Disclaimer: I do not own Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji or any of its characters. They belong to Yana Toboso.

Undertaker's back smacked against the trolley as he was hit by another lightning bolt. He kept his head bowed as he gritted his teeth so hard the tendons in his neck stood out. Sweat caused his clothes to stick to his back.

"I will ask you once again," William said, in a voice closer to a shout than Undertaker had heard from him yet. "What purpose do the reanimated corpses serve?"

Undertaker needed to take a few steady breaths before he could speak.

"I… just told you, didn't I?" he panted. "They were made… for my entertainment -"

His body lurched as William pressed the button again. Undertaker squeezed his eyes shut as he thrust his head back sharply from the impact. Saliva slipped from the corner of his mouth – but for once, this was not caused by laughter. Before his company could see this, he let his head fall even lower. His long hair, even when tied into bunches, curtained off his face from sight. The plait swung in front of his eyes like a pendulum.

"Bear in mind that you are torturing yourself by not telling the truth," William stated. Undertaker glanced up to see that he was not the only one who was gritting his teeth and shaking. There were cracks in William's usual cool composure, which Undertaker took for a minor victory. Ronald had had to keep turning away throughout and now appeared to be chewing the inside of his cheek. Grell on the other hand was lying on his front, his chin propped up on his hands, his legs lightly pedalling the air gleefully. The excited look on his face as he watched the Strike Simulator in action further confirmed to Undertaker that the flamboyantly-dressed reaper was the most fearsome reaper of London Dispatch.

"Sir," Ronald started nervously. "What if he is actually telling the truth? He does seem to be motivated by things he finds funny."

"No, he is trying to trick you," William replied. "'Entertainment', 'curiosity'… those are the purposes he told you when the three of you were on board that ship. This perpetrator lies, Knox. Besides," he pushed his spectacles back up his face. "It makes no sense. No one would go to such great lengths to reanimate bodies to merely entertain themselves. It doesn't matter why he did this. What matters is what these violations of nature might be used for in the near future."

He sighed and moved his finger to the button once more. Undertaker didn't miss the quiver of his hand.

"You have now prompted yourself to be struck forty-nine times," William muttered. "This is your final chance to start answering our questions before we move on to the next stage. I cannot emphasise enough that what awaits you next will be… even less 'entertaining' than this."

Undertaker mustered a dry chuckle. Forty-nine times, hmm? Then maybe it's time to catch him with a strike of my own.

"I'm sensing that this isn't entertaining for you either," he mused. One of William's eyebrows flicked up.

"Pardon?"

Undertaker licked his lips and raised his head to face William. He met the younger reaper's sharp yellow-green eyes… and smirked at how they were boxed by the dark rectangular frames of his glasses. The model Dispatch representative. Yes, his captor was weak-sighted, in more ways than one.

"You are not enjoying this any more than I am," Undertaker purred.

"I am not the one being punished," William shot back.

"Is that so? Then are you therefore declaring that you like being forced to try to break someone? Hurting and degrading another reaper. What fun! What an excellent way to seek justice! Do you agree with your justice system's logic?"

"No…" William shook his head. Some of his slicked-back hair fell loose across his forehead. "No, it is you who is hurting and degrading yourself," he hissed. Undertaker's mouth opened in a gleeful smile.

"You flatter them greatly by pretending I have that freedom." He cocked his head as if to convey sympathy. "Then again, do you have a choice but to think that? I imagine you're thinking you're in the best position now. You follow the rules. If you don't follow them to a high enough standard, you'll end up like him." He tilted his head towards Grell.

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Grell.

Undertaker didn't answer. He was too busy relishing the effect his words were having on William. The strait-laced reaper seemed to be fighting to remain impassive, but his paling face and the trembling line of his mouth could not be hidden. Ronald too looked less than comfortable. Undertaker gave him a bitter smile. Perhaps the youngest reaper was just realising that in twenty years or so, he would most likely turn into Grell, scorned for his choices in life, or William, with no life at all outside work.

Now, if that isn't bad enough already…

Undertaker used his remaining energy to straighten up on the trolley.

"Yeeees, and if you dare to break them… you'll end up like me."

The agonising current of lightning shot through his chest once again. He lurched and thrashed about against his restraints as he felt the energy pulsate through his body. This was too much, he couldn't breathe, he was being overpowered, and the lightning's power ceased to fade. From under his eyelashes he glimpsed William, his finger held down on the button, letting the Strike Simulator wreck its full havoc.

"Sutcliff, the prisoner will be left in your charge tonight," William barked. "You will keep pressing him for answers until the next stage of our official questioning. Use whatever means you believe are necessary. He is in your hands."

