Title: Don't Fuck with Fate, Prophet

Author: Veritas Found

Rating: M / PG-16 / Teen

Characters/Pairings: Georgia Lass, Ken Mason, Eli Stone; Eli Stone x Maggie Dekker, hints towards Ken Mason x George Lass & Ken Mason x Daisy Adair UST

Summary: Rube had warned them about interfering with fate, but what if it's not a reaper interfering? What if it's a prophet?

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: Eli Stone x Dead Like Me crossover. A few months post-02x13 for Eli Stone; four years post-02x14 for Dead Like Me (shortly before the movie). Spoiler-free as long as you're current. Rated for language (nothing beyond the norm for DLM, but heads up for the Stoners). Also, I'm kind of proud that I'm finally posting this? Like I wrote it pre-Libs, guys. So this shit is OLD. But I found it festering in a folder, and it really only had a few more edits to go, and I was kinda like "…why didn't I ever post this?" So hey, guys! New fic from Ver!

Don't Fuck with Fate, Prophet

Chapter One: Don't Fear the Reaper

Der Waffle Haus was unusually empty that morning. Apart from two or three scattered patrons and one family towards the back, the biggest crowd could be found at one of the center booths near the counter. Two blondes, one slouched so low she was nearly reclining and the other checking her face in a little compact, sat with a cop and a lanky man one would've sworn had just crawled out of a gutter somewhere. Chances were he probably had. The cop, the man, and the blonde with the compact occupied one side of the booth; the other girl sat alone across from them, yet she was close enough to the edge that she could easily move if – when – another would join their party. Her eyes were focused on the man, her lips curled back in a disgusted grimace as she watched him arguing with the cop. His mouth was full of mashed-up, half-eaten pancakes, and when it opened again to shoot another smartassed comment towards the cop, she'd had enough.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," she said as their waitress came over. The older woman frowned and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"You ok, honey?" she asked, and the girl shook her head.

"Mason's being gross, Kiffany," she said, looking away as the man turned to face her, mid-comment and slack-jawed. Her stomach churned as she caught a fresh glimpse of mashed-up food, and the waitress gave him a patronizing look.

"Wha'?" Mason asked around the food, and Kiffany's look turned to one of annoyance.

"Mason, chew with your mouth closed," she said. The exchange seemed natural, as if she was always having to remind him of such basic civilities. She looked around the table, frowning when she noticed it was just the four of them. "Rube not here yet?"

"Not yet, but he better get here soon. I'm gonna be late for work, and I haven't eaten yet," the cop said, taking a sip from her coffee before shooting another annoyed look at Mason. He swallowed and took another stab of his breakfast, raising the fork to wiggle the food in her face. "And you better get that damn shit outta my face before I stab you with that goddamn fork!"

"Can I get you anything, Roxy? Daisy, George?" Kiffany asked, glancing at the two blondes as well, and Roxy sighed as she looked away from Mason. Daisy, the blonde next to Mason, shook her head.

"I've lost my appetite," she said as George nodded in agreement. He giggled, and George wondered if he was on anything. It wouldn't surprise her, even if it was...she glanced at her watch. 7:28 A.M. With Mason, you could never be sure. His devouring of the pancakes could just as easily be a case of the munchies as it was simple morning breakfast hunger.

"You should've ordered when I did, you should've," he said, swinging his fork around to eat the bite of pancakes. "All this bullshit about waiting for Rubie, now you're gonna starve. You should've –"

"Say that one more time and I will shoot you," Roxy said, a hand reaching to her holster and gripping her gun. George smiled, her internal monologue reciting its mental chime of Mason, Mason, Mason.

"I wouldn't mind seeing that," Daisy said, and George quirked a brow at her. It was one of the only things she'd said that morning; she wasn't usually so quiet. "Please, Mason, be a dear and say it again."

"Fuck you, Daisy," he snapped, and the other three women gave him wide-eyed stares as Daisy's jaw dropped. Mason never talked to Daisy like that, as a general rule. He flirted, he practically drooled, but he never talked...like that. He talked to Roxy like that. He talked to George like that. He didn't talk to Kiffany like that, but that was only because he feared being evicted from Der Waffle Haus (again). He might occasionally talk to Rube like that, but – as a general rule – he didn't give two shits what Rube thought, so it didn't really matter. Just...not Daisy. Never Daisy.

"I'll...just come back," Kiffany said, tapping her pencil against the order pad before walking to another table. George kicked at Mason under the table, and he cursed as he shook his leg.

"Christ, Georgie! What the fuck was that for?!" he asked, and she quirked a brow as she nodded at Daisy. Before he could question her further, an older man in a slicker carrying a newspaper and an old, leather-bound day planner walked up to their table. Chatter stopped as the four turned to face the man, expectant looks on each of their faces.

"Don't let me interrupt," he said, leaning against divider between the booths. Mason grinned, taking the offer at face value and shoveling the last of his pancakes into his mouth. Roxy slapped the back of his head, causing him to choke on his food. He gripped at his scalp as he coughed and spluttered, cursing her as more mashed-up food fell onto his plate. George's stomach turned again, and she quickly turned her attention to the latest addition to their group (in an effort to not lose the current – minimal – contents of her stomach).

"Where the fuck have you been, Rube?" she asked, and she gagged as Mason – after promptly cussing Roxy out for her slap – scooped the pancake mush up with his fork and popped it back in his mouth. "Oh, gross, Mason!"

"Five second rule," Mason said once he'd gulped the food mush down. Well, at least he had the decency to swallow this time...

"Early morning reap, Peanut," Rube said, looking at George. He slipped the rubber band holding his planner together off and flipped the book open. He pushed himself off the divider and slapped a yellow post-it each in front of Daisy and Roxy. Roxy picked up the slip of paper and scowled, nudging the two beside her to get them to move.

"Thanks a lot, Rube – this reap's in ten minutes!" she said as she slid out of the booth. "Show up late and give me a ten-minute heads up on my reap, no fucking time for breakfast...un-fucking-believable..."

"Have a good one, Roxy," Rube called. Daisy's eyes widened as she read her own post-it.

"Shoot! Rube, this is downtown in half an hour! Roxy, wait up – I need a ride!" the blonde called as she turned on her heel and ran after the cop. Mason frowned as he looked up at Rube.

"Not that I'm complaining, Rubie, but where's ours? You don't usually leave us reapless," he said. Rube smirked and slapped two more post-its down, one in front of each of them. Mason groaned, any hopes of a day off immediately dashed, as he picked up his post-it. George frowned as she read hers over.

"San Francisco? What the hell, Rube?" she asked, and Mason nodded.

"And a day in advance, too. What gives?" he asked. Rube snapped the planner closed and returned the rubber band to its proper place before tucking it back under his arm with his paper. He turned towards the counter and asked Kiffany for a coffee to go, and once she had nodded he turned back to them and nodded towards their post-its.

"The EI division in San Francisco is having some clerical issues with some of their reapers. Apparently two filled their quotas, but there were no replacements to step in for 'em," Rube stopped as George and Mason's jaws dropped.

"What the fuck?!" George cried, her eyes nearly bugging out of her skull.

"But there's always a replacement – those're the fucking rules! Your last soul takes your place, it does – s'what happened to all the sods who reaped us, and all the others, and how it'll work for us!" Mason said, shaking his head in disbelief. Rube shrugged.

"It's not so much that there aren't replacements – it's more along the lines of Kalla not being able to find them," Rube said. Mason and George blinked at him, and then Mason snorted and fell over in his seat, laughter shaking his entire body.

"They...they...they fucking lost their souls? Oh, that's priceless! That is fucking priceless!" he said between laughs, and – despite Rube's murderous look – George couldn't help the smile that curved her lips. "And you call me a fuck-up, Rubie! Least I've never lost anyone!"

