Chapter Text
Shinjuku Quarantined Territory, March 15, 2019
Ushiwakamaru watched as the silent ruin of her lord’s killer began to dissolve into streamers of black smoke before her. It looked like it was going to take a while, but she could wait. The many wounds she was distantly aware of made it hard to remain standing, so she let herself drop to her knees, Hoemaru’s tip scratching the bloody pavement. A bad way to treat a faithful weapon, but that was the way of the world, was it not?
It didn’t matter. She’d finished everything she needed to do. The wolf-thing had murdered Ritsuka, and she’d faithfully avenged him. If only she’d managed it for the others she’d lost. Still, there was a bleak peace in knowing there was nothing tying her to this world anymore. She'd used up almost every scrap of energy she had to activate Hoemaru, so it couldn’t be long until she faded away.
Except I’m still getting mana from somewhere, came a stray thought.
It was odd how it felt like her anchor to Chaldea was working, but of course that couldn't be the case. because Ritsuka was dea -
“Ushi?”
His voice calling her name jolted her out of her bleak reverie. It was happening again. She must be going mad. She’d imagined she’d seen him, heard him, even after he’d been slain.
He must be alive. He warned me, after all, came that same delusional doubt.
In fact, that vision of him had saved her life, though she'd been so shocked at the sight of him she nearly hadn’t listened in time. She’d paid for that lapse, but she’d pay it again gladly to feel the jolt of incredulous joy she’d felt when she imagined she’d seen him.
When Ushi looked up, there he was, slowly walking toward her across what had just been a battlefield, torn but not torn apart. She could see the relief on his face when she looked up, the concern in his eyes. He seemed quite real, though of course he couldn’t be. She supposed she was willing to indulge in a delusion if it meant she’d hear his voice one more time.
Stop being maudlin and get up!
She forced herself up to her feet, feeling broken bones grinding against each other and ignoring them. Hoemaru slipped from her hand into the spirit world. Each step hurt, but she didn’t, couldn’t stop until she’d walked right up to him and grabbed his shoulders, staring at his face, trying to make her eyes see past this happy fantasy to the truth. He seemed so real, but that wasn’t possible.
…Was it?
She meant to say, ‘My lord,’ but what came out was, “…Ritsuka?”
He blinked and nodded shakily, looking relieved and aghast at the same time. “You look… Are you okay? You should sit down, go into spirit form, something…”
She ignored his babbling, looking him up and down. He was breathing like he’d run for kilometers, his hair was speckled with dust and debris, and he looked like he’d lost a fight with a gravel pit, but he wasn’t torn apart or eaten whole. “You shouldn’t be here,” she muttered to the ghost in front of her. “You’re dead. I lost you, too.” Just like everyone else. It didn’t make sense. He felt solid and alive, and when his eyes caught what light there was, they were worried and tired but just as warm as ever.
“...It was just a trick, Ushi. I’m right here.”
She still couldn’t quite believe he was there. He couldn’t be. She’d seen him die -
Ushi squeezed her eyes shut for a second, feeling that hopeless, all-consuming fury rising up in her again, burning her pain for fuel.
He's not dead. Stop it!
“Hey,” she heard. “I’m okay. I’m alive.” When she opened her eyes, he was still there, against all her expectations. He gave her a weary, grateful smile, his bright eyes watching her. “Thank you.”
Something settled into place in her with an inaudible click, like a broken bone being set in her soul. A rush of warm relief pushed down the cold fury, and the world came back into focus.
She hadn’t been too late. Somehow, she’d made it in time. She didn’t know how, and she didn’t care as long as they were both alive. He was alive! It felt like she was the one coming back to life, instead. She drew in a gasping breath and tugged at his shoulders to pull him toward her, into an embrace, or, or something -
Self-consciousness returned, and she froze again when saw her hands pulling him to her, coated in red as if she’d been bathing with Carmilla. All of a sudden, she could feel how her face and clothing were tacky with blood; some of it was slowly fading with the corpse that had produced it, but a lot of it was hers. Wincing with pain and chagrin, she lifted her hands away, not sure what to do with them. “Aah! My lord, I’m sorry -”
Ritsuka’s worried look gave way to an obstinate one. Ignoring the blood, he stepped between her raised hands before she could pull away, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her close against him.