Grell's eyes were trained on the convulsing Undertaker. It had to be the first time that out of everyone in the room, Grell had the most tranquil expression on his face.

The world faded to black before Undertaker could hear his answer.

On the eve of the discovery of the cure for the mysterious illness that had been plaguing London, customers could have been forgiven for thinking that their local friendly undertaker had converted his parlour into a chemistry lab. Next to each corpse stood a test tube rack, which held hastily-stacked test tubes. Undertaker had been working feverishly on the bodies all night and day.

The sound of the door crashing open made him look up.

"Undertaker, a word, now!" Lord Phantomhive demanded. The look on his face when he saw the bodies made Undertaker sincerely wish it would come up again in his Cinematic Record, so that perhaps another grim reaper could get a laugh out of it. Undertaker knew Lord Phantomhive was no stranger to corpses, but the corpses he saw were probably not positioned so that they were holding up a 'Get Well Soon' banner.

"You are off your rocker, you really are," Lord Phantomhive groaned.

"Hee hee! Why hello, milord! What brings you here?"

These words appeared to bring his lordship back to his senses. He marched forward and grabbed Undertaker by his robes. The former reaper stood over half a foot taller than the earl, but Lord Phantomhive was not unnerved.

"You know damn well what brings me here," the earl snarled. "Scotland Yard will not be impressed to hear that you've abducted my wife!"

"I have not abducted your wife, Lord Earl," Undertaker said in a patient tone which only seemed to further infuriate the earl. "Her ladyship is not well, so she is staying in my humble home until she is cured."

"If that is the case, then she should be with a doctor, not an undertaker!"

"I believe, Lord Earl, that those working for Queen Victoria in dealing with underworld affairs do their best to stay as far from public services as possible, lest they are questioned by those who walk in the daylight." Undertaker swatted Lord Phantomhive's hand away and turned his attention back to the corpse he had been testing. "Besides, at the moment, doctors are no closer to finding the cure than I am."

"Well, it's still completely improper and downright scandalous that she is staying with you."

Undertaker turned his head to smirk at his companion.

"Hee hee! Because I am a mere undertaker?"

"No, because you are an unmarried, insane old man, or so you appear. There's no denying that. Just think of what people might say if they knew about this!"

The reaper raised his eyebrows at the words 'or so you appear', but kept his grin fixed to his face.

"I believe you are the only one of the three of us who cares about what humans might say, milord." He reached out for one of the test tubes and poured a few drops from a bottle labelled 'phenolphthalein' into it. He smiled as the liquid changed colour to a deep pink. "I see! 'Basic', that's where everyone's been going wroooong!"

The earl looked puzzled.

"What is it exactly that you are doing?"

"First," Undertaker said with a taunting wag of his finger, "I will answer what must be the agonising question plaguing on the devoted husband's mind: her ladyship fell ill when she came to investigate the effects of the contagious disease you're all nicknaming, 'Black Death Two.'" He couldn't resist adding, "you know, the one that you are supposed to be investigating under the command of Her Majesty."

"I didn't ask her to do that, if that's what you're implying!" the earl retorted. "This is news to me."

"No, but Lady Phantomhive felt the need to move things along a little."

"What a foolish woman, to investigate a disease which is so highly contagious."

"Perhaps, but didn't it have to be done to try to find a cuuuure?"

Lord Phantomhive's ears reddened as he clenched his teeth.

"She shouldn't interfere, my work is not her place! I am the Queen's Watchdog, and I am the one charged with dealing with Her Majesty's private concerns."

"Quite right," Undertaker noted cheerfully. "Only Claudia seems a lot better suited to the post than you. Tell me, Lord Earl, how many days of investigation did you undertake before concluding to your wife that all England was to do was to 'wait until all the infected die, and the disease will die with them'?"

"That – that wasn't what I meant!"

"No?" Undertaker took another test tube and poured its contents into a half-full vial, causing the mixture to nearly overflow. "How about, 'it's simply Survival of the Fittest'?"

"And you just used Claudia's first name."

The mortician paused before taking a skull from one of his shelves. He held it up to his face as if confiding with a friend.

"Yeeees, I suppose I did, didn't I?" He crinkled his fingers to make the skull nod in agreement.

"Undertaker, I cannot tolerate this…. this business going on between you and my wife. I know the truth, and it is inappropriate and dangerous and completely abhorrent!"

"Is that so? Catch!" Undertaker threw the skull in a high arc over his head. He threw it with such accuracy that it landed in the flustered earl's hands. "Good boy. Now my lord, I am very busy, so all I can say, if you are seriously accusing your wife of being unfaithful -"

"No, it's not even that!" Lord Phantomhive slammed the skull on the floor, his eyes still trained sharply on the mortician. "It's because I know what you are."

