Kuroshitsuji and all of its characters belong to Yana Toboso.

Anne of Green Gables belongs to LM Montgomery.

...

There was a running joke going around in the department about William's 'Grell Radar'. It seemed as if the Supervisor had developed this instinct of knowing when exactly Grell was going to make an appearance.

As far as William was concerned, it wasn't exactly rocket science. He knew Grell far too well to be good for his own health. There was just something so…recognizable about that redheaded pest. Grell could be kidnapped, chained and gagged in a dark cellar with a potato sack over his head and still William would know it was him.

Which was why, when a furious hand plonked a freshly filled form over the clipboard he was writing on, he merely paused before saying:

"Let's see if we can fit Slingby in on Wednesday evenings, Mr. Knox."

He was currently arranging the Reapers' monthly duty roster with Ronald's assistance. A large map of London was pinned over the wall, along with several multicoloured flags marking several districts at once. By the look of things, it seemed as if William had no choice but to make his Reapers work double shifts.

"Er, yessir," said Ronald, dutifully scribbling a reminder in his notebook.

Without looking over, William addressed the red apparition quivering indignantly beside him. "Depending on the question, my answer will either be yes, no and 'Sod off, Sutcliff'."

"How could you, Will?" Grell exploded. "You utterly cruel man! You know how important my theatre is to me, yet you keep on insisting that I work evenings for the past three weeks! Why, I barely had time to attend rehearsals, and now they're threatening to replace me-"

"Sutcliff, as catastrophic you'd like to imagine your problems to be, you're not the only one who has to forgo their leisurely pursuits, so to speak. Instead of complaining, I suggest you take this time to do some actual work for once."

Grell gaped at his boss before his eyes narrowed dangerously for a counterattack. "You're not listening! Of all times, why evening? Look – give me early mornings at least. I can pull off a dawn shift and maybe swing through until afternoon, but-"

"Absolutely not!" William rapped out sharply. "I'm having enough trouble as it is, having to fish you out of the janitor's cupboard everytime you decide to doze off just because you didn't get enough sleep last night, no thanks to your so-called rehearsals. Frankly I just think it's all kindergarten level fodder!"

Terribly insulted, Grell went and poked the dark Reaper hard in the chest. "You have a mean spirit, you know that? I hope your heart shrivels up along with the rest of you and you die a lonely, crabby old man in your own basement! So there!"

In the subzero atmosphere that followed, William shifted his gaze down towards the offending digit that was inches from being cut off from its owner. This happened with such slow motion that Ronald swore he could hear the creak of his boss's eyeball bearings.

Grell removed his finger hurriedly, obviously flustered, but attempted to cover it by declaring: "Fine, if this is how you're going to be, then I'm leaving! Just sign the paper and you'll never see me again!"

William sighed, his patience - and quite possibly his sanity - already bent at a snapping point. It'd take a special kind of character, he'd mused afterwards, to be able to deal with someone like Grell. Preferably someone with zero malicious intent. A saint, perhaps. Or a guppy fish.

"What," he managed, "the blazes are you talking about?"

"You heard me! Starting tomorrow I'll never be part of the London Branch ever again. I'll even take Puffykins with me, so that you'll miss us and realize just what a big silly you've been! Hmph!" Grell said, flipping his long hair haughtily, refusing to look at William in the face.

"For God's sake, stop giving names to plants! They're already traumatized as it is, having you to take care of them!"

Ronald, sensing that this was spiralling into a lovers' quarrel, gathered his things and said a tad too brightly: "Well, I'll just skedaddle off andseeifthere's-"

"Mr. Knox, my memory is perfect and I certainly do not recall granting you permission to leave! You are to sit here until we are done, or so help me God-"

"Oh, sure…take your anger out on the poor boy, why don't you?" Grell sneered.

William snapped his mouth shut. It was an admirable feat, considering the fact that he couldn't trust what would come out next if he decided to continue talking. He'd probably end up firing the entire department before he'd even realized what he was doing.

