Chapter Text
Achilles didn’t often head to the kitchens after hours. He didn’t normally need to; his snack cabinet tended to be stocked well, enough junk food, granola bars, and cheese sticks for any speedster with a metabolism faster than it had any right to be. But that snack cabinet was empty, and he’d woken up hungry, so here he was, taking stealthy steps towards the kitchen in hopes that no one would see him and kick him out.
He’s heard the horror stories. There was no way he was going to run into Boudica, Kage, or Tamamo Cat. Dealing with Tamamo Cat was a mess most times. To do so in the middle of the night would be a nightmare. And both her and Boudica were liable to tell Chiron or Atalanta, and that was a whole other bucket of trouble Achilles wanted no part of. And like Hades was Achilles getting in Kage’s bad graces. He’d heard the horror stories.
So when he noticed the dark sliver beneath the kitchen doors, he let out a short, sharp, relieved breath. Empty. Thank the gods. He reached out to ease the door open. A soft creak. He paused, wincing. When nothing followed, he slipped through the crack and into the first of the kitchen rooms.
The first room was empty. Of course it was. This was the cooking area; most people wouldn’t be in here unless they were actively preparing a meal. Achilles ghosted further through the rooms, back to the pantry, where the food was kept. He could make himself a sandwich. Something big, with a lot of stuffings. Enough that the familiar, gnawing hunger eased up. And tomorrow, he’d come in and ask for a restock on his snacks. It sounded like a decent plan. Chiron would be proud of him.
Something shifted in the darkness. A light, slipping out from one of the kitchen’s side rooms. Achilles’ grin dropped. His head jerked around so fast pain shot up it. He moved; in less then a second he was plastered against the wall. The light that slipped through the door wasn’t bright, and it wasn’t the normal warm colors of the kitchen lights. It was colder. Softer. Far fainter. Like it came from an appliance instead of a lamp. So it couldn’t be a cook, right?
Gods, he hoped Tamamo Cat hadn’t gotten the munchies.
Achilles inched his way to the doorway, and peaked his head around the corner. This room was lit up grainy, the spears of cold light piercing the darkness close to the refrigerator, then softening as they stretched further out. They glinted faintly off pans and countertops, danced lightly upon the reflective floor. The silver light lingered the longest on a head of dark, curly hair. It outlined a shadow, the shape of it familiar. Achilles knew those shoulders, that hairstyle, the legs and the elegant shape of the crouch. His nerves left him, as if they’d never been.
Achilles stepped into the room, his hands in his pockets. “Hello, Diar. After the milk again?”
Diarmuid’s shoulder twitched. He glanced up, blinking at Achilles. His face was bathed in the cold light from the refrigerator, but his eyes were brilliantly gold, pupils slightly dilated to deal with the darkness. His shoulders eased slightly. One of those familiar, faint smiles flickered across his lips. “Cream, this time.”
Of course, he was. Achilles lingered, for a moment, in the burst of warmth that suffused his chest. Then he grinned at Diarmuid, wide and amused. “Why aren’t I surprised? Did you see any sandwich fixings in there, or have they all gone down the gullet of a hungry fae?”
Diarmuid let off a small, faint huff, then turned back to the fridge. “There are a few, although I’d suggest you check the pantry for anything more than sparse options. Did you run out of snacks again?”
“You know me so well.”
Diarmuid let out another little huff of laughter. Achilles wandered over to peer over Diarmuid’s shoulder. Like Diarmuid had said, the sandwich options were sparse. There was hardly enough for a proper one, much less a monster like Achilles was planning to create. He groaned and dropped his head onto Diarmuid’s shoulder.
“They’re starving me,” Achilles whined.
Diarmuid twitched, his smile flickering a bit wider. “Perhaps you should have paid closer attention to your snack levels.”
Achilles let out a gasp of protest. “Are you blaming me for -”
“Something entirely your own fault, due to a lack of insight and perception? Yes.” Diarmuid returned, his eyes glittering with laughter.
“Rude,” Achilles pouted, “You’re so rude to me, Diar.”
“I can’t lie,” Diarmuid said. He smiled, this small flash of white teeth, before dragging out the container of cream. He pulled from the fridge, leaving Achilles to face the cold air and the sparse sandwich options alone.
Achilles reached in and started snagging supplies. All three kinds of thinly sliced meat, cheese slices, condiments, tomato, some greens that were probably meant for tomorrow, but would work wonderfully well on the sandwich. He hauled them over to the counter and set them there, then started towards the pantry.
“So you’re admitting you’re rude?” He called out, behind him.
Diarmuid chuckled. He was in the middle of pouring himself a small cup of cream, eyes bright gold in the dim light. “I admit to nothing. If you see any baked goods, will you grab them for me?”
“Yeah!”
“Appreciated.”
The pantry wasn’t as well stocked as it used to be. The amount of Rayshifts for supplies had decreased recently, thanks to the fact that the world was now keeping a careful eye on Chaldea, but there was still enough to make a proper sandwich. He grabbed bread for himself, and some sweeter bread for Diarmuid. An onion made its way into his stack of supplies too, as well as some fresher, untouched greens. Whistling cheerfully, Achilles made his way back to Diarmuid’s side.
The cream was back in the fridge. Currently, Diarmuid leaned against the counter, sipping and savoring his drink slowly. Achilles grinned at the sight of him. Diarmuid cut an elegant figure tonight. But then again, he always tended to, between the clothes and the ease and grace in how he moved. Right now, with the soft darkness clinging and contrasting against his pale skin, he looked downright inhuman. It was a good look on him. It always was.
