Title: "Not Ready"

Author: Veritas Found

Rating: M / PG-16 / Teen

Characters/Pairings: Georgia Lass, Ken Mason; Mason x George

Summary: She wasn't good at this part, the bidding adieu. She really wasn't good at the part where it was him she was bidding adieu to.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Note/Warnings: Years post-movie. And for anyone who wonders on why the name pops up as it's so many years post, I firmly believe Kiffany was Rube's last reap and, had the movie included that missing plot line, she would have been his replacement reaper. (Also, Der Waffle Haus was named as a restaurant chain, so I also firmly believe they would've rebuilt it. Just saying.)

"Not Ready"

When will the cycle stop? When will the story end?

This is where I get off – I can't go there anymore…

And I want you to know that I have loved you the most

And it breaks my heart to see you go

"I Want You To Know" – Lifehouse

Rube had never said it, back when he was here and running the show, but it wasn't hard to guess he always got more information than he gave us. Not much more, as I found out once upper management moved him on and landed me with his shitload of paperwork, but still more. He gave us a name, a place, and a time. He got a name, a place, a time, a last thought, and a reaper.

And when it was time, as I found out the hard way, a final reap.

It never made much sense to me, why he had been there immediately after the guy who reaped me moved on. Why he was there to welcome me to my afterlife. Looking back, it only made sense that he had known beforehand I would be that guy's last reap. He had said a reaper never knew when he filled his quota until that final reap. He never mentioned, as head reaper of the group, he knew even before the reaper.

"So, Georgie, darling, I'm thinking basic reap today," Mason's comment was almost as offhand as his actions, the way he just plopped down on the bench next to her and began surveying the crowd. A dopey grin, one so much more endearing and him now that it wasn't ridden by drugs or alcohol, split his face as he looked for the perfect scenario to start up a game of High Risk Factor. He nudged her side, nodding towards the three prepubescent boys huddled together on the other side of the park square. "Cherry bomb backfires."

If I didn't still have Rube's voice in my head, even all these years after he'd moved on, I might've told him. If I didn't have Rube's voice in my head telling me not to fuck with the rules, to keep the universe as balanced and neat and ordered and shit as it should always be, I might've told him what was waiting for him when T. Summers bit the proverbial dust.

Then again, I never was any good at this part, the saying goodbye. If I didn't have Rube's voice in my head, I probably would've still been sitting on that bench with him, soaking up as much of those last moments as I could before he stepped off into his lights.

"How is a cherry bomb basic, and how do you even know they have one? For all you know they're just standing there gawking at a fucking skin rag," George snapped, sinking lower in her seat as she scanned the square for another potential candidate. Her heart wasn't in it this time, though, and she knew she wasn't being as discreet about the fact as she could've been.

"Aw, c'mon, Georgie," he said, sliding lower than her to rest his head on her shoulder. She glanced at him, quirking a brow at the puppy eyes he was tossing her way. Those eyes always got her, and he knew it, damn him. "What's the bad mood for, darling? You're not mad at me, are you? I didn't do anything, did I?"

"You didn't do anything, Mason, and I'm not mad at you," she said, sighing. He smiled at her, and she leaned her head against his. The extra note next to his reap on the List flashed through her mind one more time, reminding her that it wasn't something he'd done or would do and just Death being (un)fair, and a little voice in the back of her head told her she was going to miss this.

She was going to miss him.

She wasn't ready for her best friend to leave yet, damn it.

I knew he'd be leaving before he did, and it was taking everything I had not to let him in on the secret. Not to let him know that I wasn't ready for him to go yet.

But that's death for you, just like life. All the important shit happens when you're not ready. I wasn't ready to die when that toilet seat crashed into me. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to Betty when she piggybacked P. Cassidy's lights. I wasn't ready for sex when I slept with Trip. I wasn't ready when upper management promoted me to head reaper of our division. I wasn't ready to lose Mason when his final reap came up on the List.

I wasn't ready, and Death didn't care.

"You're mad about something, darling," he said. She couldn't deny that, because she was: she was mad that he would get his lights in…she glanced at her watch, her gut twisting as she saw the hands. Twenty minutes. She only had twenty minutes left with him.

There was another little voice in her head telling her she was being incredibly selfish, that Mason had been waiting nearly a century for his lights and damn it all if he didn't deserve them by now. It told her she should stop being so petty and be happy for him.

