While Eric was away, Alan was assigned to reap with Grell. He learned that the redhead usually went out on his own to do reapings; a thing which only senior officers were permitted to do these days. Grell didn't seem to mind him joining him on the field, but he warned him to keep up or be left behind.
"I don't have time to indulge your moping," instructed the crimson reaper, "so perk up and stay alert."
"I'm not 'moping'," protested Alan. When Grell raised a brow at him, he sighed. "Much."
Grell smiled sharply at him and checked his watch. Seeing that they had time before their first scheduled reaping of the day, he leaned against the wall of the flower shop they were standing outside of and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Darling, I can hardly blame you for wanting to be at your man's side. Slingby is a treat to the eyes and ears, with that body and that accent of his—no matter how rough others may find it. I for one don't understand why he tries to temper it." He waved a gloved hand. "But I find it more exotic than tedious. Regardless, if you don't learn to stand on your own two feet, that man will run you over."
He smirked at him. "They always do. The moment you show weakness, they take advantage and the next thing you know, you're a fawning nincompoop and they've lost all respect for you."
He frowned, and it became obvious to Alan that he was talking as much about himself and William as he was about he and Eric. "Don't allow that to happen, Humphries. Show him what a strong, capable reaper you can be while he's absent. Love him all you like, but don't define yourself by him. If you lose yourself in him completely then you'll forever be half the Shinigami you could be, and he may just get bored with you."
Alan wanted to say Eric would never do that, but then he thought of how strong and capable the blond was, and he wondered how he could ever stay interested in a partner that couldn't do anything without him at his side. The man had plenty of alternatives to choose from if he ever decided Alan just wasn't cutting it as an ideal partner and lover. He nodded and squared his shoulders. "All right. Maybe you can help me become a bit more…self-confident."
"It isn't truly something I can teach," advised the redhead, "but have no doubt I'll lecture you if I see you slipping into the habits of a weakling."
Alan nodded again, not doubting that in the slightest. Grell had already demonstrated that he had no qualms about picking apart others' performance, and he really didn't seem to care whose feelings he hurt.
~xox~
While his partner tried to adjust to life without him and find his own way as a Dispatch agent, Eric took up residency in reaper Edinburgh. Since his old apartment was now occupied with a new tenant, he had to accept temporary accommodations at the academy, in one of the instructor residencies. It wasn't too bad; smaller than his London apartment but cozy enough for him. He emailed his partner each day, and he called him on weekends to check up on him. Sometimes they chatted all through the night, until the sun was coming up. One night he'd actually tucked Alan into bed over the phone—which was amusing, to say the least. He could tell he was nodding off and he ordered him to climb into bed and go to sleep. He even sang him a Scottish lullaby one Saturday, and when he heard his soft snoring he ended the call with an aching little smile.
Oh, how he wished he could be there to tuck him in personally.
Reaping in Scotland was a bit different from reaping in England. Edinburgh dispatch ran things more casually than London did. As long as assignments were completed by the end of the day and the proper reports were filed, there was no set time limits on collection hand-ins. Uniform standards were looser, as well. Eric didn't have to worry so much about any creases or wrinkles drawing negative attention to him. Most of his fellow Scots didn't even bother wearing ties to work. Some of them even came in wearing kilts rather than pants.
And for the first time ever, he felt out of place in his own country. He worried so much about his English coworkers having trouble understanding his accent, but he found that compared to his countrymen, his had become rather…tame. Even his Gaelic had gotten a bit rusty in his time away, and his associates informed him that he had a slight foreign accent when he spoke the mother tongue.
"So wha's in England tha's sae bloody important?" asked Killian Foster at lunch one day, a couple of weeks after Eric's arrival. "Ye dinnae even want tae go there, when they asked ye tae consider transferring. Now I here ye've moved all yer things there an want tae go back permanently?"
