Grim Facades

"Ughhhhh," a hoarse voice groaned though the air, heavy with the stench of sweat.

"Shhh, just a little further. You're doing wonderfully," a soothing voice replied and a dry cloth wiped a brow shining with perspiration.

Hair, dampened with effort, framed a flushed face,  head heavy on the soft pillow beneath it. The bed was large and opulent, but offered little comfort at the moment and the occupant was currently in another world mentally. Clothing bunched around pale hips was spotted with blood and a scream tore through the room, only slightly muffled by the curtains hanging from the four posts.

"Almost there, almost there, the voice cooed gently. Suddenly, the sweaty head rose off the pillow trembling.

"I cannot!" the hoarse voice pleaded.

"That's it! Harder!" The gentle voice now demanding.

All it took was a few more moments. The adrenaline of the effort faded away blissfully and locks of hair fell around a cherubic face as it hit the pillow once more. The figure in the bed laughed lightly and smoothed the hair out of tired but fulfilled eyes.

"Congratulations, Lady Phantomhive. It's a boy." The midwife wrapped the small bundle in a fresh blanket. Gingerly, the boy was laid in his mother's arms, lightly trembling as fatigue was beginning to set in. Lady Phantomhive traced her son's soft cheek and stroked his dark hair. A smile of pure adoration graced her lips and she gazed at the result of her love. Hers and her paramour's. What a miraculous, beautiful thing to have this tiny person resting in her arms.

The midwives wiped her brow of sweat and straightened her clothing. With a bit of effort, she was propped up in bed and a robe gently draped across her shoulders. And it was this image, a new mother glowing with love cradling her first born, that Earl Phantomhive and his closest friend, Undertaker, were presented with when they were allowed into the bed chamber.

"Claudia, he's magnificent." Earl Phantomhive touched his son's head and stroked his wife's cheek.

"He is, isn't he?" she murmured softly. Her voice was tired but happy and she gently rocked the baby.

"Hehehehe, quite the handsome one he's going to be," the Undertaker commented from behind The Earl of Phantomhive, and both new parents smiled at him. The Earl shook his head, amused, having learned just how odd the Undertaker's sense of humor could be at times. Lady Phantomhive glanced at him with knowing, gratified eyes.

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Rain beat heavy against the windows of the parlor. Claudia was resting comfortably in the rocker close to the windows. In her lap, Vincent fussed and squirmed. Across from her, macabre laughter danced through room as silver hair shook with the effort. Claudia rolled her eyes gently and shifted the baby to her shoulder. Her slender fingers cradled his head and stroked his hair in an effort to soothe him.

"Will you be needing anything else, My Lady?" Claudia glanced up at her most trusted maid and shook her head gently.

"No. Thank you. You may go. I will ring if I need anything."

The maid smiled and offered a curtsy to Lady Phantomhive before letting herself out of the parlor. She cast one final look over the three occupants and lowered her eyes shyly.

Claudia sighed gently and a smirk curled her lips at the corners. The undertaker crossed one leg over the other as he sat across from her in the overstuffed armchair.

"It was ever so nice of you to keep me company while Earl Phantomhive is on queen's business," she teased and situated Vincent a little more on her lap and his gentle cries turned to bubbling laughter.

The man flashed a brilliant, toothy grin and leaned forward, running long fingers tipped with black nails along her pale arm. "Well, as I am his closest friend, I was confident he would act on the information I provided him. His expression at the birth of his...son... was payment enough." The man broke into a fit of laughter and the baby quieted with the sudden noise.

Claudia scoffed at the man but her eyes danced with laughter. She rose from the rocker and placed her son in the bassinet resting nearby. She stood by the side looking over his small form as the shadows of the day slipped through the window and down her body. A black-nailed hand wrapped around her shoulder and she leaned into the arm it was attached to. She rested her head on the shoulder of her husband's closest friend, and felt his silky sheet of silver hair tickle her cheek.

Undertaker looked into the bassinet and reached down to gently stroke the boy's head. He ran a nail along the tiny jawline and then let his fingers brush over the beauty mark that stood stark under his eye against pale skin. "He looks just like his father," Undertaker said with a surprisingly serious tone.

"He does," Claudia replied. "And thankfully, nothing like you."

The laughter came again, and Undertaker's body vibrated with the effort of holding it in so as to not wake Vincent. "Oh, he'll inherit something from me."