He desperately needed something to distract him from his anger, so he dragged his eyes towards the form Grell had rudely given to him. It was a transfer request. After a certain amount of years, Reapers were allowed to ask to be transferred to another branch. According to the form, Grell had stated that he wanted to go to-

"Tangiers?" William asked, frowning. Grell had never left London, much less Europe. "Why there, of all places?"

"Firstly, I decided that I want to be as far away from you as possible. Secondly, I figured that it'd be more relaxing over there. Nothing for me to do but sip mint tea for days on end." Grell took a deep, rapturous breath. "Such bliss."

"Oh, really?" William said. There was a menacing glint in his eyes. Grell had no idea he was paddling towards piranha territory.

"Don't even think of stopping me, Will!" he proclaimed. "The iron has entered my soul. I will never change my mind!"

"I wouldn't dream of it. After all, Morocco has such lovely weather at this time of year…if you enjoy the sweltering heat, that is. Oh, but-" William suddenly tapped the end of his pen to his chin thoughtfully. "Didn't you once mention that summer brings out the worse of your freckles?"

That got Grell's attention. "What?"

"A 'redhead's curse', I believe you called it. Makes your face look like a strawberry. I honestly can't see what the fuss was all about. It's amazing how you'd react to a mere skin pigmentation as if it were the bubonic plague."

"You-you…what do you know? You have flawless skin without trying! That's unfair!"

"Didn't anyone at Administration mention to you the dry air? All that dust from the desert, they get tangled up in the hair…" William shook his head solemnly, like a dark angel who portends doom. "Coupled with the sun, I reckon you'll end up with split ends by the end of the month."

"Pshaw, that's nothing. I've got my lotion-"

"Do you honestly think you can get the same stuff over there? Most likely you'd have to put in a shipping order, but even then, it'll take months. You can't expect me to send them over with my pigeons now, can you?"

William stood back, enjoying the traffic light display of Grell's facial expressions. The scarlet Reaper went from flummoxed to annoyed to worried within mere seconds.

Ronald could only stare owlishly at his boss, wondering about the depths of gleeful cruelty the man would go just to prove an employee wrong. He figured that if there ever were any job openings for an Evil Overlord, William would fit the bill to the t, no pun intended.

"Will, I-" Grell began.

"Changed your mind? No worries. I think I can find a place far more suitable." William paused, and did a terrible thing.

He smiled.

"How does the Bermuda Triangle sound to you?" he asked.

At that point, Grell crumbled like the walls of Jericho. "M-maybe I was being a wee bit hasty about-"

William raised an immaculately shaped brow; another aspect, Grell sourly noted, that he was envious of. They always remained neat without William having to trim a single hair. How's that even possible? Grell had to spend countless painful hours every morning with a mirror and a pair of tweezers just to make sure his brows were the same shape.

"But you said 'the iron has entered your soul'?" the Supervisor said. "Who am I to deny an employee's utmost request? After all, it's the least I could do before my heart shrivels up completely."

"Well, supposing the iron hasn't entered that much," Grell desperately said, his hand now inching towards William's clipboard.

William turned towards Ronald, effectively blocking Grell's access. "Perhaps I could even get someone to organize a farewell party. What do you say, Mr. Knox?"

Grinning, Ronald saluted with his notebook. "Leave it to me, boss!"

"Wait! I never said-"

Quick as a snake, William snatched up the form and briskly walked away. "We will continue this afterwards, Mr. Knox," he called over his shoulder. Grell trailed after him, pawing helplessly for the document, but the taller man held it effectively out of his reach.

"Stop being such a baby, Sutcliff," William said. "I'm sure you'll adjust to your new place in no time. Me I'm just happy to get the whole house to myself for once."

"I was just joking, Will! You know you can never take me seriously, ahaha!"

"Indeed. That is an understatement of the century."

Ronald watched them go before opening his notebook and scribbling 'Ms. Grell's Party' into one of the pages. Turning his attention back to the London map, he frowned when a new problem cropped up in his mind.

Now that Ms. Grell's going, to whom should he relegate her slots to?

THE END

*Note: 'The iron has entered my soul' line was taken from LM Montgomery's book 'Anne of Green Gables'. It's an awesome classic series. What can I say? I've a thing for fiesty redheads ;D