Eric smirked and cut into his sausage. True, he'd been none too thrilled, but it was considered an honor to go to London as a representative of his native dispatch branch. He looked at the ginger reaper sitting across from him and he shrugged. "Mah partner."
Killian's ginger brows shot up. "An English partner? Bah…Jus' say tha word an' I'll be yer partner again…jus' like old times! Ya dun' need some fancy lil' peacock reapin' wi' ya."
"He's no' like tha others," excused Eric. "He's no' stuck up or 'fancy' at all. He's a good reaper wi' a good, compassionate heart."
Killian snorted. "Compassionate? He's in tha wrong career, then."
He then seemed to catch on to the smitten tone of Eric's voice, and he blinked at him. "Oh. Ohhh, he's tha' sort o' partner, then."
Eric chuckled and took a bite of his sausage, nodding.
The ginger sighed. "Figures. Tha only reason I could see ya wantin' tae stay in tha' place fer an English is if they're good in tha sack. Sort o' thought it'd be a woman, though. Ya tend tae chase tha skirts more 'n tha trousers, lad."
Eric smirked. "'round here tha' could go fer anyone." He gave a pointed glance at one of their associates, who was just sitting down to lunch. The brunet was wearing a green and black plaid kilt.
"Kilts aren't skirts," corrected Killian. "But ya knew wha' I meant."
"Aye, I knew wha' ya meant," agreed the blond. He shrugged. "Wha' can I say? Tha lad started out as mah trainee, then when he graduated from academy they assigned him as mah partner. Tha rest just fell intae place by tha end of mah transfer year an' now I want tae stay there wi' him."
The other Scotsman snorted again. "Mus' be really good in tha sack, then."
Eric just smiled and shrugged, forking up some mash.
Killian blinked at him. "Sae he's no' good in tha sack?"
The blond chuckled. "Hasnae gone tha' far yet."
Now the redhead looked astonished. He wiped his mustache off with his napkin and sputtered: "Ye havenae even slept wi' him yet?"
Eric shook his head. "No' tha way ya mean, nah."
Killian muttered something about the gods in Gaelic, before responding in English. "Wha' tha hell have they done tae ya, man? Ya mean tae tell me tha tomcat o' Edinburgh is committed tae a reaper he hasnae even foocked yet?"
Eric glanced around, feeling his face heating as his former partner's exclamation attracted some attention from other reapers in the cafeteria. "Say it a lil' louder," he muttered, "I dun' think tha table at tha back quite heard ya."
Killian obligingly lowered his voice. "Jus' surprises tha shite outta me, is all. I've never known ye tae stick wi' anyone fer long if they weren't givin' ye a little action in tha sack. Has he at least sucked ye off?"
Eric shook his head and took a drink of his root beer. He wasn't about to divulge details about other things Alan had done with him.
"Then how do ya know it's worth tha effort o' tryin' tae get a permanent transfer?" demanded the ginger. "Plenty o' lads an' lasses here would be happy tae see tae yer needs."
Eric forked up more mash. "Basic flesh needs aren't such a big deal tae me anymore…no' after gettin' involved wi' this reaper. I think I'm ready fer somethin' more than tha'."
Killian was staring at him like he's just announced he was having a sex change. Eric chuckled under his breath at the man, amused. "Is tha' so hard tae imagine? Me settlin' down wi' tha right person?"
"Fer ye, aye," said the ginger without missing a beat. "Ne'er though' I'd see tha day ye'd go exclusive…an' wi' an Englishman, of all people. I need tae see wha' this lad looks like. He's go' tae be a cock's dream, tae have ya sae enamored!"
Eric had been around British reapers for so long, he'd almost forgotten how crude his countrymen could be. He laughed and shook his head. Lugh, he'd missed Scottish candor. He swallowed his mash and he dug out his wallet to show his friend the copy of the academy photo of Alan he kept in there. "Here," he offered, turning the wallet around to show him the image tucked safely in the protective plastic of the picture holder insert. "Tha's Alan."
