-Chapter 1-

The storm clouds over London matched the dark, angry bruises on Grell's face. Yet it was only the sky that cried.

She sat in front of her vanity, pale white hands with long, slender fingers folded serenely on her lap. Thick red hair was gathered off the nape of her neck and pinned in place with a tortoiseshell comb, only a few rebellious strands escaping, falling long enough to curl around her shoulders. She hated it when he hit her in the face. She hated the ugly black and purple splotches that made her face swell. If he was going to hit her, she wanted him to make her bleed. Red was always so much prettier sliding down her nose and lips, dripping from her chin – dark and rich like claret. Red was cathartic. Bruises were just nasty, swollen lumps.

He had only hit her once, and not hard enough. She hated his failures almost as much as she adored his passionate aggression.

Grell smiled. Leaning closer to her mirror, she dipped her fingers into a small silver pot and gathered rouge onto her fingers. Glancing at her reflection, she smeared the obscene red color over her lips, lingering on the bottom one, blowing herself a kiss off her fingertips. It was going to be a long day, and there were many, many pointless lives she would have to reap. Perhaps it would not be all boring. There was always the chance that Will would send her with a partner, convinced that it made her work harder. She did not have the heart to break it to him that Ronald was not much of a disciplinarian.

It would be better if Will stopped giving her stacks upon stacks of dreadful paperwork. It was becoming harder and harder to ignore. There was barely room for her to sit in her own office.

"Something might be done about that," she said to him. He had not left yet, they always went together. It was the only way he could make sure she arrived on time.

"Done about what?" he tightened his tie around his neck and adjusted his glasses. Sunlight streaming through the window glinted off the lenses.

"All of my paperwork," she said. "It's too much." She replaced the lid on her pot of rouge. She puckered her lips and unclipped her flame red tresses, allowing them to tumble freely down her back as she shook them out to be brushed.

"Have you ever tried filling it out? It is just a thought." He turned to the bedside table and reached down to pull on his short black gloves. "It is part of your job, after all."

"So is slicing open whores and pretending I care about their lack of contribution to society." Grell took the last of the rouge that was on her fingers and swiped it across her cheeks. "I'd rather we burn down the office. You can fuck me on my desk as the flames consume everything around us." She grinned and turned to face him, gripping the back of her chair like an excited child. Her yellow and green eyes gleamed. "Does that not sound splendid? Would it not be romantic?"

"Sutcliff," Will said in that cold, clipped tone that drove her crazy in all the right ways. "We are going to be late."

"You worry too much," Grell pouted her lips, standing and grabbing her coat from the bed, sliding it over her arms and letting it hang lazily off her shoulders. Will always hated how she dressed. Something about not being professional, whatever the hell that meant.

Grell sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching underneath it to pull out her little red boots. She had such tiny feet. For that, she was grateful.

Will scoffed, coiling strong fingers around the handle of his death scythe. It was chilling, streamlined, and efficient. Just like him.

"I should fire you," he said. It had practically become his mantra.

"You should," Grell said. "But you would miss me."

"You greatly overestimate your own charisma."

"As you greatly undervalue me and all of my work." She stood up, teetering purposefully on her heels, playfully leaning forward to give him a kiss on the nose. Will dodged the kiss, annoyed, and swatted her with the butt of his death scythe. Grell giggled and spun around cheerfully, picking up her chainsaw and grasping the cord. She was could not wait to pull that thick cord back, hear the roar of the machine and the whirring of its teeth that caused the heavy vibrations she adored. The very thought gave her chills. Her smile widened.

"Let's go, Will." She said coyly, rubbing up against his side like a cat and nuzzling his neck. "We're going to be late."