It began with a warm, sunny day boasting a crystal blue sky; the bustle of town life below drawn out by the fortunate weather. Alas, per London norm, rumbling storm clouds rolled through the sky, consuming the sun and casting darkness across the crowded streets. A half hour passed before the storm won out and the earlier pleasantry was left to mere memory.

Practically an ocean then fell upon the heads of those still meandering through the streets, hoping the clouds would retreat. Within minutes those few fled into their carriages, houses, or the nearest storefront, looking akin to drowned rats. Fear rain and wind was such a human worry. A few clouds and a bucket or two of water did nothing to cause pause in the heart of reaper William T. Spears.

Spears was such a fitting name for this stoic, as they seemed to pierce those who fell under his cold, displeased gaze. The mere adjustment of his glasses, or straightening of his impeccable suit, spelled doom what unfortunate reapers tread near him. Almost anything could be considered waving a red flag in front of this proverbial bull.

While there was work to be done, William would not let something so trivial as the weather interrupt him. Times like this left him thanking the Technologies Research Department (a small branch of the Library). They were the ones who made the water resistant spray that coated his lenses and kept fog and mist from building up on them. And with that small problem pushed aside, everything should have gone to plan…were it not for the drastic change in the sky.

The first in a long series of cracks resounded around William. Alone they would not have been a distraction, but together this cacophony drew his attention. Chunks of ice, hail the size of a grown man's palm, plummeted to earth, greeting it swiftly as an old, seldom seen friend.

William knew this development should worry him as the roof tile beneath his foot cracked. A split second of contemplation passed before he leapt into action, running across the roof and using his long, branch cutter scythe to fend off the missiles.

'Focus.'

This approach was quite successful, until he had to jump over a very wide gap between buildings. A single chunk of ice made it through his defenses and smashed into the right top of his skull. A sharp pain flooded William's head and threw him off balance, sending him plummeting to the ground. In this state of vertigo he lacked his usual cat like grace and fell unceremoniously on one leg. It twisted beneath him and brought him to his back on the wet cobblestone.

'Cover.'

A purely human instinct kicked in, coming to the forefront of his muddled mind. His leg was damaged, this was obvious enough. William reached for his fallen scythe and plunged the blade into the cracked stone. The scythe stuck firm and William dragged himself to his feet using the long handle as leverage.

His make shift cane, 'A horrible use for a scythe', served well enough to get him down the narrow alley and through the rows of East End shops. So many were dingy, dark and most were locked when he tried them, but one. William turned the creaking handle and pushed the door open. Before the darkness consumed his mind he was greeted by a comforting, familiar site. His last sense was a pair of arms catching him before he fell to the floor.

…

The storm continued to wage its eternal battle against itself outside when William came to. He allowed himself the time to simply listen to his surroundings. Sound is a wonderful device that can tell you where you are, if only you are an attentive enough listener. Besides, to listen to a storm from a warm, comfortable place was a sensation in which William took pleasure.

Even from within the dusty shop he could hear thunder ripping across the sky and rain pounding relentlessly against the tinted windows. But now that he was under cover of a roof and walls, this sound was muffled. The forefront of his hearing was dominated by pleasant, almost mad humming that floated through the shop. The clink of glass; the bubbling of boiling water. Accompanying its sister sounds the sweet scent of over sugared black tea wafted his way. His last memories had served him well in their accuracy and he was exactly where he expected to be.

William opened his eyes and the blur of dull colors before him alerted to the missing weight of his glasses. He looked from side to side and this only revealed dark chestnut walls and golden hinges that must have been attached to a lid.

'How typical for him to put me in a coffin.'

William came to an upright position slowly, blinking away the neon worms that floated across his vision. He reached up to feel the wound on his head. His straight brown hair hid from a three inch line of stitches going from above his cheek bone to the top of his head. A dull ache surrounded it, but it was bearable.

"Ah, you're awake!" The happy cry came from a man cloaked in black, a ragged top hat adorning his head full of silver locks. None other than Undertaker himself, once the model reaper and a legend, was rushing to William's side with a graduated cylinder filled to the brim with tea. It never ceased to amaze William how charitable Undertaker could be. He could live like a king and be adored by everyone in the Library; yet he instead loitered in a moldy old shop giving strangers information or funerals for nothing more than a few laughs.

"Yes, thank you for allowing me in here," he said wearily and took the offered tea. Somehow, since the first time he had visited the shop as a student, Undertaker was able to get his tea perfectly right. Black tea, steeped for five minutes, sweetened with a spoonful of honey. His damp clothes clung to his frigid skin, but any cold he felt was washed away by sipping the hot tea. It was on the brink of burning his tongue, but only warmed his insides.

"I couldn't let me favorite stick in the mud stay out in the rain," he said with a small giggle. "Especially with those sores you managed to get yourself!" He peered at the stitches and then at William's wrapped leg. Blood had started to dye the white cotton bandage pink. "I don't like that it takes injuries to get you to visit me now. Why were you playing outside in this storm, anyway?"

