It started out as a really swell day. Ronald started to react to his alarm clock, recalled that he had the day off and snuggled back under the blankets with a happy sigh. He had a date tonight; a date with the Undertaker. He never would have picked the Mortician as someone that could make him so giddy, but life was funny sometimes. He drifted back off to sleep, and his dreams were full of long silver hair, pale-lashed Shinigami eyes and an infectious laugh.

Then he woke up much, much later and he realized he'd slept the day away.

Upon seeing that it was after four, he cursed, sprained his toe jumping out of bed and hit his head on the medicine cabinet in his bathroom when he went to brush his teeth. Smarting in two places and sporting a little red mark on his forehead, the young reaper got into the shower. He managed to scald himself, forgetting how quickly the water heated up in his flat. Yelps and curses filled the bathroom as Ronald adjusted the water temperature, and his skin was quite red when he finished up and got out.

He managed to get his hair dried and styled without suffering any major catastrophes, picked out a nice outfit without finding any stains or tears, and got his shoes and socks on with only minor trouble from his smarting toe. By the time he'd finished inspecting himself in the full-length mirror on his closet wall, both his toe and his head were healed up. He called up the Undertaker to be sure he hadn't forgotten about their date and to check on his progress with his latest "client".

"South London Mortuary," said the mortician's scratchy, broken voice on the other line.

Ronald grinned, knowing how different that voice could sound when its owner dropped the "creepy old man" routine. "Hey, guess who."

Undertaker's voice changed, becoming smoother and deeper—and giving Ronald a pleasant little tingle in the process. "Ah, Mr. Knox. I was beginning to think you'd bow out."

"Not a chance," replied the blond, checking his watch. "So how's the stiff going?"

There was a faint chuckle on the other end. "Fine, just fine, thank you. In fact, she's just about ready to be collected. You could come over at any time...if you like."

The hesitation and softening of his voice at the end of the last sentence wasn't lost on Ronald. "Of course, 'I like'. I'll stop by the pub and get our dinner on the way. I wrote down what you said ya like."

"Very kind of you," answered the older reaper. "I look forward to it, love."

"Me too. See ya in a while!" Ronald hung up the phone and he whistled a tune. The day started off a little rocky with his klutz attack, but it was looking up again.

~xox~

"Okay...Reuben? Check. Fried pickles? Check. Ham and Swiss on rye? Check. Chips? Check." Ronald went through the wrapped items to ensure it was all there, before putting them carefully back into the cloth sack. Most London pubs didn't offer food to go, but the Undertaker was a regular here and all Ronald had to do was mention his name to convince the pub owners to wrap up the meal for him. He made sure the other sack had the bottles he'd asked for and he smiled and winked at the young woman behind the counter. "All right, what's the damage?"

She was blushing shyly at him, and she appeared confused. "Damage, sir?"

Remembering where he was at, he tried it again without the slang. "How much is the bill?" He pulled out his coin purse, where he kept all of his British money.

"Oh! That'll be three shillings, eight pence, sir."

Ronald counted out the coins and handed them to her, and because she was pretty and it was simply habitual, he added another pence as a tip. "Hey, thanks a lot. Nice place you've got here."

She thanked him, watching with that maidenly blush as he went out the door.

The Dispatch agent was practically skipping with eagerness. He had good food, good liquor and a hot date. Spears-Senpai had warned him not to go out partying when he supposed to be taking the day off to rest, but it wasn't like he'd be going out, out. He was just spending a quiet evening in a mortuary, having dinner and hanging out with a guy he never thought he'd look twice at. That alone made him want to laugh, and he could just imagine the look on William's face if he found out.

He was so distracted that he didn't notice he was being followed. He took a shortcut down an alley, and that was when he heard a voice that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Reaper."

Ronald stopped and turned, his groceries clutched in his arms. A well-dressed gentleman who was probably as tall as the Undertaker was approaching him. He wore a top-hat and he had a cane. Ronald saw the glint of a crimson glow in his eyes—narrow eyes set in a pale, angular face. His first thought was that it was that Phantomhive kid's butler, but then the stranger tipped his hat up and glared at him with malice.