“One sweet bun coming right up.” Achilles said, setting his stuff down and sliding the bun to Diarmuid.
Diarmuid’s eyes fixed on it. “Appreciated.” He picked the bun up in his long, slim fingers, then paused. “Only one?”
“Stores are running low.” Achilles made a face as he started on his sandwich. “All those fucking Rayshift stipulations are biting us in the ass.”
“Hmm.”
Diarmuid’s hum was noncommittal, but Achilles knew well that he was hardly pleased about the stipulations. They’d saved the goddamned world. Gudao had saved the goddamned world. And instead of being praised, awarded – hell, even being treated well – they were the subject of investigation and suspicion. As if they were the fucking cause of the world’s near end. It pissed Achilles off, and he knew it needled at Diarmuid’s pride too.
Still, Diarmuid hid that annoyance much better than Achilles did. Diarmuid was good at that. Pretending everything was alright. Hiding what he truly felt behind that calm, polite mask. Even now, he sounded remarkably put together, nibbling at the edge of his sweet bun. “Gudao is supposed to have a meeting tomorrow about those stipulations. I think we’re getting our new director as well.”
Achilles’ head jerked up. “We are?”
Diarmuid’s eyebrow rose. “Did you forget? But yes, we are. Not tomorrow, but soon afterward, I think. It’s why Gudao has called that meeting. I think he’s finally discovered what he’s going to do with all of us.”
“It better not be dismissing us all.” Achilles growled. He turned back to his sandwich, slapping the ingredients together. It would be messy, but it was hard to fucking care, at the moment. There were bigger things weighing on his mind.
“He wouldn’t,” Diarmuid said, cold certainty.
Achilles let out a sharp breath between his teeth. “Yeah, yeah … I know.” Gudao had spent far too much time bonding with his servants. From game nights, to movie nights, to funny shirt days – he wouldn’t give them up so easily. Fucking bureaucrats wouldn’t stop Gudao when a fucking Beast – hell, multiple – hadn’t managed.
Diarmuid gave a soft, agreeing hum, then returned to sipping his cream and nibbling his sweet bun. Achilles finished building his monstrosity, and took a savage first bite. His anger at the situation had only made his hunger worse. He devoured the sandwich in seconds, licking his fingers free of juice and condiment afterward.
“Achilles?”
Achilles blinked and glanced over just in time for Diarmuid to toss a towel at him. Achilles caught it. Diarmuid smiled. There was a bit of warmth to the normal shade of melancholy in his eyes. “Wipe your fingers, Achilles. You’re not an animal.”
“Yes, sir.” Achilles said, briefly grinning. He used the towel to wipe his fingers, then tossed it into the trash. “Are you doing anything else tonight?”
Diarmuid swirled the remainder of his cream around, then tilted the cup back and drained it. His throat bobbed gently with each swallow. After, he set the cup down with a soft click against the counter. “I think I’m going to head to bed. Tomorrow will be a long day. Do you have any plans, Achilles?”
Stay with you, Achilles almost said. He swallowed the words, and glanced away. Diarmuid rarely let anyone stay the night, and Achilles was hardly going to push him. So Achilles shook his head, kept the cheer firmly up. “I’ll probably head back and try to get some sleep. Need to be rested, so I don’t sleep through the talk, you know?” A flash of a grin turned the words into a joke.
Diarmuid smiled, that faint, fleeting thing. “No worries, Achilles. I’ll make sure to keep you awake through it.”
“I hate the way you say that like it’s a threat.” Achilles said. He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly.
Diarmuid’s smile momentarily widened. “But it is one,” he said, sweet, before he picked up his cup and walked to the sink.
Achilles chuckled. “Rude again.”
The faucet turned on, a rush of water splashed into the cup. Diarmuid gave a loose shrug, his amusement clear in his voice. “I can’t lie.” Then, with the cup washed, he set it on the towel by the sink, flipped it over. He turned and met Achilles’ gaze. Gave a small smile. “Goodnight, Achilles.”
“Goodnight.”
Diarmuid smiled at him once more, then walked out of the room, his footsteps unnervingly silent. Achilles watched him go. Bit by bit, Diarmuid’s form disappeared from view, swallowed by the darkness, hidden by a corner. Finally, Achilles could let out a sigh, tip his head back and stare at the ceiling.
“Patroclus, I’m a mess.”
Patroclus, of course, could not reply. He was somewhere in Elysium, in the comfortable lands of the dead. Safe. Waiting for him. And maybe, one day, he would step through Chaldea’s halls as a Servant, ready to stand by Achilles’ side again. But for now, Achilles was stuck talking to the figment of imagination that took Patroclus’ voice in his mind. And that fragment said he was being an idiot.
The real Patroclus would have said that too. He would have taken one look at Achilles’ plight and shaken his head, smiling, his eyes dancing in laughter. A fool, Patroclus would have called him. A wonder that Achilles was ever able to woo anyone. Brisies would agree, her laughter light, and then tell him to go for it. They would both be encouraging. Even if it felt like more with Diarmuid was impossible.
Where Patroclus and Briseis had been Achilles’ ties to his humanity, Diarmuid called to a different part of himself. It tugged at his mother’s blood, the seawater that slid through his veins, the divinity that coursed through his body. Diarmuid had multiple connections to the gods and the fae of Ireland, and in many ways they mirrored Achilles’ own. But his experiences with intimacy were far from similar. Too many times before, Diarmuid had been hurt, had been blamed, had been betrayed.