"He's got you there," George said, her lips twitching as her smile grew. Rube sighed and looked skywards, and if George hadn't known that Rube didn't necessarily believe in God she would have sworn he was praying for strength. (Or whatever those religious types pray for to deal with what they considered 'difficult' people like her and Mason. A constipator, he used to call her.)

"To the point, if you two chuckleheads don't mind. Their head, Kalla, is a friend of mine, and she asked if I had any reapers to spare for a day. Talked to upper management, they told me we'd have a slow couple of days ahead of us, and I offered you two up," Rube explained. The grin on her face vanished as George opened her mouth to protest, and he held up a hand. "I already spoke to Delores, Peanut – you're cleared from work for the next few days. Our AA group is having a three-day retreat, and as it's running into the weekend you aren't expected back until Monday."

"That's bollocks, that is," Mason said as he sat up. He sniffed and put his post-it back on the table. George was debating whether she should be pissed about the out-of-town reap or grateful Rube had just gotten her the rest of the week off. "Us being an AA group – me being in a sodding AA group. That's just..."

"Bollocks?" George asked, smirking slightly as she looked at him. He nodded vehemently, and she rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, it's what works with Delores, so I'm not gonna bag the excuse just yet. So, San Francisco?"

"If you leave now you should make it in plenty of time, Peanut. It's a thirteen-hour drive," Rube said, and George gave him a wide-eyed look.

"What the fuck, Rube?! And you expect us there before noon tomorrow?!" she cried, bolting up in her seat. He smiled genially at her.

"It's not even eight yet, Peanut. That gives you plenty of time to get there before your reaps, but to be safe I'd suggest you get your breakfast to go and start now," he said, and she groaned as she grabbed her post-it, shoved it in her pocket, and stood. She wanted to smack that smile right off his face.

"Shit," she mumbled, grabbing the back of Mason's jacket and dragging him out of Der Waffle Haus behind her. She ignored his yelps of protest (and the fact that he hadn't paid for his breakfast – let Rube cover it, the asshole) and Rube's wave of good luck as she pushed the door open. Upon reaching her red Mustang she released Mason, causing him to stumble into the door and causing her to wonder just how high he was that he couldn't even walk straight (never mind that she hadn't really given him a proper chance to recover from the dragging). Without a second look towards their boss or a thought to whether or not Mason had his seatbelt on (like a car crash could kill him – ha), she pealed out of the parking lot and headed back towards the house she shared with Daisy and Mason. A quick stop for an overnight bag, a stop by a gas station for a full tank and a map (and a breakfast of Doritos and Mountain Dew), and then they were on their way to San Francisco.

She had an appointment with M. Dekker just before noon tomorrow, and she knew from experience it wouldn't do Dekker any good if she was late.

– V –

The sound of running water cut off abruptly, leaving the empty bedroom silent save for the shuffling noises coming from the en suite. Sunlight filtered in through gauzy curtains over the glass doors that led to the balcony, casting a yellowed, morning glow on the room. Eli Stone walked through the open door of the bathroom, a towel secured about his waist and a smaller one in his hands, rubbing through his short, dark hair. He yawned as he made his way to the dresser on the opposite side of the room. He tossed the smaller towel towards the bed, shaking his head as he opened the top drawer and began rooting through it for some clean underwear. He froze as a haunting, mellowed tune started, a few strums of an old guitar followed by soft drums. He lifted his head, eyes calculating, as he registered the song.

Aneurysm Time-Out.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath to steady himself, and turned. When his eyes opened, he found himself on a bustling San Franciscan sidewalk. He knew this street and the building before him: it belonged to his law firm, Wethersby, Stone & Associates. His gaze dropped from the higher windows, where he knew their offices were, to fall on the woman walking towards him: Maggie Dekker, one of their best associates and his girlfriend. A brilliant smile was on her face as she twirled, and in a blink she was in his arms.

"All our times have come. Here, but now there, gone," she sang, and she twirled away from him to start dancing with the people on the sidewalk behind her.

"Seasons don't fear the reaper – nor do the wind, the sun, or the rain," the people sang, and he watched as a man lifted Maggie, hoisting her a step before putting her down to continue the dance. "We can be like they are."

"Come on, baby," Maggie sang as the group behind her told him to not fear the reaper. There was a sinking feeling in his gut, a niggling in his mind that made him look past her then. Two people, a blonde girl and a scruffy-looking man with tousled brown hair, walked behind her. They were completely ordinary, completely inconsequential, but…something was off about them. They weren't singing. They weren't dancing. They were…watching him. Glaring at him. The girl's eyes locked with his, and a chill raced down his spine as he watched her glance at something in her hand – a…post-it? A simple yellow post-it with 'M. Dekker', the address to the WSA building, the next day's date, and 'E.T.D. 11:42 A.M.' written on it. She looked up as the people around them continued to sing and dance, and he watched, bewildered, as her arm lifted and her hand brushed against Maggie's shoulder. There was a strange glow, another something he didn't understand, that followed the girl's hand off Maggie and back to her side. They walked on, and he felt like a rock had dropped in his stomach. He didn't know what that girl had done, but something told him it wasn't good.

He jumped as Maggie grabbed his hands again, spinning them 'round and once more releasing him as she walked backwards towards the street. The music built around him, growing in an almost painful crescendo of voices as people all around him shouted out: "Don't fear the reaper!"

"Baby, take my ha-" and just like that, just like Maggie's voice, his world stopped. He watched, shocked still and horrified, as a cab crashed into her. He watched as her body flipped over the hood and onto the street, where another car eagerly raced over her. A scream gurgled out of his throat, jarring him from the vision as he collapsed to his knees, shaking. He barely registered the fact that he was back in his bedroom, barely registered the sudden deafening silence he found himself in. He didn't hear the ragged breaths he was gasping in or register the violent fit of shaking his body had fallen victim to.

All he saw was Maggie, flipped over the cab hood and shattered under the wheels of another car. Lying there in the street, bloody and broken with no chance of being alive. His Maggie, dead. His Maggie.

Slowly, the world started to come back to him. He recognized his room, realized the accident hadn't happened – yet. His gut twisted at that thought, the knowledge that he'd just had a vision of his Maggie dying finally sinking in. He shook his head fervently, unwilling to believe it, but…his mind, unable to cope, latched onto the easiest thought running through it at the moment: he was on his knees, literally floored for the first time in who knew how long by a vision. He wanted to say he was better at handling them by now – but, given what he had just seen…his stomach lurched as he again saw Maggie's battered body in his mind, and he wondered if he would retch right there.

As he knelt there, trying to control his body and the turbulent thoughts racing through his mind, he became aware of an annoying ringing in the background. It took him a minute to recognize the phone, and once his mind had that distraction to grasp on to it was easier to push himself to his feet and stumble over to the bedside, just in time to scoop up the phone before its last ring. His eyes landed on a framed photo by the charger, a picture taken about a month ago of Maggie and him from a weekend trip with his brother and his brother's fiancée, and he took a deep, steadying breath. He clung to that photo, to the knowledge that Maggie was fine and safe and alive, and shoved his vision out of his mind. He pressed the talk button, taking another breath before speaking.

"Eli Stone," he said, his voice just as shaky as his body.

"Hey, Eli!" Maggie's voice, too bright for this early in the morning (even if it was later where she was), greeted him. He felt a sense of calm wash over him, and he relished the sound of her. If she was talking to him, she was alive. She was fine. "Are you ok? You sound weird."

"I'm fine," he said quickly. The last thing he wanted was for her to… "What's up, Maggie?"

