Work Text:
At first glance, Rachel Dalles appeared to be nothing special. She was a good natured girl in a noble family, but that didn’t mean much alone.Vincent had met many women his age at balls and gatherings amongst his own social class, and most tended to behave quite well in the presence of a bachelor man. He’d flirt around with each of them -in fact, that could be quite amusing- but he rarely spoke to them again. Besides, part of him was reluctant to settle down. Marriage seemed preposterous when he risked his life daily in some sort of stunt for the Queen. It was wrong to balance a normal, familial life with that. He had seen his own mother try and it hadn’t ended well for her nor any of his ancestors. Phantomhives were doomed to a life of loneliness in order to play the perfect, heartless watchdog role.
However, it was precisely that reason that Vincent was forced to find a partner. The Queen had made it quite clear in their occasional letter exchange that he had to get married soon, though her passive aggressive words were laced with a false sense of affection. Oh, Vincent, you’ve grown into a dashing young man! I’m sure you’ll find a wonderful woman with whom you can share your companionship. In fact, I rather expect that to happen soon…
In other words: Get. Married. Immediately. If something did happen to him, after all, somebody else would have to be there to take over. He needed an heir. Though having a child who would only be bound to work through the same hardships as him seemed to be as cruel as all the sins he had committed from the job itself.
One couldn’t go against Queen Victoria, however. So between murders, investigations, and black market busts, Vincent would put on his best suit and smile like any other high society citizen.
He met Rachel after being invited to their manor by her father. She was a sweet girl, with no need to be showy, because attention seemed to find her anyway. There was nothing dark or mysterious about Rachel. Outwardly, she was any man’s domestic dream. She was just so normal, in fact, that it drew Vincent in. She was nothing like any of his female family members, and maybe this would actually give her a chance to survive. If she could could tolerate his actual identity as the Queen’s Infamous Watchdog, that was.
He was surprised when she did accept it, without any wariness. Usually people found it appalling and dehumanizing, as they rightfully should have, yet Rachel didn’t seem to phased. She knew the graveness of his position yet only seemed concerned about how it affected his wellbeing. He wasn’t entirely sure how to respond.
“I knew who you were when I first saw you. I’m sure it must be a great deal of stress. I was open to meeting you because I was curious to see what you would be like to have to balance such a role,” Rachel admitted later. They had already had their fair share of small talk in the relationship. The weather, favorite foods, books they’d read, stories from Weston. It wasn’t particularly personal up until that point, which was ideal for Vincent. He could handle small talk because it came with no baggage.
So when Rachel brought up the obvious, Vincent shrugged it off. “It’s simply my job.”
“Still, it’s quite the double life you’re living then, isn’t it? You’ve seemed to turn out so fine, though,” Rachel pointed out. Vincent must have hesitated, because Rachel quickly frowned, “Oh no, I didn’t mean to pry! I was simply-”
“You’re not wrong,” Vincent interrupted.”But I’m not morally upstanding, by any means.”
“The Queen’s the one running the show.”
Vincent raised an eyebrow. Did she really just so easily blame the Queen, without second thought? “It doesn’t matter who’s in charge, because the point is that as a Phantomhive, I have to live by what she says.” He paused. “It doesn't end will when you don’t.”
She looked at him in a strange way. He couldn’t tell exactly what she was thinking, but if anything it leaned towards pity. “It doesn’t seem to end up will when you do.” She took his hand in hers. “You don’t have to resort yourself to a completely bleak life, Vincent. The fact that you aren’t happy with it -and I can tell, charming act aside, you aren’t- shows that you’re still capable of being a good person. I know what you do and I know you can’t change that, but I want you to know you can always talk to me about it. Nobody can handle all that stress alone.”
It wasn’t too long afterwards that they got married. The Phantomhive side of the guest list was definitely small, and most present were simply other noble families invited for keeping up with appearances. Still, having the support of those such as Klaus, Diedrich, and Frances was good. That was about all Vincent wanted, anyway.
The Undertaker was also there, of course, observing from the back of the nave.
“Rachel’s certainly quite different than Claudia,” the old funeral planner said at the reception. “But she’s unique in her own way, I’ll give her that.”
“I don’t know if having death judging my marriage is the best omen,” Vincent scoffed, though it was meant more as a joke than an insult.
“Take it as some fatherly input, then!” Undertaker cackled, and then in a lower voice, added, “Trust me, from my lengthy experience with the dead, I know some of the best ways to avoid dying, too, so maybe do yourself a favor and listen to others sometime. Things can just be so boring when you’re alone.”
Rachel was a motherly soul; one who desired to care for all those around her with some sort of selfless love that Vincent had never seen before. It was no surprise that she wanted children, though he insisted that perhaps too many wouldn’t be a smart idea. Mixing up too many lives in his own was a dangerous game. He couldn’t even guarantee his own future. Rachel understood his point, but she didn’t sound too concerned.
“You’re not a monster, Vincent,” she’d say, taking his hand in hers and looking at him directly in the eyes with pure conviction. “Despite what you do, I know you’re a good man. I trust that you’ll keep those you love safe.”