Too many times had Diarmuid looked in the face of happiness, and chosen to give it to another, to ignore his own wants and wishes in favor of someone else’s. Achilles couldn’t imagine doing something like that. He was too bloody prideful, too possessive. But he knew one thing. It made something more than friendship between him and Diarmuid fragile and tentative, impossible to fully grasp.
Achilles had tried before. He had flirted, had complimented, had made his intentions obvious. And every time, Diarmuid had closed himself off, had pulled back as if burnt. So Achilles had stopped. And now they sat in the tentative boundaries of friendship, leaving Achilles swallowing his own wishes and wants for someone else. Like Diarmuid had before. But Achilles wasn’t accustomed to sitting in this particular spot of discomfort.
“Are you laughing at me, Patroclus? Am I being ridiculous?”
Nothing. Achilles closed his eyes, then let out a long breath. Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn’t. But he could imagine Patroclus’ grin, the comforting warmth at his side. Knew that if he’d been here, he would have the answers Achilles was missing. They were probably obvious. He’d tease Achilles about being blind.
“Gods, I hope you’re happy,” he breathed.
Then Achilles pushed himself off the counter, and stretched. His back popped. It relieved some tension in his bones. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. He didn’t need to sit here and think himself dizzy. He turned, and began to clean up his mess. Maybe Chiron or Atalanta could screw his head back on properly in the morning.
The Chaos Crew didn’t meet for breakfast. Cu ate with his other selves first thing every morning. Mordred had started taking his breakfast with the Knights of the Round table, with Lilly and Bedivere among them. Diarmuid roved around, sometimes taking meals with Artoria, and more recently, with Lanling. Very rarely he ate with Fionn, which was always enough to make Achilles’ itch. Achilles couldn’t care less about the bastard Fionn. But every time after those meetings, Diarmuid looked more melancholy than normal, a bit of his true self slipping through the cracks.
Achilles hated the sight.
But that didn’t seem to be an issue today. Diarmuid was with Lanling again, talking calmly to the masked man over their breakfast. He was smiling, his eyes warm amber behind his glasses. Lanling was smiling too, an expression just seen beneath the slightly pushed up mask. Achilles swallowed down a faint trickle of jealousy, and raced to the breakfast bar. A few moments later, he was taking his seat with Chiron, back to Diarmuid, so he didn’t have to watch the two converse.
Chiron’s breakfast plate was mostly empty. He had a coffee cup before him, half filled. An open book dominated the table. He didn’t glance up when Achilles sat down. “You’re late.”
“Teacher,” Achilles whined, “Atalanta isn’t even here yet!”
Chiron glanced up from his book and raised a single eyebrow. “She isn’t one of my students. You are. Hercules has already been here and left, you realize. You missed your chance to eat beside him.”
“You can’t eat beside Hercules,” Achilles muttered, “he takes up too much space. I’d have to eat across from him.”
A sigh, a shake of his head. Chiron took a long sip of his coffee. “I’d half believe that Diarmuid is a bad influence on you. You’re actually learning to twist your words.”
“Hey! I’ve conversed with kings before!” Achilles protested.
Chiron’s look was very dry. “With a god’s help.”
That, Achilles couldn’t argue. He’d been lucky to have Athena grace his conversations then. He deflated slightly. “Well, do we have to talk about it right now? I don’t need a lecture before we get a huge one.”
Those words brought a chuckle. Chiron’s voice was slightly softer. “Get here a bit faster next time, and I won’t bother with one. Are you worried about later?”
Yes, no. Achilles scowled at his plate, then picked up his fork and stabbed a piece of egg. “About as worried as every other Servant in Chaldea, I bet. Did you hear about what Moriarty had tried to pull?” That had been an interesting bit of gossip passed on by CasCu. It was almost startling, that such a suspicious bastard would try such a desperate attempt to stay.
Chiron hummed in agreement. “I did. It will be a tale to tell our new director, I’m sure.”
Achilles made a face. “Do we even know anything about them?”
“Nothing. Da Vinci and Gudako have been doing their best to learn, but it’s currently being kept a secret. I’m half convinced that they’re still in the process of finding one. This is hardly a position most mages would like to be in.”
“No shit.”
Achilles frowned down at his food, then started eating in earnest. Chiron picked up his book again and began to read, taking occasional sips of his coffee. The low thrum of cafeteria conversations rushed over them. It was a good moment, comfortable. The thought of losing this peace made his stomach clench in protest.
“It will be fine, Achilles,” Chiron said. His voice was just a touch softer, gentle and calm. “Gudako has been working on a solution for a while now. Although the Mage Association might have issues with us, she does not. And she will fight for our right to exist in this world. Besides, dangerous Singularities are still occurring. Our strength will be needed. It would be detrimental to dismiss us.”
“I know that,” Achilles said, scowling at his food. “Doesn’t make it feel any better.”
“Then you’re lucky that the meeting is right after breakfast. Otherwise, you might vibrate out of your own skin.”
Achilles’ head jerked up. He half spun, grinning wide. “Sis! You made it!”
Atalanta scoffed as she walked over. She set her plate down on the table. Her tail flicked irritably back and forth, back and forth. “Of course, I made it.” She replied, frowning down at him. “And just in time too. Is it really bugging you that much?”
“Better question, how isn’t it bugging you two?” Achilles retorted.
