Work Text:
The last few congregants who attended the late service have just filtered out of the church, their steps heavy from the weight of his sermon, when Kirei feels a familiar sensation stirring in the tarry depths of his false heart: somewhere not very far from here, Gilgamesh is doing something extravagantly stupid. Having learned from experience and a missing persons report or two what to do when this happens, he locks and latches the main doors before proceeding further into the church.
He's halfway across the courtyard when Gilgamesh bounds lightly out of the basement, a vision in black velvet and golden chains outlined against the more normal darkness of the evening like a slightly misplaced nightmare. Kirei gains some inkling of what the problem is immediately. Excess prana oozes off Gilgamesh; it drips from the corner of his mouth and pulses just below his skin. And the look in his eyes holds no promise of restraint.
"You have a new look, Gilgamesh," he says in his most neutral tone. Beneath his words he's going through possible scenarios he must now prevent in his head. The streets of Fuyuki City cannot yet run red with blood, no matter how bored and giddy with power one certain hero-king is. As thrilling an event as it sounds, repairing all his plans after that would be far too tedious.
"You are wrong, Kirei," Gilgamesh says, lifting his chin high. "I purchased these clothes three days ago. They are what today's people call 'designer.'" His voice nearly crackles with energy.
Kirei keeps his own speech calm, as if he could build a sturdy wall around his Servant with it. He can't, of course. It will take more than that to avert disaster here. "I have been busy."
"What a shame," says Gilgamesh. "If you had walked about the town with me today, you would have heard a fascinating thing." His eyes glitter.
They're approaching something important. Kirei lifts his brows. "Just what was that?"
"You must not be worldly enough to know," says Gilgamesh, "but today I learned that the people of this era have a saying. When someone is gentle and kind enough for their preference, they say, 'This fellow has a heart of gold.'" His lip curls. "A disgusting turn of phrase. It offends the king."
"Is that so," Kirei says. "These modern sayings distress you greatly?"
"They're unworthy of something as great as distress," says the offended king in question. "Contempt, Kirei, that's all I will give them. I returned here immediately so that I would not lose my temper and grace those unworthy mongrels with my treasured blades."
Kirei somehow holds in his relief.
"I feasted upon an entire soul to reward myself for such uncommon restraint," Gilgamesh adds.
Kirei lifts a hand to his forehead. "Gilgamesh. There is another foreign saying in these times; allow me to briefly paraphrase. 'Orphans do not grow on trees.'"
"Ridiculous," Gilgamesh says. "Human souls are the cheapest and most abundant resource of all now." A longing sigh escapes him. "Kirei, let us harvest them tonight! I feel like ruling a proper city-state again, even if it is in ashes. I feel--"
It's troublesome enough when Gilgamesh makes these rants without excess prana to back them up. Right now, it seems like he very well might go forward with it. Kirei lowers his hand from his face and gently beckons.
Gilgamesh stops speaking, surprised, then gives a brief laugh of delight. "How very you, Kirei, to make such a plain come-hither gesture at the king. I am amused. I'll graciously comply." And he strides forward until he's within Kirei's reach.
It's enough. Kirei reaches for the golden chains around Gilgamesh's neck and gives them a tug. "Be at peace, Gilgamesh," he says. "What you heard today was nothing but words. You should know that the words spoken by humans are the only things cheaper than their souls." And he soothes his Servant with soft and cynical words.
Or he tries. Gilgamesh's eyes still glitter. Tonight, it's not enough. "'A heart of gold,' Kirei," he says. "As if trash like compassion for the weak and forgettable could be compared to the king's true treasure. I've grown truly sick of this world." He leans in slightly. "Remind me why I stay and watch. Entertain me, Kirei. You alone can do it."
Ah, Kirei thinks. Here is his chance. He needs to find a safe way to amuse Gilgamesh while just as safely depleting his prana. But how--?
Before he can stop himself, he remembers a room with blood in it, and the scent of death. His heart jumps, or the mud in its place simply bubbles; either way, he feels a thrill.
"Remove your shirt," he says to Gilgamesh.
"Do you think to amuse me with the pleasures of the flesh? It has been some days, but I would simply take you if that's all I wanted."
"I am waiting, Gilgamesh. Do I need to start it for you? Here." Kirei pulls open the velvet jacket and pushes it off Gilgamesh's shoulders and to the ground.