Claudia tilted her head and poked Undertaker in the ribs. "Hopefully not your sense of humor."

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"What are you doing? I have servants to do that," Earl Phantomhive chided his friend, who was now chasing a black-haired toddler around the table.

"He amuses me," Undertaker said and stretched out long, wiggling fingers towards Vincent. Vincent squeaked with laughter and ran to hide behind his mother's skirts. Claudia hid her smile behind her hand and then waved her servant over with more tea.

The Earl of Phantomhive shook his head and stood from where he sat at the small table. He crossed to his friend and looked into silver bangs where the man's eyes would be, if they were visible. "He has the most raucous laughter. I think you are starting to rub off on him."

Undertaker smirked and patted his friend's shoulder. "Well, that should serve him well when he is grown. Information isn't cheap, you know." He broke into a fit of chuckles and let his hand fall back to his side.

"Oh, you think you will still be doing deals for laughs when my son is the Queen's Watchdog?" he questioned.

"I will still be the Undertaker. The dead never cease to come to my door. It's a beautiful sight. Why would I ever stop?"

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He stood staring. Staring and not seeing in the darkness of his small shop. His hands rested on the edge of the cold table, with just his finger nails touching the surface. He had been standing there for hours, and the light had faded. The day marched on and turned into evening and for all of the man's years of experience, it never ceased to strike him how fleeting human life was. The dim light caught a silver trail, lost amongst the silken strands, dripping down his cheek.

Undertaker would say he had seen lovers on his table before. Death was not something to be feared. It possessed its own beauty, its own language - in a way, its own life. He was as familiar with the dead as he was the living, and in the dark recesses of the dual worlds in which he lived, he had just as many fulfilling relationships with them. Now though, he stared down, unseeing, at a woman who he had loved in life, and how she was in the arms of death.

He looked for the beauty. He tried to coo to her and tell her about death's open door. He had attempted to run his fingers over her cold limbs and acquaint himself with her anew as he had done countless times before. But his fingers curled back on themselves, and the words turned to ash in his mouth.

It was a horrible day for a funeral. The sun shone brightly in the sky, making a mockery of the sorrow blanketing the mass of mourners. A wave, clad in black, crested over the greenery of the graveyard. The birds sang merrily from the manicured trees and chorused along with the orchestra of sniffles and sobs. Undertaker normally watched these proceedings from the shadows. He would stand beneath the shade trees with mirth and merriment hiding behind his long hair and watch the human emotions roll through the mass of mourners. He would remember with a smile the hours he spent preparing the corpse for this final moment and laugh to himself, for that was just his way.

Now, he stood a shoulder's width behind The Earl of Phantomhive. He clasped his clawed fingers behind his back and swallowed the bitterness trying to crawl up his throat. His friend stood just ahead of him, silently calling out for support and a pillar of strength that was sorely needed. The Earl stood tall and proud and rested a hand on the shoulder of his boy. The boy stood stoically with tears slipping down his cheeks and his hand clasped tightly with his little sister. The young girl clung to the boy, stealing strength from him, as the Earl leeched his strength from his closest friend. Undertaker resisted the urge to pull the boy against him, and throttle the man standing next to him. Undertaker was not possessive. It wasn't in his nature. But just this once, he was brutally furious at the time- the precious fleeting time- his friend had whiled away with the woman he loved.

The funeral was beautiful, or so it would be said later. Undertaker had seen so very many of them. What was beauty, anyway? It was not flowers, and words promising a better hereafter. But it might be the perfect and utter stillness of death. But then again, it might be the subtle, flushed fluttering of a pulse beneath porcelain skin.

When the Earl of Phantomhive would question why his closest friend refused to visit his manor any longer, Undertaker would tell him he was busy, that he had other engagements, that he didn't wish to bring the scent of death home to his aging boy who would begin to ask questions, that he was meeting with other contacts to keep his source of information fresh. He would tell him anything but the truth; the house was empty now with Vincent having gone off to school, and no longer held anything of interest to him.

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"Hahahaa, can you believe that?" Vincent's laughter echoed in the dark room. "That is an expression I never wanted to see on the old man's face."

Undertaker's lips split into a wide grin and chuckles slipped past his lips. He ran a hand along the jaw line of the previous Earl of Phantomhive as he lay upon the cold table. He cast a sideways glance at the new Earl, at his eyes dancing with the humor of the situation and the way his new responsibilities seemed to hardly effect him.