Chiron shrugged. “Gudako has it under control. I have taught her enough that she should be able to handle this.”
“Besides, even if they tried, we wouldn’t let our Master go,” Atalanta said. She sat, her ears flicking back against her skull. “The Mage’s Association can’t force us to do anything. Neither can any of those human governments. Not with the Servants backing her up. Gudako has all the means to keep us here, and so she will. One way or another.”
Achilles frowned. “Look, I don’t know that fucking much about state politics, but I do know making a show of force isn’t going to do anyone any good.” As much as he hated to admit it. Shows of force were easy. That he could have done in his sleep. This felt far more fucking convoluted then that.
Chiron sipped his coffee again. “A show of force might be off the agenda, but subtlety isn’t, so subtlety we will use. The exact method will be revealed later. Achilles, Atalanta, please eat quickly. We have a meeting to attend soon.”
Achilles grumbled, then started shoving his breakfast down his throat. Atalanta, of course, had already started in on hers, eating her apple slices slowly. Still, knowing her, she would be done by the time Achilles was finished with his massive pile of food. It meant that there would be no time to breathe between this and the lecture.
Gods, he could only hope that it would be good news. Or that it wouldn’t take too long. He was itching for a fight today, and he knew the rest of the Chaos Crew had to be in the same position. They’d get good use out of the sparring rooms today, he was sure of it.
The meeting took place in the auditorium. Once upon a time, it had space enough to fit everyone and their chairs. Now it was jam packed, crowded, with barely a gap between people. The amount of Gudao’s summons had grown, and grown, and now a good portion of Servants – mostly the large and inhuman ones – had to take to Spirit Form to fit inside.
Achilles did not take Spirit Form. He wedged himself into the room, Atalanta’s shoulder digging into his waist. A few moments later, Diarmuid took the space to his other side. The heat of the room immediately fell under Diarmuid’s chill. He leaned close, his breath brushed against the shell of Achilles’ ear. “Did you have a good breakfast?”
He had to have been shouting. It was the only way anything could be heard in this loud din. Still, Achilles nearly jumped. He flushed, hard, and dug his elbow lightly into Diarmuid’s ribs. “It was fine. How was yours? Lanling have some interesting conversation?”
“He did.” Diarmuid said, easing a bit back from Achilles, leaving an absence where he’d been. “Have you seen Cu and Mordred?”
Achilles eased a tad at that, before knocking his shoulder into Diarmuid’s lightly. “In this crowd? There are so many heads of blue hair that it’s impossible. And Mordred’s literally swallowed up by it.”
Atalanta’s heel dug into the top of his foot. “Not funny, Achilles.”
Achilles yelped and leapt to the side. Diarmuid caught him, cold fingers tight around his arm. They stumbled for a moment, the crowd pushed them back up. Achilles shook himself and scowled down at her. “What was that for? It’s true!”
“It’s not polite to say short jokes around short people,” Diarmuid said, blandly amused. “My apologies, Atalanta. Next time I’ll pinch his ear.”
Atalanta’s ear flicked. “It would be appreciated.”
“You two are terribly mean to me,” Achilles grumbled. He rocked back on his heels, tapped his foot restlessly against the floor.
Atalanta eyed it. “And you forgot your fidget toy.”
“I have it,” Diarmuid said. His fingers darted into his pocket, came out with the orange toy in hand. He spun it between his fingers, gave Achilles one of those quick, teasing smirks, then passed it over.
Achilles plucked it from his fingers and gave it his own little spin. “Thank you, Diar.”
Diarmuid’s eyes flashed, that momentary glint of gold that reminded Achilles – once again – that he really shouldn’t be using ‘thank you’ with a fae. But then that smile settled on Diarmuid’s lips again, and he nodded, slightly. “Of course. But focus, I think it’s starting.”
Achilles tugged his gaze away from that smile, and focused it on the front of the auditorium. The podium had been set up, a mic carefully placed into the clip. Gudako was stepping up to it, Da Vinci on one side, Mash on the other, Sherlock shadowing behind. They all looked tired. Mash wore her Chaldea uniform, although she still carried herself as if she might need to call upon her shield. And Gudako …
Gudako wasn’t wearing a funny shirt. Achilles had heard that Da Vinci had been working on a new uniform for her, but he hadn’t seen the finished product. Gone was the white cloth with black stripes. Instead, the uniform was much more somber, much more serious, darker with accents of silver. It made the lack of her smile more prominent, the shadows beneath her eyes more obvious, the confident way she carried herself clear.
Gudako reached up and tapped the mic. The sound echoed around the room. “Good morning, everyone,” she said. She tried a smile, and it was almost like her normal ones, big and bright. “I’d ask if everyone enjoyed breakfast, but I think I know the answer to that. And I’m certain you all would like to hear the news instead of me babbling, for once.”
She paused for a moment to give everyone the chance to laugh. The sound of stressed mirth bounced off the walls, before slowly, people became silent. Achilles gave his fidget toy another nervous spin. It felt wrong, not to hear Gudako babbling, to see her so serious. It reminded him of the Temple of Time all over again, and he hated that feeling.
Diarmuid's fingers brushed against his arm. The touch was gentle, cold, sinking into Achilles skin. Achilles took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, letting his nervous fidgeting ease.
Gudako swallowed hard. “No doubt you all know what will happen soon. In a couple of days, all Rayshift capabilities will be put under lockdown. Soon after that, the UN inquiry board inspectors and our new director from the Mages’ association, along with the staff he’s chosen, will be coming to Chaldea. If all goes well, we will be given our independence – barring the director. Those that wish to return home are free to leave, and visits will be arranged. If things do not go well, Chaldea will be dismantled.”
