Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Type-Moon characters or properties expressed in the work of fiction below. They belong to Type-Moon and their creator, Kinko Nasu.
Author’s Notes: This fic is Dead. It is an Ex-fic. It is pushing up daisies and just taking up space on my harddrive. Chances are unlikely that it will continue. This fic is DOA. D-E-A-D. Just there were others who wanted me to repost it.
Also, this fic takes place sort of after Archer’s end in Fate/Unlimited Codes, or a rather similar time line.
Fairy Tale
By: Elf
Archer warned me there would be days like these.
The ground was rushing to meet him at an exponential rate as he was being pulled down faster and faster. At the rate he was falling Emiya Shirou was certain that he would break a good majority of the bones in his body or worse if he did not act quickly. Eyes closing, the redhead fired up his Circuits, the prana flowing through his body as his head pounded intensely for a split heart beat. It felt as if fire was racing through his veins as he forced the energy through his limbs, making flesh, muscle and bone akin to steel. It was easier to push it farther, focusing on his steel reinforced boots to Strengthen them as well.
He twisted sharply, his body moving in a graceful, almost dance like arch to place his legs underneath himself. Legs now braced for impact, the heavy heels of his boots pounded down on slick pavement below. The impact reverberated up his calves and rocked his knees to where he almost stumbled, but soon Shirou was standing to his full height. Hawk like eyes narrowed and looked up at the rooftop he’d just been thrown from as he saw five pairs of eyes widen in shock before going to their semi-automatic rifles.
Knock off AK-47’s. Apparently their boss can’t even afford buying them the real thing, or these are just the expendable guys. From their previous reaction time it will take them five seconds to pull the safeties off and aim at me. Another one second to pull the trigger, giving me six seconds to disarm them.
Shirou’s mind was firing at a rapid fire rate as the image of twin swords, one shimmering white and the other deep ebon etched with a reddish honeycomb pattern, entered his mind. Kansho and Bakuya, the swords that had become the extensions of his left and right arm over the past few years. Swords that he was personally obsessed with to the point where he had dreamed about them as a teenager and the one bit of Tracing that he could do twice as fast as any other sword in his armory and hold the image for consecutive sessions. “Trace. On!” he whispered the familiar chant.
With a snap of prana the exquisite blades were in his hands. He cocked his left arm back and with a cry he slung it up with his still Reinforced arm up to the roof. The gorgeous black blade seemed to cut through the very air as it reached its intended target. There were surprised shouts and curses as Shirou pulled white Bakuya back to change Kansho’s flight path. Kansho cut through heavy gun barrels like a hot knife through butter before spinning back down towards its twin.
Shirou lifted his left hand and felt the heavy, leather wrapped handle hit the palm of his hand before he closed his fingers around it. He then turned his attention to the fire escape leading up to the roof before he was in motion. Heavy boots hit steel rungs as he rushed back to the place he’d just fallen from. Within moments he leapt over the stone sill around the roof and charged at his assailants.
Without their guns it was over in mere heartbeats, the magus moving to incapacitate each one with heavy blows to the face. Taking special care of how his fist hit vulnerable flesh and bone so it wouldn’t shatter soft tissue, Shirou was certain that each thug was still alive just stunned. He stood in the circle of unconscious bodies as his own limbs started to cry out in protest. Fire shot through his nerves sending blazing pain then crippling numbness as his vision blurred. His left arm throbbed and he felt Kansho and Bakuya snap into thousands of golden particles before fading completely. He bent forward, grasping his arm as he shut off his Circuit. His chest rose and fell sharply with each breath as his heart started to slow its rapid beating and the pain started to relax in his limbs.
Sighing, Shirou pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911, prepared to wait a good twenty minutes for the emergency operator to pick up.
******
Each movement sent a stab of vicious pain through Shirou’s left leg as he gripped the bloody hole with one hand and tried to drag it up with the other. He cursed each step to up to the second floor where his shamefully cheap hotel room was situated and slumped against wall as he crested the top step. Liquid heat soaked his hand with each step forward, but he didn’t want to look down knowing he’d ruined just another pair of jeans and would sport another scar. His main concern was getting back to the hotel room and treating the wound.