Killian looked at the young man in the picture curiously. He wasn't interested in men himself, but he could tell a looker when he spotted one. He nodded and grinned. "Cute lad. Figures it'd be a pretty boy, tae hold yer attention like this."
Eric smiled at the picture before closing his wallet and tucking it away again. "It's no' jus' his looks. He's a real sweetheart…cute as can be in every way."
"Gods help us," sighed Killian. "Slingby's in love. Tha world's abou' tae end."
The blond chuckled again and speared up a bite of sausage. "Happens tae most reapers, sooner or later. Ya could be next."
"Sae yer no' denying yer in love wi' him?"
Eric shrugged and ate the piece of sausage on his fork. The answer to that question was pretty obvious, as far as he was concerned.
~xox~
Another couple of weeks passed, and though the ache of missing his partner didn't truly fade, it got a bit easier for Alan to distract himself with work. The speed and efficiency of his reaping increased, and the sympathy pangs for his marks decreased as Eric promised they would, over time. He could never imagine himself completely lacking sympathy for the mortals, but he finally stopped having nightmares about every other reaping he did.
He was getting more used to Grell, too. The redhead was even more impulsive than Eric, and he cut into his reaping targets with a zeal that Alan found faintly troubling. Still, he was amusing at times and the brunet began to figure out how to handle him better when he went off on one of his romantic tangents about Director Spears. Being so head-over-heels for Eric, he could empathize with his infatuation, and he felt a little sorry for him. How painful it must be for someone to be that deeply in love, only to have the object of their affection snub them on a regular basis.
"Have you ever thought of looking elsewhere for romantic attention?" he asked Grell one day as they finished up their last reaping assignment and walked to the Great Library together.
The crimson reaper sighed and rubbed his arms, his red-painted fingernails absently fiddling with the sleeve garters around his biceps. "Of course I have, but I'm afraid there are none in this life that can compare with the cold beauty of my Willykins. He is my frozen Romeo…the only man who could possibly tame my burning heart."
Alan looked away and pretended to cough, because he feared he might laugh at Grell's melodrama and that would be cruel of him. While Mr. Spears was certainly a handsome, dashing fellow, he had trouble understanding how someone as wild as Grell could possibly be drawn to his stoic perfectionism. Then again, differences could make excellent sparks. He and Eric had nothing in common personality-wise, and yet he'd never felt such passion for anyone else in his life.
"Well, I hope one day things go your way," he offered solicitously, "or you eventually find someone else that can make you happy."
Grell ruffled his hair and grinned at him. "Aren't you a sweet one. It's really no wonder that Gaelic hunk is so enamored with you."
Alan smiled in return. "I'm not always sweet, though. I've got my pushy moments too…mostly when Eric's trying to do something stupid."
The redhead laughed. "And I'm sure he does that often. There once was a time I considered pursuing him, to be honest with you. He's one of the only reapers in Dispatch whose wildness almost matches mine, and I adore a powerful man that isn't afraid to put me in my place."
He sighed. "Sadly, I'm also terribly jealous. Slingby gets too much attention from both genders and I'm afraid I would have ended up reaping his admirers out of sheer rage for their audacity. You are amazingly patient. I would never put up with people eyeballing my man like a dessert they want to eat up."
"I'm not that patient," admitted Alan with a little blush. "Reaping people for looking at him would be overkill, but I do get possessive when I notice their attention. You don't worry about the same happening with William, if you two were to get together?"
Grell snorted. "People are too intimidated by Chilly Willy to flirt with or stare at him openly, darling. A cold glare alone from that man is enough to make most reapers stop in their tracks and cringe."
He shivered with delight and rubbed his arms. "Oh, that perfect, freezing glare of his…"
Alan resisted a sigh as Grell began to compare William's eyes to the cold arctic wind. He rather wished Spears would give the redhead the attention he craved, just so he'd stop going on about him all the time. Well, he'd asked for it when he inquired as to whether Grell had any other romantic interests, didn't he?