His day rapidly went downhill from that point on.

~xox~

The mortician checked the old Swiss clock hanging on the wall of his ship again, for perhaps the third time since the young agent contacted him. Ronald should have been there an hour ago, and he hadn't phoned to say he would be late. He recalled hearing Spears complain before that Ronald wasn't the most punctual lad, so he tried not to jump to conclusions. Nobody had ever pursued him with so much tenacity before—at least, not after his retirement. It then stood to reason that the boy wasn't going to stand him up...unless he was trying to pay him back for the hurt he'd given him after their first encounter together.

"Don't think that way, old chap," admonished the ancient to himself. But then, Ronald was a self-admitted "player", and Undertaker had once been one himself, if he wasn't mistaking the meaning of the term. Such a lifestyle could eventually lead to very bad repercussions, no matter how innocently one thought they pursued romance. Especially when one finally fell for someone, only to find they were...

His hand went to the scar around his neck, and a painful memory rushed to the surface again. The look on his face...he had wanted to kill him. Nearly did, in fact. It took almost a year for the injuries from that confrontation to heal. Once they did, he could no longer look at his fellow reapers or the organization they worked for the same way again, and that was when he put down the glasses for good and said his goodbyes. What a wretched thing he'd become. Scars on his body...scars on his soul.

Rather than wallow in self-pity, he'd found a trade he enjoyed and he learned to become someone else...someone that barely resembled the reaper he once was. Indeed, he even began to forget the reaper he once was, as the years dragged on. That was fine by him, because remembering his past meant remembering the worst parts of it along with the best, and the bad memories hurt too much.

"And yet here I am feeling sorry for myself, all over again." The mortician shook his head and chuckled. "Thought I learned my lesson about that."

His sharp ears picked up on the sound of someone stumbling against his door outside, and he perked up. Ronald said he would pick up their dinner, so perhaps his arms were full and he was struggling with the doorknob. Berating himself for being so eager even as he hurried to the door to help, Undertaker pulled it open to find a shocking sight before him.

Ronald Knox stood there on wobbly legs, with a torn, dripping grocer bag in one hand and a rather misshapen looking one in the other. His hair was mussed and sticking out in places like someone had grabbed handfuls of it in a struggle. One eye was swelling shut rapidly, his bottom lip was fat, torn and bleeding, and he appeared to have multiple lacerations all over him. The right leg of his brown trousers was ripped from knee to ankle and wet with blood. His left shoe was missing and it looked like his sock was about to come off, flopping limply from the toes like a dead fish as he tried to take a step forward.

Despite the sorry state he was in, the boy gave a lopsided, bloodied smile and lifted one of the bags like a trophy. "I brought...dinner," he announced, and then he started to fall forward.

Undertaker caught him before he could hit the floor, snapping out of his surprise just in time. The stubborn lad didn't let go of the bags in his hands, even as he passed out. Undertaker heard broken glass crunching together in one of them, and when the smell of alcohol reached him, he understood why the bag was torn. He pushed it aside and he gently rolled his companion onto his back, cradling his upper body.

"What in the name of Death happened to you, boy?" whispered the ancient.

No reaper did this—at least, not with a death scythe. Some of the cuts were already healing, but others appeared to be festering. The mortician scraped a long nail over one of the deeper cuts, collecting some of the puss to examine it more closely. He brought it to his nose and sniffed, making a face at the sour smell of it. The marks on Ronnie's body looked like claw marks.

"Demon," guessed the Undertaker. Shinigami and demons naturally didn't get along. He lifted Ronald carefully into his arms and got to his feet with him, shutting the door with a booted foot and nudging the hatch lock shut. He somehow managed to wrangle the deadbolt into place without dropping his passenger in the process, and he took him to the back to see to his injuries.

~xox~

"N-no...th' fire's too hot," complained Ronald dazedly. His joints ached and he was suddenly treated to a burning hot pain in his leg. He screamed and thrashed, feeling like his body was on fire.