"Well, I just wanted to say good morning before I had to get on the plane. We're about to board now – I should be back around noon tomorrow," she said. His mind took him back to the street outside their offices, to that post-it in that strange blonde's hand: tomorrow, 11:42 A.M. He sucked in a breath as she continued. "So, I was thinking…if I get back in time, I can swing by the office and we can grab some lunch. What do you think? Sound like a –"

"NO!" he screamed, the sound coming out strangled as he again saw her mangled body lying in the middle of that street. No, no, no, no, no…. He doubled over, panting as he roughly shoved a hand through his hair. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be…not after everything they'd been through to get here. Not after all that. It wasn't fair! It wasn't…he heard her breathing on the other end, silent after his outburst, and latched onto that. She was alive, she was alive, she was alive…

"Eli…are you sure you're ok? Did something happen?" she finally asked, and he closed his eyes. Should he tell her? No, no…that wouldn't do any good. But…

An idea started to form in his mind, nothing more than a desperate attempt at grasping at straws, but it was the best he had to go on. He had to try.

"Take a later flight," he said quickly – maybe too quickly, but he didn't care. He couldn't let Maggie get on that plane. He couldn't let her be anywhere near the WSA offices at noon tomorrow. "You have to switch your flights, Maggie. Take a later one."

"Eli, what's going on? Did you…did you see something?" she asked, and he cursed himself for the note of panic he could hear creeping into her voice. He didn't want her worried. If she just changed her flight, she'd be fine… "Eli? What did you see?"

"Please, Maggie, just switch your flight," he begged, rubbing his eyes as he tried to banish the flashes from his earlier vision. "You can't be here tomorrow at noon. You can't."

"Why, Eli? Please, tell me what you saw," she asked, her voice almost as desperate as his. He shook his head, even though he knew she couldn't see the gesture.

"Just trust me, Maggie," he said, and she grew silent at that. He knew he had her there. If nothing else, she believed in him and his visions. She trusted him, and if he had any reason to think she shouldn't come home yet…even if he was unwilling to tell her, she'd listen. She was his God-given solace that way.

"Fine," she said after a long minute. "I'll call you when I have it all sorted."

"Thank you," he said, releasing the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He heard her sigh.

"You're not gonna tell me what this is all about, are you?" she asked, and he smiled weakly at that.

"Later," he said, only half meaning it. He would – if it didn't happen. Maybe. No need to worry her more than usual. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Eli," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. He was grateful for it. She said she had to go, and they exchanged goodbyes before he heard her hang up. He clicked the phone off and groaned, slouching forward again. This couldn't be happening…this couldn't be…he threw the phone across the room, his face twisting in a snarl as it bounced off the wall and skidded across the floor.

"What the hell?!" he screamed, jerking his face towards the ceiling and glaring for all he was worth at God. His mind lurched, and as suddenly as the anger had come it was washed away by a crushing sense of hopelessness. He fell back on the bed, dragging his hands down along his face as a broken sob shook him. "Not Maggie…"

– V –

George's head fell back against the headrest as a breath blew past her lips. She glanced towards the building she was parked in front of, a rest area just off US-199, and wondered just how long Mason was going to take in there. She found it ridiculous that she could use the bathroom faster than he could – but that thought only made her wonder exactly what he was doing in there, and that thought brought a scowl to her lips.

'I swear to God, if he's in there popping or snorting something…' her thoughts trailed off into a murderous cloud; the last thing she wanted was to put up with this forced road trip while Mason wasn't in his right mind. Granted, he was rarely ever in his right mind, but she didn't want to worry about babysitting him while she was trying to focus on driving – and she needed him coherent enough to at least read a map. Her eyes narrowed on him when he finally emerged from the building, an easy smile on his face. He tugged his fingerless gloves back onto his hands as he trotted over to the car, hopping over the door instead of opening it when he reached her. She cocked a brow at him as he buckled his seatbelt. He didn't look any worse for wear, but Mason was nothing if not a functioning addict.

"Took you long enough," she said by way of greeting. He turned towards her, the smile slipping into a frown.

"There was a line," he said. He paused, giving her a quizzical look. "…what did you think?"

"Nothing," she said, shrugging slightly as she pulled out and drove away from the rest stop. Once they were back on the highway, she glanced over at him. "How much longer are we on this road?"

"The 199? According to this map and the directions from that bloke back home, a while. We follow it straight into California," he said, pulling the map out from where he had stashed it beside his seat. She drove on, an easy silence falling between them as the forest flew by. After a while, she glanced over to find him leaning back in his seat, staring out at the passing scenery. She looked back to the road, her mind traveling back to that morning in Der Waffle Haus – more specifically, to Mason's uncharacteristic snapping at Daisy. She glanced back to him, kicking the question around in her mind, before she decided hesitating was bullshit. She had never been the type to dance around things.

"So what the hell was up with you and Daisy this morning?" she asked, glancing at him again. He didn't turn from the passing trees, and she watched as a smile split his face when they crossed onto a bridge, a river rolling lazily in the gulch beneath them.

"Will give him this, though," he said after a minute, once the bridge was behind them and they were back in dense forest, "Rube sure picked a hell of a day for a road trip, didn't he, Georgie? It's bloody gorgeous out, it is."

"You're avoiding the question," she said, but she still smiled at his observation – and the dopey grin on his own face. That grin vanished quickly, though, at her prodding. He looked back to the passing forest and sighed.

"Nothing was up," he said. He shifted in the seat, a nervous movement as he avoided looking at her.

"Bullshit – something was definitely up. You said 'fuck you' to her – you never talk like that to her," she said. He grew quiet, his frown turning into a scowl, and she rolled her eyes. Men. "You're her lap dog, Mason. You're the idiot that follows her around like a puppy, just hoping she might show you some small bit of attention. You don't tell her to fuck off – you care about her too much."

"But that's just it, innit?" he asked, finally turning to face her. He leaned back in his seat and gave her a sad sort of smile, and she knew her words must've cut him. A part of her missed the days where she could easily say she didn't care, but she'd known Mason for around four years now, and in that time she'd gotten close. That closeness kept her from keeping her usual 'Screw the World!' attitude towards him. "Even addicts get tired, Georgie."

Well, what the hell was that supposed to mean?

"Never thought I'd hear you say that," she said instead, figuring he'd elaborate if he wanted to. She doubted he would; he rarely did. He shrugged, ducking his head and glancing back to the forest rising out of the sloping dirt walls.

"Never thought I would, either, but that don't mean it's not true. I'm tired of her, George, of how she's…I'm just so sick and tired of her," he sighed. She didn't believe him for a second, but it was obvious that was all she was going to get from him – at least for now. She nodded, letting the subject drop, and turned back to the road. He glanced at her, studying her for a moment while she wasn't paying him any attention, and a soft smile curled his lips. (He'd never tell her, but he'd rather be driving down the open road with her than putting up with Daisy's bullshit any day – she was his favorite, she was.) He bounced in his seat a bit, squirming around as he tried to get comfortable.

"All right, 'nough of that! Let's play a game, Georgie! I Spy! Let's see…hmm…I spy with my little Brit eye…something green!" he said, grinning at her as he waggled his brows. She snorted, a laugh spilling from her as she shook her head.

"A tree?" she asked, even while her mind chimed, 'Mason, Mason, Mason…'

"Aw, no fair! Ok, I've got a real good one this time! I spy with my little Brit eye –" he started, and she laughed again.

"It's just 'my little eye', Mason," she said, and he snorted indignantly.

"Well, I don't want to say that! I've got a little Brit eye, sos I'm gonna say 'my little Brit eye'! Now, I spy with my little Brit eye…something brown!" he said.

"A tree?" she asked, giving him an amused look, and he crossed his arms over his chest as he slouched back in his seat.

"You're too good at this," he grumbled, and she rolled her eyes.