The last of her rage went out like a snuffed candle.
She could hear his breath close to her ear, growing slower and steadier, and feel his heart beating against her chest, the pressure of his arms around her back. Being held like that, like someone important to him, felt so good that at first she wasn’t sure what she was feeling at all. She only realized she’d put her arms around him in return when she registered how much her arms hurt doing it. Then she told herself that there was no point in letting go; it would only hurt more if she moved again. That was a good reason to keep holding him, wasn’t it?
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly; she could feel the rise and fall against her chest, the tension draining from his body the same way it left hers. They stood there together for a moment, each of them trying to hold each other and hold each other up.
“Are you truly all right, my lord?” she whispered.
Ritsuka nodded without letting go. His voice was unsteady. “Yeah. I mean, I’m scraped up, and I used up a month’s worth of adrenaline, but I’ve actually been worse. Are you all right?” he asked again, little more than a whisper. “I thought -“ He cut himself off as if he didn’t want to mention it.
“My head is still attached,” she said, remembering fangs closing inches from her neck. “I have you to thank for that. Everything else will heal.”
He gave a gentle squeeze, seemed to hesitate, and started to lower his arms. She ought to do the same, but she found she couldn’t make herself let go. Instead, she clung a little tighter. She wanted to hold on until the memory of seeing him die was lost beneath the feeling of his chest rising and falling against hers. She wanted him to keep holding her until she was ready for him to stop. She thought that it might take a while.
After a few seconds, Ushi felt his arms slide around her again, and now she was blushing on top of all the broken bones and blood loss. She still didn’t stop.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked.
“Not enough that I want you to let go,” she said quietly.
“...Oh.” His arms tightened the tiniest bit. “Okay.”
“I thought I was too late,” she said. Her voice shook, despite her best efforts. It was infuriating. If she wouldn’t cry when she’d thought he was dead, why would she want to cry now?
She felt him smile. “You were right on time,” he whispered back.
Ushi let her head lean against his and closed her eyes, and let everything but his warmth fade from her attention.
Unfortunately, that could only last until they both began to wobble. Neither of them wanted to move, but two tired, injured people couldn’t hold each other up forever. Working together, they managed to stumble to a bus bench that had somehow survived both the fight and the general dilapidation of the city.
Ushi’s wounds were far worse than his, and she was critically low on mana; every bit Ritsuka could channel to her was going towards keeping her body functional and healing. Over her halfhearted protests, he broke into a dilapidated office nearby and returned with bottles of water from an abandoned minifridge and an office first-aid kit that had seen better days. She felt a little better about not having been able to stop him when the first thing he did was toss back what looked like a whole handful of painkillers and then empty a bottle of water down his throat, only stopping to pant for breath once it was completely drained.
“My lord, this isn’t necessary,” she said, as he pried open the first-aid kit. “I will survive this.” Tired and hurt as he was, he ought to be worrying about his own injuries, not hers.
He sat down next to her. “Yeah, I know. But… Please let me take care of you, even if it’s only this much.” The hopeful little smile he gave her wiped the exhaustion from his face and the objections from her mind.
Despite his muttering about only knowing basic first aid, Ritsuka was gentle and precise as he cleaned and bandaged her wounds, never touching too close to one or pressing any harder than necessary. It was an awkwardly intimate experience, and she spent the whole time alternately watching him and looking away bashfully, too aware of his hands and his attention. But having someone devote so much care and energy to easing her wounds was soothing in a way that healing magecraft never managed to be.
With the mouth of a water bottle, he wet a pack of gauze that had been sterile once upon a time, and slowly dabbed beneath the jagged tear across her cheek. Her foe's blood had mostly vanished as its corpse faded, but hers still decorated her skin and clothing. “I wish you didn’t have to get hurt for my sake,” he said, with a hint of frustration.
“Swords get damaged, my lord,” she said, which was true, but not what she wanted to say.
“You’re not -”, Ritsuka muttered stubbornly.
“Weapon or not,” she said, a little strength returning to her voice, if not her limbs, “I told you before, I want to fight for you.” That was a little closer to the right words, at least. She wasn’t quite sure how to say that she wanted to fight for Ritsuka, and not just Lord Fujimaru.
