This Immortal Coil
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.
Chapter 12: He was not going to keep quiet
19 March, 1890
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London
9:47 a.m.
Runny eggs were a great way to settle the stomach the morning after a hard night. They filled the stomach and provided a good amount of protein, but settled in subtly without disrupting a churning belly. Ronald learned this in his younger days and shared this fact often with colleagues. Now he sat in the dining hall cautiously shoveling forkfuls of the beautiful stuff, his head screaming a little less and his gut less ready to mutiny.
He had no idea he drank that much last night. It takes a lot more liquor to give a reaper a hangover. He must have been tearing it up pretty well with Mickey, Alex, and whoever decided to join them. He lost track of how many he had but remembered going home on his own feet, or was that being helped along on his own feet? It was past tense now. Ronald was now enjoying a late morning to leave him plenty of time to sort himself out before going after his first client around 11.
Thankfully Mr. Spears cancelled that morning debriefing following their pleasant little visit to The Shade Garden. By his estimation, he was debriefed thoroughly enough after Mr. Spears dragged him back to his office:
"Let me make this very clear, Ronald Knox; nothing, I repeat, nothing that was said in that horrible place gets repeated to anyone. Everything you heard in there is strictly classified, for your ears only. Mark my words, Knox, if I hear any twitters that even resemble anything that came from the mouth of that walking corpse, I will see to it that you pay dearly. Always remember, vampires are consummate liars; never take anything that comes from their mouths as truth. I will be the one to sift through the lies, your role in this is over."
Ronald made sure to ask Mr. Spears, or rather direct his sputtering and yelling, if he should bother coming in tomorrow morning. He at least wanted to get a definite answer out of him on this so he knew he could get as drunk as he want and sleep in. Mr. Spears just told him to leave his sight. Ron took that as a no; if he was fetched in the morning then it would be a different story, otherwise there was no time or expectation as of now. Thankfully he slept in quite nicely and was now enjoying a delicious breakfast without any interference.
Naturally he never intended to repeat anything he heard in Victor da Vinci's office, though he doubted that the bloodsucker was lying. Mr. Spears wouldn't react like that unless something struck a particular sensitive spot in the right way. By now though he knew better than to be surprised at any expression of emotion from Mr. Spears given what he had seen in the past few days. Mr. Sutcliff's situation hit him hard, maybe what that corpse said was further explanation as to why.
Ronald looked up from his plate and watched as other reapers passed by with their own trays or cups in hand, whether alone of sharing a few words with friends. He knew many of these guys had similar stories to Mr. Spears and Mr. Sutcliff, it was so common that everyone knew it but few would talk about it openly.
Reapers had the same urges as humans, though their lifespan was unlimited for the most part, not to mention reaper "society" was less concerned about most morals of the flesh than the normal Christian society. Dispatchers were around other guys most of the time and often in close quarters. This wasn't just for a few years like at a boarding school or prison, they could be around each other for hundreds of years. Eventually most reapers would find themselves in tempting positions.
Ron had never done anything himself with other blokes, but everyone knew it happened in general. Most reapers, however, kept their mouths shut about it; at best it was seen as a personal matter, at worse people still held their old morals. There were so many reapers who gave into a moment of weakness who would regret it later for whatever reason. Mr. Spears was probably one of these.
Mr. Spears and Mr. Sutcliff knew each other from academy; Ron clearly knew about their final exam, but he now wondered if they knew each other before then. Either way, they both entered the dispatch at the same time. Ron knew from Victor da Vinci that Mr. Sutcliff had an inclination towards gents since his living days, but everyone knew by now he had an inclination for Mr. Spears after the final exam. What of Mr. Spears though? The stick up his arse was probably firmly in place by then, but even Ronald knew he was capable of some feeling, perhaps natural urges like anyone else? What happened if they did end up in a close position at some point way, way back?
Something happened between them that Mr. Spears now regretted and Mr. Sutcliff likely wouldn't let him live down. This explained way too many of their interactions…it also explained how Mr. Spears was taking Mr. Sutcliff's predicament. Ronald genuinely felt bad for the guy, he had to have been in a hard situation. Mr. Spears had nothing to worry about from him, it would have been rude of him to spread around this information. They had an understanding now, one that Ron wasn't going to throw away so easily.
Ron scooped up the last bits of runny yellow on his plate and looked at his watch. It was 10 on the dot, he still had another hour before going to Kensington to pick up the losing party in a duel between two businessmen. Ronald was in the mood to pay Mr. Sutcliff a visit; he had been looking through the sonnets in that book. Maybe hearing something mushy and poorly delivered from an annoying brat would inspire him to wake up just to smack him. Ronald found Shakespeare a right bore, but he couldn't help but admit he was warming up to it slightly. Maybe he should use a few of those sonnets on his next date, reaper girls loved cultured men.
