William had already left for work by the time Grell had stirred awake, which was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, Grell did miss him terribly already. On the other hand, though, the last thing he wanted was for Will to see him gracelessly roll right off the couch. His eyes were fixed bitterly on the glass table, as if that would somehow make the earlier events of this morning go away. Blasted thing nearly took his head off when he fell.
The redhead was perched neatly on the couch, one leg tucked under him and both hands clasped delicately around a cup of coffee, nails tapping the china softly. He sighed dramatically in both agitation and boredom, taking a sip of coffee and sinking as far back into the couch as the cushions would allow. Grell hated days like this, being stuck with nothing to do. He savored days off from work, where he had the opportunity to just relax at home and curl up with a book, but the situation wasn't like that. This wasn't just a day off, this was unemployment. Granted, at least he got to stay at Will's house, but it was no fun if the man wasn't even there. He couldn't even have fun exploring, since he did the bulk of that last night.
Last night... Now that had been something. Grell had never in a million years thought that William would have been so passive when it came to letting him stay, which was nice in itself, but what had really surprised him was after. They'd simply sat down with a bottle of wine and busied themselves with paperwork, and in spite of William's original tentativeness, it had been quite a lovely evening. And they'd stayed like that for quite some time, working in silence save for the scratches of pen on paper and the occasional question from Grell about any significant incidents. Grell hated doing paperwork himself; it was honestly the worst part of working in Dispatch. But it had been nice, helping Will with it. He wasn't quite sure when he'd fallen asleep, but-
Damn. He had fallen asleep, hadn't he? And before he had moved all of his luggage out of William's room, too. Oh well, no point in fretting over it now. If William was extraordinarily upset about it, Grell was sure he'd have been pushed from the couch earlier instead of rolling off of it on his own. Still, this was as good a time as any to get it done. It wasn't like he was doing anything else; and besides, he was sure that if William came home later in the evening and it still wasn't done, Grell would probably find himself short a place to stay.
He tossed back the last of his coffee and, with a bit of reluctance, pushed himself off the couch. He'd taken a few moments to visit the kitchen and leave it in the basin before he made the trek upstairs and into Will's bedroom. All of his things were still huddled in the corner, only with a new addition: the two books that Grell had taken from the study now sat atop one of his bags. The redhead dragged them off of his things, tucking them under one arm and grabbing a bag with his free hand. He took to the study, two doors down on the opposite side of the hall, that was to double as his new bedroom for the time being. It was almost as polite and refined as William's office at work, just with a few extra papers lying about.
The crimson reaper dropped his bag on the white camelback settee - or rather, his new bed - and glided to the bookshelf directly opposite. Will had so many old, boring books, and most of them had a thin layer of dust from lack of attention. The place for the first book was in his immediate reach, but the other was two shelves above his head, and he absently wondered how he had managed to get it down in the first place without some imminent disaster. Regardless, Grell stood on his toes and tried to nudge the book back into its place, dislodging another in the process.
He jumped and swore as the tome fell, hitting the floor next to him with a loud, rather threatening sound. He clutched his hands to his chest, feeling his heart beat rapidly and then slow down again. It had landed open on the floor, pages cast to the ceiling, and Grell swooped down to pick it up, curiously looking over the words and flipping through pages. It seemed like a charming little story, really, and he turned the book slightly to look at the cover.
Grell could've sworn his heart stopped then, two-toned eyes widening slightly at the all-too-familiar, decorative leather. Quickly he snapped the book closed, turning it once more to look at the spine.
WS
24 Aug, 1765
14 Apr, 1795
This wasn't a novel, this was a record. William's record. Grell opened the tome once more, taking long, backward strides until he felt the backs of his legs hit the settee. He slowly lowered himself to sit down and began to read.
"I'm not entirely sure I understand."
William's office was low-lit, the only illumination coming from the moonlight through his window and the few candles he had burning. The flames danced and flickered as they came closer and closer to the end of their life. It was a shame, really, those had been relatively untouched when this conversation had started.
Now their poor life had been cut short, much like William's patience.
"I believe you understand me fully, Spears. You're an intelligent man, playing dumb ill suits you." The Director, his boss, sat across from him, idly twirling around the glass of whisky that William had poured him out of courtesy. William's own glass remained untouched. "This is not up for debate."
William reclined in his chair, elbows propped up on the armrests and hands loosely clasping each other across his stomach. "On the contrary, I believe it is entirely debatable," he countered immediately. He was not in the habit of arguing with his superiors. Quite frankly, he wasn't fond of the man, but he had more subtle ways of expressing that than outright arguing with him. There was no way around it, though. "Grell's trial hasn't even been scheduled yet and already you're talking of replacing him. You gave both sides two months to collect substantial evidence and testimony before this goes to court, so we can discuss this in two months."
The man opposite him stopped twirling his glass quite suddenly, obviously displeased with William's aggressive attitude. "In case you don't recall, Spears, he was let go with finality from the Association. That was not a decision pending a trial. Regardless of the verdict, he is no longer employed here and thus his position as a Dispatch Officer is open for replacement," the Director reminded him, tone pointed and matter-of-fact.