~I miss Eric.~
~xox~
"I'm sorry Mr. Slingby," said the British exchange director when he called and inquired about his application. "It is still being processed. It may take up to ten more working days before your request has been fully reviewed. I realize this is an inconvenience to you, but we must do everything by the book."
Eric sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Figured as much. No harm in askin' though, right?" He looked out his window at the rainy, dreary landscape. Scotland could be beautiful at times and depressing at others. He kept his accent tame as he spoke further with the man, though his line of work probably required he understand a variety of dialects. "Tell me, what are the odds of getting a permanent transfer? I know a couple of reapers from Ireland that managed to get one here, but that's practically a sister country to Scotland."
"I'm afraid I cannot say," answered the Brit apologetically. "Each case is individual, you see. They will look at your record with London Dispatch, and the higher your work approval rating is, the better your chances of being granted a permanent transfer. Otherwise you may request another year and may be eligible to try again after that year is up."
Eric grimaced in frustration. He supposed a year pass was better than three to six months, but he hated the thought of having to go through this again. He finally felt like he'd started a life he could enjoy, despite his initial feelings on the location. He'd made new friends in England and though the adjustment period was a bit rough at first, he was comfortable with the life he'd built there. Visiting his homeland was always nice, but he didn't really feel like he belonged in Scotland anymore.
"A'right, thanks for tha help," he said, his accent thickening a bit with his frustration. "Guess I'll check back in a week if I don't hear anything back from ya."
He hung up the phone and he went to the dining table to finish reading the local newspaper. He got about midway through the world news section when his phone rang. Picking it back up and seeing that it was from Dispatch headquarters, he sighed. Wonderful. Now watch them tell him there was some sort of error with his application, or call him in to work on his one day off.
"Slingby," he said when he answered the call.
"Officer Slingby, there's been an…accident," informed the Scottish Dispatch supervisor. "Ya need tae come in righ' away. It's important, lad."
Eric's heart leaped in his throat, his thoughts immediately going to his partner in London. "Wha's happened?" he demanded, slowly standing up.
~Please be a'right, Alan. If anythin's happened tae ye, I dunno wha' I'll do wi' mahself.~
"It's yer partner," answered Supervisor McKinley. "Yer former partner, tha' is."
Eric frowned, unable to feel any relief. "Killian? Wha' happened tae him?"
"It was a demon attack," answered the supervisor. "Ye'd better come in, Slingby. It's no' lookin' good fer him."
Eric compressed his lips grimly. "I'll be righ' there."
He hung up the phone and he hurried out the door.
~xox~
Eric arrived around ten minutes later, only to find that Killian had already passed from his injuries. He stood over the body of his friend in shock, unable to look away from the terrible injuries that were only partially visible to view. They had covered him up when he stopped breathing, and mutual friends informed Eric that they'd already collected his cinematic records for the reaper vaults. Evidently the creature responsible for this had tortured him before finally being driven off by local Shinigami agents that happened upon the scene. It had disemboweled him…slowly. His dying cries had been what alerted the team that found him, and he only lasted for a short time after Eric was notified, before his heart gave out.
"Any identification o' what sort o' demon did this?" whispered Eric past a tight throat. They'd closed Killian's eyes and the one blessing about this tragedy was that his features were at peace. Death had been as a friend to him, in the end.
"It was a scorpion breed," answered one of the two officers that had found and attempted to save Killian. "Rare 'round these parts."
McKinley put a comforting hand on Eric's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "He fought tae th' end, lad. Officer Foster will be cremated wi' highest honors, an' he'll get a plaque in tha Great Hall, beside all tha other exceptional agents tha' came before 'im."
Eric closed his eyes and nodded, swallowing. He laid a hand over his former partner's still chest, and he whispered his regrets to his empty shell. "I'm sae sorry, Ian. I should'a partnered up wi' ya while I was here."