Ronald looked up at the usual assembly coming through picking up their late morning tea and snacks. One bloke in particular caught his eye; a tall chap with black hair streaked with yellow hanging to his neck. Ronald's fingers froze on his fork, he just stared at the bastard. Peter Miles-Graystone, the compliment to reaper kind who had been taking bets on whether Mr. Sutcliff was going to live or die. Mickey and Alex told him yesterday about what this knob had been doing. Naturally he couldn't prove anything, it was just a couple rumors. That didn't stop his blood from boiling.
Peter was pouring himself a cup of tea and chatting with some guys. His eyes briefly met Ronald's and his jovial smile relaxed a bit, before giving him a nervous smile and a casual wave and going back to his business. Ronald must have been glaring at him pretty hard to elicit that reaction, he just glared at him some more. If they were alone in some offsite area, he would walk up to him and deck him. Alas they were right in the offices and right in the dining hall, physical confrontations here were rather frowned upon. Besides Peter was about fifty years older than him and could probably put him in the infirmary too.
Ronald wanted to just get up and get out of there, he couldn't stand the thought of sharing the same space with this wanker. The thought of leaving him completely alone, however, held zero appeal. He promised Alex he wouldn't kill him and he was holding to that; little Petey wasn't worth dirtying his scythe for. He couldn't leave through without granting him a little piece of his mind.
Peter was now sitting at a table alone, sipping his tea and reading the paper. Ronald didn't take his eyes off him as he got up from his seat and walked over to him. He could see little glances going in his direction and a few people moving right out of the way as he walked forward. Peter continued reading his sports page and sipping his tea. He glanced up briefly to make eye contact with Ronald, his eyes about to go back down to his paper until they came back up and fixed on him in surprise. Peter casually put his cup down and gave another nervous smile. Ron smiled back as warmly as he could under the circumstances.
"Morning, mate," Ronald said clapping Peter on the shoulder. "Mind if I sit here?"
Ron yanked out a chair next to him and plopped down in it.
"Go right ahead, chap," Peter said, his cheery tone a bit strained.
Ronald kept his eyes on his worthless colleague, but could see a small group assembling around them.
"I've been hearing round that you've got some sort of pool going on," Ronald said, "some kind of bet everyone seems to be in on."
Ron heard a few small chuckles go around. Peter picked up his cup and took a light sip.
"Um, well I like betting from time to time, sorry if that offends you," Peter said.
"Oh no, I got no moral opposition to a few little bets," Ronald said. "I do that myself, to be honest. But I happened to hear a few little whispers about your pool and I'm curious now. Care to tell me what exactly you've been taking bets on? I've been hearing some things, but I want to know if I've been hearing right."
Peter shifted nervously in his seat. Ronald took a small glance around him to find more people were now listening in on their conversation.
"I…don't know what you've been hearing," Peter said. "But I got a pool going on rugby; Oxford's playing Cambridge this weekend."
"Rugby, is that right?" Ronald said nodding.
He heard a voice behind him mutter "bollocks" followed by a louder voice repeating it. Peter kept his nervous little smile but Ronald could see his face stiffen a little.
"It sounds as if some of your colleagues have some different information," Ronald said. "I know I heard a different story. I heard a little story that your pool involves one player in particular, a colleague of ours to be exact, my senior for a little more details and a close friend of mine for even more truth. A friend of mine, a friend of so many here who's been struggling to stay alive for the past four days. The little rumor I heard is you're taking bets on whether or not he's going to live or die. How bloody happy I am to hear all of these were horrible, false rumors and you're not the twat I pegged you for."
"For God's sake Ron, lay off will you," Peter said. "It's none of your bloody business…"
"No, sorry Pete, it's exactly my bloody business; it's my senior and I feel I have a bit of responsibility toward him. Now some of your colleagues aren't believing your little story, care to tell me they're wrong or would you rather man up and tell me the bloody truth?"
"I can't say I'm liking your tone right now, Mr. Knox. Too bad you're still a little green and haven't learned too many manners yet."
A round of groans went up from the group followed by a few insults.
"You care to tell the bloody truth like the civilized man you supposedly are, Mr. Miles-Graystone? Have you or have you not been taking…"
"I just gave you an answer, I don't know what's going to satisfy you. I'm sorry about Mr. Sutcliff, Ron, I really am."