After avoid machine gun fire all night, it’s a frightened mother stabbing a pen in my leg that draws blood, he thought with a sigh as he dug his key card from his jacket pocket. Gripping the plastic in his teeth, he managed to turn down the hallway and get to his room. Shirou propped one broad shoulder against the door frame while he fumbled for countless seconds to jam the key in and get it to read. The lights flashed red the first three attempts before glowing a bright, neon green. A loud click signified the door unlocking and Shirou pivoted to push his other shoulder against the door and stagger into the room.
“Damnit,” he cursed aloud through gritted teeth as he fumbled with the light switch and bathing the room in sickly fluorescent light. One glance down at the throbbing leg confirmed Shirou’s fear as did the dark stain spreading from his thigh downward. He drew in a sharp breath as he sank down into the chair in front of the room’s one table and yanked the First Aid kit from on top of it closer.
The heavy boots that were a cross between combat boots and biker boots with steel plated heels and toes were kicked off. Arching back, Shirou unbuttoned and unzipped his thigh to pull his ruined jeans down his legs. All the while he calculated on how to wash the blood stains away from the heavy blue fabric and stitch up the hole, something he’d gotten insanely good at over the years. Sitting in his boxers he pulled off his heavy armored jacket and the half gloves he’d taken to wearing lately to protect his hands but still keep optional functionality. Finally he removed the black T-shirt he was wearing and draped it on the same chair he’d draped the jacket.
Shirou stared at the ragged puncture wound marring the thick cords of muscle that made up his thigh. He braced himself as he pressed his thumb and forefinger between the wound and lightly pressed. Fire and the stabs of thousands of needles shot up from the wound and down his leg and up his spine while the hole drooled more thick crimson. Gritting his teeth he bent forward to inspect the wound more and trying to debate if he needed stitches or not.
He unzipped the rather large bag containing medical supplies not found in most First Aid kits and grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol. The cap was twisted off and the cool liquid was poured over bloodied hands. He grabbed a napkin from the kit and wiped his hands dry and then pulled out a tiny little pick from the bag. Muscles tense he began to poke the wound to see if any remnants of the pen had been embedded into the heavy muscle. He bit down on his lip to keep from cursing again as he dug ever so lightly into the wound, causing more blood to well out and spill down his leg.
Satisfied that there wasn’t any stray bits of writing utensil in his leg, Shirou grabbed a syringe wrapped in sterile wrapping and ripped it open. The plunger was lifted up and he tilted the bottle of alcohol to put the end of the syringe into it. He filled it up full of the solvent, drew it out of the bottle and then proceeded to spray it directly into the wound. The equivalent of acid being jettisoned into the wound caused Shirou to growl in pain and stomp his good foot into the floor to keep from crying out.
He grabbed some sterile gauze and held it under the wound as he repeated the process with the alcohol and the syringe for the next few moments. He deftly dried the hole and applied pressure until the bleeding completely stopped. Once the pressure had done its work the gauze stopping the bleeding was removed and wiped a layer of Neosporin over the wound. He applied another layer of clean gauze over it and tapped it to his skin. He nodded in satisfaction at his handiwork only to see the droplets of crimson staining the carpet and the chair he was currently sitting in.
Shirou glared at the mess and flexed his leg. The medication in the Neosporin was already taking effect as the sharp stabbing pain of the wound was starting to numb. Satisfied, the redhead stood up and headed over to the bit of cleaning supplies he always carried with him when he traveled. Armed with carpet cleaner and a sponge, Shirou began to set to work cleaning his mess.
Halfway through the job a cheerful chime echoed through the room from the heavy depths of his coat. Cursing, Shirou dropped the sponge and carpet cleaner to jump at the phone, knowing that it was mid-morning in Japan and either Ilya or Fuji-nee might be calling him. He dug his cell phone out of his pocket, flipped it open and breathed, “Hello . . .”
“You sound out of breath, Emiya-kun. I only hear that sort of voice after certain activities,” an all too familiar female voice said with a laugh over the other line.
Shirou’s eyes widened and his cheeks flushed at the implication as he replied, “Tohsaka?”
“Yes, it’s me Emiya-kun. We found out from Ilya that you’re in . . .” Tohsaka paused and he could hear the expectancy in her tone.
