"The day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking towards me without hurrying."

A lone man stood in the darkened courtyard of a grand home. Acres of manicured land stretched in all directions, a lush garden around the mansion. Near the front of the home stood a towering sculpture. An angel with widespread wings and a mournful expression on her face looked down upon a small family cemetery that in one unmarked spot bore the scratching marks of picks and shovels. His devilish red eyes lingered on the empty spot, pondering the body that would be laid there shortly.

And then he walked forwards.

There was no need for doors for this man as he proceeded through the threshold like a shadow; no need for caution as he meandered through richly decorated hallways. Figures with darkened faces passed him, many wiping fresh tears from their faces. Servants picked up brooms and scullery maids started weaving black ribbons through the branches of a wreath that would adorn the entrance in just a few short hours, after the doctor proclaimed the last heartbeat.

And he strode calmly through a door to a small room. A vast bed held a lone, slim figured that was dwarfed by the plush pillows and frilled comforters. He stood there in the doorway, gazing on her for a while and laying his iron staff against the doorframe. He wouldn't be needing it for her. Her soul was ready to be released.

A clock struck somewhere in the mansion and sent its ominous chime down the halls to greet the ears of the reaper in the room. His bloody eyes turned to a small iron pocket watch that rested in the cuff of his black robes. Its hands, always spinning like a broken compass when around the souls of those whose time has not yet come, abruptly stopped as its fingers pointed towards the woman in the bed.

He approached her bedside, noticing the golden hair that was fanned out around her. Her face was pale and fatigued. She'd been fighting this illness for most of her life and her body was finally spent. Pale eyes opened and turned to him, their gaze filled with sorrow and compassion.

"Layla Heartfilia," his voice was deep and gruff, cutting the air like a knife as he stared unfeelingly down at her, "It's time to abandon that bed of yours."

"But I'm too weak to walk," she said, her eyes widening in surprise at the strength in her voice and she cast a worried glance to the man at her bedside.

"You will find that your legs are more than suitable now," he wasn't a gentle man. He'd been doing this for a long time now.

Realization lighted her features and tears came to the corners of her eyes. She was silent for a time and that was fine. There were still a few minutes before her time to leave was absolute.

"Do you have a name, Reaper?" her voice was compassionate. No regret existed in her words.

"I've been called many names,"

Her gaze turned from him to a form that was hunched at her side. He had to admit, he hadn't noticed the small girl that had curled her tiny fingers in the sheets around her mother.

"Is there one I may call you?" she was gentle and brought up a weak hand to stroke the golden hair of the girl beside her.

He cocked his head to the side as he spoke, "I have been named Black Steel by those who know me. My soul's name, though, is Gajeel Redfox,"

"Gajeel," the way his name left her lips sounded loving to his calloused ears. Her voice was of one he didn't run into often: the voice of a truly devoted mother, "may I make a request?"

"I make no promises,"

"Of course," she smiled a bittersweet smile before she spoke again, "Is there any way you can check on her for me? Her father isn't a forgiving man and he'll hate me for leaving him so soon. I'm scared she'll lose both of her parents this night,"

He regarded her for a moment and his eyes fell on the tiny figure beside her. Roaming the world for humans was something he didn't do. If he'd fulfilled all the requests he'd been asked for over his many decades as a reaper, he wouldn't be doing his job now. That was why they called him Black Steel. He was cold and treated each soul equally. Reapers don't get attached, and certainly he didn't. They fetch the dying and bring them to the Judgment rooms where they are divided, some sent to a life on the other side and others sent into a black void where their souls may or may not exist any longer.

He didn't do favors. That was for the Judges to deal with.

He was stoic and he gave nothing away as he answered her, "I'll see what I can do,"

She smiled gently, sated by his answer for the moment.

"Be strong, little one," she said quietly, "I won't be able to be with you any longer. But don't worry; you'll still be with me in my heart and I yours. One day we'll see each other once more. Grow into a beautiful young woman, Lucy. I love you,"

After she finished, she pulled back the sheets and stood. Her figure ripped in two, one of her still laying on the bed, taking one more breath before becoming completely still, and the other standing before Gajeel in just her nightdress. Her bright brown eyes didn't diminish even as she looped her arm in his and they took their first steps towards the door. She didn't turn to look back when he grabbed his staff and rapped it against the door, causing it to glow and open up to a blinding white light. She walked into her afterlife with pride and a melancholy smile on her features.

But he could still smell the tears as they slid down her cheeks.