Part Two: The Grim Reaper's Guide to Proper Death Scythe Maintenance

Chapter VII:
That Reaper, Change of Assignment

Tired feet stomped down the long, somewhat dim hallway, moving slowly over age-cracked tiled floors. Black gloved hands fumbled with a set of keys and, after a long moment, opened an apartment door. As soon as the door closed behind him, Grell slumped against it with a sigh of relief. He was so tired. So, so tired.

He locked the door behind him and moved further into the room. Though the walls and kitchen cabinets were bland and drab, the rest of the apartment was covered in bright red: red furniture, red lamps and shades, red rugs haphazardly strewn across the floor, and long red drapes over the two large windows Grell could happily claim were his own. Home sweet home, the reaper thought, tossing his keys and a huge work file down onto his coffee table before bending down to remove his shoes. Since he'd left Bassy stranded in London, Grell had been so stuck in work he could barely breathe. First he had to write up a report on what he'd learned about the missing souls, and then he'd had to respond to several important letters, file paperwork that was more overdue than he wanted to admit, attend a meeting, add a footnote to his report that explained who had assisted him in investigating and how certain he was that his dear Sebastian wasn't taking part in stealing any souls, file several papers about his death scythe's upkeep…the list went on. And, while Ronald was a sweet boy for helping him with his paperwork, Grell had not slept, had barely eaten, and was looking forward to resting his aching body.

Humming a sinister waltz, the reaper shed his clothes, changing into a thin scarlet robe, and started running a bath. As the bathroom filled up with warmth and steam, he pottered around, lighting candles and getting something to drink. If he was going to relax then, damn it all, he was going to relax properly.

Grell shed his robe and edged into the hot, bubble-filled water with a sigh of contentment.

"Mmm, I do like this," he purred, sinking down as far as his long legs would allow. He turned off the tap with one of his red-nailed feet and closed his eyes.

His muscles ached, throbbing dully, but they slowly relaxed with a pleasant, faintly tingly sensation. Phosphorescent green eyes still closed, Grell smiled wolfishly up at his ceiling. He was going to have to come up with something absolutely delicious as punishment for Will overworking him. Hmm, maybe he could bend him over and give Will a nice spanking. It might just knock some sense into him in regards to not over working poor, defenseless maidens. And, of course, it would be fun to see Will so hot and bothered. Never mind that he'd probably get a death scythe launched at him, all that was important was that he got to play with his dear William.

Something prickled naggingly at the back of his mind and Grell let out a growl of frustration. The mail. Ew. Was there no end to his trials? He daintily picked up the thick packet of envelopes he'd brought in with him, hoping to go through them quickly as he sipped his not-so-virgin drink. Bill. Bill. Junk. Bill. Work stuff. He didn't even know what that was. Another bill.

Each envelope was tossed back onto the floor with a bored huff—bills and work things in one pile and everything else in another. Grell yawned, scratching the back of his neck where some of his flame red hair was sticking to his damp skin after having escaped from the kerchief he'd tied it back with. He was just about to go back to relaxing when he noticed there was still one letter left. Grell's heart skipped a beat when he realized it was from Will.

"Oh, William, I knew you cared," he sighed, a blissful smile stretching across his face as he worked to open it with bath water dampened fingers. "You can try to hide it behind those cold eyes of yours, but I am a hunter of love and—" Grell cut off abruptly as the lines of the letter permeated his brain. His eyes widened behind his slightly steamed up glasses and the letter crumpled in his furiously shaking hands.

Grell bolted from his bath, splashing water everywhere, and ran for his clothes before he even knew what he was really doing. Fury took over. And his scream of rage echoed throughout the building.


"WILLIAM T. SPEARS!"

The shriek pierced the air and Will glanced up from his mountain of paperwork to look at his door. He adjusted his glasses with a sigh and, returning to his papers, muttered, "Honestly…."

His office door was kicked open with a resounding bang, and it slammed into the wall, only to swing back towards the frame on impact. The last person William wanted to see tonight was standing in his doorway, half-sopping wet and so entirely disheveled that he had to do a double take to make sure he wasn't mistaken.