"Easy now," soothed a familiar masculine voice. "So sorry for that my dear, but it had to be done. I was hoping you'd stay konked for it."

"'Taker?" His throat was parched and he could taste the tinny blood in his mouth.

"That's right. Here, sip this."

Something cool and smooth was pressed to his lips, and a hand cradled his head to lift it a bit. He tasted cool water against his lips and he drank a couple of sips, his throat aching with the swallowing motions even as his parched mouth was thankful for the moisture. The container was taken away and the hand eased his head back down, stroking his hair soothingly before retreating again. He was lying on something hard, and there was a pillow beneath his head. Ronald tried to open his eyes, and he found the left one wouldn't comply. He groaned and tried to bring the retired reaper's face into focus.

Undertaker was hovering over him, hatless, and it seemed he'd pulled his hair back into a ponytail to keep it out of the way. It came as some surprise to Ronald that the Undertaker was wearing a pair of wire-framed glasses, and he blinked his good eye in confusion, even as he admired the way he looked in them. The light in the room was blessedly dim, affording just enough illumination for him to make out his love interest's pale features.

"Thought ya...gave up your glasses?" he mumbled groggily.

Undertaker glanced up at him from his task of spreading some sort of salve over some bandaging, his eyes glinting over the top of the spectacle frames. "Mm? Oh, these are human manufactured. They can only go so far to correct Shinigami vision, of course, but they do assist enough to make delicate tasks a bit easier. Now brace yourself, love. It's going to sting when I apply this wrapping to your leg. Sorry."

Ronald parted his lips to ask a question, but it flew out of his mind as the mortician grasped his right calf with one hand and pressed the salved strip of bandage over the gash in it with the other. Ronald cried out, tossing his head as a fresh bout of agony scalded him from calf to crotch. He half-twisted his body and punched the pillow his head was resting on. Undertaker held his calf firmly, preventing him from yanking it away. He worked quickly and efficiently, wrapping more bandaging around the one he had applied to secure the poultice over the wound.

"Try to be still, agent," instructed the ancient, his mannerism clinical and detached as he worked. "We're nearly done with this part."

Trembling, Ronald bit his knuckle and did his best to comply. The pain eased to a more bearable level when his companion finished wrapping the calf, and he was able to draw a shaken breath. Undertaker retreated again, and Ronald rolled onto his back again, trying to lift his head and see what he was doing. "What...happened?"

Undertaker was measuring out something in a syringe, holding it and the little bottle up to the light. He kept his eyes on his task as he murmured: "I was hoping you could tell me. You showed up at my door looking like a tomcat that had just fought off a bulldog."

Undertaker dropped his clinical mannerisms for a moment, smirking at him sidelong as he withdrew the needle from the medicine bottle and replaced the cap on the latter. "Tough little kitty, aren't you?"

"I don't go down easy," agreed the blond. Speech was coming easier to him, now that the cut in his lip was closing and the swelling was going down. He dropped his head back down on the pillow with a groan, turning it gingerly to have a look around. "Hey, are we in your basement? You're not thinking of turning me into a doll, are ya?"

"Don't be silly," chuckled the ancient. "I've put that life behind me, and you would need to be dead to become a dolly. Besides, I doubt the process would work on a reaper." He approached with the syringe in hand.

"What's that?" asked Ronald warily.

"Antibiotics," answered the Undertaker. "Specifically developed for Shinigami, to treat infections caused by demon venom. Not to worry; I'll give you something to ease the pain and lower your fever after this, and then we can discuss what happened to you. Or you can begin telling me right now if you like; because the pain medication is going to make you sleepy."

"Oh. How do you know it was a demon that got me?" Ronald looked up at him curiously, his wariness fading. If the man wanted to do him harm, he would have done so by now and the worst of his pains were already fading.

