"So, how is the research going?"
"Oh?" Othello peeked his head from behind the piles of casefiles and lists, pushing his specs up his nose again to give focus to his forensics department coworker. "Oh, I've had a conversation that provided quite a bit of interesting points of view!"
"Really? That's good," Ophelia said, casually looking to the bit of chaos thrown over Othello's worktable. "Who did you talk to?"
"That fellow with the long silver hair, with the ponytail and the look of utter demolishing boredom."
"Oh! The one at the canteen," she recognized, smiling from the added description and immediately reddening on the cheeks. "You know, you really shouldn't be so impolite. You can't approach seniors so randomly like that, or anyone for that matter."
"What did I do? I just asked questions. He asked me a lot more in return!"
"Really?" Her surprise was understandable. "I don't think I've ever heard him speak. N-Not that I have approached him or really t-tried to, you know..."
Othello smiled for the adorableness of his coworker acting like a teenager and didn't force her to further embarrassment.
"Anyway, that's why I've been diving on these," he raised the current soul list he was surveying. "I'm certain I've seen it before, and these old files were relatively easy to gain access to, and it's a lot of data."
"What are you looking for? Do you want help?"
"Sure! I'm looking for altered causes of death."
Ophelia nodded as she picked on the list from the unsurveyed pile and started flipping through the files. "But weren't you researching for different causes of death and the sources of human endurance and resistance?"
"Yes, but this topic is related to that. What if someone people resisted deadly incidents that were meant to kill them? But somehow, they survived and their initial cause of death was replaced by another?"
"There won't be many of those..."
Othello looked up at her; he was half expecting her to be surprised with his hypothesis.
"Have you already encountered such cases in your ailments investigation? Have you identified a common factor or a pattern?" he asked, noticing how she was flushing red again.
"Huh, well, no. Yes. Uh, what I mean is... yes, I have come across two such files before, with altered causes of death. But no, there was not a pattern. A common factor, yes, but not necessarily a pattern... In both cases, they had been tampered with."
The word that had no particular effect on him before now shot a spark through him.
"Tampered? How so?"
"Well, both dealt with Grim Reapers' tampering on the causes of death. The deaths weren't ailments, they were some accident or attack, and so they delayed it. I don't know the details. I imagine they were severily punished for that."
Othello sucked on his tooth, ruminating on thoughts. Techinically speaking, Grim Reapers could give the chance for human lives to continue over their predetermined end for the benefit of the world; but when had that happened? Never, that he had ever heard of. So, all the times it did happened (not many), it had been taboo and against the rules; even he knew that.
But it was quite interesting. Death was inevitable; why had those fellow Grim Reapers bothered to try to delay the inevitable? Why bother tampering with files, and how could they actually do that?
When successful, those human beings would have an increased time to interact with others around them, afecting them. It had the potential of creating a chain of events that altered other humans's lifespans indirectly! It definitely sounded like a theory worthy of pursuit and investigation.
...even if that led to the assumption, right from the start, that there would be a lot more altered files. A rippling effect would have affected many people. Out of 13563 old files he had already surveyed, he hadn't found a single such case. His coworker had come across 2 cases previously on her investigation, out of a sample of what? 20 thousand?
Regardless, it was a topic worth investigating. Tampering and consequences...
Consequences. Continuation.
"Do you think we could see our own files?"
"What? Huh, I don't know. I never even thought about it before."
Neither had he. What would his file show? 'Suicide by overdose of opiates' crossed as cause of death and replaced by 'suicide by hanging'? Which one was his originally intended death?
...what if they had altered their own records by chosing to kill themselves?
Oooooh, he would have enough questions to entertain himself for ages!
But immediate satisfaction was always needed. The fellow, the silver-haired coworker; he had mentioned these subjects with such a security, a certainity of opinion that could only be contagious for a knowledge-junkie as Othello. He could share some more of his insights in exchange for Othello's renewed questions.
.
