Another short drabble, originally posted on tumblr. Enjoy!
"Sutcliff…"
"Leave her be, Alan." Eric commented, wrapping his arm around Alan's shoulder while Grell marched down to William's office with cleaning utensils like she did every other day.
"But—"
"Whatever lets her cope. If this works for her, then we shouldn't stop her." Alan frowned, looking over his shoulder at the redhead while she disappeared into their supervisor's office. He sighed, muttering "you're right" and walking away with Eric.
It had been eight weeks since William T. Spears had disappeared without a trace. His home was intact, his office was intact, everything was as it should be. No signs of a struggle or forced entry, nothing gone. Nothing, except William. A notice had been sent to every other Dispatch in the world, everyone was on alert, but there was absolutely no sign of William.
And Grell, Grell took it horribly. She had spent three entire weeks searching for him. She didn't eat or sleep, she never stopped. She checked the Library every day to make sure his record wasn't there. And it wasn't. Wherever William was, he was still alive.
The two following weeks were spent chasing and summoning demons, torturing them for information. She was sure they knew something. She used every trick in the book, from holy water to burning their bones, but none of them would crack, none would say anything. None of them knew.
After all hope seemed lost, Grell was sent chugging into depression. She didn't smile anymore, her eyes lacked their fire, her hair was duller. She even left her trademark red coat at home more often than not. She wouldn't cry, not at the office at least, but she was a shadow of her former self. She only cried at home, alone in her room, wailing desperately for her William to come back.
During her following three weeks, she did nothing but wait. She still wouldn't work, or sleep, or eat. She just sat in William's office and waited, waited, waited. Every other day, she cleaned it up. When asked about it, she always said the same thing— William wouldn't want to come back to a dusty office. So she cleaned, and cleaned, and cleaned. It became almost an obsession.
But weeks turned into months, and months turned into years. The new century rolled around and there was no sign of William. Grell became more of a shadow with every day that went on. After a while, she wouldn't even talk back to anyone. She slept little and ate less, and at times, the muffled sound of sobs could be heard from his office while she was there.
Even her appearance changed. She cared little for her makeup, forgoing it more often than not. Her hair became a dull, dark red, almost brown, and it grew flat and lifeless. Her eyes became dull, her once nearly-permanent smile turned into a frown. At one point, the Elder Council requested that she was moved and that William's office was given to someone else, but the London Dispatch requested that it was left untouched. When they wouldn't budge, they went to Undertaker for help— he came through, and Grell remained in William's office.
It was 1907, nearly twenty years after his disappearance, when Grell gave up on cleaning William's office. That was also when she gave up entirely on going home, instead living in his office constantly. The other reapers brought her food at times, and had put a bedroll there for her. New reapers came and went every year. and they asked about the redhead in the corner office. Grell became a tragic love story, a myth, heard throughout the globe.
But it didn't bring her William back to her.
The year was 1942, and Ronald Knox was now the head supervisor for the London Dispatch. Grell, as always, was locked away in William's gloomy office, waiting for a love that would never return. They all left her be, they were all too fond of her, though they forgot her more often than not— until a young recruit asked Ronald what she was waiting for, holed up in there. Ronald frowned, and looked over his shoulder at the door to what used to be William's office with a forlorn look.
"She's waiting on a miracle."