So, after watching both Fate/stay night and Fate/zero twice, I think it's safe to say three things. 1) If I were to become a lesbian for anyone, it would be Saber, despite the fact that 2) Saber and Shirou are my OTP of OTPs, and 3) together, FSN and FZ (and I think it's fair to group them together as one) make my current favorite anime of all time. All that said, this fan fiction was inspired by my desire to try out a new writing style, wanting to take a real stab at writing a mature scene, and my overall… well, disappointment I guess in the amount/quality of the fan fictions for this series.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fate/stay night or any of its characters, and no wish upon any Holy Grail would be able to change that.

He scoops the last serving of rice into the bowl and as he hands it back to her he makes sure that their fingers brush. A glint of amusement in her eyes tells him that she suspects the action was deliberate, but she smiles at him all the same before returning to her meal, saying nothing, leaving him literally stunned. He can't recall the last time they were the only ones present for dinner, the last time everyone else had somewhere else to be at this time, or if they've actually never had dinner at home alone before, but he's grateful for the privacy because he just can't stop staring at her.

Every so often, between bites or nimble grasps at the food on the table with her chopsticks, she looks over to him. At first it was because despite her pride she just couldn't help herself, but now it's out of curiosity. He's been so quiet. Once she shortens the pauses between her glances enough to notice he's not eating anymore but rather just staring at her, concern and mild embarrassment becomes overwhelmingly evident in those otherwise proud emerald eyes.

Even so, he doesn't notice this because, although he is still staring at her, his thoughts have traveled elsewhere. It's the combination of unexpected movement and the light sound of glass against wood as she places her bowl on the table as she stares right back into his eyes intently that brings him back to the moment.

"Shirou."

"O-oh, sorry." He stutters out quickly to stop her because the way she spoke his name sounded like the beginning of a question.

He then resumes eating with an enthusiasm that seems forced because it is, but he has to make her to drop what she was about to say because he knows if he doesn't, she'll get him to reveal his thoughts and that will only bring about a conversation they've had too many times now over the last nearly two years. After some staring of her own, she picks up her bowl and together they finish off the rest of the food in a silence that, though saturated with the unsaid, serves as proof of their understanding.

Yes, she's come to understand this young man so well, and he her in ways she knows no other ever has or ever could. It's how, even in their silence, she knows why he's been staring at her and though she understands the knowledge still pains her.

She assists him with the clean up and as she does, she makes her own calculated movements that, though internally have her scolding herself, she knows are as necessary in their own way as they are indulgent for her. She stands to his right at the sink, far closer than usual, their sides gently colliding every few seconds. He washes each dish before handing it off to her to dry and each time, their hands brush, and occasionally as he washes a dish she reaches out to lightly stoke his exposed forearm. Her looks over to her, not at all displeased but intrigued. She only smiles coyly and he returns to his work with a small, but genuine laugh. Soon after a splash leaves a collection of suds beneath his eye and she immediately reaches up to wipe it away, her soft touch lingering long enough for her to feel the heat of his mild blush. At this, he smiles meekly and she smiles too. Though their understanding of one another has reached such a level of maturity, they are still so often like love-struck school children when acknowledging this aspect of their relationship.

As she finishes drying the last dish she feels his arms encircle her waist, not exactly strong in their hold but still unyielding, his head resting on her left shoulder, turned so his nose brushes against her cheek and his small breaths dance across her sensitive skin. She puts down the dish and rag, places her hands over his, turns her head slightly towards his and surrenders entirely. They're both surprised. She didn't so much as flinch or tense up. She's made so much progress in accepting his affections, and he can't help but smile and pull her closer.

But it's all brief and soon he turns her around, grips the sides of her arms, places a light kiss on the top of her head after which he just holds her in place and stares off behind her and although she'd normally not question these actions, there's a lingering to it all that with his earlier behavior peaks her concern and redoubles the ache radiating through her. It's when his grip loosens and he starts to move away that instinct overtakes her and her arms wrap around his back, pulling him back into her with more force than she anticipated so her face rests against his chest, and though he's mildly astonished his arms come up to return the embrace.

"Something wrong?" he asks without thinking, a reflex of concern, immediately regretting it when he remembers that knowing gaze of hers from earlier.

"I should be asking that of you." Her voice is kind but not entirely without an edge. His arms tense around her and his chest tightens because it's clear now that she knows exactly what's been on his mind tonight, but he knows he shouldn't be surprised. She always knows. She really knows him, and at times like this that it's his undoing. He stays quiet and they just stand there for a while until she lets out a small sigh of frustration that isn't directed at him, but rather herself.

Because after all this time, she still hasn't found a way to make him believe.