The mortician smirked. "I've seen my fair share of demon attacks in my day, chap. One of my top fields of study back in the day was reaper and demon anatomy, along with Shinigami medicine. I wanted to be a physician, but they found my skills in reaping more valuable. Dispatch already had plenty of medical staff, and not enough collection agents. So they assigned me to that department instead."

It made sense to Ronald, and it did explain a few things about Undertaker's love of medicine and science. It seemed important that this recluse had shared such a personal thing with him, and he smiled. "Dr. Undertaker. That'd be cool. I know I'd go to you."

"Ah, but then we couldn't date," pointed out the mortician with a grin. "Conflict of interests, you see. Now roll over onto your side, so that I can administer this."

Realizing he intended to stick him in the butt, Ronald became aware that he was in nothing but his boxers—save the bandages dressing his torso, arms and legs. "Uh, couldn't ya just stick me in the arm or something?"

Undertaker gave a pointed glance at the bandaged limbs. "I could try, but that wouldn't be a very productive way to do it, seeing as the needle would have to pierce layers of wrapping and I can't see where the injuries are. It would also contaminate the needle. Trust me, this way is much better."

"Oh." Ronald blushed. "Yeah, I see your 'point'."

The mortician tilted his head and smiled. "Bashful now? After how you made your interest known to me, now you're shy?"

"Well, it's different when we're fooling around," excused the blond. All the sudden he was the shy one and Undertaker was the confident one.

"Come now, I'll admire your bum later," insisted the ancient. He set the needle on a try by the stool he was sitting on and he procured a cotton ball from a jar, before dampening it with a bottle marked: "Witch hazel Extract". He held up the cotton ball and raised a brow. "Go on, then, roll over a bit for me."

Ronald sighed and struggled onto his side, facing away from the older man. He kept it to himself that he was kind of a baby when it came to needles. He could suck it up with punches, kicks, cuts and abrasions, but needles freaked him out a little. He closed his eyes tightly as the Undertaker pulled his boxers down to expose his right hip and buttock, blushing again in embarrassment. He jumped a little when he felt the cold astringent being rubbed on the side of his butt cheek, and he squeezed the pillow in anticipation.

It was over before he knew it. He felt rubber-encased fingers pinch the spot firmly, followed by a brief sting that lasted for all of two heartbeats. His boxers were tugged back up and he heard something get dropped onto the tray. He turned his head to look over his bandaged shoulder at his benefactor. "That's it?"

The mortician smiled and nodded. "Indeed. Now, why don't you tell me what happened, while I prepare your pain medication?"

Ronald sighed, relieved to have that part over with. He squirmed onto his back and looked up at the drab, cobwebbed ceiling, trying to remember everything. "I was heading here with dinner and I went to take a short-cut. Some guy followed me and called me out halfway down an alley-way. Turned out he was a demon...and he was really pissed off about something. He came at me and I barely got the chance to put the groceries down before he slammed me into the wall. Managed to get my death scythe out, but he had me pinned and he was already tearing into me."

Undertaker nodded, rummaging through his supplies for the medication he wanted. "And you didn't sense his presence before he attacked? I thought you were better trained than that, Ronnie."

"Well, my mind was on other things," excused the blond. "You're a pretty distracting guy."

Undertaker chuckled. He began to measure a dose of medication with a different syringe than the one he'd used before. "Did he say anything, or was this simply a random attack?"

"Well, he knew I was a reaper. At first I thought he was just mad because I was on his 'turf', but then he said something about me 'making advances' on his mistress."

The ancient frowned and glanced at him. "This fellow didn't happen have had a black cane on his person, did he?"

Ron nodded, wincing as the motion made his stiff neck throb. "Yeah, that's right. Tall...pale...black hair. Thought he was Michaelis at first, but then I got a look at his face. Never saw him before."

"And he said that you were making advances on his mistress," mused Undertaker. "Tell me, when you picked up our dinner, did you happen to flirt with a pretty young lady with brown curls and hazel eyes? She'd be one of the barmaids."

