Grabbing a towel from the rack that hung above her head, Celeste wiped her mouth clean. Her bladder was beginning to scream and she new if she did not hurry, she would make a mess of herself. She quickly got to her feet and began untying her pantaloons, though her petticoats and such kept getting in the way.

Just as it was about to be to late she managed to free herself and sat down. A sigh of relief filling the tiny room., echoing off the lemon painted walls. The sounds falling from her lips were a kin to one reaching climax while making love.

"Blessed relief!" She exclaimed as she leaned forward upon her knees.

~xox~

Years of honing his other senses to compensate for poor vision had given the Undertaker the hearing of a bat. When he heard the woman's exclamation of relief, issued in such a climactic and heartfelt voice, he actually blushed. He'd heard Grell issue such cries in the throes of passion, and his mind immediately went there.

"Guess she really did need a piss," he reasoned. Surely she wasn't crying out like that for other reasons. The ugly and utterly stupid thought that Ronald had snuck in there to shag her crept into his head, and he immediately banished it with a grunt. He might be mad, but that was just insane.

Generally shameless on his best days, the mortician felt a sense of disgrace as he continued to listen closely, curious about how her bladder relief would pan out, if her female bits truly were just an illusion as he suspected.

Finished, Celeste stood and flushed the commode, surprised at how it worked; similar and yet different fro the one in her father's home. After getting her undergarments sorted out she washed her hands, but found she could not approach the door just yet. She knew once she left the sanctuary of the privy, she would be whisked off to God knew where.

Taking a few deep breaths she examined her dress. Tears and snags covered the majority of it and she shook her head. "My lovely dress. What a pity. I wish I had something to change into. I look a fright."

Ronald checked his watch and sighed. "Hey lady, could ya hurry it up? We've got somewhere we need to be and the longer you stall, the longer it's going to take to figure out how to fix this mess!"

Outside on the wall, still clinging over a thirty-floor drop, the Undertaker made a confused face. "Huh…fancy that." No shriek of surprise, no wail of distress…nothing but a wistful complaint about the state of her dress. Either Grell had mastered the art of sitting and peeing like a girl without splash damage and the lady had unconsciously employed it, or there was more to the illusion than he'd suspected.

"Come to think of it, that little collision of ours did result in a pair of nice breasts pushing right up against my chest," he whispered. And he'd felt them. He'd felt them as if she were any regular woman in his arms. He hadn't been paying much attention at the time, because all he could think about was the way she'd looked up at him with Grell's passion in her eyes.

"Oh dear."

The implications sunk in, and he wasn't sure how to feel about it. Could that reaper have actually figured out a way to mold his very flesh to match the spirit he carried, in the short time he'd had Grell? Sebastian had said that he no longer sensed Grell's presence—but he'd sensed it before, so it had to have been done sometime between when he and Ronald arrived on the ship and when they'd found Grell and his captor.

"Bugger…Sebastian!"

He'd forgotten all about the demon. Michaelis hadn't shown for the scuffle, nor was he anywhere in sight when Undertaker and Ronald escaped with Celeste. The mortician couldn't imagine that demon being easily captured or dispatched, but he should probably at least check in with Ciel and find out if he'd made it back home.

"Well, I've probably burned that bridge by abandoning the chap," sighed the Undertaker to himself. He wasn't even sure how Ronald had managed to convince Ciel to loan him to them, but if anything had happened to Sebastian—well, it could mean Ciel's soul would be safe at last, but his goal for revenge would be sorely compromised. If that were the case, Undertaker would offer to assist Ciel himself in Sebastian's stead…but he didn't want to jump to conclusions just yet. He could phone the boy from Anderson's, once they got there.

With a sigh, he put thoughts of the demon aside and returned his full attention to the sounds of the young lady inside, fretting over her appearance. Part of him wondered how his love would feel about living the rest of his life as a woman for real, if they could not reverse what was done to his physical form. His memory was so foggy; he felt like he should know how it was done, but he couldn't recall it. He'd tried so hard to bury painful memories that he'd forgotten some of where he came from…and he was woefully out of practice with the unique abilities bestowed upon him by the Divine.

~xox~

Celeste looked to the door with a start. "I'll be out momentarily."

With a final glance to the mirror, she adjusted her bodice and smoothed her skirts. She ran he fingers through her hair like a comb trying to untangle the mass of blonde tresses. Taking a few deep breaths, she reached for the door and turned the knob.

"There, are you happy now?" She asked as she stepped up behind the blond. "I didn't try to escape. I did what I said I was going to do. Now where is it we are suppose to be going?"

Ronald shrugged. "Beats me. He's got some friend he wants to work with on this, and that's all he's really told me. Glad you didn't try to sneak off. I guess the old guy was right."

Absent his top hat, the Undertaker climbed in through the living room window and approached, his black garments fluttering about his booted feet and his silver hair slightly mussed from the evening breeze. He clasped his hands and smiled. "Well now, are we ready to go?"