He sighed and answered, “Los Angeles, California.”
“That’s a long way from Fuyuki City, Emiya-kun. What drug you over to the States?” Tohsaka asked.
A voice that was almost a near mirror of his except rougher answered for him, “A magus trying to take over a Triad gang.”
“Archer,” was all Shirou said quietly in greeting, his hand gripping the phone as he gritted his teeth. Even with an ocean and a continent separating them Shirou felt the spark of hatred within him.
Tohsaka asked, “History repeating itself or is this one of those things that you found out about but aren’t telling me?”
There was the soft smack of lips against skin over the line, close enough that meant that Archer either kissed her throat or her ear. The breathy gasp that followed the kiss meant that he probably kissed her on the ear, considering her reaction to it. Then there was a satisfied male chuckle before Tohsaka’s voice went sharp and she said, “Don’t think you could distract me from not finding out. I’m not an invalid you know.”
Shirou said, “I heard about him from Sensei.”
“Then he told Ilya,” Archer said, his voice holding an edge of amusement.
Shirou scowled and he said, “I told her not to tell you.”
“You’re not her only Onii-chan, you know,” Archer said with a dark chuckle that made Shirou stiffen. Not that I need any reminder who you are, Shirou thought at him before taking a deep, calming breath.
Tohsaka said, “Boys, let’s not make this a pissing contest over the phone.”
“Of course not Rin,” Archer said in that voice of his that made Shirou want to punch him.
Shirou gritted his teeth and said, “He started it.”
“He always starts it and you always fall for it. If you didn’t fall for it, he wouldn’t goad you,” Tohsaka said with a sigh.
Another laugh before Archer said, “As always you have a point Rin.”
“Don’t think you can get out of this by sweet talking me,” Tohsaka said.
Shirou’s hand gripped the phone as he felt that tiny pang in his chest as Archer replied, “I’ll get out of this by making you tea.” He closed his eyes as he didn’t want to hear Tohsaka’s response, yet another reminder that he was alone and his partner gone. Even though knew Saber had to leave him and he accepted that, a small, selfish part of him wished for someone at his side. Archer and Tohsaka fit so well together that it was maddening, as if every aspect of one seemed to complement and enhance the other.
They had their spats, but apparently their relationship as lovers thrived on a low level of antagonism. Shirou had found out that Archer kept Tohsaka grounded and she was his savior. And apparently Archer has some sort of masochistic streak where he enjoys being ordered around and scolded by Tohsaka, Shirou thought as Rin replied, “Well, that would be a good start. But, back to Emiya-kun and the magi gangster.”
“Technically I’m a magus gangster, Rin,” Archer said with a chuckle.
Shirou rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Technically me too, Tohsaka, even though I don’t work with Fujimura-dono like I use to.”
“If it had been any other supervisor of my lands they would have killed him for knowing about magic and magecraft,” Tohsaka said with a sigh.
Archer replied, “And we thank your merciful generosity. So, what did Sensei tell you?”
“She just gave me a dossier on this guy Fung Shi-fang that he’s the second born in a Chinese magi family who studied magecraft and martial arts, but wasn’t given the crest. So to gain power he headed off to America,” Shirou answered.
Tohsaka sighed and grumbled, “I can’t believe that both of you call Aozaki Aoko ‘sensei’ . . . The inheritor of the Fifth Magic and she teaches Emiya-kun . . .”
“Why do you think I knew where to buy the Puppet Body at, Rin?” Archer asked sardonically.
Tohsaka retorted, “That Puppet Body you’re going to be working the rest of your second life to pay off.”
Shirou cleared his throat and said, “I’m still here guys.”
“So, did you find Fung?” Tohsaka asked.
He sighed and said, “Not yet, but I think I’m on the right trail. I had five guys dressed in Chinatown colors come after me with guns tonight.”
“Did you get hurt?” Archer asked.
Shirou shook his head and answered, “Not by them. I did get a pen through the leg by a scared mother trying to protect her baby from a mugger.”
Archer sighed and said, “Maybe you should come back to Fuyuki City, see how Sakura’s doing. Or you could go back to London and check on Luvia.”