"Whatever may be troubling you," she humors him, "know that I am here, just as I will be tomorrow and each day after, so long as that is what you wish." She says what part of him will likely always believe is impossible just as surely as if she were speaking a decree. It chills him. That unshakable confidence of hers, no matter what it's directed towards, always does, just as it always forces him into sharing that confidence. This matter is the only exception to that because, just as the circumstances that brought her to him were impossible, the things keeping her next to him must be just as implausible. Flimsy.

Temporary.

"I know, Arturia." He tends to reserve her true name for intimate moments like these. Hearing the name now brings forth the memory of one of those moments to the front of her mind. She remembers returning home at the end of the 5th and final Holy Grail War, in which she and Shirou emerged victorious, having destroyed the grail, and after which despite all reason she remained in this time. It was then that he responded to her confession on the hillside that they were so certain would be the last words ever spoken between them, reaffirming what he had already told her twice and shown her almost every day since they met, using her true name to recognize that she was in no way anyone's servant anymore but rather her own person for perhaps the first time in her entire existence, uniting her distant past with her new future, all with one phrase.

"I love you, Arturia."

He has said those words multiple times since then, each time unique and special, and yet they filled her, overwhelmed her, and stilled her the same way every time she heard them. In this moment, those exact words are what she wants to hear in order to ease the pain of the lie he just spoke. It was a lie told for her sake, but it's so transparent because she recognizes the fear fueling it. It was a fear she used to share wholly when she wondered every day whether or not she'd awaken from this dream and vanish back to where time dictated she belonged. Though time has done wonders in relieving her of that fear, it seems to still be an ever-present anxiety within him that neither she, nor time, nor their many exhausting discussions about it can alleviate.

She was once a haunted girl whose desires for humanity, normality, and companionship were among the many dreams her former life as an exalted king crushed almost beyond repair, that same life causing her to chase misguided ambitions all the way into the fray of a cursed war not once but twice. Despite this, hearing Shirou tell her he loves her brings her the purest peace she has ever known, and yet she still suffers. She no longer suffers from the pains of denying her heart's true desires, from denying her true identity as a bright, yet still intensely strong, idealist young woman. Instead, her suffering comes from the fact that she has no words, and that perhaps no words exist, to give him the same peace he so effortlessly grants to her every time he says those same, four, simple words.

Her hands move to his chest and she tugs down at his shirt while tilting her head upward. A space lingers between their faces mostly due to shock on his part. He thinks maybe he's misread her movements but when he looks to her she shuts her eyes, brings her lips to his, and the heaviness in his chest noticeably lifts.

It's extremely rare, almost unheard of really, for her to be so forward with these types of things and he understands why. He figured long ago that, though with time progress would be made, she would likely never be completely comfortable with initiating even small displays of affection. He knew she'd likely never realize how willing, or rather powerless, he would always be to accept any advancement she'd want to make so long as it was an advancement on him. He knew she'd likely never realize that with her soft cream skin, her perfectly golden hair, her eyes incomparable in the brightness and luster to anything but fine emeralds, her lithe yet strong physique, and undeniable aura of majesty and charisma, the sight of her alone would never fail to steal his breath away or leave him wondering how someone so objectively and yet so impossibly beautiful could ever seriously claim to want him.

"Shirou, I love you." She had said that much clearly when she thought their time together had reached its end, and he considers that much a miracle. Even more unbelievably, since that first time she has said it again, often in response to his declarations, though on occasion without any prompting whatsoever. Other than this, she's still not the greatest at making her feelings clear (although she has gotten much better), but like her showing affection he's come to accept this much as enough because when it came to this woman, he would treasure and accept anything she wanted to give him.

And that was due in no small part to the fact that he simply could never be certain for how long she'd really be there.

Their lips quickly find an exquisite rhythm that nearly has him forgetting his troubles. He knows that's what she's trying to do and he's truly grateful for her concern, and really for any chance he can get to kiss her without anyone there to interrupt, as it's a form of confirmation he needs right now. If this is what she'll do to distract him from his thoughts, pushing the limits of her usual comfort with this kind of boldness, then she really wasn't lying about how much it disturbs her when these thoughts cross his mind.

Maybe because she feels she's to blame for your misery.

It's not the first time that thought has come up, but more than ever it now causes guilt to spawn in his stomach and grip him. So he kisses her more forcefully, gripping her waist, guiding her back until her back hits the counter. Her hands move around his neck and he lets her go to brace himself against the counter, pushing for more, forcing her back to bow slightly and the counter to dig into her back uncomfortably. His tongue slips past her lips as she lets out a small whimper into his mouth. She starts to push back and yet, despite having initiated this, she's still largely passive.