She told it to fuck off.

The silence had dragged on too long, and Mason was still watching her, waiting for an answer. The best she could give him was a shrug. It occurred to her again that these were her last minutes with him, and that she should say something, anything, to make them count. But she couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't clue him in, and she had been told that was something she couldn't do. She couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't weird him out, wouldn't worry him…and he was still waiting for an answer. She couldn't think of anything to say that mattered.

"Just focus on your reap, Mason," she said. He moved closer to her in a way that, had he been anyone else, she might have called snuggling or nuzzling, but this was Mason and she was George and they didn't do that sort of thing. They were Mason and George, best of friends, dysfunctional and complicated beyond all explanation, but perfect in the way they clicked. Best friends. They just weren't the kind of best friends – the kind of people – that did things like snuggle. Or at least do so and call it that.

"But I wanna stay here with you, Georgie," he said, his voice morphing into a whine as he batted those too-long eyelashes at her in a pout. She laughed and nudged his side, and he grinned as he wrapped an arm around her to lock her in an embrace. He began tickling her sides, and she laughed as she squirmed and tried to fight him off of her, gasping as she half-heartedly tried to tell him to stop.

I wonder if he still would've been so carefree, if he had known those twenty minutes on that park bench were the last twenty minutes he'd have here. I wonder if he would have gone after Daisy, one last flirt before he went into his lights. I wonder if he would've found Kiffany or Roxy and said a proper goodbye. I wonder if he would've sat there tickling me like it was any other day, like we were both blissfully unaware of what was coming for him.

"M-Mason!" George gasped, and he gave her another grin as his fingers finally stopped dancing along her sides. But he didn't move, opting instead to tighten his grip and pull her closer. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and she could feel his smile against her skin, and there was just something irritating and wrong about the way it made her stomach flutter against her ribs.

"Ah, I love you, Georgie-girl," he said. He pulled back, just enough to catch her eye. "You know that, right? You know I love you."

"I know you love me," she said, a lump rising in her throat at the mix of his dopey grin and innocent words. He had told her before, for the first time a little over a year after her death and many times since. Usually when he was drunk or high or in some other state of emotional duress (like, say, going crazy over a purple post-it), but he still told her. It was nice to hear – more than she'd ever let him know. More than she'd ever admit to herself, either. "Just like you love Daisy and Roxy and Kiffany. We're a family, Mason. Families are supposed to love each other."

"Yeah, but I really love you, darling," he said, that grin so reminiscent but so much more natural than his high-as-a-fucking-kite-smile curling his lips. "You're my favorite, you are, Georgie. You know that."

"Did you take something, Mason?" she asked, arching a brow at him. It was disconcerting, like he knew something was coming. Last call, he'd said once so many years ago, and he was trying to get everything out before he couldn't. "Are you ok?"

"I didn't take anything – I've been clean for years. Well, mostly. You know that, too," he said. His face scrunched as he looked around. "What time is it, anyway?"

I had asked Rube once, only a few months into my afterlife, why I kept losing everyone and everything I cared about. He said that's what life is. It's what death was, too, apparently – and it sucked.

"2:28. Eight minutes," she said, glancing at her watch. Eight minutes. She wanted more time. Wanted to just stop the clock and stay here with Mason, sitting with him while he held her on a park bench on a sunny April afternoon.

"Right, then – High Risk Factor!" he said, raising his head to look around the square. He didn't release her, and again she cursed the way her stomach fluttered when he did stupid shit like that. When he had to be sweet. He frowned, shaking his head a moment later. "Yeah, I'm buggered. There's nothing jumping out at me here."

"Not even the cherry bomb kids?" she asked, sighing as she curled closer to him.

"Thought you said it was a skin rag?" he questioned, his voice amused at her slip. She rolled her eyes and nudged him with her shoulder, and he laughed as he shook his head.

"Excuse me, but do either of you have the time?" they looked up at the voice, and George felt the annoyance at the interruption of her last few minutes of Mason-time curl inside her. Petty, yes. But she didn't give a fuck.

"Sure, sweetheart, it's…Georgie, what time's it now?" Mason asked, giving the jogger a winning smile before turning to look at her. George looked at her watch, her stomach clenching as she read the hands.

"2:34," she said. Two minutes.