"What are you doing in my office after hours, Grell Sutcliff?" Will inquired flatly, offering no emotion in his tone but for sheer annoyance at being interrupted. He had work to do—both his own and to cover the paperwork neglected by laggards like Sutcliff who only had an interest in field work and failed to see the importance of deskwork—and had explicitly asked the secretarial staff to ensure he was not disturbed, but now he was sure to get behind. "I do not have time to—"

"You!" Grell raged, cutting him off as he slammed the office door behind him so hard the foggy glass in the door's window rattled. The red-haired reaper stormed up to him and slammed his hands down upon Will's desk, leaning in close as he shouted, "How dare you, William?! After everything we've been through together, you would do this to me?!"

Will adjusted his glasses once more, regarding his coworker expressionlessly. Really, what was wrong with Sutcliff, now? "What are you referring to, Grell?"

"The letter, you pompous popinjay! This letter!" Grell, raging like a man at his wit's end, slammed a very crumpled, slightly damp letter onto the paper-logged desk between them. "Do you know how hard I've worked on this miserable assignment?! I'll have your head for this! You can't do this to me!"

"I am not the one who ordered this," Will replied, glancing over the letter briefly. "It was upper management's decision; I merely relayed their wishes. Take it up with them if you disagree with their decision."

"Oh, no, no, no, Will," Grell growled, yanking his fellow reaper toward him by the tie. "You don't get to play coy with me!"

Any other time and William would have been mildly concerned that Grell was attempting to take advantage of the situation and would try to steal a kiss; in this instance, however, he was somewhat surprised Grell hadn't attempted to run him through with his death scythe. It wasn't as though Grell had ever been the most tactful of reapers.

"Calm down, Sutcliff," Will replied calmly, pretending he wasn't being nearly strangled with his tie.

"I WILL NOT CALM DOWN, WILLIAM! I have been working on this assignment from the beginning! You and management can't reassign me!"

"Well, clearly, management must have found a better qualified candidate for your assignment."

Grell fell silent as though he had been slapped. A moment or so passed and Grell's eyes narrowed dangerously behind his spectacles as he growled, "They gave you my assignment, didn't they?"

Will stayed quiet before evenly replying, "Yes."

"William!" the redhead fumed, shaking him and leaning in so close to Will's face that the stoic reaper could feel Grell's breath on his cheek. "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't know a damn thing about those missing souls! If it weren't for Bassy and I, you wouldn't know there was a connection between them and the demons! If it weren't for us—"

"If your success is entirely dependent on such a noxious creature as that demon, it isn't a wonder management did not see fit to entrust this assignment to you."

"Are you saying I'm incapable of doing my job?!"

"I am saying that this is a delicate case and should be treated as such."

"And I'll bet you think you're the one to do it, too, aren't you?! Well, let me tell you, Spears! You might be good behind a desk but that doesn't mean you know anything about working in the field like the rest of us!"

"For God's sake, Reaper Sutcliff, pull yourself together!" William snapped, annoyed. He took several heavy breaths, calming himself until he could keep up the appearance of his usual emotionless sedation. "It's just a job," he went on quietly. "We do our work and we do not question management's decisions."

Grell released him and shoved Will back so he near crashed into his chair. The dark-haired reaper carefully straightened his suit and his glasses before sitting perfectly upright in his desk chair. Grell stalked off to the door, still fuming. The redhead wrenched open the door, startling one of the secretaries cleaning up for the day in the large room beyond.

Grell abruptly turned around and snarled, "I don't care what management says, I am not a babysitter!"

The door slammed behind him with a very final-sounding bang!

William sat in silence for a long moment, thinking. He glanced down at the letter Grell had abandoned on his desk and felt his lips twitch in an unfamiliar expression: a mocking smile. It faded as quickly as it had come. The reaper put the letter in his desk drawer, reminding himself to have someone re-deliver it to Grell before morning, and pulled a thick stack of paperwork toward him. Will made sure his tie was straight, fixed his glasses once more…and sighed once more as his mind returned to Grell. "Honestly."


AN: And so begins arc two! Hi, everyone! ^^ I hope you all had a lovely holiday. Please don't forget to review! See all of you wonderful people in the new year!
(Also "popinjay" *gigglesnorts* I shouldn't be finding it that funny, but... *dissolves into giggles*)