“…I actually like it when you fight for me. I like it a lot.” Ritsuka watched her wound instead of her eyes. It was hard to tell in the bad light, but she thought his cheeks might have colored. He definitely looked amused when he said, “I just want you to come out of every fight miraculously unscathed.”
“I shall work on that.” Ushi let herself smile too, even if it hurt. “And I promise to be in perfect shape again before our… date.” She would, too. She’d owe Medea-chan a favor or two for the healing, but it would be worth it.
He did meet her eyes, then. She was a little worried he was going to argue about it, but he just nodded and said, “You’d know best.”
“I refuse to allow that wolf to get in the way of our night out. In fact, ‘spite’ has been added to my list of reasons to have a good time.”
That drew a larger smile out of him. “Usually I’d say spite is a bad reason for doing anything, but in this case I’m all for it.”
* * *
It took Ritsuka longer than it really should have to admit he’d passed the point of diminishing returns for tending Ushi’s wounds. She hadn’t protested or acted like she wanted him to stop, but once he’d bandaged up all of the wounds that hadn’t stopped bleeding on their own, and helped her clean the blood from her face and hands, he started to worry that his attempt at medical care was getting on her nerves.
If Babylonia hadn’t taught him better than to let a god know he owed them for anything, he’d have been offering up thanks to someone that Ushi was still breathing. Yes, theoretically they could re-summon her and she’d remember everything, but even more than for the other Servants, he didn’t trust that completely and didn’t want to have to. She deserved more than another lifetime of being expendable in someone's service.
And it turned out that when she bled, he hurt.
Kneeling in front of her, he wound a bandage around one last cut, a nasty gash on her ankle. He tied it off with what he hoped was the appropriate tightness and glanced up at her. “I think any more amateur medicine is going to do more harm than good,” he said.
She was looking away from him now, her big eyes half-lidded, tired and - he thought - a little reluctant to look at him, though he wasn’t sure why. “I… I truly appreciate your efforts, my lord,” she said quietly.
He closed the kit with a clank and set it down, then scooted around on the ground to lean against the bench only a few centimeters away from her, his back against the front edge of the seat. There wasn't much he could do for his own wounds; he'd cleaned and wrapped the ragged cut on his palm, but his aching ribs and the assortment of bruises and scrapes he was sporting weren't the sort of thing he could easily patch up. They weren't going to kill him, anyway, and the pain wasn't so bad now.
Fingertips brushed the top of his head, and he looked up in surprise. Ushi was looking anxiously back down at him, as if asking if it was okay.
A happy smile crept onto his face. He scooted another few inches to the side to rest his head against her leg. Slowly, her fingers started to move. Not patting his head - honestly, he wasn’t sure what he would've done in that case - but running her fingers through his hair.
“That feels really nice,” he said.
“I’m glad,” she replied, in a voice so gentle he almost didn't recognize it.
He let his shoulders go slack and his head lean into her hand. As the weariness in his legs resolved into aching muscles, and the fear in his heart drained away and left only his usual background anxiety, she kept going, fingers brushing backwards, forwards, backwards again.
Her fingers hesitated long enough for him to blink himself aware again. Then they pressed down, still gently, but with more emphasis, tilting his head back and to the side until he was looking up at her.
Framed against the night sky, Ushiwakamaru was bedraggled and bandaged and without a doubt the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. With half-lidded eyes, she looked down at him, and the gleam in them made his breath come quicker. He saw that hers had sped up too. Her lips parted like she was on the verge of saying something. Instead, she leaned her head down toward him, and those lips were very close, so he stretched upward a little to meet her, eyes closing -
A slightly distorted soprano aria echoed down the empty street. With effort, both of them turned away from each other just in time to see the first mannequin clamber out of a building a block down the street. After a pause just long enough to start hoping it had missed them, its head rotated to look right at them. It let out another burst of song and started toward them with jerky steps.
Ritsuka bit back a curse and glared at the mannequin with a heat that, in a just world, would have vaporized it on the spot. “Of course,” he said, voice flat with resignation. Another mannequin joined the first, and another, stumbling out of doorways with snatches of song. “This Singularity really has it out for me personally, doesn’t it? I am never coming back here once we get home. No more spinal fluid imports. We can tap the staff if we need it that badly.” Wincing, he laboriously stood up.