"This wasnae yer fault, lad," said the supervisor sternly, "an' he'd ne'er stand fer ya thinkin' o'erwise, sae get tha' notion out o' yer head."
His words of comfort did little to quell the guilt in the blond's heart. "'Scuse me," he said, hardly aware of what he was saying. "I've go' tae make a call."
He left the morgue and went outside to light a clove, taking a deep, calming drag from it before dialing his partner in London. After a few rings, Alan picked up and just hearing his voice had a much-needed soothing effect on Eric.
"Eric?" said the brunet's sweet voice, laced with excitement. He always sounded so happy to hear from him.
"Aye." It was all the blond could force past his lips at the moment. He swallowed and took a shaken breath. "I…needed tae hear yer voice."
"Is something wrong?" Alan's tone became worried, and Eric could easily imagine the concern on his sculpted features. "Your voice sounds odd."
Eric swallowed again and shook his head, his eyes burning. The tears wouldn't come, though. "Jus' go' out of tha morgue. A…an old friend o' mine was killed. Demon attack. It…it tortured him, Al…tore his guts out an' played wi' 'em while he lay there dyin'. I cannae…stop picturin' it."
"Oh, Rhea! Eric…I'm so sorry! Are…are you hurt? Were you there?"
"I'm fine," lied the Scotsman. He wasn't fine by any stretch of the definition, but his partner had meant physically. "I wasnae there. Tha agents tha' heard his screams told me wha' happened. They drove tha demon off, but it was too late. Now he's dead an' tha filth tha' did it go' away. I…I wanna find it, Alan. I'll hunt it down an' make it suffer like mah friend did!" He clenched the hand holding his cigarette in a fist, hardly aware of the smoking object between his fingers.
"Shh, calm down," Alan gently advised. "Eric, please don't do anything rash. You're grieving and angry, and that's normal. Don't rush off half-cocked without at least taking time to come up with a plan…I'm begging you. You can't change anything by getting yourself killed, and you're not going to be able to avenge him if you die too."
Eric closed his eyes and took a few shuddering breaths, trying to see through the haze of grief and fury. "I cannae make any promises."
"Please, for me, if not for yourself? Just wait. That's all I ask of you. Lay your friend's body to rest and give yourself a few days to grieve. If you go and die on me then I'll have to come there and avenge you. It's a vicious cycle."
Eric managed a broken little laugh, though he knew Alan wasn't trying to be funny. "Can't have ya chasin' all o'er Scotland looking fer revenge, can I?" He combed his fingers through his loose hair, feeling suddenly drained. "Ah, Humphries, I'd give anythin' tae jus'…look at ye righ' about now. I dun' even wanna see anyone else…jus' you."
Alan drew a shuddering breath, and Eric could tell he was getting choked up. He caressed the phone, wishing his partner were there so that he might wipe away his tears. "Dun cry, sweetheart. I promise no' tae get mahself killed."
"I'm just…so sorry," said Alan in a helpless little voice. "I love you, Eric. I want you to do one other thing for me."
"Wha's tha'?"
"Cry," said Alan simply. "Don't try to be tough; just let it out. You need to."
Eric took another drag of his clove. "Dunno if I can righ' now, Alan. If I break down, I won't be able tae stop. I need tae hold it together fer jus' a little while longer."
Alan sighed. "I understand if you don't want to do it in public. Just promise me you won't keep it bottled up. Find a restroom if you feel it building up in public, or go to your rental car. Just don't hold it back."
Eric nodded. "I'll…try." He heaved another sigh and he took another drag of his cigarette. "I'd better look in tae funeral plans an' see wha' I can do tae help. I miss ya, partner, an' I love ye too."
"Keep me updated," requested Alan. "Goodbye."
~xox~
William huffed in annoyance when someone knocked on his office door. Bad enough that he was working on a weekend again, but he kept getting interrupted. "Enter."