Surprised by the older gentleman's appearance through the window, Celeste rounded on him.

"What under Heaven were you doing out there? Were you watching to see if I would try to escape from the window in the prvy? Are you nuts? Men. You are all crazy."

Huffing, she marched over to the chair she had been bound to and sat down and glared at the pair. "I demand to know where you are taking me."

Stricken once more by how similar her rants were to Grell's, the Undertaker watched her with nostalgic amusement. He smiled in a haunted way, tapping his fingernails against his lips for a moment before answering. "We're going to stay with an old friend of mine. I've known the fellow for over a millennia, and he's about the only reaper I trust besides Ronnie, here." He nodded at the blond.

"Well, who's this friend of yours?" Ronald asked.

"Another ancient," replied Khronos. "I've mentioned him before. You young folk call him 'Pops'."

"Oh…him." Ronald's face crinkled up a little. He had trouble imagining the quiet old glass-maker as a godly figure, no matter how ancient he looked. He hadn't really thought of Undertaker that way either, though. "You think he can help us?"

"I think he's the best ally we have right now," answered the mortician with a nod. "He's got defenses around his home similar to the ones I employed in my shop, but he's more in touch with the old powers than I am. He might be able to find us more information, and Grell…that is, Celeste…should be safe from discovery by our enemies for a time, there."

"Pardon? You are taking me where and to see who?" She cocked her head. "Why can't you just return me to the real Charles if you are convinced the one on the ship was not my husband?"

Defiantly, she gripped the arms of the chair. "I am not going to another strange man's place. I am tired and my dress is torn. I want to go home."

Like a bratty child, she pursed her lips and stared at the floor. Her cheeks were a shade of red, and one could almost imagine steam puffing from her ears. It was obvious that her temper was beginning to boil. The irate young lady was about to erupt.

Undertaker sighed, trying to remain patient with her and finding himself lacking. "We can't take you to your husband until we find the bloody man, can we? The man I'm taking you to has resources that we lack, my irate little body-snatcher. As darling as I find your tantrums, we really don't have time to pander to your delusion that you have any say in this at all."

He was surprisingly angry with her, suddenly. Angry with her for taking over Grell, for looking like him, smelling like him, possessing the same allure as him and even pouting like him. Who did this chit think she was? Well, he wasn't going to fall for her wiles and let her seduce him again with her pouty lips and big, soulful eyes and adorable temper. The mortician unwittingly began to sulk himself, beyond tired from this whole ordeal. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a sullen look to match the one she was giving him.

Ronald looked between the two of them, feeling like he was caught in the middle of a lover's spat…and that was just plain weird. Is this what they were like when he, the Undertaker and Grell, had an argument?

"And how do you plan to make me go with you? Knock me unconscious again? Drag me chained against my will? You are cruel. I want no part of this. I've changed my mind. I don't want to help you. I want to go home this instant!" She grumbled and spat. Then against her will she yawned. "I am to tired. I want my bed… and my husband."

Undertaker pursed his lips with annoyance, and all traces of the silly old eccentric vanished. He straightened to his full height and he spoke in an authoritative tone of voice, deep and ancient as the wind. "And the more you resist, the longer it will take for you to have both. You can rest once we reach our destination. Wait around here and the people responsible for our predicament will find you, and I can promise you that their intentions are far less honorable than mine. I could easily subdue you again if I wish, but I'd prefer to treat you like a lady and be your escort, rather than your jailer."

He leaned over her, gazing deep into her eyes. "I know that you believe the man you were aboard that ship with was your husband, but if he takes you again you'll eventually learn the truth of it…after he's had his way with you, or given you over to another creep to simply take you by force. Which will it be, Lady Celeste? Neither one of us have laid an improper hand on you. The man masquerading as your husband has already been rather familiar with you, and since you're too blind to see through the ruse, he's sure to lift your skirts before you finally comprehend the truth."

The ancient squatted down before her, still holding her gaze. "Do you know much about the legend of King Arthur? Never mind; I'll tell you anyway. He was conceived through treachery. Uther Pendragon was obsessed with the Lady Ingraine, you see—so much so that he went to Merlin for aid, begging for his help to seduce her. For whatever reason, old Merlin went along with his plot and conjured a temporary illusion…one that would make Pendragon appear as the lady's husband, Gorlois. It was solid enough for the poor dear to fall for it, and he had his way with her while her husband was away fighting a war. That's how King Arthur was conceived. That's how your bastard child may be conceived, if you don't start using your head. Would you like that, Lady? Giving birth to a stranger's bastard because you couldn't tell him apart from your own husband?"

Ronald winced as the lady paled, feeling sorry for her in spite of himself. "Take it easy, old man. That's kind of harsh."

