The Ties That Bind

...

Saber stood with all the seriousness he had, marched over to the blinds, peeked through, and tore open the door to reveal a foggy rain, and a strange, pig-like creature sitting on the railing.

The creature gave a mock salute with a stubby hand, "Yo."

Chrysaor's face stained with an uncharacteristic grimace, "What are you-" He glanced back at Monica, and, turning back, spoke with a more restrained voice, "-Who are you? What are you doing here?"

Lancer guffawed, "Huh!? Whaddya mean-" his beady eyes, too, caught the sight of Monica behind the blinds, "Tsk. Oh whatever-" He manifested his rake, spun it, and clacked it against the balcony floor, "Servant, Lancer-oink-, I've come here..."

He sighed, and scratched at the back of his head with his free hand, 

"...I've come to ask for help. So, can I come in, please? Maybe with a towel?"

"Absolutely n-"

"Sure," Monica interrupted. She clicked on the light-switch, bathing the room in a cream yellow, "I'll get a towel for you."

As she turned her back to fetch from the closet behind her, she didn't see Saber's grimace, or the tongue Lancer stuck at him in return, before Saber moved to meet his Master halfway, gently taking the towel from her hand and throwing it to Pigsy, who hovered awkwardly in the doorway.

He scrubbed himself dry and hung it around his neck, finally waddling inside, "Thanks. Anyway-"

Saber interrupted, "How did you find us? Where's your Master?"

"Cutting right to the point are we? I guess I should expect that from a Saber. Ugh-" He plopped onto the floor and tapped his nose, "I got your scent and tracked you here -oink-, as for-"

"When? When did you get our scent?"

"C'mon, man! Let me speak at least!"

Monica was conflicted. Lancer's goodwill was clear and undeniable, of this she was certain. Though strange in appearance, his expressions were full of passion, and incapable of disguising even the slightest hints of emotion, whether it was the awkwardness and shame of his arrival, the gratitude towards her, or the frustration at her own Servant's difficulty.

She could relate: Chrysaor's 'sword mode' was infamously stubborn, and she had wondered on several occasions whether there was any reasoning with his neuroticism. Even with that, Lancer was still an enemy, at least theoretically, and so was a threat, no matter how childish in behavior or appearance he seemed. It was improper to dismiss her friend's fears out-of-hand, and it was equally improper to embarrass him in any circumstance.

She went to reach out to him with her mind, which she only assumed was possible, but was distracted by the jostling of a doorknob behind her.

All three, the Master and two Servants, turned to watch as Assassin, Echo, stumbled her way out of the bathroom- completely naked and dripping with water, with her own Master barely visible behind her- soaking in the tub with an innocent expression.

The intense and sudden beauty brought blood to everyone's faces. Chrysaor, ever vigilant, looked away with shame, covering his face with his hands. Monica and Pigsy meanwhile, stared with both confusion and awe, while she, Echo, scanned the room for the source of the odd sounds, finally lingering on the pig before turning to the girl and her Servant for an explanation.

This, it seemed, broke Monica from her trance, and she flustered, closing her eyes, "Everything's fine! Nothing to worry about!"

Echo turned to the pig again, shrugged, and began to fiddle with the doorknob, attempting to close it, despite being clearly unworried about her Master's privacy or her own. The moment, though, lingered far longer than it should have because Echo's arms were wrapped in layers of plastic bags and rubber bands to protect her petrified parts from the water.

The moment lasted long enough that even the strong-hearted Chrysaor couldn't help but look through his fingers, however briefly, and say,

 "...Assassin, you're a Servant. Covering yourself would take half a second, so please be sure that you're decent before you come out next time."

She stared at the embarrassed man, seeming to be confused, before giving another shrug and reentering the bathroom with the closing door.

...

With the tension thoroughly obliterated, the red-faced Master and Servant looked to each other with bewilderment, and turned together to the pig, whose face was so flushed that, with its color and odd shape, it could have been honestly confused for a beet.

Monica gave an awkward smile, "..Uh- Are you okay?"

The pressure in Lancer's skull became so severe that he started to physically vibrate, before a stream of blood burst from his nose, rocketing him into the ceiling, where he then fell back down to the floor on his face.

She wondered to herself what possible quirk in Lancer's biology could have made that scene happen, but said nothing to the point.

Lancer, meanwhile, raised one arm weakly into a thumbs-up, 

"... I knew coming here was a good idea," he allowed himself to tuck his legs and return to a sitting position, wiping what remained of the blood from under his nose, "Anyway- where was I -oink-?"

Chrysaor sighed, "You were about to say how you found us."

"Oh right -oink-. My Master and I were at that restaurant earlier: I got yer scent then, and followed it here."

A thought occurred to Monica, one that she hesitated to follow, for fear of where it would lead, "Your Master... it was that girl, right? With short, black hair and a bunch of food?"

"Yeah, that's the one." He turned to Saber with a certain expression, narrowing his eyes and emphasizing his words in a way she couldn't make sense of, "She's clever -oink-, isn't she?"

She ignored the strangeness and completed her thought, "-Where is she now?"

Monica was strangely moved by the idea of another girl her age dragged into the war. It was impossible not to think of the possibilities, and to wonder whether this other Master had chosen this fate, or if she had fallen into it, as she had. There was, here, a chance for a genuine ally, a confidant, the one person in all the world who could understand her dilemma.

...All but one, of course. There was no way the relationship between Lancer and his Master was anywhere near as complicated as it was between her and Chrysaor. Not unless...

No. Those thoughts were better left unimagined.