Maybe because she's changing her mind.

He almost stops entirely, but instead manages to slow gradually before pulling away from her, resting his forehead against hers, her breath hitting his face in small, warm pants that one by one chip away at his resolve to not dive back in and continue. He leans back to lessen the temptation and tries to look into her eyes but settles for staring off into the sink when the gutting conflict in her eyes proves to be too much.

"I just don't understand sometimes," he finally says after some time, low, almost embarrassed and every part of her softens because he sounds so thoroughly defeated.

"Neither do I, but I believe we agreed it was best to not dwell on this," she says softly, her usual confidence failing her in the face of the man she loved so dearly in such a sad state.

She didn't understand, and neither did anyone else. Not the former servant Saber, nor the surprisingly knowledgeable Ilya, nor even the prodigious Rin Tohsaka could provide an explanation as to why Saber did not return to her time after Shirou's use of his last command seal, the grail's destruction, and the conclusion of the war. Her existence among them, her life, her flesh, her apparent mortality, was simply void of any logic or reason, and so there was nothing to understand. Nothing but that, for some reason, she was here, with him.

That's always been the part of it all that really trips him up. With him. That, he knows, he's never told her and that, he's certain, she doesn't know.

In nearly two years' time, Saber has managed to become very familiar with the city, now capable of going to anywhere from anywhere and back home without trouble. Rare now are the times where she has to ask him for an explanation about a custom, device, or phrase, and her old-fashioned manner of speaking has even begun to give way to the modern tongue in some ways. When they along with Tohsaka reached the hesitant conclusion that she wasn't about to disappear, Saber enrolled in his school. She became the ace of the Kendo team, naturally, winning every tournament she ever competed in including two national tournaments, her intelligence reflected well through her grades, almost everyone found her foreign looks as worthy of awe as he did, and her natural grace and mild mannerisms earned her the adoration of many. With all these aspects in conjunction with one another, the only one who rivaled her in terms of popularity was Tohsaka herself.

The only flaw anyone ever saw in her was that it seemed her heart already belonged to someone. Him. It seemed no one else really understood it either.

He was beyond overjoyed to see Saber thriving so well in his time, enjoying herself even. It didn't seem long ago that she relied on him to navigate through a world so different from her own, but those times were certainly passed. Should she want to go and venture the world, experiencing all it had to offer someone like her, she could do so on her own and surely live a magnificent life.

Even if the universe didn't rip her away from him, there's still nothing keeping her with him. Not really. And if she doesn't know that already, he figures, perhaps this is the time to tell her.

"I don't understand why you're here."

It sounds to her like he's on the same topic, refusing to let it go, refusing any help she can offer. In every way, the words sting like an insult. She frowns.

"Shirou," she starts sternly but stops when he looks into her narrowed eyes, looking just as stern for reasons she can only guess and fear.

"I meant with me. Sometimes, I just don't understand why you're here with me. How is it even possible that you're okay with settling for me? Even if you live out the rest of your life in this time, I just don't see why you'd ever want to spend it with me."

The words leave a bad taste in his mouth because he had no time to refine them before they spilled from him. They were the closest things to the truth he felt. The ugly, heart-splitting truth that doesn't seem to sit well at all with her either and he's not sure yet whether or not that's a good thing.

"Shirou," she almost whispers. She's too shocked to be strong. Never would she ever have imagined hearing those words from him. Even if she had some sort of a verbal response, any thing at all to counter him, the sickening feeling of simultaneous deflation and pressure centered in her chest has rendered her unable to speak well anyway. She can only stare up at him incredulously, her jaw slacked slightly, and again he has to look away from her.

"You don't have to answer any of that," he says because he knows asking that of her would be asking for far too much. "I'm sorry. Really, I am. I just can't help but think about these kinds of things sometimes." He feigns a smile, hoping maybe that'll be the end of this, but she just keeps staring.

"How often is 'sometimes'?" she asks quickly, so quickly he almost misses what she said. He doesn't respond, but his sinking posture speaks for him.

"I think it's just been a long day. If you want, we can talk about this later, but right now I just want a bath," he says almost convincingly. Almost. He smiles again and she can't repress a small one of her own. Satisfied, he pushes off the counter, cups her left cheek, kisses the right corner of her mouth, and takes his leave.

She frowns at his retreating back. Those words spoken in painful earnest were not lost on her in the slightest and although he said she didn't have to, she knows she'll have to answer those questions of his. She doesn't know how, but she knows when, or at least when she should.

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed and that you'll choose to continue onto the other chapters (once they've been uploaded). Reviews would be greatly appreciated.

-Servant Alchemist