"You already know the answer to that. I put my work before anything else." Undertaker simply grinned in response.

"That kind of attitude will end up making you look like me," he said, tracing the permanent stitching that adorned his face and throat with one long, black fingernail. "And there's faaaaaaaaar more where that came from!"

"I am sure. You had to work during the Black Plague. Demonic scum were crawling all over the place to get their hands on a soul that we were too thinly spread to harvest in time."

"Oh, don't remind me of my age." Undertaker reached for his own tea, a black sludge due to all the sugar that had been mixed in, and perched himself on the end of the coffin in which William still laid.

The windows were ablaze for a moment as lightning flashed across the sky. She was dancing to the roaring baritone of her partner, thunder, and such a vain creature was she, having to draw the attention of all. William watched the window for a long moment as silence settled between them.

"I will go when the rain lightens," William said to break the silence. Undertaker's giggling paused for a moment and his smile almost wavered.

"I think you will leave when I say you can," he said softly. "I would rather you not get injured any further."

The starkness of his voice in those words startled William. In the years they had known each other he had never heard Undertaker sound so serious. Serious was a word that should never be even remotely associated with Undertaker. Yet, here it needed to be used. Here even frightening could be used.

"Sir," William said slowly, "I mean no disrespect, but I have to get back to the Library-"

"You also have to not end up with a broken leg! That would be a rather messy situation!" His light heartedness returned, much to William's relief. "And you being a complete idiot is what will cause that! I know you're smarter than that."

Of course he knew. Undertaker was his tutor and friend for years while William was a reaper in training. He was the reason he now excelled in everything about the trade, despite concealing himself under the guise of a B student. Once the work had begun, though, their visits had become rare, once every month or two at best.

'There will be no reasoning with him,' William thought.

"I will stay then," he said with a sigh of defeat. "But I am blaming you in any reports that I have to make for being out of commission for so long."

Undertaker laughed loudly, stretching his mouth into an even larger grin. How that was physically possible, William did not know. But coming back to visit after such a long time, and seeing that smile, made him feel a happiness that he so seldom felt.

…

For hours it seemed the two just talked. This time nearly a year separated their visits and there was a great deal to catch up on. Here William was unafraid to open himself up, showing more feeling, giving voice to his complaints about some reapers and praises for others. It was a pleasant time for them both.

The storm was wearing its welcome and had begun to die down. Already the rain was beginning to cease and, when William looked out, the moon peaked through a small crack in the blanket of clouds. His watch read midnight and he knew that Undertaker would never let him leave at this hour, no matter how well the weather improved.

As William was lost in his own thoughts, Undertaker waltz over and locked the door and windows and drew the heavy black curtains.

"We wouldn't want any wary passersby to get curious, do we?" he said with a small laugh.

"I do not see why that would be a problem," William said, looking over at the former reaper. His breath caught in his throat when he saw that Undertaker had removed the heavy robes and was left in those high boots and skin tight shirt and pants. It showed that, despite his age, the old reaper had not loss the tone of his body brought upon by years of work.

"Oh, you don't?" Even his demeanor was rapidly changing. His bangs were pushed away from his sparkling green eyes, alight with a fire that William was unfamiliar with. It was something he had glimpsed before in Grell, but never here. Never with his mentor, his idol, his friend.

And quicker than a human eye could follow, Undertaker was in front of William. He surpassed William in height by almost a full head and this made him intimidating. William opened his mouth to speak, though he knew not what to say. A protest? A question as to what he was doing? But nothing came out. Instead his parted lips were enveloped by Undertaker's warm mouth.

Nothing. William could do nothing beyond an instinctive jerk backwards, a motion stopped by Undertaker's arms wrapped around his waist and upper back. William was utterly helpless to this embrace, his arms limp by his sides. It was as if he was a young boy again, confused by his surroundings and without a chance of helping himself. Their mouths remained locked together for what seemed like an eternity before Undertaker pulled his head away.

Their faces remained in close proximity to one another. Their eyes were locked and William saw the longing within the depths of those eyes. Something that had been held back for years and only now allowed to surface. Perhaps Undertaker had been better at controlling his feelings than even William had ever been.

"Why?" William uttered when his words finally came back to him. "Why me?"

"Because," Undertaker said, a charming, lustful smile adorning his face, "you have always been mine, since you stepped through that door. I am finally claiming you."

Nothing more needed to be said as Undertaker pushed William down into the nearest open casket. And, curiously, William felt no urge to fight this. Even as Undertaker slowly unbuttoned his shirt with his teeth he felt as if this was a long time coming and was meant to happen. He even welcomed it. Freedom from himself.

William wrapped his arms around Undertaker's neck and heaved himself up. His lips brushed the elder's ear as he whispered;

"Take me."