"Well, I suppose everyone wants to die in bed, don't they?" Vincent chuckled again and walked out of the small work room, leaving Undertaker with the body. The man smirked and followed the young man out into the main room of his shop.

"I think when people say that, they mean passing on while in sleep. Although when they come in this state, it's much more amusing. What happened to the girl?"

"Don't you know? I know you gave him the information that sent him to that brothel."

Undertaker grinned and tapped his nails on his counter as he poured two cups of tea. "Would I do such a thing?"

Vincent laughed again, deep and musical, and pushed a stray strand of ebony hair from his eyes. "Of course you would. I wouldn't even put it past you to send him there for no information at all, just for the laughs."

Undertaker smiled and handed Vincent his tea. "How is Frances?"

"Understandably upset. She is dealing with it in her own way. You know how my dear sister is."

"Fire and steel."

Vincent chuckled and sipped his tea. "Precisely."

Undertaker leaned beneath a shaded tree and watched the funeral playing out on the green of the cemetery. The sky was dark and the clouds pregnant with rain threatened to deliver at any moment. The man tossed silver hair over his shoulders and chuckled, finding humor in the weather. It was a beautiful day for a funeral, a beautiful day for death. The corpse being lowered into the ground had ceased to amuse him, and he felt nothing but some giddy joy at the fact the new Earl of Phantomhive was hiding a small smile behind his sister's gloved hand, feigning giving her knuckles a soft kiss.

The young man amused him. He arched a brow beneath silver bangs and wondered if the laughs would last.

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"You've always been invaluable," Vincent commented to Undertaker as he leaned across the counter in the darkened shop. The sun had set hours ago, and the only illumination came from candles dancing in the corners of the room.

Undertaker rested his head on his fist and eyes Vincent through his hair. He tapped a long, black nail on the back of Vincent's hand. "Because you have always paid well."

"Is that the only reason?" His eyes danced with mirth.

The older man's shoulders shook and he sat himself down on the stool behind his desk. "Well, thanks to your excellent work, you also provide me with a steady string of guests." He grinned a wide, toothy smile. "I owe you something for such beautiful company. They are quiet and stiff and always in need of my care."

Vincent shook his head and flashed a brilliant smile. His lips curled easily, finding as much humor in Undertaker's eccentricities as the older man did. "You are so perverse."

"I am. I think I've rubbed off on you."

"You may have."

Vincent pulled out his watch and the charm dangling from the chain caught the older man's eye.

"Is that...?"

"Hm?" Vincent followed his long, pointing finger to the charm dangling from his watch chain.

Vincent's eyes narrowed and he looked back at the older man. "Mother's memorial locket?"

"Ah. I thought it might be." His lips pressed together in a small smile. "I would barter for that."

Vincent laughed deep and clear and shook his head. "Funny, my friend. Funny indeed."

"I was serious."

Vincent fixed undertaker with a stare. Undertake lifted a hand to his hair, and slid his bangs from in front of his face. Bright green eyes stared back at Vincent, unbidden, for the first time. The Earl wasn't sure what he was looking for exactly. His years of experience had told him to trust his instincts about people. He had always trusted Undertaker. He leaned back slightly. "There would be a heavy price for that. And I already get enough laughs from you."

Undertaker broke into chuckles and dropped his fringe. He wiped the tears that formed in the corner of his eyes, and Vincent did not miss the fact he wasn't laughing that hard. "For something that valuable, I will give you a bit of priceless information."

Vincent raised his eyebrows. "What sort of information?"

Undertaker's smile turned dark and he leaned across the desk fully into Vincent's face. "The Queen will come to put down her loyal dog. His bark is sweet and his bite fierce. She fears him and would end him before he disturbs her carefully crafted kennel. With a little preparation, perhaps the pup could be spared."

Vincent's face sobered and he stared for several minutes. With a soft sigh, he ran a hand through his dark hair. The Earl of Phantomhive unhooked his mother's funeral charm from his watch chain and pressed it to his lips. He placed it into Undertaker's hand and curled the older man's fingers over the top of it. "Take care of it, my friend."

Undertaker nodded and laughed victoriously. Vincent smiled softly with emotion-laden eyes.

"Now... tell me how to save my son."