Love was what scared him though, and the list of those he truly loved was cut very short. Having a child would jeopardize this, and he didn’t want to become attached to anyone else that he could lose.
He gave in to Rachel’s wishes though, admitting to even himself that it was expected. However, despite the couple’s many efforts, Rachel’s dream of a big happy family just didn’t seem possible.
“She’ll be okay, you needn’t worry about that,” Ann would say to Vincent, each time Rachel fell ill due to various health complications, leading to a miscarriage each time. “The child, however…” She never had to finish, because Vincent always knew. What he didn’t understand was this underlying tone Ann seemed to carry in her speech whenever it came to any talk of children. Most wouldn’t notice, but through Vincent’s work, he’d become accustomed to picking up on these subtle queues. Was it resentment she held? Vincent couldn’t quite tell, but there was no question that Ann loved her sister so he didn’t dwell on it. His mind was preoccupied with other matters, anyway.
While her body was frail, Rachel’s willpower remained strong. Needless to say she was saddened by her inability to give life, and there’d be a time afterwards where she would be rather closed off and melancholy, but she kept going even if it was just to convince Vincent that she was okay. Nevertheless, he knew that she was hiding more heartbreak than she lead on, and he did his best to make her feel better.
It was after the third attempt that she couldn’t hide it anymore, and she completely broke down. He held her close as she cried that she must have been the worst wife in the world, because she couldn’t even succeed in providing something so common and expected as having a son or a daughter. He denied these worries every time. She was perfect, a mother or not. None of it was her fault.
Still, there was that tiny part of him deep down (though he would never dare say it) that felt relieved, because he knew any child of his would be cursed. Nobody, especially Rachel’s child, deserved that.
It was after this incident, however, that she slipped into depression. She spent most of the day locked away in the master bedroom, and when she did go downstairs for meals, she barely ate anything. She was losing weight at an alarming rate, and seemed more pale and tired than usual. Ann became concerned.
“She’s frail enough as it is,” the younger sister said. “This isn’t healthy for anyone, but for her it’s especially dangerous.”
So Vincent, under the doctor’s orders, would try to take her mind off of children. He sometimes convinced her to leave the estate and go to downtown London, putting on a jovial front. He figured things were so lively there that it would have to keep her distracted. This method seemed somewhat effective, too, at least until they reached the park. There were too many families there, consisting of happy parents with their children of all ages. Rachel never said anything, but he noticed her sight always fall on the children playing. It was then that he decided their day trip was over and going back home might be best for the time being, after all.
Around the manor, he’d get the servants to prepare her favorite foods in hopes that she would at least eat some of it. The only time she seemed to crack a genuine smile was when he tried to make the food himself and it was so burnt that she could barely bite into it. Vincent was not a good chef, that was for sure.
He’d have a watchdog case occasionally, and while most of the time he’d be able to come home at the end of the day, there were times that he was required to travel around the country and he’d demand that the housekeepers take good care of his wife while he was gone.
Almost a year passed, and while she still had bad days, she was slowly improving. Eventually she conceived again, and while the thought at finally having a child lifted her spirits at times, she spent just as much time anxious by the possibility of going through another loss. At this point, Vincent was just as scared of losing another child as having one, because he wasn’t sure of Rachel could handle it.
Thankfully, on December 10th, 1875, Rachel gave birth to a baby boy. She was exhausted, and Ann was right by her side making sure she was alright. Vincent hadn’t seen her look so happy in awhile. This time, if there were any tears from her, it was tears of joy.
“His name will be Ciel,” Rachel whispered from her bed, as Ann continued to press the washcloth against her sister’s forehead. “Because he’s our miracle child.”
Miracles. After all this pain, Rachel still managed to believe in those. If miracles did exist, however, then this baby -his son- would be the closest thing to it. And holding that little baby for the first time, so gently in his arms, he found himself entranced. There was no way he could not become attached to this child.
Still, even with this softening of heart, he didn’t mix any emotions into his work. It was important to remember that nobody could be trusted while on the job, because anyone could be the enemy. He wouldn’t feel much of anything either as he shot each bastard to the ground. The sound would echo out as he’d stand above their bloody, crumpled body, and it was in those moments he found himself hoping that God didn’t exist.
As Ciel grew up however, it was harder to remain so stoic. It wasn’t that he felt much pity for those criminals he tracked down, but he found himself wanting more and more for Ciel not to have to be like him. Despite what Rachel insisted, what he was doing on a regular basis did not make him a good person...but Ciel was good.
He’d always return home to Ciel running to the door, with a big grin on his face as he hugged his father tightly.
“Mother says you’re out there protecting people,” Ciel would say enthusiastically, with the most sincere form of admiration.
These words brought both pangs of happiness and pain, because as much as he loved his son trusting in him, it hurt to know that one day he’d have to realize it wasn’t all about creating peace in this world.
Peace wasn’t possible.
Therefore, if there was a God, Vincent didn’t hope for peace. He simply hoped that maybe one day, Ciel wouldn’t have to become a demon like himself.