Grell sniffled as she sat at her desk, dutifully completing her paperwork for once. She didn't care that her makeup was running, or that her favorite red coat was crumpled on the floor.
Who could care about such things, when nobody appreciated them anyways? Everyone simply laughed it away every other day.
What was different about today?
It was flowers.
William T. Spears, Shinigami Dispatch Supervisor, had sent flowers.
Normally, something such as this would have sent Grell into a burst of ecstasy, lasting for at least the next week.
Not this time. The reason for those flowers was entirely different. It wasn't because he liked her, it wasn't even because he was breaking up with her. (That would have required them to be dating in the first place.)
It was because he had, quote, "Acted inappropriately, unbefitting of a supervisor."
He couldn't even apologize in person. Not that it was his fault, entirely. Ronald had perhaps gotten William to drink a bit more than he should have.
Still, Grell hadn't minded. Although a little portion of her brain told her that it was just the alcohol talking, she'd appreciated the attention the drinking had afforded her. Even with the alcohol, William had been a gentleman after the party, walking her home. He hadn't even been planning to kiss her. That, of course, was totally unacceptable, and Grell had flirted slightly, provoking him to do so.
After all, didn't they say that alcohol revealed how someone truly felt about you?
Apparently not, since William was back to his usual cold self, and sending flowers to apologize.
They weren't even red. They were some sort of sickly off-white, very William, but totally unlike Grell.
Grell ran an ungloved hand across her eyes, wiping away the tears lingering there, ignoring the fact that it only caused her makeup to smear more. Her lower lip trembled as she stamped the final piece.
Standing up, she gathered the paperwork into her arms, and peeking out into the hallway, ran quickly to William's office. Thankfully, he wasn't there, and there were no other reapers lingering in the hallway. She hurried back to her office, and collecting her coat and other small belongings, she decided to portal home. No sense running into anyone looking like this. She took one last look at the flowers, tears welling up in her eyes once again.
Stepping quickly through the portal, she found herself in her small, cozy home. Tears rolling down her face and obscuring her vision, she placed her coat on the ironing board, as it was well and truly wrinkled by this point. Her shoes went by the door, and her waistcoat went in the laundry. Wiping away the tears, Grell took stock of her appearance. Her hair was tangled, her makeup was practically non-existent, and her general complexion screamed that she had been crying. Fighting back more tears, Grell picked up a hairbrush, and tried to start working through the knots in her hair.
Twenty minutes later, she gave up. She couldn't work through the tangles. There were too many of them. Sniffing, she dragged her hair back into a ponytail — with a wince when the hairband snagged on a particularly bad knot — and set about cleaning up her face. That went much better, and despite the fact that she no longer looked particularly feminine, she at least looked tidy. Sighing, she laid her head down on her arms.
Perhaps she shouldn't even try to look feminine anymore. Everyone simply laughed at her, teased her, sent her flowers to apologize when they felt ashamed for flirting. Normally, Grell simply shrugged it off, ignored them, and went to hang out with Ronald. He, at least, didn't treat her badly, even if he didn't use her preferred pronouns. Being called "senpai" was certainly preferable to being called "gender-confused".
A thought popped into Grell's head.
There was one other person who didn't ever think badly of Grell. He perhaps found her a bit odd, but then, he couldn't say much. He'd even smiled on the few occasions Grell had run into him, hugged him, even when she stuffed him into a jar of salt.
Yes. Grell would visit the Undertaker. He might be able to help with her tangles as well. He did have that fabulously long hair.
Sliding her shoes back on, Grell caught a glance of her plain, make-up free face. She hesitated. Should she put on a touch of power or something, enough to soften her features? She turned back to her room, but couldn't find the energy to make herself pretty again. So, making herself as tidy as possible, she opened a portal to the human realm, to a little shop in the back streets of London. The scent of dust and incense met her, and she sighed slightly, not seeing the unusual reaper anywhere. She was about to open a portal back to her house, when a hand was laid on her shoulder.
"Ahhh!" Grell jumped slightly, turning to see the Undertaker right behind her, grinning away. "Don't do that to a lady!" Grell pouted, trying to hide her current emotional turbulence.