The ex-reaper froze in his tracks at these words. The earl slowly walked towards him, with the precise steps of a lion on the prowl.

"Yes," he stated. "Don't even think about trying to deny it. Let's not lie to each other."

Undertaker realised he had underestimated the man – such an error coming from a reaper his age was almost laughable, and it wasn't an error he was accustomed to making. Nevertheless, reapers had been trained to accurately perceive a target. Just as important as not underestimating a target was to not overestimate them either. He processed through the ways his lordship could possibly know what he was… and smiled when he spotted the earl's mistake.

"Did you come to that conclusion all by yourself, Lord Earl?"

"No, I did not. I came to the conclusion based on what I was once told by somebody who knows your kind." Lord Phantomhive took another step towards him. "Knowledge of death. Short-sightedness. Eyes, which I believed he described as 'chartreuse phosphorescence'…which every wise reaper tries to hide!"

When the earl's hand made to sweep away his fringe, Undertaker neatly ducked under his arm, grabbed the earl's tie and pulled him in so sharply that they nearly knocked heads. The reaper smiled darkly before he leant forward to whisper in the earl's ear.

"Might I remind you, milord, that your wife is merely upstairs and can probably hear everything you're saying?"

"Good, let her hear."

"And by acknowledging that you were told by somebody who 'knows my kind', you are also acknowledging that you have certain unfavourable connections yourself, seeee?"

For a moment, Lord Phantomhive seemed to contemplate this, before he let out a sigh.

"Very well, Undertaker. By now, I suppose there is little point lying to you. I will tell you about these… unfavourable connections I had. Have. Perhaps then you will see the severity of the situation. Close the door, will you?"

Undertaker turned and walked to the door at the back of the shop, which led to his living quarters above the shop floor. He heard frantic footsteps stumble up the stairs as he came closer. When he reached the door frame, he paused for a moment. A few seconds later, Claudia took a few steps back down the stairs. She looked down at Undertaker sheepishly. The mortician just smiled and gestured to her to creep nearer to the door. Once she had reached the threshold, he carefully closed the door.

"You want me to leave Claudia alone," he said, turning his attention back to her husband. "Understandable, as you love her, riiiiight?"

"No."

No?

Undertaker privately considered this to be the biggest surprise of the day. He looked back at the door, where he knew Claudia was listening.

"Lord Earl, to think of all the men who would gladly be the husband of Lady Claudia Phantomhive…"

Lord Phantomhive raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you mean, 'have Claudia as their wife'? And no, as far as I know, no one does envy me my wife?" He shook his head. "Anyhow, it isn't as though I dislike Claudia, even if she is… interested in odd things and people. No, the fact of the matter is that there is another woman in my life who I will always value above all else."

Undertaker snickered. He sat down on a coffin lid and stirred another substance in a test tube with the end of a spoon.

"My, myyyyyy, Lord Phantomhive! How very bold. Who would this other special lady in your life be?" The answer came to him as his new solution coloured black. "No, let me guess! Your Queen Victoria, the one who holds your lease, Watchdog."

"…"

The earl's hard expression weakened for a moment. Undertaker nodded. All guard dogs start their life as whimpering puppies. You, Lord Phantomhive, are no different.

"…Yes, Undertaker. My devotion lies with Her Majesty… who is most dear to me. And because there is no point lying to each other - though this must not leave this room – as a lad, I dreamt of marrying the young princess, but then… she had to be married to Prince Albert." The earl relented and took a seat on the coffin opposite the reaper, next to one of the corpses. "Since then, she has come to love her husband, very much. Though my loyalties – try as I may to quell them – remain unaffected."

He took a deep breath.

"Then, I found out that she was in danger, a peril that I would not be able to stop. The thought that our young queen could have been taken from us…" He clenched a fist. "It felt like my world was about to become consumed by darkness. Without her, I had nothing to live for. The world would surely stop turning. I would do anything – anything – to save her. But powerless as I was, it was out of my hands. Then just when I believed that God had abandoned us…"

"A demon kindly introduced himself to you." Undertaker shook his head softly. "He offered to give you anything you wanted. How generous of him."

"He helped me save Victoria."

"The price was your soul."

The earl stood up.

"I know you think I'm foolish," he stated. "Just another stupid, weak human. But that is where you 'higher beings' – grim reapers, demons, angels if any exist – are wrong. Humans are slower and smaller than many animals, but look how we have adapted, and now we rule the world. We might be physically weaker, but our wills are strong enough to bind you to us -"

"Demons only, you can't bind grim reapers," Undertaker interjected. Lord Phantomhive gave a small smirk.