Ronald winced. "Yeah, that sounds like the girl that sold me the stuff. I don't think I was flirting...much...but I gave her a little tip. Didn't know she had a demon boyfriend that'd get so hostile over it. Man, all I did was smile at her...maybe I winked. It's kind of impulsive. I don't even realize I do it half the time. You know them?"

"Indeed I do," answered the mortician with a nod. "I am a regular there, after all. That would be Miss Betsy and her butler, Reginald. He's rather a jealous sort...doesn't much care for men that might distract her attention away from him."

"B-but all I did was smile and tip her," sputtered Ronald. "Jeez, how insecure can a guy be?"

"In Reggie's case? Very. I'm afraid he's not so stoic as our friend Sebastian. The contract between him and his mistress is still fresh...tenuous. He doesn't want her slipping from his grasp before he's finished plumping her up, and given the demise of her twin, he probably sees all men that show an interest in her as a potential threat. Other cheek, please."

This time Ronald didn't argue. He painfully rolled onto his other side as the mortician circled around the table with a freshly dabbed cotton-ball and the new syringe. "What happened to her sister?"

Undertaker tugged his underwear down again and prepared his other buttock for the shot. "Raped and murdered before her sister's eyes. I could feel her death agony from here, and the demon...well, he sensed Betsy's emotional agony and fear. He showed up before they got around to doing her in the same way—not to 'save' her, mind, but to give himself the opportunity for a contract. He wouldn't have had much time to devour her soul before Dispatch came to collect her sister's records. As you know, Shinigami don't usually interfere with demonic contracts. It's the best way for a demon to procure a meal without having to fight a reaper over it."

Ronald already knew as much, but he still found Betsy's story fascinating. "How do you know all this? I mean about that girl and her pet demon?" He winced a little as the shot went in, but like before, it was over with quickly.

Undertaker straightened Ronald's boxers again before returning to his stool and putting the used syringe next to its mate. He pulled his gloves off and dropped them in a bucket as the agent rolled onto his back again. "As I said; I sensed her sister's death. I can't always predict mortal death coming seeing as I no longer have access to the death lists, but I can feel it when it happens, nonetheless. I arrived in time to see him finishing off the assailants, and by then the contract was already sealed. Nothing I could have done, even if I'd wanted to."

"But you tried to interfere with that Phantomhive kid's contract," reasoned the blond. "Why him, and not her? Was it just because you've been his family's informant for so long?"

"Partly."

He didn't elaborate further than that, and Ronald didn't push him for more information. He was already beginning to feel the effects of the drugs he'd been given, and he yawned as a pleasant warmth spread through him, chasing away the pain. "Will I have scars from this?"

"No," assured the mortician. "The damage from the claws will take longer than normal injuries to heal, but they will heal without leaving marks, with time."

"That's good." Ronald saw the older reaper look away pensively, and he realized how that must have sounded. "Not that all scars are bad. I mean, I like yours."

Undertaker looked at him again, his expressive eyes faintly wistful. "Do you?"

"If I didn't, I wouldn't have gone through so much trouble for a date with you." Ronald smirked...or tried to. His lips were starting to feel a little numb like the rest of him. "Did...did any of the stuff...make it?" He started to yawn again.

"What 'stuff' do you mean, love?"

"Th' food," mumbled the boy sleepily.

A hand stroked his hair soothingly. "I'm afraid not, my dear, but that's okay."

"Damn." Ronald blinked, fighting to stay awake. "Sorry I ruined our date."

"You did nothing wrong," assured the ancient. "Perhaps we can try again another time, when you've recovered."

Ronald nodded, his eyes slipping shut again. "I'd like that. Tried to save th' food for ya, but I think I fell on it at one point. All smushed."

The Undertaker chuckled. "Not to worry. My pantry is stocked, so I won't be going hungry. Just rest now."

"Did...th' alcohol at lease...make it?"

"Not so much. I can pick some up on my next allotted day out, though. It's fine, Ronnie."

Ronald grumbled in annoyance. "Stupid...demon."

He lost consciousness after that, drifting off to sleep.