"We're in a forest, Mason. Not much besides trees to spy," she said. She nodded towards the dash. "Why don't you just turn the radio on and shut up?"

He reached down, fiddling with the dials until a station finally came through. His face lit up like it was Christmas (or like he'd just found a choice prescription on the corpse of his latest reap) as the chords of an old rock song played out. She didn't recognize it, but she wasn't surprised he did. He fell back in his seat, laughing as the group started singing again – and when they got to the chorus, she had to laugh with him.

"Baby, take my hand – don't fear the reaper! We'll be able to fly – don't fear the reaper!" Mason sang, and she laughed even more as he leaned over and nudged her with his elbow, making suggestive faces at her. "Baby, I'm your man!"

"God, Mason, you cannot sing!" she laughed, and the grin slipped off his face to be replaced by a look of hurt. Sometimes she was still surprised by how quickly his face could change, but it was just another something that made him so Mason.

"Oi! I can, too!" he said, straightening up in his seat, and she shook her head.

"No, you really can't," she said, and as the group resumed the song he sang all the louder, as if to prove her wrong. She laughed harder, doubling over against the wheel as he continued to belt out the old rock song. As they continued along the winding highway towards their destination, she got the feeling that it was going to be a long thirteen hours.

– V –

Patti Dellacroix kept her gaze focused on the empty library – office – in front of her desk. Her eyes were narrowed, lips turned down in a scowl, as she studiously watched her boss's empty office. Empty, when he had a meeting in half an hour – just where in the world was that man? She glanced towards the elevators, then looked at the calendar on her desk. His first meeting of the morning was slotted to begin in half an hour, and he still hadn't showed his face in the WSA offices. He hadn't been in for the morning staff meeting, he hadn't been in to prep for his upcoming meeting…she was going to kill him. She wasn't his mother – she didn't have to pick up his slack. And yet here she was, undoubtedly on that same old course, because Eli Stone couldn't bring himself to show up on time to…

The phone rang, cutting her thoughts off mid-murder. She snatched it from its cradle and pressed it to her ear.

"Wethersby, Stone & Associates – Eli Stone's office," she said, trying to keep the venom from her thoughts out of her voice.

"Patti!" she jumped at the shout, dropping the phone in her shock. She heard a string of words coming from the earpiece – that boy was talking way too loud for a phone conversation! – but she wasn't able to catch any of them. She picked the phone back up and sighed, shaking her head as she mentally counted back from ten.

"Eli, where in the world are you? You are late! You missed the staff meeting, and if you don't get in here soon you're gonna miss –" she started, but his rushed words cut her off again.

"I'm not coming in yet – I have to see Frank," he said, and she frowned.

"Who?" she asked.

"Dr. Chen, Patti!" he said, sounding as exasperated as she felt. Well, he didn't have to take that tone with her – she was doing her job, thank you very much! "Look, I need you to tell Jordan I'm going to be late."

"Eli, you have a meeting in half an hour – how much later are you gonna be?" she asked, glancing up to see her other boss – Jordan Wethersby – talking with his son-in-law by the stairs. They were sending her concerned looks, and she groaned. This was not her morning…

"Can you reschedule that for me? Look, Patti, it's important – I have to see Frank," he said, and her ire slipped from her at something in his voice. It was something she'd heard many times before, always when…

"Eli, what's going on?" she asked, trying to keep the ire from resurfacing as fear. He was silent, something that didn't help matters. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath that did nothing to calm her nerves. "What did you see, Eli?"

"Why does everyone always assume I saw something? Maybe I just need some acupuncture – maybe I'm –" he started, and her gaze hardened as she glared at the phone.

"Eli Stone, don't you dare take that tone with me! You know I know when you make these sudden 'I have to go see Dr. Chen' decisions it's always because you saw something – do not take me for an idiot, Eli. Now what did you see?" she asked, but her question was again greeted with silence.

"…I don't want to talk about it, Patti," he said after a long moment, his voice sounding so lost and scared that the creeping sense of terror began to rise again.

"Was it bad?" she asked, and when he didn't answer she swallowed thickly. "How bad, Eli?" More silence. "Was it…was it earthquake-bad, Eli?"

"Not how you'd think," he finally said, and her hand gripped the edge of her desk, "but…yeah, it was bad."

"What did you see, Eli?" she asked again. She was focusing so intently on the conversation – and whatever he'd say next – that she didn't notice when Jordan and Matt crossed the office floor to stop in front of her desk. She continued to stare blindly before her, not really seeing anything. She didn't even notice the worried looks the two men were giving her. "Eli?"

"I'll tell you later – I promise. But…I gotta go, Patti," he said, and she pushed out an exasperated sigh.

"Eli, don't you dare –" she started, but he cut her off again.

"Later, Patti!" he said in a rush, and then the phone clicked off and the dial tone buzzed in her ear. She humphed and slammed the phone down, pulling up the rolodex on her computer to find the contact information she'd need to reschedule his nine-fifty.

"What was that about? Stone go crazy again?"

She jumped and looked up, finally noticing the lawyers standing before her. She glared at Matt, the one who had spoken.

"Is everything all right, Patti?" Jordan asked, and she gave him her best Pissed Off Assistant Look.

"You'll know when I do, but Eli's having a psychic moment and won't be in until later," she snapped, and Jordan's eyebrows soared. His mouth opened, probably to ask just what she meant by that, but she was already on the phone again.

"Hi, this is Patti Delacroix from Wethersby, Stone & Associates. I'm calling for Cynthia Gladstone? Hi, Cynthia! Listen, we need to reschedule your appointment…"

– V –

In Chinatown, Dr. Frank Lebakowski – Dr. Chen to his non-prophet patients – was busy seeing a middle-aged woman out of his office. He smiled as he spoke with her, his voice draped with his phony accent as he gave her a series of simple instructions. She nodded and thanked him, turning towards the door to leave when it was thrown open and a harried-looking Eli Stone walked into his office. He wrote off his friend's appearance with the easy air of Dr. Chen, his smile widening as he looked at the woman and nodded at Eli.

"Ol' pay-shunn – ne'r make a-pointmehnt," he said, shaking his head as the woman laughed uneasily. She gave Eli a nervous look before nodding her acknowledgment of him. She was out the door before Eli could return the gesture. He looked back to Frank, arching a brow at him, and Dr. Chen's blithe smile stayed on. "Mr. Stone, will you e'er make a-pointmehnt?"

Eli watched him for a minute, giving him that look he'd long ago associated with particularly nasty visions, and Dr. Chen's smile started to slip as Frank's worry came through.

"I think I have an excuse when God's just told me my girlfriend's slotted to die at noon tomorrow," Eli said, and the smile was smacked from Frank's face as his eyes widened and mouth gaped.

"What?" he asked, the accent dropped as easily as his jaw. Eli shuffled his feet slightly, looking to the ground as his brow furrowed. He looked up, face suddenly desperate, and nodded towards the back.

"Do you got a minute?" he asked, and Frank nodded.

"Just let me get the 'out' sign up," he said, moving past Eli to the door. Not much later they were back in the 'Needle Room', as Eli had long ago dubbed it. Eli sat hunched over on the examination table, staring miserably at his hands as he nervously wrung them. Frank said nothing, knowing Eli would tell him when he was ready. Still, that didn't keep him from being anxious. Eli was family, and Maggie…well, she practically was. He'd enjoyed getting to know her over the past few months she'd been dating Eli (and he looked forward to one day meeting that baby Eli had foreseen so long ago). That he'd had a vision where she died…Frank was fearful of the implications.

He was about to ask just what he had seen, prompting him out of his silence, when Eli began talking.