"It's just the truth," countered the Undertaker over his shoulder. Well, the truth as she would understand it. He wasn't about to tell her she couldn't get pregnant. He didn't even know for sure that she couldn't, given that he was uncertain whether the body she inhabited had truly been made female inside and out. Reaper births were a rare thing when they occurred at all, but it wasn't unheard of. "This silly girl is in a rather big hurry to be violated. I'm simply trying to open her eyes. She's either too thick to see what's really going on here, or she's so far under his spell that she can't…oh…wait."

He frowned, realizing there was a very simple way to prove to her that reapers could change their appearances at will. Undertaker smacked his forehead and chuckled. "Khronos, you old fool."

Ronald's brows migrated to his hairline. "What? Did you forget something?"

Undertaker shook his head. "No, I just remembered something. I'm more than a bit out of practice, seeing as I never saw a reason to completely disguise myself, but…"

He had to try. He hadn't done it since…well, since the age of Arthur; but the ability wasn't lost to him. He'd seen what Charles looked like, and if altering his own appearance to mirror his temporarily would prove to this stubborn female that illusions were real, it was worth the headache.

The Undertaker grinned at her, and he stood slowly up. "Very well, little lamb. I can see you need to witness it with your own eyes, to believe that you've been tricked. Say hello to your husband, my dear."

He closed his eyes in concentration and he ran his hands over his body, bending over to start at the booted toes and work his way up. His appearance shifted, along with his height and build. He lost about four inches, gained a little muscle mass, and his hair seemed to retreat into his skull until it was collar-length, wavy and the color of molasses. When he opened his eyes again, they were hazel. He smiled down at the ogling woman and gave a bow.

Ronald dropped his keys.

Celeste was dumbstruck. A tinge of fear slithered down her spine, yet she did not scream nor faint. Her mouth agape, she blinked, trying to grasp what she had just witnessed. Slowly she rose from her chair. Timidly, she reached out to touch the man's face. Her heart thudded hard against her ribs and her knees shook, but she did not falter. She ran her fingertips along his jaw line. Her eyes searched his.

"How? I don't understand. Are you a sorcerer? You… you look just like Charles. Every de… detail." She gulped, still running her palm over his cheek.

"I'm not him, my dear," explained the Undertaker with some slight regret. She was looking at him the way Grell usually did, and it pained his heart. He allowed the illusion to melt away and he gazed into her eyes. "Do you see now? If I can do it, so can he. You have been used, milady."

She turned away as the spell dissolved and the stranger's face returned, along with his trademark silver tresses. Looking downcast, heart breaking, Celeste stumbled to the sofa and grabbed the back of it for support. Softly her voice flowed from her with a hint of tears lacing it.

"I see. Does… does this mean my marriage is a sham? Is there any truth be… behind Charles Grimm? Or if that man on… oh God!"

She spun back around and faced the older gentleman. "If that man was an imposter and not my real husband… my marriage was not a farce. Then where is my husband? What did he do to him? What does he want with me?"

Unable to fight the tears any longer, Celeste collapsed against the Undertaker's chest, crying. "Who is he? Why would he do this? I don't know your Grell. I was on my way to be meet my in-laws. I want to go home. Please let me go home. Where is my Charles… my husband? Please?"

She trembled as sobs assailed her body, her fists gripping the folds of his black robe. Desperately, she raised her head and looked up at the man she held fast to. Her cheeks were stained with tears, eyes red and puffy. One word fell from her lips.

"Why?"

Undertaker stared down at her, and he wished for all the world that he had some answer to her question. He'd seen another face like that, looking up at him demanding answers that he did not have. He enfolded Celeste in his embrace, holding her close without letting his hands wander.

"That's what we're trying to find out, dear. I don't know that you can believe me right now, but I promise you, I won't let any harm come to you."

"I'm scared." She confessed. "None of this makes sense to me. What are you?"

Her grip tightened on the black cloth of the man's robe as she closed her eyes, willing herself to breathe—a natural function she found herself struggling to do. Her head began to spin and ache. Nausea threatened her stomach once more.

"I don't feel so well," she mumbled.

Undertaker caught her as she started to fall, and protective feelings arose within him. "Ronald, we need to move quickly. This could be a symptom of stress, or it could be a symptom of the alteration. Either way if we lose her, we lose Grell."

Ronald didn't need further encouragement. He opened the portal to Anderson's home and he wasn't really surprised when the Undertaker refused his help whilst carrying his burden through. He shook his head and again wondered what made people think that love was a good idea.

Celeste didn't fight the man as she was scooped up into his arms. She was exhausted. The whole ordeal had been a trying one and she felt like she had not slept in a week. Her eyes burned from the tears she had shed and her stomach was cramping from the stress. She trembled with uncertainty. But in his arms she felt safe. He was warm and he almost felt like home. Perhaps she could trust him, though she was reluctant to do so. But at this point she was lost and had no idea where she was. Where she was going or how she would get home. He swore her protection. She could only hope he was an honorable man.