“Ritsuka, you can’t -” Ushi started.
He grimaced. “I think I’m gonna have to try.”
Ushi made an unhappy sound and pushed herself up to her feet. She held herself upright with obvious effort, and stifled a groan. “Did we not just speak about who fights for whom here?”
Ritsuka raised a hand like he was going to stop her, catch her, hold her up - he wasn’t sure what, exactly. Then he looked down the street at the growing crowd of automata, sighed, and dropped his hand again. “I know I’d be an idiot to tell you to let me handle this, but it’s really tempting.”
“After I just saved your life?” Ushi’s breath hitched in pain as she spoke, but she was managing to smile. “I suppose it is a lord’s privilege to make their retainer’s hard work come to nothing.”
Ritsuka sucked air in through his teeth and said in a pained voice, “Ow. Okay, I'm not tempted any more.” He should be more worried, he supposed, but after surviving Lobo again, he couldn’t quite believe they were going to die. “Mystic Code’s almost charged again, for what that’s worth.” Ritsuka scanned the area for something he could hit a killer mannequin with. “Now I wish I’d brought that submachine gun Kiritsugu gave me last month.”
“I am surprised you even know how to use it.” When he looked back, Ushi was testing her range of motion with her arms, and from the expression on her face, not particularly liking the results. “Also, my apologies if I end up spoiling your work with these bandages.”
The banter was oddly soothing, keeping him from worrying about another fight to the death. “It’s fine. And yeah, I had to learn the basics. Do you know what it’s like to have a Counter Guardian lurking in the corner twenty-four-seven until you let them give you a firearms course? Let me tell you, it’s not great.” He picked up a long, bent piece of pipe that might have once been part of the bench’s shelter. It didn’t look like much, but it was solid and heavy. Limping back to Ushi, he hefted it, keeping an eye on the nearest mannequin. They were closing in slowly, their synthetic voices singing to each other softly, without harmony. “Guess this is the best I’m going to get right now.”
Ushi painfully set herself in an attempt at her usual ready stance. Back straight and hand on hilt, she glanced at him with the same unwillingness to be defeated that he felt. “We’ll make do, my lord.”
From above and behind, a genteel voice called, “Ah, but our Master should never be forced to settle for such paltry armaments!” There was a sound like a dozen guns being chambered all at once.
Ritsuka froze as he recognized the sound. He lowered his makeshift weapon and started to laugh, because they were either saved or absolutely doomed.
“In fact, there’s no need to settle for a mere submachine gun, either. Behold, the ultimate cri… er, fire support! The Dynamics of an Asteroid!”
A moment later, Ritsuka’s laughter was drowned out by the roar of constant gunfire. Bullets rained down on the mannequins like the wrath of a trigger-happy god. Muzzle flashes strobed the night, showing mannequin after mannequin toppling, holed through the head or chest or simply torn apart by the sheer volume of fire. The sharp smell of burning cordite filled the air. Flights of rockets shrieked in from above to detonate among the few mannequins who tried to retreat. It was a war in miniature, and it was entirely one-sided.
When the smoke cleared and the gunfire was only fading echoes, nothing except the two of them was left standing. Ushi dismissed her sword instead of sheathing it and leaned heavily against Ritsuka, looking like she couldn’t decide whether to be relieved that she didn’t have to fight or annoyed that she didn’t get to.
James Moriarty, formerly Archer of Shinjuku, now an Archer of Chaldea, dropped from above to land in front of the two of them, turning his landing into a formal bow, hand over heart. Half a dozen gun barrels still protruded from the ornate steel-and-glass coffin on his back, smoking slightly. The Archer tried to rise from his bow, stopped with a wince and a muffled groan, and then slowly straightened up under the coffin’s weight. He rubbed the small of his back gently. “Oh, to be as young and hale as you once more! Good evening again, Master, Rider.”
“How long were you waiting there to dramatically rescue me?” Ritsuka deadpanned.
Moriarty’s debonair smile stretched into a smirk that looked somewhere between a young boy caught at innocent mischief, and a murderer who knows the detective has no evidence. “I’ll never talk.”
As Ritsuka chuckled ruefully, the older Servant glanced between Ushi and his Master. “Hm. Perhaps I spoke too soon when I called you hale. The two of you appear to have been through quite an ordeal in the last little while.”