"I was getting ready for work, and then I heard it. Blue Öyster Cult – 'Don't Fear The Reaper'. I turned around, and I was outside work. Maggie was singing, and the next thing I knew she was walking into the street, and…there was a cab. It hit her, and…another…" he stopped, dragging his hands over his face as he pushed out a breath. Frank's gut twisted for his friends. The idea that something – anything – bad could happen to Maggie…

"This just isn't happening," Eli said, shaking his head. He tipped his neck back, glaring at the ceiling. Frank wondered if that was all he was glaring at. "Maggie can't...not her. Not her. Not after everything...there has to be a reason I saw that. I'm supposed to save her, right? That has to be it. I saw her dying so I could stop it, so I could –"

"Woah, Eli, hold up," he said, looking at Eli like...well, like his friend was about to do something monumentally stupid. He loved the guy, but it wouldn't be the first time. "Just...let me think."

"About what, Frank? Why else would I see that? I'm supposed to save her – I have to!" Eli said, and Frank took a deep breath. He couldn't believe he was about to say this, but...someone had to point it out. Eli was too close to the subject – hell, he was too close to the subject – to be objective, but someone had to think about the bad side. And from what Eli had told him...

"Eli, what if...from the song, from what you've told me, it doesn't sound like you're supposed to," he said. Eli's head snapped down, a wide-eyed look of disbelief coloring his features. Frank held up his hands in defense. "Don't get me wrong: I don't want anything bad to happen to Maggie. But think about the song: don't fear the reaper. What if God's telling you this is going to happen, but it will all be ok in the end?"

"Ok? Ok? Frank, listen to yourself! How will it be ok if Maggie's dead?!" Eli asked. He didn't have an answer to that. He looked down, his mind running through every possible meaning, every possible outcome – anything he could tell Eli to make this better. He doubted there was anything that would – anything short of 'Maggie will be fine; you just had a nightmare', at least. When he looked up, Eli was sitting there, eyes scrunched closed as he forced himself to breathe evenly. For once, he had nothing to say to him. He didn't know what to do.

"Have you told her yet?" he finally asked. Eli didn't open his eyes. He just shook his head, a quick jerk to the side as he continued breathing.

"She called just after the vision. She was about to board her plane, and I told her to switch flights," he said, and Frank's brow furrowed in concern.

"Eli, you shouldn't try to change your visions," he said, and Eli's eyes snapped open to glare at him.

"What would you have me do, Frank?! It's Maggie – do you really expect me to let her die?!" he asked, and Frank sighed as he shook his head.

"I know, Eli, but you've gone against the visions before, remember? Nothing good comes from it," he pointed out, but Eli just scowled at him.

"Do you want her to die?!" he snapped, and Frank's mouth slipped open again as his words struck him.

"No, of course not! Eli, you know I care about Maggie, but you have to at least consider it. What if you can't stop this? What if you're not supposed to?" he asked. He took a step back as Eli hopped down from the table, a murderous look darkening his face.

"I won't let her die," he spat, and Frank watched helplessly as he pushed his way past him. A moment later he heard the front door slam shut, the jars on the shelves behind the counter rattling from the disturbance. He sighed and looked down, rubbing his hands over his eyes as his mind raced to catch up with everything that had just happened. Unbidden, his mind traveled back to Aaron's journal, to the decided lack of Maggie's death found in its contents. He remembered Aaron discussing the lawyer Eli would marry, discussing how good she'd be for him, even discussing that baby Eli had seen so long ago. He didn't remember anything about her death.

A knot formed in his gut at the thought. If Maggie did die...what would happen to Eli? What would he do? He collapsed in a chair near the table, groaning as he shoved his hands through his hair. He didn't know what was going on, or why this was happening, but he prayed there was a reason behind this madness – that God knew what He was doing, for Maggie's sake. For Eli's.

– V –

As soon as Patti saw Eli exiting the elevators, she was out of her chair and rushing over to him. She frowned at the black look on his face and decided the visit to Dr. Chen's hadn't gone as well as he had hoped. Taking that into consideration, she further decided that asking him about the vision that had prompted the visit wouldn't be the best of ideas right then. Instead, when she reached him, she immediately placed a folder in his arms. He jumped and looked at her, and she wondered if he had noticed her come over – or if he had even realized he was at the offices already. If she had been anyone other than Patti Dellacroix, that might have been enough to make her pause and wonder just what on Earth he had seen. As she was Patti Dellacroix, she kept that thought in the back of her mind and decided to plow ahead, business as usual.

"I rescheduled your nine-fifty as asked. You'll now be seeing Ms. Gladstone at one-twenty – and I expect you to take your lunch hour familiarizing yourself with her case, since you decided you weren't coming in this morning," she said, a false smile plastered to her face. Eli glanced up at her, the look on his face nothing but grateful, and her smile lost a bit of its edge as it turned more genuine. He preferred the no-nonsense Mayor of Sasstown over the coddler, anyway.

"Thanks, Patti," he said, and she rolled her eyes.

"Just show up on time tomorrow, Eli – it's not my job to pick up your slack," she said. He opened his mouth to respond, no doubt to tell her that's exactly what her job was, when his phone rang. He gave her an apologetic smile as he dug the phone out of his pocket.

"Eli Stone," he said, bringing the phone to his ear. He breathed a sigh of relief as he heard Maggie's voice answer.

"Hey, Eli! It's me. I switched my flight, just like you asked – the earliest I could get leaves in an hour. I should be in around two-thirty tomorrow afternoon," she said, and he sighed again. Problem solved, vision avoided – Maggie would be fine.

"That's great!" he said, the majority of his fear slipping away as easily as the smile that turned his lips came.

"So what did you see, anyway?" she asked, and he paused. "What was so terrible that I had to switch flights?"

"It doesn't matter, not anymore," he said quickly, and he could almost see the confused frown creasing her expression at that.

"Ok, whatever," she finally said, and he chuckled.

"Really? You're going to let it go that easily?" he asked, and she sighed.

"The way I see it, if you think I really needed to know, you'd tell me. If you say it's not important, it's not important. I trust you, Eli," she said, and he stopped walking as her words sunk in. He closed his eyes and took a breath, an immense feeling of gratitude washing over him.

"Thank you, Maggie," he said. "I love you."

"I know," she said, laughing. There was a voice behind her, and she agreed to whatever was said. "Hey, look, I gotta go. I'll see you tomorrow, ok?"

"Ok," he said. "Love you."

"You, too," she said. "Bye, Eli."

He said goodbye and hung up, then slipped the phone back into his pocket. He jumped when he turned to find Patti still by his side, giving him the look she reserved for whenever he was being exceptionally thick or she was exceptionally annoyed – usually both. He frowned at her, and she tipped her head and arched a brow.

"What did you see, Eli? Really?" she asked, pretenses be damned. She knew it was bad, both from what he had told her earlier and how angry he had looked upon his return from Chinatown, but she'd had enough skirting around the issue. She needed to know exactly what it was he had seen, and he was going to tell her. "And don't pull that 'it doesn't matter' crap on me, Eli – you know it does. If it was important enough for you to blow off your entire morning to see Dr. Chen and have Maggie reschedule her flight -"

"How did you -?" he started, but she jerked her head at him as she cut him off.

"You talk loud!" she snapped, her hands settling on her hips. "Now you tell me what you saw, Eli Stone, or so help me I will -"

"I saw her die, ok?!" he snapped, and she paused as the gusto slipped out of her like the air in a popped balloon. Her mouth fell open, her eyes widening as she looked at him. What? "I saw Maggie dying tomorrow at noon. There's a car accident outside the building, and she..."

"Eli..." she gasped. As quickly as her irritation had left it returned, and she slapped his arm and nodded towards his pocket. "What are you just standing here for?! Get back on that phone right now – warn her!"