"We'll see about that." He turned his back on the reaper. "Anyway, the demon, Michael -"

"Michael! What a very ironic name for a demon!" Undertaker giggled. "Well, it has a certain ring to it, 'Michael the demon'. Did you choose that for him?"

"He said I could call him whatever I liked, and I told him I didn't care, so he chose Michael," the earl said dismissively. "That's not the point. I managed to escape the contract by…"

Undertaker listened, astounded, to Lord Phantomhive's words. It wasn't unheard of for humans to escape contracts with demons, but he hadn't imagined that Lord Phantomhive was one such human. Maybe you are cleverer than I thought, Lord Earl.

"…So now this will end with either Michael finding a way to kill me, therefore gaining my soul, or my finding a way for him to die first. It's another game, like chess, between the two of us."

…Or perhaps not so clever after all.

"Lord Earl, you are up against a demon," Undertaker reasoned. "The likelihood of him finding a way to kill you is pretty high."

"Not if I use the right tactics."

Lord Phantomhive turned towards the front door of the parlour and made to leave. He stopped just as he turned the handle.

"One of these tactics is to avoid you supernatural beings. You thrive on human suffering. That month I spent with Michael, I saw all of you for what you are. Young reapers, gleefully digging their scythes into the dying, without a second thought. Older reapers, watching Cinematic Records as if someone's entire life is just five minutes of boredom. Michael, waiting with baited breath for my soul. You can say you all help humans all you wish, but you're all so very selfish at the end of the day. That's why I want you to stay away from Claudia: the pair of you are only putting me further in danger. She may stay here until she recovers, assuming she doesn't die. Then you will not see her again."

Undertaker smiled as he left. The catch there, Lord Earl, is that I'm not some demon you've contracted. I'm not bound to you unless you humour me.

The back door opened and Claudia stepped into the room.

"He is off his rocker, he really is," she muttered. She looked up at Undertaker, her eyes wide. "He can't defeat a demon on his own!"

"That he can't. Michael is a remarkably powerful demon. This plague… take a little guess on who inflicted it." He gave a triumphant giggle and handed her his test tube. "And take a guess on what I've just found a cure for! One injection, and you will be all better, isn't that lovely?"

"You… you say that like you haven't just saved hundreds of lives…" Claudia looked overcome with happiness. She gave the reaper a glowing smile. Tears of gratitude filled her eyes. "Thank you, Mister Undertaker, thank you!"

"Sit down, my dear, let's not have you step backwards into a specially made coffin earlier than necessary."

Undertaker's face darkened as he reached up for his medical box on a high shelf behind his desk. He had meant it lightly – he often liked to terrify customers by joking about specially made coffins – but his own words send a chill through him once spoken aloud. Claudia was a human. One day – which, for reapers, passed in the blink of an eye - Claudia would die. Undertaker had known, since the woman had befriended him, that this would be a day he would live in dread of until it happened. Then after that…

Now isn't the time to think of that, he thought. At least it wasn't that day today.

Claudia sat down on a coffin, casting a smile at the corpses propping up the Get Well Soon card. Undertaker crouched next to her, took her arm and searched his medical box for the least painful-appearing needle.

"Not only can his noxious presence sweep across London, Michael is also a supreme fighter," he told her. "I found that out for myself that night on your roof." He laughed quietly at her stunned expression. "Well, your husband is right, there is no use trying to hide any longer. I'm sure you caught that small detail about my supernatural nature. Though… I suspected you suspected. But you look surprised…?"

"I must admit, I had my suspicions, Mister Undertaker." Claudia suppressed a wince as he pushed the needle into her skin. "But it's just amazing to comprehend. You fight demons and their plagues!"

"Not usually, that makes me sound far more heroic than I actually am."

"Then… you are going very much out of your way to save me. No one has done that before."

The reaper withdrew the needle. He paused as he met Claudia's determined eyes. The sheer absurdity of a human woman looking at him with a flattered, hopeful, and undeniably yearning expression would have made him laugh back at Dispatch. Now, however, he felt a sharp sting of regret for what couldn't happen.

Her hand reached out to take his. Undertaker closed his eyes behind his fringe. His mouth bent into a bitter grin. He pulled his hand from her grasp.

"Claudia… are you not appalled that I am a grim reaper?"

"No," was her defiant reply. Claudia's expression softened when he flinched. "No, of course not," she said in a gentler tone. "Why would I be?"

Undertaker shook his head.

"Find the missing pieces of the jigsaw puzzle. Then come back to me and see if you can still say that."

A/N: Thank you all for your patience and support! It's so lovely to hear your opinions and ideas :) I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Next chapter: Undertaker left under Grell's charge... how will this go...

I have also created a poll on my profile, about what you would like to see more of in my stories - feel free to check it out and answer :D