~xox~

Undertaker gazed down at the Dispatch agent on his table, and he scooted closer to hover over him. "What a determined thing you are," he whispered.

The silly lad had prioritized their date over his own health. Even on the verge of collapse, he hadn't let go of those bloody sandwiches and he managed to shuffle his way to his doorstep with them. Foolish of him, but flattering nonetheless.

In fact, now that he knew who was responsible for doing this to him, he felt inclined to ensure a second transgression against Ronald would not happen. First though, he needed to get the boy to his own people so that they could see to it he got plenty of rest and care. They would begin searching for him if Undertaker kept him here without informing them, and they were likely to draw the wrong conclusions if they discovered him in this condition in his shop.

The ancient stared at his sleeping guest for a moment, before acting on impulse and lowering his mouth to the dry, parted lips. He kissed them briefly before straightening up again, allowing one small liberty for himself. "I'm not worth it, you know," he murmured to the slumbering agent, "but I'm touched."

He left the basement and went upstairs to his shop to use the phone. Sitting down at his desk, he transformed the calling device's rotary from mortal numerals to glowing, Shinigami ones, and he dialed Dispatch.

"Hi, hi," he greeted in his usual half-morbid, half-clownish voice. "Undertaker, here. I've got a stray for you chaps to come pick up. He's a bit under the weather now, but I've patched him up for you."

~xox~

William arrived with the medics to collect Ronald from the Undertaker's shop, and he spoke with the mortician as they went downstairs to transfer him to a stretcher and carry him out. "How did Agent Knox end up here, at your shop?"

Undertaker shrugged and grinned, spreading his hands. He was once more in his customary attire, complete with top-hat and void of glasses or ponytail. "He walked, I imagine...or stumbled. All I know is I heard him shuffling around outside and when I opened the door to look, he fell in flat on his face. He had this in his hand."

He offered the grocer sack to William—minus half the order. "My guess is the boy went out for a bite to take home and he got jumped on the way."

"By a demon," mused William as he checked the crushed product within. He knew that Ronald liked mortal pub food, so it wasn't beyond reason that he'd slipped over to this realm to procure some for dinner. "Interesting. Did he tell you if this creature had a motive beyond hatred for reapers?"

"Since when has a demon ever needed a motive to attack a reaper?" Undertaker chuckled dryly. "But the boy did say he mentioned something about him making advances on his contracted lady. Mr. Knox seemed genuinely confused by that, so it's just as likely he only opened a door or something for the girl and the demon took it the wrong way. Said he'd never seen the fellow before and he didn't get much chance to defend himself before he started chomping into him."

"I see." William wrote it down in his notebook. "Strange that he would come to you for aid before returning to his own dimension to seek ours."

"Maybe the lad was too weakened from his injuries to portal out," suggested Undertaker. "He was in quite a state when he arrived. Must have only happened a few blocks away."

"Yes, I've already sent agents to investigate the traces of demon taint in the area." William glanced up from his notes. "Is there anything else you can share with us about this incident, sir?"

Undertaker shook his head. "Nothing springs to mind, chap. Oh, there is one thing." He held up a bone-pale finger and dug into his robes, producing a folded note. "I've written down everything I've done to treat him. Might want to pass that on to your medics for their records. I'm sure they can handle the rest."

William took the slip of paper and opened it, scanning the scrawling text briefly before putting it into his pocket. He closed his notebook and gave the mortician a respectful nod. "You have our thanks."

The medic team was now coming out from the back part of the building, where the Undertaker's living quarters and underground lab entrance were located. Ronald was completely out of commission, snoring softly and oblivious to all around him. William checked his pocket watch with a frown. "Well then, we should be off. I shall pass this information on to our medical staff upon arrival at the hospital. Have a good evening, sir."

Undertaker nodded and stood aside while they activated a portal large enough to take them all through to the middle realm. Just as William was about to follow them through, the ancient spoke.

"Be a dear and keep me informed on his condition, would you? I rather like the cheeky lil' fellow."