Sleepily she inquired, "Who is this friend of yours that you are taking me to?"

"He's an ancient, like myself." Undertaker impulsively nuzzled her hair as he carried her to the waiting portal. The familiar scent of Grell was a comfort to him. "We are what humans call the Grim Reaper, darlin'. Some like myself have retired, but the others spend their days gathering mortal souls to ferry over to the other side. The body that you've been put into is one of them. I don't know what's happened to his soul, but I know Grell Sutcliff is in there somewhere. My friend—whom I've known since before the written word—might have some idea of how to put both you and Grell back to where you belong. I'm…rusty. Out of practice. I've forgotten a lot of things I used to know, but Anderson might have a better memory."

He stopped at the portal and he looked down at the woman in his arms. "Hold tight to me, love. This might be a bit jarring, but it'll be over soon. You might feel a little sick from the displacement, once we step through to the other side."

Celeste's eyes shot open, "Grim Reaper?!" Before she could say another word, the man stepped into the dark abyss. She clung tightly to him as they passed through a vortex of nothingness. Then there were stars. They were outside a sprawling two-story home. The sound of waves could be heard, crashing against a nearby shore. The smell of dawn was on the horizon.

Her stomach flipped and churned. One hand let go of the silver-haired man's neck and covered her mouth. A low, panicked moan passed through her fingers. Her cheeks were turning a funny shade of green-gray. She closed her eyes, wishing the nausea away.

Undertaker stopped, and he watched her with concern he couldn't hide. "Deep breaths, Lady Grimm. I'm sure Mr. Anderson will allow you to use his privy, once we get inside. Ronald, go and knock on the door for us, please."

The blond gave him a "death" salute and went to do as he was bidden. While they waited, Undertaker carefully shifted his burden in his arms, marveling over how light she was—just like Grell. "Feeling a little better?" he murmured, searching her eyes.

She shook her head, "I feel like… I refuse to in front of anyone. But I am so tired as well."

Celeste began to nestle against the man's shoulder once more when she remembered his admission before entering the vortex. She looked up, panic-stricken.

"Am I dying? If you really are a grim reaper… is that why you took me? Is that why I feel like I am dying right now? Why I long to sleep?"

He didn't know how to tell her she was already dead, without putting her in hysterics. As it was, the body she inhabited was indeed growing weaker—possibly a result of the alterations done to it…or maybe it was a symptom of Grell trying to come back again. He didn't sense death approaching, but she certainly needed rest.

"You're exhausted from your ordeal, my dear," he said in a reassuring tone. "It's not every day a person gets the sort of shocks you've had, after all. Speaking of shock…I think that may be your trouble."

Her skin felt clammy as he rubbed his cheek against hers experimentally, unable to check her forehead with his hand while he was holding her. "You've got the symptoms. Nausea, clammy skin, disorientation. Once we get you inside we'll elevate your feet and get you some cool water to drink. If you think you need to be sick, I'll take you to the loo. You've got no reason to be embarrassed, my dear."

"You avoided my question. I'm dying aren't I, or did die…" Tears welled up in her eyes. "That's why you won't take me back to Charles. I died on the ship, didn't I? That's why I do not remember getting from the ship to London."

Carefully she raised her head and looked around. Once her gaze came back to the silver-haired man's face she asked: "Is this Heaven?"

"No, this isn't Heaven," supplied the Undertaker. "And you aren't dying…because you aren't truly alive anymore. You're right, milady; I've been putting it off but you need to know the truth of it. I don't know how and when you died yet, but like I said before; the body you are in isn't your own. The imposter playing the role of your husband on that ship was another reaper like myself; an ancient. I haven't worked out just how he did it yet, but he put your cinematic records—your soul—into Grell's body and cast an illusion on it to make it look like you. I couldn't recognize him, but there's only one of two he could be. The man we're seeing tonight is one of them too, so that obviously rules him out. The other is a woman and she's always been impartial to the goings-on and struggles around her. I can't see her as the sort that would conduct such cruelty."

He frowned, considering the possibilities. "That would leave either Hypnos or Thanatos."

He blinked, startled by the moment of clarity. "Thanatos! That's the one I couldn't recall! He's responsible for these scars I've got. Fellow never much cared for me…didn't like the attention I got from the ladies and gents. That's probably why he went for my face, when he came with the others to try and take my scythe from me."

But was the reaper aboard that ship really Thanatos? He'd said a few things that suggested he was familiar with Undertaker, even if the mortician couldn't place him. Hypnos, as he recalled, had never been the sort to do his own dirty work. It was unlikely he would have gotten personally involved in Wundt's scheming. He was an arrogant reaper that considered the younger generation beneath him. It was difficult to remember so far back, especially since he'd done his best to forget the past. From what he recalled of Hypnos, the most interaction he'd do with the younger reapers was to toy with them…play mental games and see what he could make them do…

Undertaker's eyes widened. Wundt. He was exactly like Hypnos, in all but appearance. The mortician's memory was fuzzy, but he felt he should have recognized them if he saw either of them face to face again…unless they were using an illusion to disguise their appearance.