"There's no need, Patti – and ow!" he said, giving her a look. Her glare hardened, and he sighed. "Look, Maggie switched her flight, right? So she's not coming in until two-thirty. The accident's going to be around noon – she won't be anywhere near here. She'll be fine," he said, smiling in what he hoped was a convincing manner. He needed Patti to believe it so he could believe it, otherwise... "Now, when's my next appointment?"

"One-twenty with Ms. Gladstone," she finally said, her tone as begrudging as her look. She recalled having told him that not five minutes before, but given his current distraction she'd let it slide – this time. She handed him another file and turned. "And she better be ok, Eli."

Eli watched her return to her desk, silently praying she was right.

– V –

"There!" Mason cried, jumping up in his seat as he pointed to a waffle joint across from the street they were driving down. George cursed as she made a sharp turn, muttering out a 'Finally!' as they pulled into the parking lot of the diner they'd spent nearly an hour searching for. Mason let out a shout as the violent turn caused him to fall back in his seat (and at the screaming horns and glaring headlights of the cars she cut off to make the rather illegal turn), and he gave her a wide-eyed look as she pulled into an empty space in the diner's parking lot. She relaxed against her seat as she turned the car off, letting a breath out in a huff as she glared at the windows in front of her. There was a family in the booth behind the window gawking at her, just like Mason was, and she fought back the urge to flip them off.

"What the fuck is it with the undead and waffles?" she asked instead, narrowing her eyes on the family that was still staring.

"They...taste good?" Mason asked, sitting up a bit. She turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised in incredulity, and he shrugged. "Look, I dunno. Der Waffle Haus sells more than just waffles."

"This isn't Der Waffle Haus," she said, giving him a pointed look. He groaned and flopped back, throwing an arm over his eyes.

"Look, I'm tired and starving and quite frankly, darlin', I don't give a fuck why this Kalla person wanted to meet here. All I know is she does and they have food, so can we cut the fucking small talk and just go eat?" he asked, raising his arm to peek an eye at her. She rolled her eyes and stashed her keys in her pocket before she opened her door and stood. He followed suit, and they made their way to the entrance of the diner.

"You're cranky when you're hungry," she said, and he snorted at that, shaking his head as he chuckled. A mental chant of 'Georgie, Georgie, Georgie...' rang through his head as he opened the door, and she walked under his arm to enter the waffle house. She looked around the diner as he came in behind her, and her eyes landed on a redheaded woman a few booths away from the door. George nudged Mason, nodding towards the woman, and he pushed her forward. She gave him a look, he mouthed 'Star-ving!', and she rolled her eyes as they walked over to the booth. The woman, who looked to be about thirty-five (but George figured was actually much older), smiled genially at them, her hands folded neatly on the table. George guessed she'd already eaten, from the half-empty glass of tea and the mostly-eaten plate of fries near her hands.

"Hi! I'm guessing you two would be Mason and George?" she asked, and George's eyes narrowed on her. Well, at least Rube hadn't told her she was 'Georgia' or 'Peanut'...

"Kalla?" she asked, and the woman's smile grew.

"That would be me! Welcome to San Francisco!" she said. She nodded towards the opposite side of the booth. "Aren't you gonna sit down? You must be tired and hungry after your trip.

"Starving!" Mason said, plopping down in the empty bench. George gave him another look. If she heard that word one more time... She grabbed his feet, which he had kicked up on her seat, and shoved them back to the floor. He gave her an injured look as she sat.

"Would you rather have me sit on 'em?" she asked, and he gave her one of his lopsided grins. He opened his mouth, no doubt to say something smartassed and classic Mason, when the waitress walked over and saved her from his retort (and the subsequent "fuck off" she'd have to reply with).

"Hi, I'm Jess, your server. What can I get you guys to drink?" the waitress asked, and Mason turned his attention to her as he ordered a soda. George ordered the same, and after she had jotted the order down on her notepad she left to attend to her other tables. George looked back to Kalla and noticed she was still smiling. She also noticed that the older reaper looked tired, but – given what Rube had told her had been going on here – she wasn't really surprised by that. She figured she'd be losing sleep, too, if she had lost a couple of souls like that.

"So, how was the drive?" Kalla asked, and she shrugged. She started to answer when Mason sat up in the seat, pulling his legs up next to him and grinning at Kalla.

"Right, sorry, but I gotta know: how the hell do you lose two souls?" he asked. He quirked his brows at her as he leaned forward and swiped a fry from her plate. George cleared her throat. He turned towards her.

"Wha'?" he asked, and her nausea from that morning returned as she saw the half-chewed food in his mouth. She gave him a pointed look, nodding towards Kalla, and he rolled his eyes as he swallowed. "Sorry..."

"Sorry about him," George said as she looked back to their temporary boss. Mason sunk low in his seat, glaring stubbornly at her as he mouthed 'starving' again, and she forced a smile towards Kalla as she reached over and pinched his ankle. He yelped and sat up, his legs sliding out of her reach as he shook his foot. God, he was such a wuss...

"It's quite all right," Kalla said, laughing. She nodded towards Mason. "Rube warned me."

She took a sip of her tea, and the reapers waited (somewhat im)patiently to see if she would actually answer Mason's question. She pushed her tea away and looked at him, that tired smile again curling her lips. George wasn't sure how much she liked this woman. She seemed too...happy. Delores-happy, which didn't equate with Death and reapers in her mind.

"I can tell you quite easily how I lost those souls: Bev and Austin's quotas were filled during a mass reap," she said calmly. "As you both know, you don't know you're a reaper until another reaper tells you. No one got a good look at the souls before Bev and Austin went off with their lights, and we think the new guys might have piggybacked when they saw the other souls crossing over."

"You didn't know their names?" Mason asked, giving her an incredulous look. "Couldn't, I dunno, go 'John Smith, over here!' beforehand? What the fuck kind of reaper are you?"

"Mason!" George hissed, reaching over to punch him again. He yelped and grabbed his arm, giving her a wounded look as she glared at him. "What the hell is your problem?! Stop being so rude!"

"Star-" he started, and she jabbed a finger in his face.

"Say it one more time, Mason. One more time," she said, curling that finger back to form a fist. He scowled at her as Kalla sighed.

"Look, I know I messed up. It was a monumental slide on my part, and I'm very sorry your lives had to be disrupted to help because of a screw-up I made. I understand you're upset at that -" she started, and Mason snorted.

"You kidding? I love being away from Rube," he said. He grinned at her. "I just find it hilarious that you're more of a fuck-up than me."

"Again, I am so sorry about him," George said, rolling her eyes as she fell back in her seat. She shouldn't be surprised, honestly. He was treating Kalla just like he treated Rube, or anyone else for that matter. Kalla waved her off.

"And like I told you: Rube warned me. The point I was getting to is that where we currently stand is that the two souls are lost, and we're busy trying to find them while still keeping up with our regular reaps. And if they did piggyback, we have to figure out where the hell we go from there: are their replacements the next two souls reaped, or do we have to get some reapers transferred?" Kalla sighed, bringing a hand up to rub her temples.

"You could always ask Plague Division – I'm sure some of them would love the transfer," George quipped, and Kalla gave her a grateful smile.

"I like you – you're a positive thinker," she said, and Mason snorted. George shot him a look, and he grinned at her.

"That's our Georgie," he said. "The positivest!"

"Shut the fuck up, Mason," she snapped. His grin grew. George looked back to Kalla, choosing to ignore him. "Look, just so we're clear: we're temps. Rube said you'd need us for a few days, and I'm ok with that – but once that's over, we go back to Seattle. We're not staying here as your replacements."

