us is eternal. Neither you nor I have the power to destroy what we wrought."

I hate seeing him like this. It is a look I have only seen on his face a few times, and very soon after I always killed whatever caused that sadness. This time, there is nothing I can do to destroy the source of his pain. I know that I am the one responsible. For once, I feel ashamed of myself. Though I believed that what I had done was in his best interests, I have only succeeded in harming him. Placing my right hand over my heart, I sink down on one knee. My eyes are fixed at his feet as I address him. "Young master, I have neglected your orders and disregarded our contract for more than a century. This negligence has caused you pain. As your faithful servant, I sincerely regret my behavior. It is unbefitting of one that wishes to be a butler of the Phantomhive household.

"Though much time has passed and though I left your side, you have always been my young master. What can I do to atone for my shameful actions?"

My eyes do not lift from the ground as he takes two small steps forward. He places both hands on the sides of my face, guiding my gaze up to look at him. His expression is unreadable as he looks down at me. The mark of our contract nearly glows in his eye. Very slowly, he leans down and kisses me.

To be continued....
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Immortal