19: Morning's Light, the Sparrow's Delight

a/n: Some time skips occurred.

Every morning she'd read the news before her master would wake, to keep herself informed of any daily events—no matter how dull or irrelevant they may be to his interests. The headline caught her eyes, and with a frown she absorbed the words. She hadn't batted her eyes, when she sensed the butler's nearing presence from the rear.

"How many is that now?" Sebastian hummed, "Six?"

Kagome flipped over for another page, and found nothing more relevant to the headline, "There's likely more—it is the underbelly of London." Kagome supplied, almost absently, when she refolded the paper and smoothed the wrinkles with an iron. She placed it on the tray inside the dumbwaiter. It'd be no easy trip upstairs with such precautious items otherwise.

"I highly doubt anyone would be interested in the used flesh, Ms. Blackbird." He grimaced at the thought, "They are prostitutes—to be used is their purposes." There was an edge that drew Kagome's disapproving glance, but to Sebastian's disappointment she hadn't said a word.

He wasn't wrong—she was essentially their lord's lapdog.

At the sound of a whistle she scurried over to the stove, "You'd be surprised, butler," Kagome removed the metal vessel from the boiler, not bothering to turn it off for Sebastian and the chef's peruses. With deftness she replaced the scalding water into a ceramic pitcher, painted with gold, "Body parts are still body parts, and it'd be cheaper for the researchers, if they're desperate." Kagome reasoned, shaking in several teaspoons of crushed tealeaves into a porous container inside the pitcher.

"I suppose." Sebastian agreed, pulling on an apron and eyed the huffing Baldroy, "Desperate enough to snatch a murdered victim's body sounds rather excessive for those kinds, wouldn't it?" His glare had the chef submissive, "Fetch the eggs and a capsicum." He told him, setting the skillet over the same boiler Kagome used prior.

"Yessir." Baldroy scurried to another side of the kitchen, grabbing the items they'd already prepared minutes before.

"We've seen humans at their worst, butler." Kagome placed the ceramic pitcher onto the tray and didn't forgo the plate of sweet biscuits* she'd made earlier, "Still, Her Majesty is bounded to set her Watchdog loose soon for this one." The metal hitch screeched when she slammed it shut.

Sebastian twisted his nose at the grindy sound the dumbwaiter made and mentally noted to supply more oil to its' shaft and gears for a later chore, "Are we expecting a letter delivery today then?"

Tugging down the pulley rope with eases Kagome waited until she heard an echoing click of the morning tray's arrival to the floor above, "I'd be surprised if they didn't, butler."

"You both do have some of the most interesting conversations ever." Baldroy muttered. Every morning, either they'd discusses the most disturbing topics he'd ever heard—or nothing at all, rendering the kitchen chilly and quiet, in spite of noisy clutters and clanks of their cooking and brewing. Not a morning had gone by without even a second of an unnerving moment.

Ciel peeled open his eyes when he caught sounds of his door opening and shutting, and found his bed empty of his Doll. Again. "My Doll?" He murmured, grounding the bottom of his palms into his eyes, "You left." His tone carried with a familiar displeasure.

Drawing the curtains open to allow in the morning's light, Kagome fastened the fabrics to keep them from closing, "Good morning, young master. How did you sleep?" She glanced back, with hints of worries in her eyes. Ciel had nightmares last night, though he refused to tell her what they were.

"I'd be better if you stayed." Ciel drew his lips thin and accepting the folded newspaper from his Doll. He sighed at the earthy scent and the trickling of her tea pouring. He could never stay mad at her for long.

Flipping open the news the headline had him in a pause, "Another prostitutes found dead in Whitechapel. How many is this now?" The article was over-exaggerating, he decided, and it was peppered with fear inducing terms and details rather than factual. How typical.

"This is the sixth one we know thus far, milord." Kagome held the cup in her hands, waiting for her master to finish his morning reading. She watched his expression closely, to see his thoughts on the misfortunate victim.

Ciel clicked his tongue, "Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Thrice,"

"Is enemy action*. Very good." Kagome finished and closed in to him, "Here's your tea, milord."

Trading his papers for his tea, he cleansed his lungs with the leafy smell it waltzed into his nose, "So the press is calling this…Jack the Ripper? Fwah." He wasn't impressed. Ciel met her eyes, "Do you suppose Her Majesty will call upon me then, to put an end to this?"

"I fail to see why she wouldn't, milord. Would you like a biscuit with your tea?" Kagome offered a plate with two sweet circles. As she expected, Ciel took one.

Nibbling it Ciel hadn't left Kagome's person, "When do you think they will come for me? At noon?"

"If they haven't already, yes."

Finishing his biscuit and downing it with his tea Ciel handed back his cup, "I should get ready then." He shifted to the floor from his bed, and his eyes fluttered close when he felt her hands carding to smoothen his frazzled head. Unconsciously he reached over to encircle her wrists, stopping her in places.

Kagome blinked, "Milord?" She nearly jumped, when Ciel buried himself into her chest. Biting back a sigh when he roped his arms around her waist into an embrace, Kagome weighted her hands onto his back, "Milord…"

"Don't ever leave me." His plead was muffled, but she heard him as clear as day.

Thumbing through his locks, Kagome pressed a kiss against the cap of his skull, "Was this because of the night terrors you had earlier?"

"You left me behind." His grip tightened, her ribs started to feel uncomfortable.

She paused, "…For what reasons would I have to leave you?"

Ciel didn't answer.

Her shoulders fell, "I won't leave you." Kagome promised.

Her answer eased his hold on her and Ciel's tensions lessened at her gentle pats on his back.

"Come, let me dress you." He pulled away, wordlessly. She continued, when she felt his hands clenching against her hips, "Your breakfast will be ready soon, so best to hurry or risk drawing your chef's ire."

"Heh, as if he would risk drawing mine!" Ciel snorted.

Kagome tugged on his pajama, though he appreciated the weight from her hands on his shoulders, "Just the same, milord, just the same. Now then, lets both of us face the morning together, hm?"

"Let's." Ciel warmed.

Words: 1100

The biscuits we American knew aren't the same in Europe—in fact they were more like cookies there but was referred as biscuits instead. They're popular to take with teas.

Quote, slightly altered, is by Ian Fleming. However he wasn't yet born and wouldn't until 1908, but lets run with this, okay?

a/n: Another reminder, this fic isn't meant to be a romance and the ship is assigned because the main characters' relationship is the main focus—not that it is a romantic indication. This story is meant to shed disturbing lights on unhealthy relationships and instability of it all. Although Kagome does try not to contribute to the issues, she still enable Ciel's instabilities because she doesn't try to remove herself from the situation. You'll see why eventually in a later arc, but the reasons aren't as complicated as it may seem. I wonder if any of you dear readers will figure it out? Think back to the beginning.

Anyway, I had been meaning to update for a long while, whoops? Figured a chill update would be a good palate cleaner and to apologize for my long disappearance. I had been busy, especially with my looming graduation date in May 2019. I do have a finished (ish?) fic I can post. It's a simple but sweet story I wrote for a friend of mine, BunnyWk, so hopefully those of you who liked Vincent Phantomhive will be looking forward to it! It'll be up soon-ish.

Cheers and have a great New Year!