"I think I may finally know who to blame for all of this, my dear."

He swore softly, wondering how he could have been so blind. If he was right, then he could have done more to safeguard Grell, had he only realized who and what they were really dealing with. He'd been cocky though; believing he could protect the redhead from any common reaper…and his arrogance had cost Grell dearly.

The oaken doors of the house opened at that moment, and Lawrence Anderson stood backlit by the warm light coming from inside. "Hello, my friend," he greeted the Undertaker, his aged eyes sweeping over him and the woman in his arms. "Bring her inside. I have some news for you."

Feeling oddly protective of the ghost he carried in his arms, the mortician held her a little tighter and carried her up the steps.

Celeste stared blankly at the man carrying her. Was it true? Was she truly dead? A single tear slithered down her cheek. Her life didn't exist any longer. She could never return home. Never kiss her father's cheek. Never lay her head in her mother's lap and tell secrets. Never again would she be teased by her brother or be privileged to see her young sister married. Never be held in her husband's arms again.

"I'll never have a child of my own," she whispered.

A deep depression over came her as a few more tears escaped the confines of her eyes. She clung to the man holding her, afraid of what was to come and sick with the knowledge that she had no more future to look forward to. The sparkle dimmed in her eyes and she mourned the life she could never return to.

Feeling a surge of pity for her, Undertaker nuzzled her hair as he carried her through the door. "We can at least try to reunite you with your husband, if he's deceased as well." Anderson looked at her with concern, and the mortician shook his head silently, warning him not to ask questions just yet.

"You can place her in the third room on the right, up the stairs," offered Lawrence. "I'll have some refreshment for her soon, and if the lady likes, she is welcome to bathe. I have a gown she can change into."

Undertaker raised a brow at him. "A gown, eh? Have you been entertaining lady friends, you old dog?"

Lawrence smiled, his mustache lifting with the motion of his lips. "Not lately, no. My sister sometimes visits, and the room I'm offering is the one she typically stays in."

"Ah-ha, I see." Undertaker smiled. "How's she been? Think she remembers me?"

"It's hardly possible for you to be forgotten, old friend." Anderson smirked. "You left an impression."

The mortician winced a little. "Not a bad one, I hope."

Anderson shrugged. "It takes a lot to offend her. You did manage to get around quite a bit in those days, though."

Ronald shot the Undertaker an amused look. "What, were you some kind of playboy?"

The mortician shrugged as best he could, blushing a little as Celeste's tearful gaze watched him curiously. "I'd rather not talk about that in the presence of a lady, but that's a fair assumption."

Grief stricken, Celeste couldn't even thank the other older gentleman for his kindness. She normally would have welcomed a bath, but at the moment she was to broken hearted to care. The thought of Charles being deceased as well was too much for her. She hoped and prayed that that was not true. She hoped he was home with his family, well and alive. In her gut though, she doubted that very much. If that man on the ship was pretending to be him, it was most likely her husband lived no more. But that troubled her even more. If they were both dead, how?

"What's your name?" She mumbled softly to the man, the reaper carrying her up the stairs. "I never asked it and you never offered it. I'd like to know very much."

"Folks call me the Undertaker," he answered, careful not to drop her as he ascended the stairs with Ronald and Anderson following behind. "Because I'm a mortician by trade. Once upon a time though, I was called Khronos. Not many people know that, my dear. I tend not to advertise it."

He counted the doors when he made it to the top of the stairs, and he carried her down the hall to the one Lawrence had offered. Pushing the door open with his boot, he brought her inside and he eased her gently onto the bed within. "There you are," he said softly. "Want me to help you with your shoes? You might be more comfy without them."

Behind him, Ronald's brow went up. He didn't know the mortician very well, but he was pretty sure he was looking at the imposter the same way he tended to look at Grell…and that wasn't good.

"Khronos? I know that name." She whispered, her eyes never leaving his face.

She didn't answer him, nor did she fight him as he began to untie the laces of her shoes. His fingers moved delicately against her boot-clad feet…as though he was accustomed to removing foot wear. Then she realized an Undertaker was familiar with the removal of all manner of clothing. He would be used to such a thing.

"Khronos was a deity. He was assigned time. To watch over it. Harness it. Give it to man. We, the modern era have come to know him as 'Father Time'. Am I correct? The name Khronos is Greek?" She spoke low. The tears she had cried dried leaving trails upon her alabaster cheek.

Undertaker glanced up at her face as he slipped her right boot off. "That's right, darlin'. To mortals, me and my generation were treated as gods, once upon a time. Those days are long over now, though."

He began to work on her other boot, and Lawrence silently urged Ronald to go with him and give them some privacy. "So tell me about your Charles. Was it an arranged marriage, or did he court you?"