"I do approve of your boldness," Gilgamesh says, and he finally obliges by pulling off his shirt and dropping it atop the discarded jacket.
Kirei's sluggish pulse races. His throat feels dry. He still remembers a room with blood in it.
"I think I might take off my pants as well," Gilgamesh says. "Standing naked before another beneath the stars..." Something dims the glitter in his eyes. His gaze has left the here and now. For a split-second, he no longer looks at Kirei Kotomine, but someone long dead and gone to dust. That split-second passes. "No. I think not."
"It's fine," Kirei says. He never asks about where Gilgamesh looks at times like that. It is better that way. "Give me a knife, Gilgamesh."
"You're audacious tonight, Kirei," Gilgamesh says. He grins, but he does not produce a knife.
Kirei sighs, more shakily than he intended, and presses a hand to Gilgamesh's chest. The flesh beneath his palm is so warm, and it hums faintly with magical energy. His fingers explore as he visualizes the fibers of muscle and the curve of ribs beneath them. It will be messier this way, but he does not need a knife. He knows the weak points of the human body too well, and they are close enough to the same in the semi-divine body for his purposes.
He finds the place; he forms his hand into the proper shape. Gilgamesh breathes pleasantly with anticipation.
Kirei leans forward and kisses Gilgamesh's cheek, adding, because it amuses him and will infuriate the other, "May God bless you tonight."
Gilgamesh narrows his eyes.
Kirei grabs Gilgamesh's shoulder with his free hand for leverage and slams the other hand neatly into his chest. Muscle tears against the side of his palm; he chops at Gilgamesh's chest again in the next instant, before the Servant can recover from his momentary fit of indignation. This all must happen fast, he knows. It's good that he knows the exact places to slice with his expert hand. The side of his palm slides in between ribs too sharply, and the pressure is too much. One rib snaps up like a clasp opening, followed by the one above it. White bone rips through flesh.
Gilgamesh keens softly. "You are full of surprises, Kirei Kotomine!"
"I am not done," Kirei snaps, more forcefully than he meant to. Do his own eyes glitter now? Blood is starting to get everywhere. The church will be closed tomorrow so he can clean it up. He tries to think of that inconvenience instead of anything else, but his thoughts are beginning to betray him.
Kirei Kotomine remembers a woman, pale and tragic, as he reaches into Gilgamesh's chest and wrenches another rib up and away. He remembers that she died with love on her bruised lips.
"Exquisite," Gilgamesh says around the blood bubbling up between his lips. "Exquisite, Kirei! You're really something!" But he is staring up at the stars and not at the man before him.
Kirei's placement was perfect. Gilgamesh's heart thumps away openly now. In a few more seconds, all that excess magical energy will go to work, and those snapped ribs will close back up. Muscles will grow back together again. That heart will be hidden once more.
Enough, Kirei thinks, but it's not enough. His vision is a little clouded. He can't shake an image of very different red eyes. He can't forget a fantasy of a woman, pale and tragic, dying before him filled with love he could not return. In the last second before that gaping wound closes back up, he plunges his open hand into the open ribcage before him. He pushes aside one trembling pink lung; he wraps his fingers around the heart that pulses frantically before him.
"I'll bless you with my love at last, my dear," he says in his gentlest voice, and he pulls the heart before him out of its comfortable place in the body before him.
Gilgamesh slams down onto his knees. "My friend," he sighs, "you have never deserved less."
There's enough blood to stain all the gold in the king's treasury.
What's in Kirei's hand is suddenly no more than a chunk of muscle spasming a few more times. The ecstasy slowly fades from Gilgamesh's tortured breathing, leaving in its place only the wet sucking noise of all that prana frantically regenerating lost muscle.
Kirei looks down into his hand. Everything's red. He sighs and drops the torn-out heart. "You are a questionable influence, Gilgamesh." He does not say, My dear.
"It was not my idea to ruin designer clothes, Kirei," Gilgamesh says. He does not say, My friend.
"You have others," Kirei says.
"It's true," Gilgamesh says. "More to the point, Kirei, tonight I am entertained."
"Is that all?"
"Yes," he says. "That's all." He remains on his knees. "I am very entertained."
"I see," Kirei says. "And here I had hoped you would be blessed as well."
Gilgamesh is still laughing when Kirei turns his back and walks away.