Achilles grit his back teeth, hissed faintly. Atalanta stepped on his foot again; Diarmuid’s fingers pinched his elbow, holding him back. Achilles wasn’t the only one pissed. The discontent rippled through the crowd, through Servants and Staff members alike. Gudako gave it a few moments, then tapped the mike. Feedback rang through the air, silencing the babble. She leaned forwards and spoke again.
“Exactly my thought, which is why we cannot mess it up. One of the stipulations placed upon us was that no Heroic Spirits Summoned during the course of Grand Order will remain. All must be dismissed. However, Da Vinci, Mash, and I were talking, and that is not fair to you all. Yes, you are Heroic Spirits, but you are people too, and we should not throw you away so easily. And if the danger befalls the world again, then we will need your strength. For that reason, we’ll be playing a little trick on the Mage’s Association and the UN. No doubt some of you will find this delightfully entertaining.”
Another pause, this time to let the brief rush of laughter to thread through the room. Achilles glanced around, frowning. Da Vinci was smiling. Chiron looked faintly smug. Somewhere, he caught a flash of Moriarty’s blue collar. The man was smirking, an expression so off-putting that Achilles wanted to reach for his weapon.
“Thanks to the efforts of our resident computer virus, BB,” Gudako continued, “all Servants from henceforth have been dismissed. We have the records of your dismissal. The mana records have been hidden, so it appears that Chaldea has always worked on the supplies of mana showing currently. However, we insist that all Servants keep their mana consumption to a minimum. That means no fighting, no sparing, no Noble Phantasms. Use Spirit Form when you can, sleep when you can, eat when you can. If you have other ways to gather mana, and permission to do so, then do it. If a discrepancy in our numbers is discovered, then Chaldea is doomed. Is this understood?”
A chorus of reluctant agreements. Achilles twisted his face up in disgust. “Damn it. I was looking forward to sparring.”
“I’m certain you’ll survive,” Atalanta drawled, “especially since you should be in Spirit Form most of the time. You do take up quite a bit of mana, remember?”
He did, and the thought of having to hide all the time fucking itched. He hissed again, displeased.
Diarmuid gave a small shake of his head. “There are other ways to blow off steam. And you do not have to take Spirit Form all the time. Now shush, Gudako is about to speak again.”
Another tap on the mic. Another burst of feedback. “Glad you all agree,” Gudako said, once the sound died down, “but that raises another problem – namely the amount of Heroic Spirits in Chaldea. Even if you all took Spirit Form, at least one mage is bound to notice something wrong. For that reason, most of you are getting a vacation.”
Achilles blinked. What?
Gudako beamed, as if they had been waiting the whole time to deliver this news. “You heard me! After all this hard work, you deserve a reward, and we need most of you out of Chaldea … so a vacation you get! The Casters have been working on a transportation device that will allow teams of four to five to arrive at a destination of their choice. For that reason, I want everyone to pick the team they would like to travel with, and a place they would like to go. If anything goes wrong, I will be able to Summon everyone back here with my Command Seals. Until then … you’re free! Thank you so much for your hard work, everyone! I want teams and locations by tomorrow morning!”
She stepped back, away from the microphone, and began to clap. Mash, beaming, followed suit. Da Vinci did as well, her laughter bouncing off the walls, grinning wide with delight. Behind them, Sherlock smiled, a small, secret thing.
Achilles barely noticed. He sat there, staring at Gudako, open-mouthed. A vacation. A way to escape Chaldea without a Rayshift. No more snow storm. No more eternal cold that made even Servants shiver when they stepped outside. All these blank, metal walls and ceilings could suck it. They were getting a vacation.
He spun on his heel and gripped Diarmuid’s shoulders, tight. “Please tell me you’re not going with Fionn. We have to get the Chaos Crew together for this. We have to. Come on, Diar, please -”
Diarmuid’s lips quirked up, amusement flickering in the depths of his eyes. “We’ll talk to them. Cu might want to go with Emiya, and Mordred might want to go with Fran, or go with Artoria, so we’ll have to see. But at least some of us will be there, I’m certain. Unless you would rather go with Atalanta or Chiron?”
Achilles glanced at Atlanta. “You’re headed to Greece, aren’t you?”
Her ears flicked back, her tail gave a lash. “Yes, I will be. Why must you say it like that?”
Achilles spun around again, giving Diarmuid a beaming grin. “I am not risking a meeting with my mother. She’ll drag me to the depths of the ocean and never let me go anywhere ever again. Come on Diar, you have to come with me somewhere, please –”
A burble of laughter pressed out from Diarmuid’s lips. His smile grew a tad more. “Yes, Achilles, I will come with you.”
Achilles couldn’t bring himself to care about hiding his excitement. He tossed his hands up with a whoop of delight. Diarmuid’s laughter grew greater, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile. Atalanta shook her head with an amused huff. And all around them, the Servants of Chaldea celebrated in their own ways. Excited whispers. Eager, yelled planning. Already, people were calling for others to join their group.
“I would like to call an emergency meeting of the Chaos Crew.” Even Diarmuid’s mental voice was warm and amused. “It seems like there will be some decisions ahead of us. Shall we meet in our normal room in, say, fifteen minutes? I would like to know who will be coming with Achilles and I, and where we would like to travel.”