William paused and looked over his shoulder at him. "Heavens, he has even managed to charm you. Rest assured, we'll be in touch. Dispatch may have further questions for you, once Knox has been debriefed on his experience. Good day, sir."

The Dispatch supervisor stepped through the portal and left the mortal world behind.

~xox~

It began as a knock on the door. It was a soft, subtle knock...slow and deliberate like a steady heartbeat. It gradually picked up in volume, but not speed. The young woman awoke from disturbing dreams about leering men, screaming and blood, her heart pounding much faster than the slow, steady knocks.

"Reginald—"

"I am here," assured the demon, his tall, dark form standing beside the bedroom door.

The knocking grew louder. The door began to rattle on its hinges from the force of it.

"Wh-who is that?" she demanded, clutching her bedding to her bosom.

The demon's eyes narrowed, glittering crimson in the darkness. "Someone who is going to be very sorry for calling on you, rest assured. Stay here, young mistress. I shall deal with this."

She nodded, watching with wide eyes as he left the bedroom. She could just see the edge of the entryway door from her vantage point. It wasn't a large house. Her guardian approached with even, unhurried footsteps and just as he was about to turn the lock to open it and chase off whoever was on the other side, it buckled inward and split open. She screamed as a glinting, crescent blade broke through the door, cutting it in half from the top up. Reginald backed up, throwing his hands up to shield his face.

Terribly frightened but also terribly curious, Betsy crawled forward on her bed to see better. A high-heeled black boot with a pointed, upwards curling toe stepped through the broken doorway, setting down lightly on the polished wooden floor with nary a whisper of sound. Another soon followed and a man stood there at the threshold, his long silver hair flowing down his shoulders and back. He wore dark clothes and a top-hat, and his lips bore a toothy grin.

"Th-the Undertaker?" the barmaid whispered, recognizing him from the many times he'd visited the pub she worked at in the past.

The mortician was looking at Reginald, and in his grasping hand he held a huge, formidable scythe the likes of which she'd never seen. It was grimly beautiful, with a skull bearing a crown of thorns crowning the blade.

"Evening," greeted the eccentric funeral director. "Sorry to come at such a late hour, but you've been a very naughty bat, Reggie. Time for a spanking."

~xox~

Ronald woke again with a groan. He sensed someone standing by his bedside and he recognized the scent of the perfume. "S-Senpai? Grell, that you?"

"Of course, it's me," answered the crimson reaper. "Who else would have such fabulous taste in clothes?"

Ronald opened his eyes to look up at him, wincing against the light. At least he could open both eyes now, and the pain was down to a minimum. "I'm in th' hospital?"

Grell nodded his crimson head. "Dispatch came and got you as soon as that old fossil called us. Perhaps I shouldn't be so hard on him," he reflected, tapping his chin with a gloved finger. "He did see to your wounds and you might have been much worse off if he hadn't. Still, he threw me through glass and cut my face."

Ronald sat up painfully, revising his opinion that most of the hurt was gone. He now had a hospital gown on over his dressings. "Where is he?"

Grell snorted and waved his hand dismissively. "Back at his shop, of course. Where else would he be...here?"

"No, I guess not. Um, what did he say when they came and got me?"

Grell looked at him sidelong. "He said you were attacked and he found you at his doorstep."

"Did he say why?"

Grell frowned and looked at him full-on. "Why what?"

Ronald reached up gingerly to scratch the back of his head, and he grimaced when a few strands came free. That demon pulled hair like a girl in a cat-fight. "Why I was at his shop."

"Oh, that." Grell shrugged lightly. "He presumed you came to him for help because you couldn't open a portal to get home. Is that what happened, Ronnie?"

It was on the tip of Ronald's tongue to blurt that no, that wasn't what happened, but for whatever reason it seemed the Undertaker chose to keep their date a secret. That was probably a good idea, now that he thought of it. "Yeah, that's how it happened. I knew the old guy had medical knowledge and even though I chased the demon off, I thought maybe he'd try to come back for another try at me. He only got me as good as he did because he sucker-punched me."