"You never know – you guys might like the City," Kalla said, laughing slightly. She sobered instantly at George's dark look. "I know, and I understand. Don't worry: upper management told me this should all be sorted very soon, so you won't be here long. I understand that you probably want to get back to your own division. Rube said you were close."

"Pfft," Mason snorted. "Like I said: I love time away from Rube."

"Speaking of, did Rube already give you your post-its?" she asked, and George nodded.

"Yeah," she said.

"And we already found the place," Mason said, grinning at George. She cocked a brow at him, and he looked back to Kalla. "When we were looking for this joint. It's only a few blocks from here."

"And what the hell?" George asked, and Kalla looked at her. "What the fuck is up with the waffle joint? Is that some kind of reaper thing?"

"Actually, my group usually meets at a Denny's two blocks south of here – that's where we'll be tomorrow morning, by the way, but as you already have your post-its you don't have to come if you don't want. Anyway, Rube was telling me about Der Waffle Haus, and I thought meeting here would help...oh, acclimate you to the city. A little reminder of home," she said, smiling brightly. She was beginning to annoy George with her 'positive thinking'. Mason snorted at that, and George scowled.

"Right, 'cause meeting at a waffle joint multiple times every day for four years and you obviously just love waffles," she said.

"They sell more than waffles," Mason said again, and George gave him a look. He grinned at her, and she found herself grinning back. She laughed slightly as she shook her head. "And you love their waffles."

She really did. Their oatmeal wasn't bad, either.

Kalla smiled at them, but she quickly hid it by taking another sip of her tea. She nodded to the menus behind the napkin dispenser and said, "You guys should look through those so you can order when the waitress returns. I'm sure you're hungry."

"St-" Mason started, but another look from George and he clamped his mouth shut. He handed her a menu, giving her a sheepish smile. George took the menu and flipped it open, scanning the items listed. Apparently, they served more than just waffles, too – but not much.

"So, do you know of any cheap motels around here?" she asked, and Kalla waved her off.

"Don't be silly," she said. "You're staying with me. It's cheaper than a motel, I have the room, and it's better than sleeping in your car."

"Thanks," George said as the waitress walked up. She put their drinks on the table and offered them an apologetic smile.

"Sorry for the wait," she said. "So, what can I get you kids?"

Forty-five minutes later, after a quick meal of burgers and easy chatter, George pulled her Mustang up outside an apartment complex. Kalla, who was sitting in the back seat, pointed to a side road that led to an underground parking garage, and after finding a space for her car Kalla was leading them to the elevators that would take them into the building. A short trip and shorter walk later found them inside a small apartment located on the fifth floor of the complex. Kalla made quick work of a tour, which wasn't hard to do as the apartment consisted of a main room (divided by a counter into a kitchen and living room) and a short hall that led to the bedrooms and bathroom. She threw out the usual hostess chatter, saying things like how the apartment wasn't much but was good enough for her, and George and Mason shared a look. George was about to make her own comment when Kalla stopped outside a door.

"Well, that's it! Here's your room," Kalla said, smiling at them. They froze as they looked into the open door, taking in the small guest room with the equally small bed. Kalla shoved some sheets they hadn't noticed her grab into Mason's arms. "Enjoy! Have a good night, you two – and like I said, you don't have to come to breakfast tomorrow, since you already have your post-its. Feel free to raid the kitchen. I think I have some Pop-Tarts in one of the cupboards."

She turned to go, and George hesitated before asking, "So...am I on the couch?"

Kalla looked back, giving her a strange look. She glanced at the room before taking in the uncomfortable looks on their faces, and she said, "Don't be silly, George. You're in there with him."

"What the fuck?!" George cried, unable to stop the outburst from spilling out. Mason frowned at her.

"Gee, don't sound too excited, Georgie," he grumbled, adjusting the sheets in his arms. Kalla turned back to face them, crossing her arms over her chest. She arched a brow at George.

"I don't see what the problem is, George. Rube said you two lived together," she said, and Mason nodded.

"Right, but that's it. We're housemates, that's it," he said, and George jerked her head towards him.

"He sleeps on the couch," she said. Kalla snorted at that.

"No wonder you're so high-strung, making your guy sleep on the couch," she said, and George gagged as Mason fervently shook his head.

"Oh, no – not us! We're just mates, we are!" he said, and she nodded eagerly.

"Just. Friends," she said, and Kalla rolled her eyes as she shook her head in exasperation.

"Look, no offense, but I am way too tired to deal with your personal shit right now. Work it out – if one of you wants to take the couch, fine, but I promise that bed's a hell of a lot more comfortable. Good night," she said, turning to go towards the door at the end of the hall. A moment later, she disappeared behind it, slamming it shut. George looked up at him, and he gave her a half-smile and shrugged.

"It's just a night or two, Georgie," he said, motioning towards the room. "'Sides, s'not like we haven't shared before."

She just rolled her eyes, snatched the blankets from him, and headed into the room. He watched as she tossed their duffels by the dresser.

"You keep to your own damn side, Mason, or I swear to God you're sleeping on the floor," she snapped, and he grinned as he trotted a step or two to catch up to her. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back against him, grinning against her ear.

"Aw, c'mon, Georgie. You know I make a great pillow," he whispered, squeezing her lightly. She laughed, squirming slightly against his grip.

"Fuck off, Mason," she said, and he laughed as he kissed her cheek. He released her and grabbed the blankets before heading towards the bed, where he began arranging them. She watched him, gawking slightly at his slightly uncharacteristic gesture. She expected him to pull that shit with Daisy, but...not with her. Rarely with her. He looked back at her, a frown turning his lips.

"Coming?" he asked, snapping her out of her daze.

"Whatever," she mumbled, shuffling over to the opposite side of the bed. She kicked her shoes off and crawled in, too tired to bother with changing. Mason climbed in after her, and despite her earlier warning he immediately moved to her side, curling up against her and resting his head on her shoulder. She looked at him, quirking a brow at the way he wrapped his arms around her middle and hugged her close. Apparently, he thought she made a great pillow, too. His eyes were already closed.

"G'night, Georgie," he mumbled, and her irritation slipped away as she smiled at him.

"Good night, Mason," she whispered, and she reached over to click the nightstand light off. She was asleep within minutes.

– V –

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

George groaned and scrunched her nose against the noise. It had pulled her out of sleep and continued on even after waking her, refusing to cease. Logically, she had already identified it as an alarm clock – one she didn't remember setting. However, the larger part of her brain wasn't quite that awake yet, and it refused to listen to the logic telling her to find the alarm and shut it off. She groaned again, wondering why the annoying beeping wouldn't just stop, and she finally turned her head to find the offensive clock sitting on the nightstand by her side. Her eyes snapped open as her brain bolted awake at the time: 10:00 A.M.

'SHIT!' her mind screamed, remembering her post-it had said she was to reap M. Dekker at 11:42. That only left her and Mason an hour and forty-two minutes to wake up, dress, eat, and get over to the office building their reaps were to die at. Her mind paused its swearing to take note of a piece of paper resting against the clock, a neat scrawl writing out a message on it. She picked the note up and brought it to her face, blinking the sleep out of her eyes as she tried to read it.

Morning!

I was going to get you guys up to see if you wanted to come to breakfast, but you just looked so cute – I couldn't bear waking you! 'Just friends' my ass, missy – you two are obviously involved! ;P Anyway, I set an alarm for you so you'll have time to eat something before your reaps. Head over to the Denny's afterwards, all right? It's not hard to find – like I said last night, just go two blocks south of the place you met me. Better get going – you don't want to be late!