"With all due respect, sir, I do believe that is not your call to make. It's mine," William challenged. Rather disrespectful, but it was true nonetheless. William was the manager of Dispatch, and unless the Board had ample reason that he couldn't hire or rehire someone, then he was judge and jury in that respect. If Grell's verdict came out favorably, then William could rehire him and there was not a thing the Board could do about it that didn't immediately violate any laws. On that, though, William had very little hopes that Grell would be found in a good light. There was simply no way to make blatant murder look good. Either way, it was still unfair to replace him without giving him a swift and just trial.
William's eyes met the Director's in a cold, unwavering stare. Eventually though, he relented, "I will take him on, but make no mistake, it will not be as Grell's replacement." He wasn't sure if this appeased or angered his superior, but he also wasn't sure he cared one way or the other.
The office fell into a dead silence, and both the room's tension and the Director's suppressed rage were tangible enough to be cut with a knife. After a dreadfully long minute, the man in question tossed back the rest of his drink and slammed the glass down on William's desk along with a file before leaving without so much as a 'goodbye.' William looked at the folder he'd been given, flipping to the first page and starting on his own drink.
Grell sat at the dinner table, quietly shuffling around vegetables on his plate as William ate in silence. He'd been cold ever since he'd gotten home, and hadn't even commented on the beef a la Rossini which, in Grell's own opinion, he'd done a fantastic job preparing. It wasn't necessarily that he thought William would exactly be talkative after his shift, he just simply wanted some sort of a conversation as a way to warm up to the question that had been plaguing his mind all day.
Quietly lowering his silverware to his plate, Grell tapped his nails in a little rhythm on the table before he sat up straight in his seat. "I'm sorry about falling asleep last night. I did get everything moved while you were away, though." Will merely acknowledged him with a nod and continued eating, and Grell felt a twinge of annoyance. Under any other circumstance, he'd be swooning over the fact that Will actually seemed to enjoy his cooking. But he wanted a response, damn it.
He let the room fall silent again as he took up his wine glass, drowning whatever insecurities he had about what he needed to ask. Grell looked at William from behind his glass, choosing his words carefully. "I even put those dreadfully boring books of yours back on the shelf. One almost took off my head." Still no response. Being roundabout was obviously getting him nowhere. With a deeper, longer drink, he threw caution to the wind. "Who's Abigail?"
William paused at that, tensing just the slightest bit, and Grell had known the man long enough to pinpoint the single emotion that lay beneath the otherwise stoic expression: dread.
"I knew it! That was your record, wasn't it?" Grell asked, taking the fleeting emotion as a small, bittersweet victory.
"Grell-"
"You aren't supposed to have that, Will-"
"Grell."
"-If the Board finds out you've taken it, it'll mean your job and God knows what else. How did you even-"
William slammed his hand down on the table with slightly more force than he'd meant to, but it effectively silenced the room save for the rattling of silver on china. Grell stared at him, incredulous, and he had to remember to pick his jaw up off the floor. When William spoke, it was with thinly veiled anger. "When I agreed to let you stay here, it was with the belief that even you had courtesy enough to not go through another person's belongings."
"What do you mean 'even me?'" Grell asked, his voice high and accusing.
"Honestly."
"Excuse me?"
William stood up from his seat, and Grell pushed his own chair away from the table to follow him. He wasn't letting this go so easily. William walked through the house toward the stairs in the foyeur without even so much as a glance backwards. With narrowed eyes and gritted teeth, Grell reached out to turn him around before he could climb the steps. William didn't make a move to pull his arm free, he simply stared down at Grell with the ever-monotonous demeanor he always had, and somehow that just irked the redhead further. Grell opened his mouth to say something, anything, but it was lost on him.
Noting that Grell didn't seem like he knew what to say, William took the opportunity to speak instead. "Have your things out before my shift ends tomorrow."
Grell stared at him, completely dumbfounded. "You can't be serious." The look Will gave him said otherwise; he was entirely serious. "It was an invasion of privacy and for that I'm sorry, but you shouldn't have that, Will! There are reasons why they're kept locked away."
"I'm well aware that I should not have it," William pointed out and shrugged Grell's hand off of his arm. "After you murder several women and break into my home, it seems a bit out of place that you should try to patronize me about rules."
Grell let his arm fall back to his side, completely at a loss. Several moments passed as he tried to process the situation, and after a while his failure to verbalize his thoughts made him livid. "So what, then, you're just going to kick a lady out? What am I supposed to do now?"
William's carefully placed patience was starting to break. "I was unaware I was dealing with a lady," he said, noting the growing fire in Grell's narrowed eyes. "Perhaps you should return to that demon, since you seemed more than comfortable throwing yourself at him before. Regardless of what you do, though, what happens to you is no longer my problem and I don't care-"
His sentence was ended abruptly and it didn't take long for the crescendoing string to settle across his face. Grell had slapped him, hard. William took slow and heavy breaths as he looked to Grell, who seemed as equally astounded by what had happened as he was. The redhead composed himself with grace quickly enough and merely sidestepped to make sure he went upstairs first.