The Management Department wasn't helpful in the slightest. Maybe he really was impolite and nosy by going and asking about a coworker's whereabouts and assigned missions ("I don't know his name, though! It's that fellow with the silver hair, do you know?" Othello asked a very unfriendly, transcendal-fossile Grim Reaper); but what he certainly was, it was determined. He had to speak with that fellow! He didn't even his name yet.
"Othello!"
Othello was gliding through the corridor, lost in musings of action courses, when the sound made him halt and turn on his heels. Ophelia was sprinting after him, pausing for a moment to catch her breath before hopping back up.
"There's a file! A changed cause of death!"
"Great! I knew it would be helpful to bring those old casefiles."
"No, no! I mean, a changed cause of death now!"
Othello blinked and hopped in sync with her. "Really? But how? What does it say? How did you know?"
"I have a friend at the Management Department! They were commenting on the case, precisely because it's such a rarity!"
"But what changed it?"
"I don't know that..." Her face frowned and brightened up again in the space of a second. "But can you guess who was assigned for the soul retrieval job?"
It took Othello another second to narrow it down based on the comment and expression.
"What a coincidence, huh?"
.
He hadn't been into the human world for a while. It was strange to return, and rather nostalgic. Night time had fallen and London still had that delightful eerieness, unsettlement and decadence that infactuated him as a young boy and eventually killed him as a young man. There were new people waltzing and dragging themselves around, all busy with their lives, some lone souls prone to be attacked by burglars, buglars looking for their preys, prostitutes and pimps and shady lords providing and searching for their entertainments, homeless beggars asking alms to noblemen servants hurrying on their way back to safe manors.
London was the niche of human nature. Ah, good old times.
But enough of that. He had much better times now, ready to be improved ten times more.
Othello trailed after the coworker, following the only lead he had; one odd assigned case amongst a whole list of several souls meant to be retrieved that night. The chances of catching up with the coworker weren't stellar, but he wasn't about to give up!
He tried to follow street plates like he used to do when he was human, but a part of him was remotely aware he had a much more reliable compass that guided his feet like a teacher in a field trip; perhaps Death could smell death.
He turned several corners, leaving behind the busier streets and getting engulfed into a typical londoner foggy night. Eventually, when the number of souls he could feel in the surroundings started to get considerably easy to detect individually, he slowed his pace, looking around. A rustled movement of clothes attracted his attention and Othello turned, face brightened up to greet the expected coworker.
His line of vision didn't catch anything at first. The movement came from much below; Othello looked down. Instead of an adult man, there was a boy. Fair faced, hair of an interesting colour cut short (no, the hair was just tied up), perhaps not over ten years old. Tattered clothes that somehow looked a bit off in his rather pretty and healthy expression, almost girly. Cute little human.
...staring at him in surprise.
Othello's instinctive reaction was to look behind him to see whom might be there - whom the kid might actually be looking at. There was a grimmy corner wall and an empty street half-eaten by fog. He turned back ahead to the boy's big blue eyes.
"You are like him."
Well, so much for having any doubts.
"Excuse me?" Othello still pointed to his chest. "You..." Yes, dummy, he's talking to you.
"You won't take me," the lad continued, unfased by Othello's bewilderment. "We've already promised. You will not outpace him."
"Huh?"
The lad's initial surprise was quickly turning into a rather unimpressed look. "Well, not all of you Grim Reapers are too smart now are you?"
Wait, what?
What?!
Which part of that statement was meant to cause him more shock and offence?
Equal parts each, most likely.
Who was this human kid? How could he see Othello?
How could he know what he was and just by looking?
How did he even know about Grim Reapers to begin with?
Too many questions suddenly pressing and overlapping what was initially just meant to be a fun curious little field trip. Too many perhaps, hindering his processing of everything else.
The world suddenly flew around him. Out of nowhere, he simply lost contact with the ground. His feet kicked the air for roughly a second before grounding and weight returned by painful impact, the back of his head banged against the stone wall and the air knocked out of his lungs. In stunned confusion, Othello's hand clasped aimless and uselessly to find support on the only thing keeping him up straight; whomever had attacked him. A white hand with long black fingernails wrapped in tight black from the wrist up was clenched on the front of his lab coat and pinned him against the wall. His lungs were still protesting for air and yet he still managed to gasp before looking up, not so much as startled as he was frightened.