Kalla

George didn't know what she found more annoying: that even Kalla's writing sounded perky, that she actually wrote out those little text faces, or that she was still so convinced her and Mason were a couple. She frowned, squirming slightly as she noted she did feel a bit heavier, and she turned her head to find Mason was still wrapped up around her side. She paused at the dopey grin on his face. He looked so much younger when he slept. She smiled softly at him, reaching over to brush some hair out of his face, before she bunched up the note and chucked it towards a trashcan near the door. She reached over to the alarm then, slamming her fist down on it to finally shut it up. She turned back to Mason, nudging him slightly in an attempt to wake him.

"Wake up, Mason," she said, nudging him again. He grumbled, mumbling out a request for five more minutes as he snuggled closer. She tensed, Kalla's words ringing through her mind at his actions, but she quickly pushed them back. She didn't have time to deal with that now, and – quite honestly – she didn't want to. She nudged him again, harder this time. When he still didn't budge, she kicked at him, effectively sending him towards the floor. "Wake the fuck up, Mason!"

"What the fuck, Georgie?!" he cried, cursing as he rubbed his head. She rolled her eyes. He would be fine – 'reaper metabolism' and all that. He scrambled into a sitting position, shooting her a murderous look as he continued rubbing his head. By way of answering, she pointed to the clock behind her.

"Time to get up, sunshine," she drawled. "We've got an hour to eat and get to that building, so hurry up. Kalla also wants us to meet her at the Denny's she was talking about after our reaps. Now get out so I can change."

"Aw, there's no reason I can't stay -" he started, giving her a suggestive smirk, and she chucked a pillow at his head.

"Get the fuck out, Mason!" she snapped, reaching for the clock. He yelped and scrambled up, grabbing his bag as he scurried out of the room, tossing an "I'm going, I'm going!" over his shoulder as he went.

An hour and twenty-five minutes later, they were parked outside the address on their post-its, waiting patiently in the Mustang for their reaps to arrive. Mason leaned back in his seat as George studied her post-it. She glanced around, wondering which one of these people was M. Dekker – or if Dekker was even here yet. She glanced at Mason as he yawned, stretching his arms high above his head.

"Gotta say, I do like San Francisco a bit more than Seattle," he said. He looked at her, giving her a grin. "Nicer weather."

She snorted at that and said, "Bullshit – you just like being away from Rube."

"Can't argue with that!" he said with a laugh, raising an imaginary glass in cheers. She rolled her eyes and continued scanning the crowd. She slouched down in her seat and nodded towards the sidewalk.

"So, who do you think's gonna kick it?" she asked. He perked up in his seat. He loved playing High Risk Factor. He looked around, his eyes finally settled on a middle-aged woman ambling down the street, her arms stuffed with groceries.

"That woman," he said. "She can't see around those bags – prime target for a graveling."

Speaking of, George couldn't help but think, just where were the little bastards? She hadn't seen one yet this morning.

"Nah...too obvious. I say crosswalk accident," she said. He gave her an amused look, shaking his head at her. They continued in their game, calling out possible targets but not really getting any closer to locating M. Dekker or R. Walsh.

"This street's too crowded," Mason finally said, frowning at the people milling about.

"Damn it," George spat, slinking farther down in her seat. "I'm going to be so pissed if this is a post-death reap. I hate those – I'm not that sloppy."

"Yeah, but sometimes they can't be helped," he said, looking back to her. She sighed; she knew he was right, but that didn't keep her from hating the fact. She looked down at her post-it, glancing quickly at the clock on the dash before checking the time on the note again. She jumped as a crash sounded, and she looked up to find a cab had slammed into a streetlight. From the way the driver was slouched against the steering wheel, she guessed that was one of their reaps – going from the license plate, 'WLSHROX', she guessed he was Mason's. She nodded towards the license plate as they got out of the car, and Mason cursed as he rushed over with a crowd of others. He played the role of concerned bystander well, reaching in with the others to 'help the driver'. He brushed his hand against the man's arm, popping his soul before he slunk back and let the others take charge. Effortless, like most reaps should be – even if it was a post-death soul pop. The soul of R. Walsh appeared next to her as Mason made his way back over. He gawked at his cab, looking as confused as most of the recently dead did.

"W-what happened?" he asked, just as Mason came to a stop by her side.

"You died," he said, and Walsh's eyes widened impossibly more as he looked at him.

"But I just took some antihistamines!" he said, and George quirked her brows, frowning at the cabbie.

"I don't think they were antihistamines," she mused. She glanced at her watch and noticed the time was now 11:45; she frowned as she looked back up, looking around for another body. "What the fuck? Where the hell is my reap?"

Mason looked around, but the only body nearby was Walsh's. Everyone else was fine, if a bit shaken from the accident. So where was the other one?

"Maybe...I dunno, maybe he missed his appointment?" he asked, looking back at her. She gave him a pointed look. They both remembered what happened the last time that happened to her. In all honesty, it had never happened to her – which was why his suggesting it bothered her so much. She didn't like this. Something wasn't right. "Maybe you were just given the wrong time, George."

"No," she said, adamantly shaking her head. "Rube wouldn't do that."

"Rube wouldn't, but Ms. Lost-Her-Fucking-Souls Kalla would. 'Clerical errors' and all that," Mason said, and George gave him a sharp look.

"Rube gave us the fucking post-its, Mason. He wouldn't give me the wrong time," she said. She went back to scanning the street, wondering if Dekker was just late or...no. Dekker didn't miss his appointment, and she hadn't been given the wrong time. Something...something wasn't right. This didn't happen, not to her. Something was wrong. "Show him to his lights, Mason. I'm gonna wait here, just in case you're right."

Mason gave her a concerned look, but he acquiesced. He put a hand on Walsh's shoulder, smiling kindly at him as he asked him to come with him. George watched them go, and she watched as Walsh walked off into a shimmering blue-green bowling alley. She watched as Mason walked back over and returned to his seat in the car. She took up a post on the trunk, and she watched as San Franciscan after San Franciscan walked past her as they went about their day. She watched for three hours, and not a single accident. Not one single sign that anyone named 'M. Dekker' was preparing to die on this street.

She didn't want Mason to be right. She didn't want to think she had been given the wrong time or that M. Dekker had simply missed the appointment. She didn't want to think that because thinking that made her think of P. Monroe and all the people that died because she let him live. How many people would die because M. Dekker never showed? Would anyone else die, if it was a legitimate hiccup? She groaned and slunk forward, shoving her hands in her hair. Rube was going to kill her when he found out. Christ, Kalla was going to kill her, if Rube had told her about Monroe!

"Georgie?" she looked up at the sound of Mason's voice. He had left his seat to come stand beside her. He looked nervous, shifting from foot to foot as he stared at the ground. He glanced up at her. "Maybe we should just go to the Denny's, George. Meet up with Kalla and see if she knows what the hell happened."

"Ma-" she started, but he shook his head, cutting her off.

"George, it's been three fucking hours," he said. "Face it, Georgie: your reap's not gonna show."

She looked to the sidewalk, scanning the people passing by once more. She didn't like this. It wasn't right! She looked back to find Mason giving her a pleading look, and she heaved a sigh. Fine. She didn't like it, but fine. She hopped off the trunk and headed back to the driver's side, her thoughts refusing to leave M. Dekker and P. Monroe. What the hell? Rube had told her hiccups were rare, but if they were so rare why wasn't M. Dekker here? Why wasn't he already off in his lights? What the hell had happened?

She jumped as she felt Mason's hand on her shoulder, and she paused with her hand on the keys in the ignition. He gave her a reassuring smile, squeezing her shoulder slightly.

"Don't worry, Georgie. We're going to figure this out," he said. She wanted to smile, wanted to thank him for trying to make her feel better, but all she did was scowl as she turned the car on. He gave her shoulder a final squeeze before removing his hand, but the scowl remained on her lips as she drove off.

Neither had noticed the man watching them from the twentieth story window in the building behind them.