Alan Humphries walked in, shutting the door behind him. He gave a little bow of respect to the Dispatch supervisor, and his youthful features were troubled as he approached. "Mr. Spears, sir, I know this is a terrible time to be asking for any favors, but I have a request. I wouldn't make it if it weren't very important, sir."
The supervisor checked a sigh. "What is it, Mr. Humphries?"
"I would like a week off to visit Scotland."
William raised a brow. It wasn't difficult for him to guess the reason behind the request. Humphries and Slingby were closer than any partnered reapers he'd seen yet. "I see. You have only been a junior officer for little more than a week, and while your conduct and work ethic have been nearly impeccable, it's a bit soon to be requesting a vacation." He smirked without humor. "I myself have not enjoyed a holiday for well over ten years."
Alan nodded. "I understand, sir. I only ask because I believe there are mitigating circumstances. I would never expect for exceptions to be made for me, but this is about my partner."
"Slingby? Has something occurred that I was not notified about?"
"Yes," sighed Alan. "His original partner was killed today on the job. It was a demon, sir. I…I'm concerned that Eric might do something reckless, and Dispatch will be down yet another good agent."
"Ah, but he is no longer an agent of this branch," reminded William. "Therefore I have no obligation to see to his well-being."
"But he will be again," Alan protested passionately, his emotions rising to the surface. "He's coming back to London again as soon as his transferal paperwork is finished processing! This time for good, with any luck. I have heard you say yourself that he's one of the most reliable senior officers you have, even if you think he does party too much. All I want to do is be there for him right now…help him through this."
William sighed. "One moment." He turned to his computer and he brought up a file on Eric Slingby, using it to trace back to his former partner in Scotland. Humphries was right: Senior officer Killian Foster of Edinburgh Dispatch was pronounced dead, earlier in the afternoon. The cause of death matched Humphries' description and William glanced at him.
"Hmm, a pity. I shall look at our schedule and see what can be done, Humphries…but I warn you that should you be granted this leave, it will be an unpaid sabbatical and you will have to agree to overtime when you return, to make up for it."
"Of course, Mr. Spears," agreed Alan with obvious relief. "Whatever you require. Thank you so much, sir."
William nodded elegantly. "You are dismissed, Mr. Humphries. I shall notify you when I have made the arrangements. Your itinerary funding will be up to you, of course."
"Understood." Alan stood up and left his office, leaving William to shake his head over the devotion some reapers displayed for their partners. He'd never gotten attached to another reaper that way…though Sutcliff somehow still managed to push every button he had and drive him to a fit of annoyance.
~xox~
Three days later, Eric stood at the funeral pyre with other mourners, waiting for the local Shinigami funeral to give his friend traditional last rites and set the pyre ablaze. He was dry-eyed and tense, lips compressed as he stared at the coins placed on Killian's eyes. It was a symbolic ritual given to the deceased of their kind in most places in the world, a universal gesture that some human cultures had picked up on to ensure the deceased had the fare to cross the river Styx into the afterlife. Bagpipes began to play—not "Amazing Grace" as mortal Scots traditionally did, but an older, more ancient tune that would have been regarded as "Heathen" by present day Christians on the other side.
The director began to speak the ancient rites in Gaelic, asking the Divine in all its many forms to grant Foster's soul the eternal rest and peace he deserved. As he began to extol his virtues and list his many accomplishments as a servant of balance, Eric looked away. He frowned when he noticed someone coming up the hill, and his heart began to pound. The grounds keeper of the burial mounds was guiding a smaller man up the rocky path to the pyre, and he pointed at the top of the hill and spoke to his companion. The brunet nodded and walked the rest of the way alone.
Eric took his glasses off to rub his eyes, thinking they must be so tired they were playing tricks on him. He put them back on, and as the small figure came closer, he could make out his features clearly enough to be sure. "Alan?"
He couldn't have heard him from that distance with the wind and the raised voice of the funeral director, but the brunet picked up the pace nonetheless. Eric stood stunned as his partner made it up the hill and approached him with a solemn little smile. "A-Alan…what're ya doin' here?"