"2:34," Mason echoed, turning back to smile at the jogger. Her eyes widened as her jaw dropped open.

"Shit! Jess's gonna kill me – I was supposed to be across town ten minutes ago!" she said, and George frowned at her.

"So you're late, big fucking deal. Your friend'll get over it," she said, and it was Mason's turn to nudge her as he frowned.

"Georgie, you're being rude to our new friend here," he said. He looked back to her and held out a hand. "I'm Mason, by the way, and my sullen sweetheart here is George."

"Adorable," the girl said, smiling despite herself as she shook his hand. "Tina. Tina Summers."

And just like that, the ground fell out from under me. Funny how fast that can happen sometimes, even when you're dead.

Mason held onto her hand a moment longer than necessary once she'd said her name, smiling brightly as he effortlessly took her soul. He looked at George then, the smiling fading slightly as he saw the heartbroken look in her eyes.

"Anyway, I gotta book – like I said, Jess'll kill me," Tina said, smiling as she laughed at some joke the two reapers didn't get.

No, she won't.

"Have a good one, Tina!" Mason called, waving as she ran off. When he brought his arm down, she would have sworn he muttered something about how that almost seemed too easy. Maybe final reaps were supposed to be, she thought, as a parting favor from Death or some bullshit like that. He looked back at George, frowning as he reached up to cup her cheek. "George, what is it? You've been moody all day, love. What's wro…"

His jaw dropped as his voice trailed off, his eyes widening as they shot to the side. She saw the lights shimmering, the stage of some rock concert or something taking shape right in the middle of the park square. His body tensed, his hand gripping her cheek almost uncomfortably hard, as a look of horror and realization dawned on his face.

"I'm sorry, Mason," she said, swallowing against the burn in her throat, the first sign of the tears she wasn't ready to shed. Neither heard the squeal of tires on the road across the way, and neither really cared at that point, either.

I should have told him sooner.

"You knew," he breathed, unable to tear his eyes from the shimmering blue-green lights. She couldn't quite bring herself to look at him. "You bloody knew…"

I did.

"I'm sorry, Mason," she said again, the only thing she seemed able to comprehend at the moment. She was sorry, so very sorry, but she wasn't sure what for. She was sorry for him because she hadn't told him. She was sorry for herself because he was leaving. She was sorry for the others because they hadn't known, either. She was sorry for Tina, whose soul was gawking at the accident scene from behind their bench, because she fully intended on putting the girl through hell for taking Mason's place.

"You didn't tell me," Mason said, his head finally snapping back to her, fire in his eyes. They ignored Tina and the way she asked them if she was dead. "Fucking hell, George, why didn't you tell me?!"

"I wasn't supposed to," she said, and her voice sounded meager in her ears. "They said…Rube said you're not supposed to know until you reap your last soul."

"You should have told me, Georgie!" he cried, his voice growing desperate as panic twisted his features. He looked back to his lights, shining away while they waited for him to walk towards them. He wasn't budging. "No. Just…no."

"Mason, it's your time," she said, hating the way her eyes were stinging. She shouldn't be crying. She should be happy for him. So why wasn't she?

She ignored Tina again – and Mason's gawking, flabbergasted expression – as she stood. She held a hand out for him, and mechanically he placed his palm on hers, fingers wrapping around her wrist in a death-grip. She pulled him up and offered him her best smile, which wasn't very good at the moment.

"But…I don't want to go," he said, shaking his head. He didn't release her hand. She didn't bother reminding him to.

I didn't want him to go, either.

"You have to, Mason. You've earned this. Almost a hundred years you've been sticking around, reaping souls and watching everyone else get their lightshow. Now you finally get yours. Aren't you happy?" she asked, finally looking him in the eye. She almost wished she hadn't.

"No," he croaked, tears starting to cloud his still-wide eyes. She didn't know why she had asked; he really didn't look it, if she was honest with herself. "I'm not ready, Georgie-girl. I'm not fucking ready!"

"You've had almost a hundred years to get ready, Mason. I think you are," she said, smiling sadly at him. He still hadn't let go of her hand. Tina had finally shut up behind them, watching with a look of confusion and fear on her face.

"But…I wanna stay here with you, Georgie," he whispered. She had a hard time believing it had only been fifteen or so minutes since he'd last said those exact words, especially with the difference in how he said them now. There was no joking whine to his voice, no pouting puppy eyes. There was only heartache, fear…a sense of loss and trepidation so profound it broke her own heart to see. His voice was pleading, begging…he didn't want to leave. She didn't want to make him.