“Got chased around by Shadow Servant Lobo. I’m not sure if it’s connected to the Rayshift problem, but it almost had me,” Ritsuka said.
A look of alarm overcame Moriarty’s usual sly expression. “God in heaven, another one? The first was bad enough.” Ritsuka just nodded wearily in agreement.
Leaning against him, Ushi pressed her shoulder against his, and he felt a surge of gratitude for her presence. “Never fear, Archer. I bested it.” Ushi mumbled with a distinctly satisfied tone. She gestured stiffly towards the rubble.
Moriarty squinted into the shadows there. His eyebrows went up, and he gave Ushi a look of re-appraisal. “Having faced the original against my better judgment, congratulations. I’m not surprised that it took a great deal out of you both.”
Ritsuka nodded. “Think you can keep an eye out for more mannequins? I don’t really want to stand up any longer than I have to right now.”
“Why, of course! Fret not, Master. It wouldn’t surprise me if that beast’s presence was interfering with your Rayshift, but whether or not that’s the cause, the great Leonardo da Vinci doesn’t seem like someone to be beaten for long by a technical issue. Until then, well.” Moriarty looked at the two of them, then smirked up at the night sky. “As usual, it’s a good night to still be alive.” Humming to himself, he stepped away, coffin clanking softly.
Ushi frowned after him. “I still do not trust that man.”
Ritsuka shook his head. “Absolutely do not trust him one bit.”
Both of them sat back down, and almost immediately Ushi made a small sound and once more slumped heavily against his shoulder. “Apologies, my lord,” she mumbled. “I am… um… conserving my strength.”
Given how much stronger and tougher they were than him, Ritsuka was always a little surprised when he was reminded that Servants only weighed as much as they appeared to. Ushi was only a couple of centimeters short of his height, but even as weary as he was, she didn’t take much effort to hold up.
If he had put words to his decision just then, they would have been something like, ah, fuck it.
He shifted sideways, wincing at his sore ribs - yeah, a couple of the ones on the left felt like they did after that diving press on Quetzalcoatl, so almost certainly cracked - slid an arm behind her, and as gently as he could, eased her down on the bench to lay across his lap with her head on his arm. It was more intimate than he ought to be, but he’d come so close to losing her that something in him needed to hold her, and he wasn’t in a mood to care about ‘ought to’.
He couldn’t see her face, but once she understood she seemed to relax all at once until there was no tension left in her. “That feels nice,” she murmured. “Did I do well, my lord?”
He boggled down at her. “Are you kidding?”
“I… would like to hear your opinion, my lord.” Her voice was muffled.
Fishing for praise was the traditional pastime of half of Chaldea’s Servants, but if she hadn't earned it it wasn't possible to. “You just soloed a real-life raid boss to save my life. I’m not sure you’re aware of this, but you might be some kind of legendary warrior genius.” He could see the corner of her mouth turn upwards in a very self-satisfied smile, which drew out a smile of his own.
She fumbled at her hat, crumpled it and pulled it off. “Pat my head,” she mumbled.
“What?”
“...do I not deserve a reward, my lord?”
With an incredulous smile, he reached across with the arm that wasn’t occupied and complied. Her hair was very soft.
“S’good,” she murmured, her voice softer than he’d ever heard it, and he almost couldn’t breathe for the wave of tenderness that washed over him.
Ritsuka looked down at the girl in his arms and admitted to himself that what he felt for her had gone well past a crush or an infatuation. “Also, you’re awfully pretty when you’re smug.” Uh-oh. He was tired enough that his filters were slipping.
”...Only then, my lord?” she said, not moving despite the flush that crept up her cheeks.
“Nope.”
“...Thank you.” Her eyes slipped shut, and he might have worried if he hadn't felt her chest keep rising and falling.
Still stroking her hair, Ritsuka tilted his head up to look at the sky, streaked with clouds and spangled with stars half-hidden by the glare of the surviving city lights. There were lots of things to be worried about, not the least Ushi’s strange mood during the fight and the changes to her Saint Graph. He knew in his gut those were something that would have to be dealt with.
But those things could wait. Right then, they were safe and they were together, and that was enough.