He could practically hear Tohsaka’s teeth gritting over the phone at Archer’s not so subtle attempts at matchmaking. Even though Shirou knew fully well what happened to that version of Emiya Shirou didn’t mean he wasn’t going to stop believing. The two of them had even dueled over it during the War, Shirou’s conventions being strengthened as Archer regained his lost faith in his self.
However Shirou had fallen in love with his Servant. There was to be no happily ever after there, especially considering what Saber needed for herself. Saber had gotten her peace and Shirou promised her he would keep at his impossible dream, that it wasn’t hopeless. And he had kept his word, and also made sure not to make the same mistakes that Archer had as well.
Still, his bachelor status was apparently enough to cause Archer to worry about Shirou’s future and was at the point to where he had lost all subtlety. Considering that subtlety was one of Archer’s strong points, Shirou wondered how much it was vexing him. After all, he was in his mid-twenties and his hair was still red, his skin still pale and his eyes still golden brown.
Shirou bit the inside of his cheek and said, “Ah, I haven’t heard from Sakura in a while actually . . . And Luvia has better things to do than to be bothered with me.”
And despite how wonderful they were, those two were not Saber, nor would they ever be. Of course, he didn’t voice the thought as Tohsaka asked, “What do you mean you haven’t heard from Sakura?”
“That I haven’t heard from Sakura,” he said with a frown.
Archer said, “You still should get back to Fuyuki, just for Ilya’s sake. She worries about you.”
Shirou gripped the phone and silently gnashed his own teeth. The problem with knowing a future version of yourself is that he knows you all too well and knows what can stop you dead in your tracks. The words “for Ilya’s sake” were more effective at binding Shirou than if Tohsaka had placed a geas on him. He winched as Archer continued to pour more salt into that open wound, “And not to mention Fuji-nee. Ilya’s existence is so fragile, you shouldn’t squander your relationship with her.”
“I’m not squandering my relationship with Ilya, and she’s assured me time and time again that she’ll stay with me,” Shirou replied, “Just so I don’t end up like you.”
Archer replied, “Then be a proper brother to her then, damn it.”
“I am a proper brother to her. You’re not any better, running around with Tohsaka for the Association,” Shirou retorted.
Tohsaka’s voice cut in as she said, “Shi- Archer is my husband, Emiya-kun. Just because you can’t move on because of Saber doesn’t mean you should abandon the rest of your family or friends.”
Shirou didn’t miss the slip up. To Tohsaka he was Emiya or Emiya-kun. Archer was Shirou to her and had been for years, except he had taken her family name as if he had abandoned all of the Old Man’s ideals in the end for her. Archer protected her above all else, Shirou strove to save those who couldn’t save themselves. In doing so he realized he needed to take out those who would restrict others’ happiness.
I’m afraid if I did have someone like Tohsaka at my side I’d abandon my ideal for her, Shirou thought with a shake of his head. It wasn’t the first time he had wondered in the years since the Grail War if he’d fallen in love with Saber because she was so much like him. If he loved her because he knew it was doomed and could keep saving others with her memory and words pushing him forward. Most of the time he could shove the thought away, but it was still there, still lurking and gnawing at him like a hungry parasite.
“I don’t cling to Saber’s memory,” he said in a low voice.
Tohsaka replied, “Then why can’t you let yourself try to be happy with someone else?”
“I haven’t found anyone else that I’ve wanted to be with,” Shirou answered truthfully.
There was another sigh, this one from Archer, as Tohsaka replied, “Isn’t that not letting yourself be happy because she’s gone?”
“If something happened to you, do you think Archer’s going to go chasing after the next girl he meets?” Shirou retorted, gritting his teeth over the phone.
The resounding silence over the other line was answer enough to him. He replied, “I’m exhausted, my hotel room is a mess and I have a lot to do tomorrow. Thank you for the call Tohsaka, and Archer tell Ilya I said hello, send my love, and that I’ll be home soon.”
“Wait, Emiya . . .” Tohsaka said in a protesting tone.
Shirou said, “Good bye Tohsaka.” Then he snapped the phone shut so hard that the sound echoed around the hotel room. The device was glared at for a moment before Shirou collected his cleaning supplies and began to work again to clean his own blood up.
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Originally Posted by Komrade Kwestions