Alan closed the remaining distance and he took Eric's hands in his smaller ones. Eyes soft with sympathy and worry, he answered in a low murmur so as not to disturb the funeral rites. "Supporting my partner, of course."
That did the Scotsman in. Before he knew it, his eyes filled with tears and he couldn't stop it. He made a choked sound and he lowered his gaze as the salty moisture trailed a glistening path down his cheeks. He couldn't speak for the death of him, and when Alan put his arms around him, he embraced him back and took a shuddering breath, holding him tightly. Alan stroked his hair as he finally broke down and wept.
~xox~
Alan stayed at Eric's side throughout the burning of his friend's body, keeping one hand supportively clasped in his. The sun was beginning to set when the embers died down, the clouds having scattered during the funeral as if chases away by the ceremony itself. Foster's remains were gathered carefully and placed in a stone urn, to be stored in one of the burial mound with the remains of other fallen reapers. When it was over, Eric gave his partner brief introductions to the other participants at the funeral, and then the couple walked together back to Eric's car, waiting in the gravel parking lot outside the gated fence surrounding the sacred landscape.
"You look good in a kilt," complimented Alan softly as they arrived at the vehicle and Eric unlocked the doors.
The blond looked down at himself. His eyes were a little red from crying, but he seemed to have gotten it out of his system. He shrugged and toyed with the tassels hanging from the belt of his black and gold plaid kilt. "It's traditional at events like this. Maybe I'll wear one fer ya more often, when I get back." He stared at his partner for a moment, admiring the way the slightly chilly breeze ruffled Alan's fine brown hair. He circled around to the passenger side of the car to give him another hug.
"Thank ya fer comin', sweetheart. Seeing ya show up like tha' so unexpectedly was like catchin' a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. Reminded me I'm alive."
Alan rubbed his back and stood up on his tiptoes to kiss him softly on the lips. "I couldn't stay away after that phone call. I'm just sorry I didn't get here sooner. There was a delay in the paperwork and I couldn't leave until I was fully approved to travel. Otherwise, I might have been here two days ago."
"Ye came," insisted Eric, "an' tha's all I care about. How long can ye stay?"
"They've given me a week of unpaid leave. It was the best I could get, and I'm frankly surprised they allowed that much. Supervisor Spears was very generous."
Eric grimaced. "I'll be there were strings attached, though."
Alan shrugged. "We are Shinigami. Strings are always attached when we have to separate our jobs from our personal life, aren't they?"
"True 'nough," agreed Eric. He stared at the smaller reaper as if seeing something in him he'd never noticed before, and he traced his parted lips with his fingertips. "Ye've changed a bit, Al."
The observation made the brunet suddenly nervous. "Oh? How so?"
"Yer more confident. I wouldnae say ya weren't mature before, but ya seem a lot more sure of yourself."
Alan smiled. "Really?" Perhaps Grell's advice was paying off. He hadn't personally noticed a change in him, but if Eric saw it than it must be true. "It's been hard getting on without you, but I'm starting to improve. I…don't want to be entirely dependant on you to be a good agent. I hope that doesn't sound bad."
Eric shook his head. "Nah. I'm proud of ye, Alan." He lowered his head to his for a kiss, and then he went around to the driver's side to get in the car. Once Alan got in with him and buckled his safety belt, Eric sighed and looked through the rearview mirror at the burial site. "So fast. It happened so fast. One day he was here an' tha next…gone. Och, 'm sorry."
Alan shook his head. "Don't be. He was your friend and he used to be your partner. It's only right for you to grieve, Eric. We can talk about it all you want once we get back to your place."
Eric looked at him, frowning a little. "Where's yer luggage?"
Alan shrugged. "I had them take it to your living quarters when I arrived. I wanted to get here as quickly as possible when I found out the funeral was already underway."
"I'm glad ya did," admitted the blond softly. "I've go' somethin' tae show ya, when we get back tae my place."