He tried not to think of Grell as he worked to make the lady more comfortable. He felt for her, and that alone seemed like a betrayal to him. He shouldn't be entertaining thoughts of holding her in his arms, of comforting her. The old Khronos might have even tried to seduce her, but that was the last thing either of them needed. He only felt like he wanted her because she was so very much like his crimson reaper, whom he desperately missed.

"Charles… courted me. He was from Germany and came to England to attend University. He was best friends with my brother. He stayed one summer with us and that was how I met him. We were inseparable after that. He was eighteen. I was just turned sixteen. My parents would not allow me to marry him until I turned eighteen. We were married shortly after my eighteenth birthday. That was nearly four years ago."

As her other boot slipped off of her foot, she mustered a weak smiled. "Thank you. I am sorry if I have been childish. I just… I'll never see him or my family again… will I?"

The mortician impulsively rubbed her stocking-clad feet in an attempt to sooth her. "You've been through a lot. No need to apologize for being upset. As for your family and husband, you'll see them again eventually, however this pans out. Death isn't a final goodbye, my dear. It's only a temporary separation, and one day they'll all join you in the afterlife. I know that can't be much of a comfort to you now, but it's the truth of it."

He made himself stop rubbing her feet, trying not to think of the time he'd done that very thing for his dear Grell. It was shortly after they began seeing each other, and Grell had been asleep. He loved his little toes and the way the nails were always painted red. He loved the way he'd giggled in his sleep when he tickled them on a whim. He sighed and looked away, finding it painful to keep watching her.

"If anyone can understand how hard it is to be kept from who you need, it's me. Please trust me when I say I'm doing everything I can to make it right for both of us, and please…"

He looked at her again, his throat aching. "Don't cry, my dear. I hate to see a lady cry. I know that's selfish of me but I truly don't know how much of that I can take. My Grell…he cried against my chest so many times. I always felt so helpless, but I let him cry it out as much as he needed. I'd do the same for you if I thought you'd accept it, but…ah, pardon me. I'm babbling again."

He put her shoes down by the side of the bed so that she could easily find them if she needed them, and he stood up. "I'll see about getting you something to eat and drink, now. My colleague has news for me, so maybe we can have some answers to our dilemma tonight. You should try to rest, in the meantime."

"Before you go."

Celeste sat up. Then carefully she stood. In need of comfort, she flung herself into his arms once more. Her arms held him tight around his neck. Her breasts pressed firmly against his broad chest. Her pelvis brushed up against his groin. Balancing on her tip-toes, she nuzzled him slightly.

"I know I need to sleep. I am tired. But I am afraid to close my eyes. Please… I don't know why, but I feel safe when you touch me." She whispered softly in his ear.

Undertaker was quite sure that if he could see the look on his own face right now, he'd burst into laughter. As it was, he suffered a moment in which his body went hot, then cold, and then he tingled all over. His arms automatically encircled her, pressing her feminine curves more tightly up against his tall form. Was she deliberately trying to seduce him, or was this Grell coming out in her? He couldn't decide for sure and every moment he spent like this with her threatened to undo him. She wasn't Grell…he knew this…and yet his body reacted shamelessly, remembering that touch and wanting more.

"It's not you," he whispered, "what you're feeling for me. That's all coming from Grell."

He tried to back off a little so that she wouldn't feel "little Undertaker" poking her in the stomach through their clothes. Reapers shared some of the same weaknesses as human men; one of which was the embrace of a lovely, desirable woman. He'd invited her to cry against him if she needed to, but he really hadn't expected her to take him up on the offer so suddenly. She wasn't even really crying right now…she was just…holding him.

"I'll do my best to protect you both," he promised, the words tumbling out without any conscious direction. When she tilted her head back to look up at him with those soulful blue eyes, he swallowed.

~Stop looking at me that way, lady fair. I'll lose my head soon and kiss you, if you keep it up.~

Was it really being unfaithful if he kissed the lips that still belonged to Grell, underneath that illusion? It wasn't Celeste he was truly seeing, appealing though she was. She was staring at him the exact same way Grell would have, and it was scattering his common sense like so much piss in the wind.

~Celeste, what are you doing girl? You are married… well, you were married. He's a stranger, supposedly a Grim Reaper. Stop. But those eyes. They are so unique. So beautiful. I want to drown in them. I have never seen eyes like them before. I…~

"I am sure you will do your best." She replied as she raised further up on her toes. Her lips lingering closer to his. "What would happen if I kissed death?"

The reaper swallowed again, his breath intermingling with hers. "Death might forget to be a gentleman."

The old Khronos might not have a problem with that, but Undertaker worried about the consequences of relieving his desire on this misplaced creature. Still, he didn't pull away from her and his hands settled on her hips, sliding down in a seductive glide in spite of their owner's attempt not to react to her advances.

Celeste allowed her eyes to close as she leaned closer. Her lips feathering against the reaper's as her hands massaged the back of his head.