Not least of all for the fact his fellow coworker was holding a menacing looking Death Scythe about the same length as an adult man.
"Cedric, wait." The voice and name sounded odd until he managed to process the source. "Won't you get in trouble if you harm him?"
"I'm not intending to harm him," his coworker reassured; funny, Othello had never heard a calm and low reassurance sounding so much like a threat. "What are you doing here?"
He tried to open his mouth, not really knowing what he was going to say. The little lad was still there, tiny behind the coworker Cedric (nice name. Because that's the most important thing to take out of this, right?!)
Right. Focus. Othello was a scientist and reasonably smart on his own right. He should be able to immediately understand the obvious in front of him, but being thrown head first into a wall and calmly threatened by someone holding a Death Scythe that was literally a scythe that could rip him in half like a sheet of paper might have affected his response a tiny bit.
"You- you can't really do this, can you?" He was giggling for some ludicrous reason.
The coworker wasn't really following on his smiley cue. Or reacting to his bubbling understandable panic. He was just the same expressionless evolution-skeptic-somber-depressive folk from before. Waiting.
He was supposed to answer him. What was Othello doing here?
"What are you doing here?" he echoed instead against all judgement. "You... you can't do this. I mean, this." His eyes moved to the human, who was all but satisfied with the treatment. "We can't interact with humans. How can he even see us when we don't want to be seen?"
"'He'?" the boy repeated, scoffing.
"Are you sure this is wise? I mean... I don't know much, but-"
"You do know quite a bit, don't you?" Cedric interrupted. "What are you doing here?"
"I just wanted to talk to you again!" Othello answered. Even to him, it now sounded so silly and unrealistic he couldn't blame Cedric for not taking it. "You brought up so many interesting questions, I've been investigating and I wanted to ask you about them again. Altered causes of death! And when I heard there was a current case, it's so rare, I just wanted to...
The file. Ophelia hadn't given him details she didn't know, but the undeniable fact was that, by some reason, someone's cause of death had changed by an unknown reason. An investigation would be expected, but most likely, regardless of the results, the fact was that particular human being was no longer scheduled to have their soul retrieved today. Whatever reasons or perpetrators behind the change, it was virtually possible they could remain unsuspected this time.
And a change of cause of death wasn't the only alteration on the file. Whatever the new and inevitable cause now was, it was delayed.
It wasn't such a difficult equation. Why would a Grim Reaper, working on soul retrieval shift, happen to have a rare and mysterious case of file alteration, and just coincidencially be near a human being who not only could see them, as they were also clearly no strangers?
"You're..."
"What am I doing?" he asked Othello, just as softly and as dangerously.
Othello looked to the human. A kid; not even ten years old indeed. "You're tampering with his life."
"Am I now? What makes you say that, little Grim Reaper?"
"You..." Othello swallowed, trying to clear his suddenly hideously dry throat. The answer was staggered not only by stress but also from his mind working furiously. "You've done something. You've changed... something that would be deadly today..." But what? If the kid was meant to die from illness, what could he do about it? Make up an antidote? Unlikely. But if there was to be an accident, it could be prevented. Rippling effect. "Someone. You killed someone that wasn't meant to die, and now they can't affect others anymore. Therefore, at least one death was delayed."
That wasn't tampering one life, but several. Not one taboo, but several.
"You really are a curious little one, aren't you?"
Othello was smart, pretty damn inteligent - and he lacked common sense sometimes for that reason. Cedric wasn't really questioning him out of curious chattering, he was adding motives to rip him in half and paint the walls a pretty red.
"Cedric, this will get you in trouble." The kid clearly caught up to it faster than Othello.
"Go home now," he spoke to the human lad.
"No."
"Please, Claudia."