"Oh?"
"Aye. Dun' get mad though, a'right?" Eric cranked the engine and shifted the small car into gear.
Alan raised a brow, wondering why Eric would ask him not to get mad about whatever it was he had to show him. "Did you get injured in a bar fight or something? Are you going to show me new scythe scars?" Eric had a couple of old ones on his back and right thigh that were barely visible now, thanks to modern treatment methods. He'd evidently been in an altercation or two in the past that ended with scythes being drawn—along with blood.
The older reaper managed a chuckle. "Ya know me too well, but no. They're marks, though."
Puzzled, Alan toyed with his bolo tie as he looked at him. "What sort of marks?"
Eric winked at him. "Ye'll see when we get to mah living quarters."
The younger reaper sighed. He hated it when his partner was evasive, but sometimes the surprises turned out to be nice.
~xox~
"It's no' much," excused Eric as they stepped into his quaint residency, "but it's clean an' it has all I need while I'm stuck here."
Alan looked around with a nod. "I rather like it. It's like a room in a cottage."
Eric chuckled and opened the fridge to procure a beer for himself and some juice for his partner. "Sorry I dun' have a bigger selection. I wasnae expecting company."
Alan smiled, recalling when he'd first gone to stay with Eric at his London apartment. "You really are horrible about stocking the pantry and fridge," he teased.
Eric raised a hand. "Guilty. But tha food here is really great, in mah defense. Tha's one thing I really did miss; good, authentic Scottish food. I really ought tae learn how to cook better so I can make it mahself."
"Your accent is a bit thicker," observed Alan with a smile. He took the offered beverage and went to sit down in the parlor. "Not that I mind."
"Lucky fer me ya seem tae have a weakness fer it," chuckled Eric. He started to join him, but Alan held up one hand and raised his brows.
"I want to see what it is you have to show me."
"Ah, tha'. Slipped my mind."
Eric put his beer on the counter, unbuttoned his jacket and draped it over the side of the couch, and then he started unbuttoning the long-sleeved, button-up shirt beneath it. Alan immediately started to flush, and he barely checked himself in time to avoid blurting that he wasn't expecting a striptease and it really wasn't necessary. He'd heard of Scots running off into battle naked, but he'd never heard of naked mourning.
Once Eric was stripped to his kilt, it took Alan a moment to realize there was something different about his body. He was too busy admiring his bared torso to notice it right away, but then Eric pointed at his right shoulder, and the brunet's eyes were drawn to the fresh tattoo of a Celtic Cross.
"This one's fer Killian," said Eric, and then he turned to display his left bicep, where a rope of Celtic knotwork now encircled it. "This one's fer eternity."
Then he turned around and displayed two marvelous Celtic dragons on his back, on either side of his spine. They were facing one another; one green and the other gold. Eric looked over his shoulder at him as Alan impulsively reached out to trace them, mouth slack with awe. "An' those are fer us; you an' me. I actually got 'em first. I dunno how ya feel about ink, but I wanted somethin' tae remind me of ya always. Then Killian died an'…well, I got tha cross an' tha knotwork."
Alan kept tracing his fingertips over the smooth skin and the artwork inked into it, feeling the strong muscles underneath. He looked up at Eric and he spoke his thoughts sincerely. "It's beautiful, Eric. I don't consider myself a great fan of tattoos, but these are so…fitting…for you. You really did this one for me?"
"Fer us," corrected the Scotsman, turning back around. He took a seat next to him on the couch and took his hand. "Tha green one's you, 'cause it's yer color. Tha gold one's me. As far as I'm concerned, both ye an' Killian are gonna be a part of me forever. Tha's why I decided tae add tha knotwork after I had his cross put on."
Alan stared at him, his emotions rising to the surface. "Come here," he demanded, putting both arms around him. Eric returned the embrace and Alan held him tight, stroking his golden hair. "I love you, Eric Slingby."
~xox~
-To be continued