Grell smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. "Is that so? Hmm. The Undertaker said that you told him this demon accused you of making untoward advanced to his mistress, when he attacked you." He walked his fingertips up the boy's arm teasingly. "Were you being a tomcat again, Ronnie-Ron?"

Ronald pushed his hand away. "Cut it out, Senpai. I didn't do anything. The only girl I interacted with today was some barmaid a few blocks from the mortuary, and all I did was smile at her and tip her. If some demon thinks that means I was trying to get into her panties, that's his problem."

"Fair enough." Grell left off teasing him. "I've always warned you that you were too charming for your own good, though. He shouldn't have been able to catch you off-guard, at any rate."

"Came out of nowhere," insisted the blond crossly. "I gave as good as I got, once I got over the surprise."

"I'm sure you did, darling...I'm sure you did."

Ronald sat up straighter. "What, you think I'm lying?"

Grell smiled at him. "No, Ronnie-kins, I don't think you're lying. I believe you think you chased him off. Truthfully though, you are still green when it comes to dealing with demons and other supernaturals."

"Huh...like you did any better against the Undertaker...or Sebastian, for that matter."

"Ah, Sebby." Grell put a dramatic hand over his heart and fluttered long eyelashes. "We've both left our marks on each other. Alas, not the sort I would have preferred, but—"

"Senpai, focus," grumbled Ronald. "My point is, I don't think you would have done much better against this guy."

Grell gave him another sharp-toothed smile; this one slightly wicked. "Oh, I would have sensed his approach, at the very least. What had you so distracted, Ronnie? You haven't been acting like yourself at all, lately."

"I guess I just needed a little break," excused Ronald, thinking quickly, "and I was really hungry, too. We aren't supposed to open portals anywhere in human footpaths even if we cloak ourselves, right?"

Grell shrugged. He didn't care much about that rule.

"So I went into the alley to portal home, but then that creep came up behind me and went ballistic."

"All right, darling...so you went to London to pick up some food and you were attacked whilst trying to get home, yes?"

Ronald nodded. "Yeah, that's the gist of it. I hadn't eaten all day, so I guess my mind was just on food."

"I suppose that's a good enough excuse," said Grell thoughtfully. "We have people out searching for this demon now. Did he give you a name, Ronnie?"

Ronald thought hard, trying to recall what Undertaker had said. "Reggie? Wait, it's longer than that..."

"Reginald?" offered Grell.

"Yeah, that's it. I guess the girl's name is Betsy, 'cause he warned me she was his while he was tearing into me." He felt guilty. He wasn't exactly lying to his senpai. Those were the names Undertaker gave to him...he just wasn't telling him the exact source.

"Then I'll put that down in the report," Grell assured him. "In the meantime, my sweet Ronnie, I want you to get plenty of rest and—"

Eric Slingby strode into the hospital room at that moment, interrupting the conversation. "Grell, sorry ta interrupt, but there's a situation an' we need yeh ta—"

"Ooh, you and Alan?" Grell wriggled with delight. "Why Eric, I had no idea the two of you were into ménage à trois!"

The other officer raised his bows. "Gettin' a wee bit desperate, Sutcliff? Summun ought ta buy yeh a blow-up doll. Anyhow, the Undertaker's gone out o' bounds. No' only has he left his shop, but he's three blocks past his allowed travel range. Spears sent me ta' get yeh so we can investigate it."

Eric's Scottish brogue was thick with excitement.

Grell hopped up from his seat on Ronald's bed. "Oh, this is perfect. I have been dying for the chance to cross scythes with that bounder again, and I knew he could only behave himself for so long!"

"Wait, where is he?" Ronald asked as the two older reapers started to go.

"I dinnae ask," answered Slingby. "We'll find out when we get ta tha other side. Feel better, Ron."

Ronald sighed, dropping his hands into his lap as his elders left him alone. "Dammit, Undertaker...what did you do this time? How am I gonna date you if you wind up stuck in prison?"

He supposed there were conjugal arrangements he could make...

~xox~

-To be continued