Fifteen minutes had never felt so long. Achilles nearly vibrated out of his own skin. Not even the fidget toy helped him stay still, a constant whirr between his fingers. It was an effort not to summon his spear and start his drills. That would take up too much mana – not that bouncing off the walls was much better.
Diarmuid laughed softly at his antics. “Breathe, Achilles, they’ll be here in a couple of moments.”
Achilles spun on his heel again. “They’re taking so long!”
“I did say fifteen minutes.”
Diarmuid held just enough amusement in his tone that Achilles couldn’t take offense. Instead, he paused briefly to stick his tongue out at him. “They should be faster!”
“May I remind you,” Diarmuid said, “That they might have other people they want to travel with? As wonderful as our group is, the Chaos Crew doesn’t trump family.”
Achilles paused once more to make a face at him, tight. But he knew that Diarmuid was right. If Mordred wanted to travel with Artoria, then like hell was he going to stop the kid. If anything, he’d cheer him on. Still … it itched at him, to not have the whole gang together for this. Vacation without his friends sounded miserable.
Diarmuid’s gaze softened, briefly. “May I remind you, that, if this goes right, there should be more vacations in the future. This won’t be our only chance, Achilles.”
He was right. Groaning, Achilles tossed himself onto a chair opposite of Diarmuid. “It still feels special,” he said, pouting.
Diarmuid’s smile flickered a tad. “Indeed, it does.”
For a moment, they sat in silence. Achilles flicked his fidget spinner around and around in his fingers. Diarmuid sat still in that uncanny way he had, like he was an ice sculpture, barely needing to breathe, barely needing to move. Achilles’ leg began to jitter. He swore the ticking of the clock grew louder with each passing second.
The door slammed open. Cu strode in, tossing his hands wide open. “Oi, fellow menaces! Guess who's free to vacation!”
Achilles’ head snapped around. He leapt to his feet with a whoop, and lunged forwards to meet Cu. He swept him off his feet, spun him around and tossed him up. “Thank Zues! I was worried you’d planned to go somewhere with your other selves!”
Cu landed on the ground lightly, and laughed. “We talked about it! But Alter and Edge aren’t too keen on going, Proto wanted to go with Fuuma, and CasCu was planning to do something with Kage. Since it’s not a good idea to have Kage and Emiya on the same trip, I figured we’d be joining you all! That is, if you don’t mind Emiya joining?”
Diarmuid smiled, faint. “Not at all. It’d be a relief to have him. Someone else with some responsibility will be happily welcomed.”
“But what about Bedivere? Or Lily? What if they wanted to come with us?” Achilles asked, frowning.
“Those two are headed to Britain with Father,” Mordred said. He’d slid in behind Cu, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. “And Fran wants to stay here with Babbage and fucking Moriarty, so –”
“The original group is back in business!” Achilles whooped.
“Hell yeah!”
“Fuck yeah!”
“Oh dear,” Diarmuid droned, as if that could hide the smile that graced his lips. “I can only hope that whatever city we head to is prepared for us. May I remind you all that we have to leave it in the condition we found it in? No destroying buildings. No chariots racing down the streets. Nothing.”
“Oh come on!” Cu protested. “Not even a little street racing?”
“No.”
“What’s the point if we can’t blaze through the streets on my chariot!” Achilles threw his hands up, pouting.
“The point,” Diarmuid said, adjusting his glasses, “is to not get caught. There are plenty of ways to enjoy fast transportation without the use of noble phantasms or wrecking the streets. Which brings me to the question: Where do we want to go? Achilles has already said ‘not Greece’ and I am inclined to agree.”
Both Mordred and Cu glanced at Achilles. Achilles winced and rubbed the back of his head. “I’m not sure anyone here is ready to meet my mother. She can be … intense.”
Mordred made a face. “Oh hell no. We’re staying the fuck away from crazy bitches. And if we’re knocking things out, not Britain. I lived my whole life in that shithole, I’m not taking my vacation there to do the same.”
“Nowhere Roman,” Cu said, nodding thoughtfully. “Maybe Ireland? I know CasCu was thinking about heading there, but if we end up going to a different city …”
“It’s a thought,” Diarmuid said, agreeing. “I know that my foster fathers would take a chance to see me.” He paused there, as if he hadn’t fully realized the implication of those words.
It certainly grabbed Achilles attention. “Really? I’d love to meet your dads!”
Cu snickered. “I’m certain you would.”
Achilles glared at him. Diarmuid sucked in a long breath, then shook it out with a sigh. “It’s a possibility, although now that I think about it, I’d rather … not run into them so abruptly. So I’d rather not Ireland. We have already been to Hawaii and something imitating Las Vegas, so I don’t think either of those is an option. What do we have left?”
A pause. Then, Mordred, with great solemnity, said, “I think we need a fucking map.”
Achilles could count the amount of times he’d been in the Library during the course of his stay at Chaldea on two hands. And all of those times had involved fetching something for Chiron. Never had he been there for his own business, or with the Chaos Crew. He just didn’t have the patience to sit down and read, so he didn’t bother trying. Patroclus, though, would have loved this place. Stories were more his thing than Achilles’.
Diarmuid was certainly familiar. He led them straight towards the world history section, nodding to the people they passed. The library was surprisingly crowded. It wasn’t normally chock-full of Servants, but today, there were clusters down every aisle. The air hummed with the buzz of their whispers.
Mordred whistled low. “Fucking busy.”