William wasn't entirely sure how long after that it had been when he had convinced himself to go upstairs, or how long after that he'd been standing in front of the closed door to his study. If not for the few muffled noises he could hear from the other side of the door, it was almost quiet enough to assume Grell had fallen asleep He hadn't though, William knew that much, and that left him with his current debate of whether he should walk in or knock on the door to his own study. On one hand, it was his study. On the other hand, walking in unannounced could provoke an already angry Grell.
Letting out a deep breath, William pushed himself away from the wall he'd been leaning on and knocked on the door. A bit of rustling from inside the room, but nothing that sounded close. After bracing himself for something to be thrown, William opened the door slowly so that he still had time to use it as a shield should Grell decide to launch a book at him or something to that ridiculous extent. After reassuring himself that it was fine, William pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped inside.
If Grell had been crying, it was only made obvious from the light redness around his eyes. He sat curled up on the settee, hugging his knees tight against his chest. It made him look impossibly small, and William found himself staring for a moment since this was the first time he'd ever seen the other man look so fragile. His eyes trailed away, focusing on the tome at the other end of the settee, his own life's record. He moved to pick it up off the cushion so he could sit down, letting the book rest on his lap. He could practically feel Grell watching him, analyzing his movements and mentally rehearsing murder plots.
"She was my sister," he said, breaking the silence. He opened the record in no particular place and idly flipped through pages.
The weight on the cushions shifted as Grell curled tighter around himself, studying William's expression as the other man flipped through page after page. It held its perpetual sobriety, but there was something wistful there. The only true difference, though, was the lingering color and light scratch against his cheek where Grell had struck him. A fleeting guilt washed over him, but only for a moment. He hadn't necessarily meant to hit William, but that didn't mean that the man hadn't deserved it.
The sound of sliding pages stopped, and Grell's gaze lowered to the record and then back up again. The redhead moved around a bit so that his legs were tucked underneath him and he was leaning forward ever so slightly to read whatever William was so fixated on. The other reaper seemed to notice the change in position, as he moved the book off of his lap and onto the cushion between them. Grell looked at him with caution and waited for a second before pulling the book toward himself and letting his eyes wander the pages.
A tale of murder, though the book hadn't indicated Will's part. The record described a young girl named Mary, perhaps five or six years old. It would be more correct to say that she had been a young girl at some point; in this, she was nothing but organs and limbs strewn about a child's bedroom. Blood had stained the floor, the walls, the ceiling; the carnage on the windows was so thick and viscous that what light shone in from outdoors was painted a deep crimson. In the center of the room, sitting in a pool of blood and viscera, and clutching what was still intact of the child, was Abigail. And in the threshold of the door, William T. Spears.
"Who was she?" Grell asked quietly, fingers tracing under the words as he read them.
"My niece," he answered. William sat forward slightly with his elbows on his knees, hands clasping together in need of something to do. "After the death of her husband, Abigail fell into this.. illness. She couldn't look at her daughter any longer."
Grell's eyes shot up at that, not only at the tragedy of a mother's despair, but at the blatant honesty William was showing him. Grell highly doubted that William had ever outright lied to him before, even in all the years they'd known each other. However, whenever Grell asked a question he would typically get a direct answer - quick, effective, to the point, and just like William to be such. He never offered up more information than absolutely necessary, yet here he was, willingly offering up details of his life that had been long forgotten, consigned to oblivion the day he was stripped of mortality and became a reaper.
The record was closed quietly and Grell placed it between Will and himself, disregarding it in favor of leaning sideways against the back of the seat. William followed suit after a moment, leaning back and letting his head rest against the back of the settee with his eyes cast to the ceiling. Grell's own remained on the other man, two-toned eyes focusing on the light scratch that still remained.
"I'm sorry, Will," he apologized. William let his head roll along the back of the settee to look at the other. Their eyes met, and Grell immediately turned his gaze down to his lap.
They were quiet for a long while, Grell's apology lingering in the air as both of them considered his words. William didn't know exactly what Grell was apologizing for, given that there were so many incidents that warranted one. And if the way Grell refused to meet his eyes was any indication, it could safely be assumed that even he didn't know what the apology was for, but it didn't matter. He'd known the other man long enough to know when he meant something and when he didn't, and Grell was truly not one to apologize even when he was in the wrong.
That in mind, William let out a heavy breath and pushed himself from the settee, speaking over his shoulder as he walked to the door. "Expect a longer talk about this tomorrow."
Grell's head snapped up. "You're letting me stay?" He was answered with silence, and if it had been anyone other than William, Grell would have taken it as a bad sign. But if he was still being thrown out, he knew William had absolutely no qualms about saying so. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips in a silent gratitude as William left the room, closing the door with the soft sound of a latch.
He was letting Grell stay.
Really, what on Earth was he thinking?