"Oh! Sorry!" Othello said instantenously. The lad - lass! That's why he looked so pretty as a girl - looked at him suspiciously. "That is a very good disguise! But, sir... Cedric? May I ask you another question?"
He did smile then; the faintest curve on his lips. His grip clenched on the bony snatch of the scythe.
"You may."
"Why are you bothering?"
Cedric blinked. That seemed to cause some reaction. A dangerous one. His eyes fixed Othello's over the frame of his glasses, some strange shadow darkening them and enlightening the phosphorescence. At last, Othello became finally aware of the seconds of the continuation of life he had left. It was over. That boring, definitive THE END, so much worst than his happy continuation; everything was going to end and there wouldn't be anything else left for him.
No.
Cedric released the grip on his lab coat and his hand flew backwards towards the scythe.
"No!"
"I see!" he shouted, muffling the human girl's voice and her rushing steps. "I see what you mean!"
Probably due to the confusion of such choice for final words, Cedric halted his strike. A second passed. Othello let out air he didn't realized he was holding, gaze jumping from the human Claudia to Cedric.
"I see," he repeated, those precious more seconds. "Forgive me for what I said, now and that time when I made those questions. I see what you mean."
"And what is that?"
"Continuation. When you said 'our lives were tampered with'..." Simple words that had left an uncomfortable itch on the back of his mind. "You mean us, who wanted to die, were forced to live. And now that someone who deserved to live is forced to die... you don't want it. You don't want THE END to happen, because there's nothing else. It's just over. And that's not fair."
Cedric's brow didn't easen to a safe expression, but Othello continued: "But you know, eventually, it won't be able to be delayed anymore. Eventually, she has to die."
Claudia had stepped next to Cedric by then. Othello's lack of subtlety didn't seem to startle her at all, and instead she moved her hand to Cedric's arm. The coworker looked down to her.
"Leave him. He says he understands."
"Would you really trust mere words, Claudia?"
"Hardly. But in this case, you can verify it for yourself. You'll only give you more trouble if you kill him now."
"It will give trouble if I don't."
"Then do it where I can't see it. Decide whether he means his words or not."
Othello witnessed the exchange with an unique type of morbid fascination, nailed to the same spot even though he was already unrestrained for minutes now. Who were those two? How had they crossed paths, why did that child sound so regal and wise and burdened with a darkness unfit her age? She was the one effectively holding the scythe over him now.
Cedric turned his eyes back at Othello.
"What is your name, little Grim Reaper?"
He swallowed. "Othello."
Cedric's dangerous smile was gone from his face, now back to the mask he had been wearing for so long.
"What happens after the end, Othello?"
"I don't know."
"Aren't you curious?"
"I... I don't know."
Cedric shrugged. "I am."
.
to be continued
.
Author's Note: This fic had 2 reasons to be made: writing Othello and Undertaker interacting in their Shinigami days, and having Othello meet Claudia in order to follow the (likely) assumption that this happened in the canon. Othello hasn't been in the human world for 50 years, so obviously I had to place this at that time.
This is to say, I'm also clearly following the Cedric = Undertaker theory and at this moment in time Claudia is 9 years old. My intention isn't to write Undertaker as a creep. I have an entire fic dedicated to explore a non-romantic version of Undertaker and Claudia's relationship, and there I have a reader who made some interesting comments on how, following that specific non-romantic approach, it would still make sense and feel plausible that they had developped 'unrequited' feelings for each other.
TL;DR: I'm not writing Undertaker as being in love with a 9 year old kid, he feels a sense of fierce and utter protection of Claudia because in my headcanon, Undertaker had a daughter that died while he was human. Understandably, the eventual evolution of this feeling is not something he neither planned or expected, and certainly it wasn't without doubts and concerns, but in this particular headcanon, the progress of the years would develop this into romantic feelings. It's no such thing now.
Written in a single (long) go. I'll likely regret it in about a week's time, but until then, here we are. I'm already regretting it it's 2:50 am. Thanks for reading.