"I would not expect him to be." She whispered.

Her heart leapt and she began to ache between her legs. Her bodice grew tight like it had at the blond's home. She felt as though her body was moving on its own accord. She could not explain why she wanted him to kiss her, but she did. She imagined he would taste like cider. She would drink from his lips and become drunk from his kisses.

Already aching with desire and confused emotions himself, Undertaker's instincts took over and he granted her wish. His lips pressed against hers softly at first, and he pulled her close again. Sweet…so sweet. He was again tasting his Grell, feeling the soft lips part invitingly against his. He didn't even care if the woman or her host felt the evidence of his lust. Denied the one he longed for, he tried to reach Grell through the veil separating them, putting all of his love and need behind his kiss. His tongue sought entry to the pliant mouth and when it allowed it, he breathed in deep through his nose and embraced Celeste fully, lifting her up against him.

Passion's play engulfed them. Celeste's body felt afire and tormented. She longed to wrap her legs around his waist and give over to his bewitching powers, but a voice in the back of her head began to scream at her. She drowned it out, kissing him back desperately.

Reluctantly she broke the kiss and stared breathlessly into his eyes. "I've never been kissed that way before. So desperate, so longing. I…"

Her eyes burrowed further into his. He was burning as much as she was. Both desperate. Both aching. Both missing their lovers. She couldn't take her eyes off of him. It was wrong she knew it was, but she wanted more.

"I can't explain it… Khronos, but… touch me." She pleaded.

He stared at her, his mind warring with his heart. His gaze drifted to her pale, heaving bosom and he damned himself even as he slid his hands back up her waist to cup the inviting mounds. He lowered his mouth to hers again, claiming her lips like a parched man being offered a drink of water. His groin was tight and hard in his pants, throbbing with the need for intimate contact. This was wrong…so very wrong…but he could sense how much she wanted it too. It wasn't about love between them; it was a desperate need to reconnect with someone and salve the pain of their losses.

Undertaker brushed his thumbs over her nipples, straining against the fabric of her damaged dress. Damaged like he was…damaged like her. One could mend torn material, but what of hearts? A low sound of primal need grew in his throat at the sound of her gasp of pleasure, and he put one arm around her to pull her backwards with him toward the door. He slammed it shut and twisted the lock in two short, quick motions, and then he scooped her up into his arms and carried her over to the bed.

"Need you," he gasped against her lips as he lowered her onto it and slipped his hand up beneath her skirts. He almost expected to feel the outline of male genitals when he palmed her between the thighs, his hand sliding over the lacy material of her pantaloons. There was nothing—which meant she was completely female down there, too. She said she'd never been kissed this way before…he wondered how else she'd never been kissed. It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman and the desire to taste her down there was strong.

He felt the moisture coming through her garments, and he knew she wasn't just putting on an act. She really did want him as much as he wanted her. He burrowed a hand down her pantaloons, his fingers combing through springy curls of pubic hair as he made his way to his target with experienced ease. He felt the little nub of flesh he was searching for and he rubbed it in little circles with his fingertips, mindful not to stab the delicate flesh with his nails. He muffled her little cry with another kiss, thrusting his tongue demandingly into her mouth.

Her legs began to part slowly, her body aching for more of his pleasuring touches. She moaned into the kiss as his tongue dove deeper. It had been… she couldn't remember when last her and Charles had made love. It was an odd thought that disturbed her. She tried to blink it away and concentrate on the man in her arms, but she had a nagging feeling it had been some time. Did that mean she had been dead for some time? Was that why she was in such need to be touched? To have someone make love to her? Charles and her had never kept the custom of sleeping separately like most of London society. They slept every night together. Made love almost every night as well. But her body felt as though it had been years since she was made love to and she knew that could not be possible.

Her brows pinched together pensively. She broke the kiss, but did not stop his lips from wandering over her neck and collarbone.

"Khronos… I can't remember when last I made love. Why can't I remember?"

The question didn't immediately register with the impassioned reaper, at first. He was so busy trying to figure out how to get her out of all those blasted layers without ceasing his attentions to her loins that it took him a moment to comprehend what she was asking. He paused in his kissing, but he didn't stop massaging her womanhood as he lifted his head and gazed down at her. He stroked his middle finger between the soft folds of flesh beneath the nub, whilst still massaging it with his first finger. She was quite damp. He didn't think it would take much more to bring her to completion and make her even wetter, but he didn't want to ignore her inquiry and make her feel like she was only a body to be shagged.

"Chances are the reaper that did all this trimmed your cinematic records a bit while he was putting them into Grell," he reasoned. He planted little kisses on her nose, her cheeks, her chin. "That, or you've been gone longer than we imagined. We'll find out, my dear."

He didn't want to stop…not now, when he was so hot and desperate with need. He was no fiend, though…not when it came to his partners. Forcing her was the very last thing he wanted to do. He looked into her eyes again, his thin brows furrowing slightly with concern. "If you want me to stop, I will."