But Mason had to go to his lights, because that's how the universe or whatever the fuck controls things works. You're born, you live, you die, and you either get your lights or become a reaper (or in really fucked up cases a graveling). If you join the ranks of the undead, you reap for a time, collect your quota, and then finally you get your own lights. Who the fuck knows what comes after that.

Maybe Daisy was right. Maybe we all are just temps, drifting from position to position in Death's cosmic fuck-up chain as we muddle our way through the afterlife. Maybe Mason was going into those lights to meet Betty and Rube at Death's next desk job. Maybe he was going in to have the best concert of his life, or maybe his lights would fix that singing problem of his and he'd finally be able to live out his rockstar dreams. Who the fuck knew why his lights were shaped like a stage. Who the fuck knew what was waiting for him there.

I just knew that I didn't want him to go, and telling myself those things made it easier to accept he had to. But what happens when the reaper doesn't want to move on, either? What do you do then?

"You can't, Mason. You have to go now," she said, swallowing around the lump and hating how it made her throat burn. Fuck crying; she couldn't do that now. She couldn't let him see how much this was tearing her up. He might never leave then, and he had to. He had to.

"But I wanna stay here with you!" he said again, the pleading in his voice turning desperate. He released her hand then, but only to grab her and crush her in a hug. She felt him shake in her arms, the early signs of a sob wracking his frame. "I don't want to leave you behind, Georgia."

"It's not my time yet, Mason. I'll get my lights someday, but today's your day. You have to go into those lights and make the best of them or whatever you do when you cross over," she said. He held her tighter, gasping in breaths that didn't seem to want to come. She found it ironic that she'd called it his day, given what they usually used 'your day' to refer to. And yet…it seemed to fit better for this. His day. So why did she still hate the term, if it should've been happier?

"I love you, Georgie," he said. Her chest jerked with the tears threatening to spill over. She pulled him closer, cherishing those last moments of hugging her best friend. She didn't want to think this would be the last time; she didn't want to think she'd go into Der Waffle Haus tomorrow and he wouldn't be there, that he'd never be there again. She didn't want to think any of it.

"I know, Mason. I love you, too," she said, burying her face in his shoulder. He pushed her back, beaming at her through tears he could no longer hold back as he cupped her cheek with his palm, tilting her head up to look at him.

"No, Georgie, I mean it," he said. Her brow furrowed in confusion; of course he meant it. She did, too. He was her best friend. He was… "I really love you, Georgie."

And suddenly her mind was taking her back through the years, to that time Rube had given him the purple post-it and he'd lost his mind for a day. He'd told her that then, too. He smiled at her, the gesture so off with the crying that was so not him, and then he was leaning towards her. He'd kissed her then, too, but this kiss was different from his purple-post-it-insanity-kiss. He was sober, for one, but…it was more than that. It was longer, deeper, sweeter…it was the kind of kiss she'd always imagined he would have shared with Daisy, back before he'd had enough of her bullshit and gave up the chase. Ok, so maybe the kind of kiss he would have liked to share with Daisy, had she just kissed him, but not her.

This wasn't the kind of kiss best friends were supposed to share.

Best friends wouldn't enjoy it this much. She shouldn't be enjoying it this much. She was a masochist, humoring this when she knew he'd let her go in a moment and run off into those damn lights. But even knowing that…even knowing how much it would hurt when he left, she still didn't stop him. Still didn't push him away. Still didn't let him go.

She didn't think she could.

But then he was pulling back, slowly, drawing it out as long as he could. Her eyes fluttered open to find his half-lidded, tearful gaze locked on hers, his nose still rubbing hers and lips close enough that she could feel his warm breath brush across her own when he took in those ragged breaths. It had been the best kiss of her life, undead or otherwise, but it was all wrong.

Kisses like that shouldn't taste like saline, shouldn't break your heart in the process.

"I'm not ready to leave you yet, Georgia Lass," he said, voice barely above a whisper. And then she knew, just knew…it was now or never. She had to let him go, before neither of them could. She leaned in, kissing him one last time, before she smiled at him. It wasn't the smile he loved; this one was sad, broken, and if he hadn't already been dead it would have killed him to think he'd put it there.