Nevertheless, and to her surprise, the glibness which had suddenly risen in Lancer was shattered, her words striking with far more weight than she could've known, "Well, that's why I'm here, actually."

She instantly regretted her curiosity, and the emotional investment that had come with it.

Saber, however, was not so moved, "What is it? Was she killed? Captured?"

"Captured -oink-. By Archer, since that's what you'll ask next."

He nodded with something like respect, "-Why are you here then? Do you expect us to help?"

Lancer's hands plopped into his lap, his voice strained with emotion, "Why not? Rider was supposed to help, but they flaked on us, and I've got nowhere else to go -oink-. I'm out of options."

Tears were starting to glisten at the edges of his beady eyes, and, for once, Chrysaor seemed to reciprocate, kneeling down to meet the creature face-to-face, "Only two more questions, Lancer. What's your plan, and what do you have to offer us in return?"

Those words, however cruel as they were, reminded Monica of a simple fact that had slipped her mind in the chaos and emotion of the exchange: this was a war, and one they hoped to win. However noble the cause, if there were a cause more noble than their own victory, then why fight at all? As cruel as it was, this was the reality of conflict: once you put your life on the line, there's no room left for half-assed resolve, if not for herself, then for her friend.

Pigsy began to stammer, "I-I don't have a plan! I don't know what to give you! I just need help!" He slumped over, "I'm not the one who makes plans. I'm not the one who negotiates. I'm the guy who makes mistakes, the guy that Tripitaka, Monkey and Wujing always cleaned up for! The only one who couldn't achieve enlightenment!"

It seemed impossible for him to slump any lower, but he somehow managed, "...I'm useless on my own."

She felt every word. She knew all too well what it was to be useless, and sympathy rose from the depths of her soul. She was ready to pledge herself, there and on the spot, to Lancer, and to his Master, for no reason other than the honesty and pity of his pleas.

Chrysaor leaned back, as if to absorb the shock of his words, and, in that moment, his eyes caught his Master's, and in them was a warning: 'Do not speak. Do not allow your emotions to get the better of your mind.'

With that, he turned back to Lancer and spoke plainly, "Lancer. As you see," he gestured to the bathroom, "We aren't opposed to forming alliances. Perhaps you'd like to know how Assassin became our ally?"

He sniffed and returned the stony glare, "I don't like where this is going."

"She became our ally because she lost, Lancer. We beat her, and gave her and her Master a choice: they could die, or they could live, and help us win the war."

His suspicion gave way to anger, "So what!? You wanna fight, is that it!?"

Saber shook his head, "Why would we fight when you've already lost?"

He was taken aback, "Wha-"

"When a Master loses their Servant, they've lost. When a Servant loses their Master, they've lost. You've lost, Lancer, and you come here asking for our help to bring you back into the war. All we have to gain is two new enemies, yourself and Archer, when we could stay neutral and reduce our competition."

"What are you saying?"

"We'll help, Lancer, on one condition." He flattened his expression all he could, and spoke with the clarity of a cloudless sky, "You give up on the war."

Lancer hopped to his feet, "What the Hell!? You said-"

"-I said my terms! You shouldn't expect to receive help from your enemies, so, if your Master is that important to you, then I suggest you stop being our enemy!"

His small hands balled into fists, but all he could do was look away, "...Dammit," He turned back, this time to Monica, "If I swear not to fight you, will you really help me?"

She nodded, trying not to choke on her emotion, "Yeah- yes. Of course." She mustered a smile, however weak it was, "It's like Saber said: if you're not our enemy, then we have no reason not to help you."

He huffed, "Fine -oink-".

He paused, reading the tea leaves in his mind, looking for any other way, but, relenting to the inarguable reality, he kneeled down before her, 

"I, Lancer, whose True Name is Zhu Bajie, swear to you, Master of Saber, that so long as I manifest, I will not raise a hand to you, your Servant, or your allies of any shape, so long as my Master is safe. Do you accept this contract?"

She nodded, "I accept."

The Command Seals on her arm glowed and twisted, but returned to their original shape. A contract was formed, but she was not in any way his Master. She understood this without any knowledge of magecraft.

Lancer reached into his robe, "Great -oink-. Since I'll be with ya for a while, I'll also give ya this."

He pulled out a strange red envelope that shimmered in the low light, as if made of silk. Saber eyed it with suspicion, though he had yet to move from his crouched position.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Caster is assembling a war council tomorrow, and all the Masters are invited, at least supposedly -oink-. I imagine he'll probably reach out to you too, but now you've heard it from me first, at least."

She exchanged glances with Chrysaor, but he was the first to express their mutual thought,

"If that's the case, then why come here? It seems like you would gain more from making negotiations directly."

He shook his head, and a small smirk appeared, the first reappearance of his initial levity, "Nah, nah -oink-, that's the whole point. If Archer and his Master are at the war council tomorrow night-"

Monica picked up on his thoughts, "Then there'll be nobody to stop us when we raid their base."

"Exactly. Unfortunately, that's the closest thing you'll get to a plan outta me. I'll try to track her scent, but, if it were that easy, I'd already know where she was. I'll leave the thinking up to you two."

Saber stood up, meeting his Master's gaze over Lancer's head with a small smile, "That shouldn't be too much of an issue."

She returned the smile, "No. We can manage, I think, between the five of us."

The moment lingered on as both Master and Servant exchanged their satisfaction and hope with one another.

Pigsy gave a hard look to Chrysaor, then to Monica, and then back and forth again, though neither seemed to notice.

"So you two bangin' or what?"

....