"It's my partner, Will. He's stewing about something. Have ye given him an unusual assignment or some such?"


Eric noticed, because Alan was half of himself. Alan was thinking about something serious, thinking very hard, and would not welcome interruption. Being wise in the ways of his partner, Eric left a cup of tea on Alan's desk before busying himself elsewhere. There were times when getting well ahead on your paperwork was the better part of valor.

He submitted his stack of collection reports - complete, legible, alphabetized, unblotted and free of coffee stains - to Spears, who eyed them with uncomplimentary disbelief.

"Right, Slingby, whatever can you want this badly?"

"It's my partner, Will," and now he had Spears' attention in full, "He's stewing about something. Have ye given him an unusual assignment or some such?"

"No, I have not. Could it have been a difficult reap? His last reports have not indicated any distress, nor did they involve any human who might have engaged his sympathy."

"I don't think so. I pick up our assignments daily. If there's something there that would truly upset him I swap it out for a routine case of my own."

"I'm surprised he lets you do that."

"We pretend he doesn't know. It works for us. Sir."

"Investigate and report, Slingby."


At shift change, Eric suggested they all nip over to the pub for a quick pint. Alan ordered his usual, chatted with everyone and obviously was easy in their company. Therefore Alan's problem was not related to his fellow Reapers. That was a relief. Once upon a psychotic break, Grell had decided that Eric, while not Mr. Right, was Mr. Right Now. His attempt to detach Eric from Alan failed spectacularly; his attempt to remove Alan as a rival got him a stay in hospital. Spears confiscated his chainsaw and posted him to the Orkneys for a year. Eric could do without a replay.

"Ronnie, hae ye noticed that Alan is fretting? Do ye know what might be bothering him?"

"No, but y' might ask Wayland. Alan's been workin' wi'm. Maybe they stumbled over somethin'?"

Wayland had been a Reaper for about three years now. He had entered the most dangerous stage of his training. There were four stages: Knows Nothing, Knows Something, Thinks He Knows Everything, and Sadder But Wiser. Wayland had begun to think that he'd seen it all, that he was getting pretty good at this job, and that he didn't need a Senior's oversight. Alan had been trying to keep him alive until the fellow lost the deadly cockiness that could kill him and anyone he happened to be working with.

Evidently Alan saw something in the man worth preserving. In these cases, Alan was usually right. Careful to avoid Alan's attention, Eric delved for information. That was easy, as Wayland was also overconfident about his alcohol tolerance.

"Um, no, there weren't any bad reaps. Was a demon but Alan ran him right off, no problem. I coulda done it. I did all the collections. By myself! Oh, and there was a, uh. Wingthing? An angel." Wayland's common sense made a desperate attempt to assert control; Slingby = Humphries = Wayland's hopes of promotion. He straightened up. "Yesterday. Lookin' for a Fallen who is running a human agent. We're s'pose' to report if we see them, but not innerfere."

Ah. On the rare occasions that angels communicated with Reapers, they did seem to prefer Alan. Alan had reported the interaction - it had been part of the morning briefing. Alan hadn't mentioned it to Eric the previous evening, though. That was odd.

On the way home Alan fell silent. Eric let him think undisturbed. At the door of their apartment, there was a sudden change. Alan was angry, no, furious - but not with him; thank Heaven, the little buzzsaw was not angry with him. As the door closed behind them, Alan turned to Eric, his eyes glowing. The night began in passion and ended in tenderness.


Eric woke with Alan in his arms. There were traces of dried tears on Alan's face. Eric eased out from under, tucked the warm covers around his lover, and padded off to the bathroom. Right, he thought, this has to stop now. If that angel is the cause of this I will pluck his sorry wings and paint him purple. But why? Angels preferred to consider Reapers beneath their august notice. Is this angel newly Fallen? Alan would have recognized that. Even Wayland saw the angel as nonthreatening, and Wayland was at the stage where he was always looking for a fight.

Bringing out the big guns, Eric brewed coffee and fried bacon. Worked like magic every time. Alan rose like Lazarus from his bed and shuffled blearily into the kitchen. He was adorably tousled. Eric pressed a mug of zombie-fix into his hands, sat him down at the table with a plate of World's Best Breakfast, and watched his partner gradually return to sentience. He cleaned his own plate and poured a fresh cup.

"There now. All better. What's wrong?"

"'M fine. More coffee?"

"Talk to me, Alan. Tell me what is bothering you. We'll fix it together."

"Coffee..."

Eric held the pot out of reach. "Alan. Tell me." He ran his hand gently down Alan's cheek, where the dry tracks were now accompanied by a fresh tear rolling down. Alan tried to rise. Eric stopped him.

"Eric, I promise, I'll be right back. I'm getting something that - that you need to see."

Alan went back to the bedroom to retrieve something from his suitcoat pocket. This took a minute, as the coat was discarded last night without its usual brush-off and hanging up. Where... ah. Was that a sock on the ceiling fan? Well, Eric could reach it easily.

How could he bear to lose all this?

Alan returned to the kitchen holding a sheet of vellum. He handed it off to Eric in return for a refill. Hugging the cup to his chest, he sat back down at the table while Eric read.

Alan Humphries, you have earned Forgiveness. You are granted three days to conclude all business. We will come for you on the fourth day. Congratulations on your release into a better life.

To Eric, it was a kick in the chest. Somehow he whispered "Congratulations," and "Tomorrow..." and then they were holding hands.

They spoke simultaneously.

"We can't run-"

"No hiding place-"

"Eric, I want you to have my bolo tie. It's the only thing of value I have that isn't Dispatch issue. Say you'll keep it. Give the note to Spears, he's going to need to reschedule and hire a replacement."

"Alan!"

"I will refuse. I will not go where you cannot."

"Ye mustn't fight! If you anger them they could destroy you."

"Let them!"

"Then I will fight beside you and we'll go down together."

"No. They can take me. I won't have you harmed."

"Alan -"

Alan whispered, "We have to get ready for work," and somehow they fell into their morning routines. There was no choice.