"Death doesn't care if you're ready or not, Mason. I'm not ready to say goodbye, either, but Death doesn't care," she said. She reached up, brushing her thumb under his eye. He turned his head, just a little, to kiss the heel of her palm. "You have to go now."

"I love you," he said again, like he wanted to make sure she knew before he went. Like it was an acceptable reason for pissing on Death's shiny gift. Like if he said it enough those lights would go away, Tina would get her own, and they'd get more time. To what, though? They were just friends. They were just best friends. They were just… "I mean it, Georgie. I really love you."

"I know," she said softly. It didn't change anything, though. He loved her, but he still had to move on. She still had to let him go. She still had to say goodbye.

She never was any good at this part.

"Say hi to Betty and Rube for me," she said, gently squeezing his cheek before giving him a final hug. She let go of him then, stepping back and around the bench to come to Tina's side. The jogger was looking at her with sad eyes, like she understood exactly what they were going through. Fuck her – she didn't get it at all. And even if she did, thinking Tina could empathize with her just seemed to piss her off.

"Yeah," he said, the word coming out in a resigned breath. He turned, looking at the stage his lights had formed, and swallowed thickly. He took another breath, this one deeper, and began walking towards them.

"Wait!" she called when he was nearly upon them, stopping him in his tracks. He turned, his torn face scrunched in an unasked question, and he was startled to see the tears leaking from her eyes. "I…I love you, too, Mason. I really love you."

She watched as he laughed, a bemused smile spreading across his face. He looked up at her, his face breaking her heart all over again, as he nodded and told her he knew. He paused as he turned back to the lights, and then he was pulling that old ring off his finger and tossing it towards her. She caught it, her fist clenching around it until it dug uncomfortably into her palm. Part of her wondered why her friends always left her with rings. Part of her was just glad they did.

"You're marvelous, Georgie," he called, and she dredged up the last of her strength to give him her best smile – her true smile. She watched as he turned and breathed, and then he was walking into those shimmering blue-green lights, and then…he was gone.

It was a while before either of them spoke, before George could bring herself to move from behind that bench. It was a while before she could acknowledge the tears that had stopped running from her eyes, the tears she knew she'd lose more sleep to later that night. It was a while before she could acknowledge the soul beside her, still so confused as to what the hell was going on.

Well, she wasn't the only one.

"Where…where did he go?" Tina finally asked. And somehow it made her think of her sister's first boyfriend, of those first few minutes after his death when he'd wanted nothing more to track Reggie down and…

"Somewhere you can't follow," she said the words again, only this time they weren't for the soul standing beside her. This time they were for herself, a small reminder of how these things worked and that yes, he was really gone. But it wasn't like dying, because she couldn't spy on him like she used to spy on her family. This wasn't the same, and she hadn't thought anything could hurt worse than dying (well, technically everything could – when they did their jobs right and the souls were popped before the death, no one ever felt anything), but this did. It fucking did. "Somewhere you can't follow."

"Am…am I dead?" Tina asked, and something in her wanted to laugh at that, so she did – a dark chuckle that, from the looks of it, scared her new reaper a bit.

"Yeah, Tina, you're dead," she said. She knew she should explain to Tina about being a reaper, about the rules and how they did things and all that other bullshit Rube had wrung her through her first day, but…there was time for that later. Right now, she just didn't want to. Right now…

Right now, she wanted waffles.

"Come on, Tina," she said, reaching out and taking her hand. "I'm hungry. Let's go get some waffles."

I wasn't ready when Mason got his lights, but then again neither was he. It just happened, like everything always does, and we had to go with it. Maybe Daisy's right, and maybe right now he's in some cubicle somewhere doing data entry or some shit like that, or maybe he's spending his coffee break chatting up Betty and Rube or some other skirt that's already gotten her lights. Maybe he's at his concert. Maybe I'm not going to know until I get some lights of my own.

Whenever that happens, I doubt I'll be ready then, either, because that's really what life – and death – is. It isn't losing what you care for, or saying goodbye to whatever it is you're losing. It's not being ready for it, not being ready to say goodbye or let go. It's not being ready for whatever's coming next, just like Tina wasn't ready to die. Just like I wasn't ready for her to take Mason's place.

But that's what life is, and not being ready…not being ready? It's about the only thing you can ever actually be ready for.