A/N: Because there is a distinct lack of badass Hanna fics. I feel compelled to rectify this.

This was actually written way back in the beginning of September 2010, but all this time it sat in my LiveJournal for the simple fact that I couldn't come up with a good enough title. Now I finally have one, which might not fit entirely spot-on, but it's the closest possible I can think of.

Disclaimer: Toboso Yana and all associated companies are the rightful owners of the Kuroshitsuji universe. No copyright infringement intended and no money is being made out of this. Please support the mangaka by buying her work.

Warnings: None.


Counterpart Counterfeit

"Why do I serve Claude?" Hannah asks. Asks and looks at him with incredulous amusement, barely holding back a laugh. "You have lived among humans for too long, to have forgotten how we work."

They're standing opposite each other, her clothes ruined - her own doing, for the most part -, and he - still flawlessly dressed, unmovable as a mountain. But she has already moved him a little, on the inside.

"How you work?" Sebastian scoffs a little, the answer all too obvious to him, and he does not hesitate to spit it out. "Banding together like weaklings."

Hannah shakes her head and glances at him with her one good eye. "My, my. You live here among weaklings and still dare to scoff at your own kind?" Her laughter is a low rumble in her throat and for the first time since he's met her, Sebastian sees this side of her. "You've arranged yourself quite a comfortable existence here, in the human world. Effectively the strongest among weak lambs." She moves closer, her gaze holding his fast. "Always feared. Unrivalled."

Her voice is a poisonous melody and finally Sebastian understands why she had chosen to play the treacherous armonica - it suits her nature. Her voice is the equivalent of absinthe; she is a master of sound and its power. Her voice is all around him and - this he hates to admit - inside of him, resonating. Her tongue curves around the words she speaks, slithering like a snake to drench the very sounds in invisible poison, (like a snake in the gardens of Eden and he is the Eve with an apple in hand) and before Sebastian even knows it (he does know, but he doesn't feel compelled to stop it), her hands are on his face, cupping it.

"But would you last even an hour back in hell?" she speaks, and Sebastian's gaze follows every movement of her lips, as they form the words; and the mere fact that she has made him pause speaks volumes.

"Our name is Legion. You have abandoned that name."

And she speaks his name; the true one, the one he is known by in the demon world. The sound of it is so unearthly and alien in this human world that he feels a cold shiver run down his spine. That is one thing Sebastian had not expected to hear. How she knows it, he wonders briefly, and then realises with a little astonishment that he may have, indeed, spent too much time up here, among the mortals. He'd forgotten the raw basics of every demonic existence – the ability to know the name and true face of one's own kin no matter where they met. And in that instant, as if a veil had been lifted from her face, he knows her name as well.

"Or are you trying to rise back to the heights from whence Lucifer fell?"

Silence meets her words and she laughs in his face and Sebastian finally snaps out of it and pushes her hands away, repulsed because she had almost managed to drag him back to the time before he formed his theory of aesthetics. Back to the days when he was just a nameless underdog with no significance, without a rank. When his name was nothing but Legion.

"Why do I serve Claude, you ask?" she inquires again, tilting her head curiously and looking at him with one half-closed eye. With a laugh and an array of bullets the fight between the two of them is on again. "Why not?"