“It’s the vacation,” Diarmuid said, “I hope there are still a of couple maps available.” He turned down a very crowded aisle. He stopped, and everyone bumped into his back with a litany of grumbles. Diarmuid sighed. “There goes that hope.”
“Bullshit it is.” Mordred huffed. He shoved past Diarmuid, and thrust himself into the crowd. For someone so small, he made his way through easily. Elbows found rib cages. Heels found sensitive feet, the iron caps of his boots found shin-bones. Bit by bit, he battered his way through the crowd, grabbed a world map, and then battered his way back. A few curses were thrown his way. Someone flipped a bird. Mordred ignored them all, smug.
Cu grinned wide and ruffled Mordred’s hair. “Nice going, shorty.”
Mordred yelped and batted his hand away, scowling. “I ain’t that fucking short!”
Achilles grinned wide. “You’re absolutely tiny.”
“I’m NOT!”
“Can we please not yell in the library?” Diarmuid asked, sighing. He plucked the map from Mordred’s fingers before it could be crumpled, then turned. “Let’s see if we can find a table before the last of them are claimed.”
With that, he turned on his heel and began to lead the way out. Achilles followed after with a grin. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Cu ruffle Mordred’s hair one more time, before leaping forwards. Mordred growled and chased after. Achilles stepped to the side and resisted the urge to trip one of them. It wasn’t like a simple fall would hurt either of them. And it’d be funny. But the library was crowded, and the bookshelves were close by, and Achilles did not feel like being yelled at today.
Diarmuid shook his head as Mordred and Cu blew past him. “Keep it down!” He called after, before sighing. “It’s like I’m chaperoning three kids.”
“Three?!” Achilles squawked, “I haven’t done anything!”
“Yet.” Diarmuid threw a smirk over his shoulder, eyes dancing in amusement.
Achilles pouted, hard, at him. Diarmuid’s eyebrow twitched up. Achilles’ pout broke, and he shook his head, laughing faintly. “Rude.”
“Am I lying?”
He wasn’t, damn him. Achilles’ grin hurt his cheeks. He trotted up to Diarmuid’s side, and bumped shoulders, “No.”
Diarmuid huffed, a faint, warm thing. “That’s what I thought.”
Achilles snorted, and settled there, standing too close. Diarmuid’s chill brushed his arm with every step. It combated the faint heat in his cheeks, the ache from his grin. Diarmuid’s laugh remained not fair. Always faint, always warm, always ringing, like there was a louder laugh tucked away somewhere. It was always good when he managed to pull that particular laugh out of Diarmuid. Hearing it made Achilles grin all the wider.
The table Mordred and Cu had grabbed wasn’t far. It was also very busy. The whole other half had been snatched up by one group. Achilles recognized Nicotris, Scheherazade, and Serenity. The other two he didn’t know. As much as Gudako may have tried to make sure everyone knew everyone, that was impossible with the amount of people that clustered the halls.
Besides, Achilles had trouble with the names and faces of people who didn’t matter. It was something Patroclus called him out on all the time when they were alive. But no one called him out here, so Achilles’ recollection of Heroic Spirits was … patchy, at best. He knew the big ones, and his friends, but that was about it.
Chiron would have boxed his ears if he knew. Luckily, Chiron didn’t, so Achilles remained free of reprimand.
Diarmuid took the chair farthest away from the women. He ducked his head down, adjusting his glasses, and spread out the map across the table. The side without the bandaged mole faced their table mates. Achilles made sure to slide into the spot between the groups for that extra bit of security. Diarmuid hardly needed it any more, between his glasses and his bandage, but Achilles knew the habits of a lifetime were never easy to overcome. Besides, Diarmuid had never seemed to mind the extra bit of security.
“Luckily,” Diarmuid said, “The world is large. Even with the areas we marked out, we have a plethora of options to head to. Does anyone have any inclinations?”
They all leaned over the map. Cu thumbed over the small island of Japan. “Emiya might like to go back, but I think that a lot of groups will be going there. It seems like it would be a popular choice.”
Achilles blinked. “Why would we want to avoid popular choices?”
“More people who’d get on us about pulling shit, obviously,” Mordred said with a scowl. “We could go to South America? Haven’t been there, and Singularities have taken us pretty much everywhere else.”
“That’s an idea,” Diarmuid murmured, “but most of their major cities will be crowded, and I’m not sure if I trust any of you not to reveal your Servant status. I’d rather a place where there’s less of a chance of being revealed for what we are.”
“That’s going to take out most of our big cities and major tourist destinations,” Cu said, considering the map.
“It will,” Diarmuid agreed, humming.
They all stared at the map again. Achilles’ gaze skipped across it. “Maybe Norway? Or somewhere in Canada? That’s got a lot of wildernesses, right? Can’t be too populated.”
“Fuck no,” Mordred scowled, “There’s no fucking way I’m going camping.”
“Emiya doesn’t do well with the cold anyway,” Cu said, “so anywhere cold isn’t going to be possible.”
“That marks out more options.” Diarmuid traced his fingers over the map, frowning. “The beach? Then again, that might be too close to Thetis, or Mannannan. I’m not sure if they can cross into waters that aren’t theirs, but do we want to take that risk?” His eyes flicked to Achilles, raised in question.
Achilles shrugged. “As long as it’s not Greek waters, it’s fine. Besides, I like the beach! Hell, it’d be even better if there’s a city close by, so we can get the best of both worlds!” He grinned wide at the group.