The Undertaker simply continued to smile. "I apologize, my lady~ I simply find it amusing when individuals wander into my shop, only to attempt to leave without speaking to me~"
Grell suddenly felt her lower lip begin to tremble again. The Undertaker's grin fell. "My lady~?" He asked, quietly.
Grell couldn't hold it back anymore. "Why are you calling me a lady? Nobody else does. Even Ronald doesn't, although he refrains from the usual insults." Tears began to flow fast and free, as all the pent-up hurt from the past twelve hours came out in a flood.
The Undertaker frowned then, and wrapped his arms around Grell, who was sobbing too hard to notice. "I call you a lady because that's what you are, even if others don't realize it." He ran his fingers through Grell's hair, only to catch on a tangle. "Why don't we sit down and fix that hair of yours?" He suggested, kindly.
Grell stopped crying briefly, looking up at the Undertaker. "That's actually what I came in for." She admitted, somewhat sheepishly. "I'm sorry. You don't need to hear about my problems."
Undertaker shook his head as he led her to a closed, hopefully empty coffin. "It's quite alright, m'dear." He made sure Grell was settled comfortably, then went to find a hairbrush and a clean beaker for some tea. Quickly finding both, he returned to Grell, who was sitting with her arms wrapped around her legs, head down on her knees.
The Undertaker sighed to himself. He'd only ever seen Grell bubbly and energetic. She must have reached her breaking point with some recent event. Sitting behind her, he placed the beaker of tea down next to her. "Fresh tea cures many ills~" He commented quietly as he began running the brush through Grell's hair, carefully working out the knots.
"Does it cure heartbreak?" Came the muffled, teary reply.
"Occasionally~"
More Undertaker worked through the tangles in the red hair. He saw a hand sneak down and pick up the beaker. Smiling, but not commenting, he continued to work as the knees dropped a little and the head raised slightly. A few minutes later, the beaker was returned, significantly less full, but the body didn't return to its former position.
"Undertaker?" Grell ventured.
"Yes, m'dear~?" The reaper in question hummed.
"Did you ever have your heart broken?" Grell winced as Undertaker hit a particularly bad knot.
There was silence for a brief moment. "Yes."
"When?" Grell felt a little bad for prying, but it was distracting her from William and her own pain.
"About fifty years ago." The Undertaker replied quietly.
Grell perked up. "Isn't that around the time you retired?"
Undertaker frowned, although Grell couldn't see. "Yes." He replied, shortly.
"Who was she?" Grell winced as Undertaker hit another bad knot.
"It no longer matters~" Undertaker commented. "She died decades ago."
"Of course it matters! You loved her!" Grell spun around, ignoring the pain from tangles suddenly being pulled at.
"I did~" The Undertaker said. "I moved on~"
"How could you do that?" Grell nearly shouted.
"Because if I didn't, I would have wilted and died just like the flowers sitting on your desk~"
Grell physically recoiled. "How did you know about those?" She hissed, angrily.
Undertaker shrugged. "William came to me, told me what had happened~" There was a hint of a smile on his face. "Asked me what I should do, though he said he was going to send flowers~ I told him to apologize in person with the posy. Quite clearly, he didn't listen to me~"
Grell found her heartbreak quickly being replaced with anger as she rose to her feet. "That insensitive…" A hand was placed on her arm, cutting her off.
"It's not worth it, m'dear~" The Undertaker commented, neutrally. "Why don't you sit back down, and I'll finish your hair~?"
Grell did so, grabbing her beaker of tea and downing it quickly in an attempt to drown her anger.
The Undertaker finished shortly, and ran his fingers through the now smooth hair. "All better~" He sang.
Grell grumbled. "Not everything is."
Arms wrapped around her from behind. "I know, m'dear~" The Undertaker rested his chin on the top of Grell's head. "You'll be back to your outgoing self with time… and tea. Would you like some more~?"
Grell smiled in spite of her pain. "That would be lovely."
The next beaker came with biscuits and a bright red rose.
Original Prompt: "It was flowers."
I normally keep my Kuroshitsuji fan-fictions elsewhere, but this is pretty much what I'm writing lately, so... *shrug* This is a little OOC, but I hope you enjoyed anyways.