No. She couldn't say she wanted to stop. The truth was she wanted to make love to him. She no longer belonged to Charles. If he was alive he most likely had moved on without her and even if he was dead, like herself, they would not be able to make love ever again. This might be the last time she could make love to anyone and though she knew deep down inside he was not making love to her, but the lover he had lost. She could not ask him to stop. At this moment she needed him as much as he needed her. There was a strange comfort in that knowledge.

Shaking her head, she breathed. "No… I don't care if it is wrong or right. I need this. You need this… ahh…"

His finger brushed her sex, sending a bolt of pleasure throughout her body. Her nails dug into the back of his arms. Her mouth fell open as moans passed over her lips. She could feel her body expanding, ready to be filled with his manhood.

"Khronos…"

Feeling a strong sense of relief that she still wanted to continue, the reaper sped up the motions of his fingers a little and he kissed her again. His tongue lanced in seductively, stroking inside of her mouth with insistent desire. He kissed her for perhaps another minute, before dragging his mouth away from hers and kissing his way down. He was eager to free those magnificent breasts from their confinement, but he knew that would require turning her over to unhook her dress and open her corset…or at least having her sit up. His fingers still recalled how to do it fast, but he intended to give her a taste of the other pleasures he could offer her, first.

Pushing her skirts up further, he made his way down her squirming body and he hovered over her once his face was at her hips. He reached under the bunched-up dress to tug her pantaloons down, still fondling her swollen clit and moist loins. The lacy garment came off and got tossed to the floor, and the Undertaker finally stopped caressing her to push both of her knees back, spreading her thighs wide to give himself complete access to his goal.

"Just relax, love," he advised in a coaxing purr, and he kissed the inside of her right knee, his lips trailing along the inside of her thigh. He unfastened the garter holding her hose up and he peeled the sheer garments off, exposing her pale, long legs completely. He kissed his way up her thigh, his lips worshiping the silken skin as they inevitably traveled closer to the apex. He glanced up at her and he could see her blush…her uncertainty. Maybe she wasn't familiar with being loved this way, or maybe she was just trying to brace herself for something she knew was coming.

But if there was one thing Khronos had always excelled at outside of reaping and autopsies, it was lovemaking. He'd never told Grell about his rather colorful romantic history before he retired and got maimed for refusing to relinquish his scythe. He didn't imagine the crimson reaper would have minded, but there was always that chance he might judge him, so he'd kept it to himself. Grell had asked him once about his skills and he'd brushed it off with the excuse that he simply paid attention—which was true enough, but the experience helped too.

He slipped his hands beneath Celeste's bottom to lift her hips a little and angle them, and then he closed in on the waiting treasure and began to lick. He took his time with it, sliding his tongue between the damp, rosy folds with slow, steady intent. He pressed his thumbs on either side of the core, spreading the lips to expose the swollen little nub crowning them. He swirled his tongue around that spot before flicking the tip against it, making her body shake and shiver with pleasure. Breath hot and heavy against the sweet, tender flesh he was servicing, Khronos' excitement mounted and he started to rhythmically stroke the tender little pearl, sending shockwaves of sensation through her body.

Celeste's eyes rolled to the back of her head. It had been so long since she had felt a man's mouth on her most intimate parts. Her fingers found their way to the glorious silver strands springing from the top of his head. She kneaded them in her hand, not tugging or pulling, but massaging the crown of his ancient head. What an incredible thought. A living breathing God was making love to her with his mouth, worshiping her body. Her lids closed, blocking out the details of the room. In her mind the Heavens looked down upon them, bathing them in precious light.

And then she felt the breeze rolling off the nearby ocean. She could smell the tangy sent of it, the taste of salt upon her tongue. She moaned, her toes curling at his sides.

"Well I see some things never change."

Celeste's eyes shot open. Her head turning the direction of the stranger's voice. There was woman dressed in black from her head to her toes, stood looking down at her and Khronos. A veil of lace was covering her face. She appeared to have hair as black as midnight. Her dress was form-fitting and hung to every curve of her body. It stopped just below the knees. The fabric was unlike any Celeste had ever laid eyes upon. The sleeves were long and came to her wrists. The bodice was cut low revealing a pair of milky white breasts, pressed up and nearly ready to depart from their confines. Her legs covered in black stockings, that disappeared beneath the skirt of her dress. Gloves covered her hands. Celeste could not see the heels she wore, that provided her with height that could compete with the Undertaker's.

Undertaker stopped abruptly, his head shooting up and turning to stare at the figure he hadn't seen in ages. For the sake of his bed companion's modesty, he automatically tugged her skirts back down. Lips damp with Celeste's essence, he peered stupidly through his bangs at the intruder, squinting to make her out. "Oh…hullo there, Atropos. Fancy meeting you here."

~xox~

-To be continued