Mordred brightened. “Fuck yeah! I can bring out my surfboard again. Been too fucking long since we’ve gotten to go to the beach.”
“That’s true …” Diarmuid mused.
Cu took a single breath, drawn in, then let out in a loose rush. “Pirates.”
They all looked at him. “What?”
“We need to avoid places without a pirate reputation.” Cu said, nodding. “You know the pirate Servants are going to use this chance to recollect their treasure troves. And they’ll probably go on separate trips to do it.”
Everyone paused to consider it. Diarmuid sighed. “You’re right. That marks out the Carolinas in America, Puerto Rico and the surrounding islands – actually, I think we should avoid the Caribbean entirely. Ann and Mary supposedly buried their treasure around there too. Bartholomew also worked off the Americas and the west coast of Africa … so I think it’s safe to say that any east beaches off the Americas and west beaches off of Europe and Africa are a no-go. That leaves the beaches off of Asia, the east beaches of Africa, and the west beaches off the Americas.”
Achilles' head was starting to hurt. He rubbed his temple, frowned. “What’s there?”
“I know about California?” Cu offered, “but I think that would be too crowded …”
Diarmuid’s finger trailed down the western side of North America. “It depends … California is a large state. There’s bound to be smaller, less busy cities in the area. Especially since it’s not the tourist season right now.”
“I’ll go find a book.” Mordred said. He jerked away from the table and plunged into the crowd, carving his way through people with sharp elbows and hard stomps. Someone aimed a curse at his back. He shook it off and disappeared into the aisles.
Diarmuid sighed and rolled up the map. “Achilles? Will you please take this back? I’m certain some other group will need it.”
Achilles shook himself briefly, then plucked the map from Diarmuid’s hands, giving him a wide grin. “No problem!”
He slid away from the table, and darted his own way into the crowd. He didn’t carve his path like Mordred did. Instead, Achilles eased between people, flashing grins, occasionally using his speed to weave through momentary gaps. It wasn’t hard to find a group who was looking annoyed at the lack of maps. He dropped it into their hands, then made his way back, sliding into position right by Diarmuid’s side once more.
Mordred wasn’t back yet, his spot empty. Cu was left bouncing in his chair, fingers tapping restlessly against the table. His gaze was far away, not quite focused on the bookshelves. Diarmuid flashed a smile at Achilles, brief and small, before turning his attention to Cu. “Have you proposed the idea to Emiya yet?”
Cu blinked and glanced at him. “Just did. Waiting for a reply.”
“Tell him that wherever we stop, we’ll make sure you two get a room to yourself,” Achilles said. He grinned, waggled his eyebrows. “California’s really sunny after all~”
Cu broke out into a laugh, flashed a grin full of sharp teeth. “Trust me! There’s no way he’d agree to share a room with any of you fuckers.”
“I’m almost injured,” Diarmuid said, “I’m perfectly respectable.”
“Aye, ya are. But me and Achilles in the same room? Or me and Mordred? That’s just asking for something to go terribly wrong,” Cu said.
“Hey!” Achilles protested, “I think we’d work out as roommates! It wouldn’t be that bad!”
Diarmuid looked at him. It was a pointed look, one eyebrow half raised in disbelief and question. Achilles shrunk back into his seat with a faint whine. Diarmuid didn’t even need to say anything. Just the eyebrow raise was enough. Cu and Achilles in the same room for an extended amount of time would lead to nothing but trouble. The same went for Mordred and Achilles. Which meant Achilles would either be rooming alone … or with Diarmuid.
Gods.
He would die if he were to room with Diarmuid.
“Emiya says he’s okay with California, as long as it’s not a major city,” Cu said, “and to be honest, we could probably hit a major city by ourselves easily enough. We’re Servants. Even without Achilles’ chariot, we can cover the distance easily.”
Achilles jerked out of his thoughts at the sound of his name. He glanced to Cu, then to Diarmuid. Diarmuid was already nodding, biting his lip in that stupidly eye-catching way he had when he was thinking about something. “That is true … it does mean there’s less stress about picking a good location … Still, knowing you three, we’ll want to be a place with a plentiful amount of tourist stuff.”
“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” Achilles asked. He shook himself again, pouted.
Diarmuid flashed that damn smirk at him, eyes dancing. “You know exactly what I mean. And look, there’s Mordred.”
Grumbling, flushed, Achilles turned to look. There Mordred was indeed, shoving his way through the crowd with curses and yells at the people who took offense. He didn’t have a book in his hands. Instead, he had a fistful of brightly colored pamphlets. These he slammed down onto the table with a huff. They scattered across the surface. One slid in front of Achilles, Yosemite National Park written across the top in curving letters, the picture a sparkling spray from a geyser.
Cu picked one up and glanced at the front. “See California: Popular Tourist destinations.”
Mordred flopped into his seat with a scowl. “They didn’t have a fucking book, alright? This is the best I could do.”
“This might actually be better.” Diarmuid said. He reached out to brush his fingers along a couple of the pamphlets. “At least this way we can separate out the work. Come on, first we need to pull all the beach location ones out. Anything else can be set aside to look at later. We want to focus on our city first.”
“We know, Diarmuid,” Achilles said, nudging him.
Diarmuid’s smirk flashed at him again. “Do you?”
Achilles wanted to kiss it. He shoved the thought away. “I do.”
“Good.” Diarmuid reached out to pluck the flier from Achilles’ fingers, and set it to the side of the table. Achilles felt the cold brush of air against his skin. “Then we best get to work.”