First Cut

I hope Grell doesn't come off as too desperate or clingy. I just think he would feel threatened even if a biological female wasn't specifically "moving in on his territory" but was on his territory so to speak. I have to say, I realize how some of my dialog can be considered to have a double meaning, and I have to say I'm finding it a little funny myself.

Chapter 3

William had taken Annabelle with him twice more on his reaping jobs that week. He felt incredibly satisfied that she was nothing like the outrageous Grell or the somewhat child-like Ronald. She was ready to get in, get her job done, and go about the next one. She loathed overtime.

Why, she reminded William a little of himself.

His final task of the week was an elderly man who lived alone in a small house that was nearly falling apart. Due to the man's age and location, he planned to assign the task of collecting his soul to Annabelle, feeling she could handle an easy task such as that.

He left his office that afternoon, the folder of their target under his arm. Annabelle, he knew, would most likely be typing up the next week's death lists with the other typists. Before he could even reach the elevator banks, the sound of heels clicking and a flirtatious "William~!" reached his ears.

He scowled, exhaled loudly from his nose and turned to face Grell. "Grell, I need to leave. What do you need that no one else can assist you with?"

Grell's yellow eyes flicked to the profile tucked under William's arm and then up to his face. He chuckled softly and linked his arm with William's. "Excellent, I'll join you! I finished my list for the week so I'm free as can be."

With a hardly audible sigh, William used his death scythe to nudge the red-clothed reaper away from him. "I plan to take Annabelle with me."

"Why?" Grell demanded. "I'm much more experienced than she is!"

Fully freeing himself from Grell's grasp, William straightened his glasses and headed towards the elevator banks. After he stepped inside the first one available, he looked back and caught Grell sulking like a small child, pouting with his arms crossed over his chest.

Before William could make a smart remark, the doors shut and he was alone until he reached the first floor. Ronald and a woman William recognized as being from General Affairs approached him on their way out.

"Going for your protege?" Ronald asked with a wink. William frowned at him but gave no response as he brushed past them and down the long hallway, following the sounds of typewriters clacking loudly.

Annabelle was primly seated in her chair, the third closest to the door. She finished what she was typing and gingerly removed the papers, careful not to smudge them. A frown formed at her mouth as she glanced at her ink-stained fingertips. With a sigh, she removed the spent ink ribbon from the typewriter and pulled out a fresh one. Before she could change ribbons and start again, William tapped her on the shoulder with his death scythe.

"Hmm?" She glanced over her shoulders, offering a small smile to William as she spotted him still at the door. She held up one finger and grabbed a scrap of paper, taking the time to write a note to her superior, who knew she had Bartholomew Daniels' permission to leave with William. The note went on top of the lists and profiles she had completed and was placed in the Out tray on her desk.

The two did not speak until they were on the way to 131 Chester Street. "Do you think you can handle this?" William asked, handing the profile of Edward Benning to her.

"Me?" she asked, tucking the folder under her elbow as she removed her black gloves from her pocket and put them on. When he nodded, she asked, "Do you really think I should? I would hate to do something wrong and get you in any sort of trouble."

William actually found himself laughing at that. "Bartholomew knows you are with me. If there is any trouble, he will certainly understand. But," he added, "I think you can handle this. You're more capable than you realize." He pulled the short wooden wand from inside his suit, the retractable blade coming out as he did. With a flick of his wrist, the blade went back into the handle and he handed the trainer scythe to her.

"He is an old man," William continued, "and as we do not have to wait for chance to happen, it will be quick."

"I've only seen you collect three souls."

William raised his hand to shush her uncertainty. "You can do this."

She bit her lip but said nothing more as the two found themselves in front of a small house. The shutters were falling off, the windows were stained and dirty. A pot holding an unidentifiable plant sat cracked on the sagging front steps. William put his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed Annabelle towards the steps.

The porch creaked and groaned under their weight as they peered inside. The inside of the little house was not much better than the outside. It appeared to only have the one room. Dishes were stacked inside a wooden tub, ready to be cleaned. Clothing hung from a line strung from one wall across to the other. A bedroll was placed near the small fireplace and Edward Benning himself was fast asleep in a sagging chair, a black and white cat curled up on his lap.

Annabelle looked at William, her face unsure. He nodded, taking the papers from her. She nodded herself, almost to reassure herself that William was right. She gripped the scythe in her hand and placed her other on the doorknob.

Despite the state of the house, the door opened soundlessly. It shut behind them without waking the man or his cat.

"Do I need to wake him?" she whispered. William shook his head.

The cat chose that moment to stretch and yawn. At the sight of the Shinigami, her back arched and she began to hiss.

"Now, now..." her owner mumbled sleepily, stroking her back. She hissed again and leaped from her comfortable place and hide under a small stool, her tail twitching this way and that.

The sound of the blade coming from the small wooden rod sounded louder than it should have. With one last glance at William, Annabelle made a slash with it across Edward's chest. Reels of film wrapped around the blade. The two of them were treated to the sights of Edward as an infant, a child, a happy young man on his wedding day. Several years of wedded bliss were cut off by a horseback riding accident. Edward seemed to stay alone the rest of his life, devoting his time to work, friends, and a stray cat or two.

"Edward Benning, age sixty-three. White haired, green eyes, youngest of three children. Mother was a duchess who married a commoner. Married but lost his wife at age thirty-one. Today is June 20th, 1889. No further notes." William stamped the file Complete and turned his attention to Annabelle. "You see?" he added, shutting the folder with finality.

She smiled fainted and touched her hand to his. "Thank you," she said softly, "I really appreciate this."

He nodded. "I will certainly tell Bartholomew myself how well you handled this."

"It was easy," she told him, "don't make me sound like a hero or anything."

As they left, a black and white streak shot across the room and out the door, knocking the plant over. The sound of the pot shattering caused Annabelle to wince, but she quickly regained her composure. The two spoke no more as they returned to the office.

The two went their separate ways once they arrived. Annabelle went back to her typewriter to type her letter of reflection. William would type his after he had words with Bartholomew Daniels.

Bartholomew was in his office, reading over reports from the several Shinigami that answered to him. He glanced up at William's knock and called, "Come in. Ah, William," he said, rising to greet him. "Anything wrong?"

William handed the folder to Bartholomew. "I wanted to tell you I allowed Annabelle Sims to handle this case personally. I felt it would be an easy task for her. She did very well. We had no issues, save for a hissing cat."

Bartholomew took the papers from William and nodded. "That was a wise decision William. I knew you would keep a watchful eye over her and that she would give you no trouble." He laughed. "It's a welcome change isn't it?"

"Quite. Would you answer one thing for me, though?" Bartholomew, a curious expression on his face, nodded. "Why is she a typist?"

With a shrug, William was told, "You'll have to ask her that yourself." William nodded, making a note to do that as soon as he had the chance.