Peter was going to continue but the calls of "bollocks" were louder and more numerous. Ronald took another look around the room, seeing the whole dining hall was practically surrounding them.
"But I can't control what's going through the channels and I hope you're not taking every rumor as fact," Peter continued. "I know you're smarter than that."
"Channels my arse," someone called from the crowd.
"Lying pig," someone else said.
"Beat the truth outta him, Knoxie," said another voice.
More cheers rose through the group.
"That's a pretty bloody big rumor if you're getting this much of a response, Petey," Ronald said. "Or maybe no one likes you so they'll go around saying the weirdest stuff about you. Sorry you're so unpopular, mate."
Peter was giving him a calm glare. Ronald had no idea how much of a temper he had, maybe a few more words would earn a fist to the face. As much as Ronald liked the idea of tangling with him, he still wanted to mind the venue.
"I'm sorry your senior is so bloody unpopular," Peter said.
More yells went through the crowd. Ronald assumed this was his cue to knock him off his seat him, but why give him the satisfaction. He simply laughed.
"The wanker starts speaking his mind, well done chap, well done," Ronald said with a few claps. "You know what, I wanna contribute to that little pool of yours."
He rose from his seat and reached in his pocket, pulling out three crowns and shoving them into Peter's face.
"Three crowns says there's gonna be another mob around you, ya toss-off, with Mr. Sutcliff at the head of the crowd laughing his arse off," Ronald said.
Ronald threw the coins on the table and they scattered across the tablecloth. He flashed Peter a quick two-fingered salute and walked away from the table. A round of cheers and applause rose up from the crowd, Ronald got a few pats on the back as he walked toward the door.
In the sea of people, he spotted Mr. Spears by the door eying the group whilst adjusting his glasses by side, scythe firmly in hand. Someone probably fetched him thinking a brawl was going to break out. Ronald made eye contact with him and nodded, expecting him to charge up and start yelling at him for causing a scene. Instead he stayed where he was and watched him walk past. Ronald swore he saw the hint of a smirk of his face for a brief second.
"That's enough of that, back to your business," Mr. Spears called out. "I don't want to see any more of these little shows, am I making myself clear."
William threw a glance at Knox upon saying these words.
"Yes sir, won't happen again," Ronald said, walking out of the dining hall.
The crowd returned to their business. William looked and saw Peter Miles-Graystone sitting at his seat and practically wringing his newspaper. He tried to keep his lip from curling.
"There's been enough strife in these offices already," William said, walking past Miles-Graystone and fixing his gaze on him for a moment. "And I will not tolerate any more. No fights, no provocations, we're not children."
Peter looked up at him for a moment and immediately straightened himself out.
"Reapers are civil beings and must act like it," William said to the group.
He heard a few calls of "yes sir," and "certainly sir." They would probably all start snickering the moment he left the room, but he really didn't care. He eyed them all again, seeing the group fully settle back to normal, and walked from the room.
1:13 p.m.
"Mr. Sutcliff got a rather interesting little get well gift today," Dr. Sutherland said, dipping his pen in the inkwell on his desk.
"Oh really," William said, adjusting his position in the chair in front of the doctor's desk.
"We got a package from John Pennington, you know that retiree who runs a mortuary shop in St. Giles."
"The Undertaker, I am rather familiar with him."
Usually the Undertaker wanted nothing to do with the office. William tried more than a few times to get him to take on a few assignments, especially as a fine for those overdue Cinematic Records he checked out from the library a long time ago. He did, however, keep an ear out for all the supernatural goings on. The story of a reaper who was hit with an angel blast had to have caught his attention, especially if that reaper was Jack the Ripper. Maybe the devil butler said something to him, perhaps asking for a status update.
"He sent a wee stuffed bear, the thing looked like it'd seen better days but it had a few fresh orchids sewn in its hands," Dr. Sutherland said.
"That was a nice gesture," William said. "I personally do not wish to know where he got the bear, though a nice gesture nonetheless."
"You're thinking it came from a client, the thought did cross my mind," Dr. Sutherland said. "I did have it scanned for any other little treats that might have been in it, I know how anti-social he can be; but it was clear. It's on Mr. Sutcliff's bed table with the rest of the flowers."
"Sounds like a gift he would give," William said.
The thought of how many flowers were on that bed table was a bit charming. It showed how many people truly supported Sutcliff. That showing in the dining hall earlier further reinforced it, though William had to be mindful that many of those applauding could very well have been enjoying the show and not caring about its message.
While he was annoyed at Knox for causing a scene that could have turned ugly, he had to admire him for speaking out like that and keeping the situation calmer than it could have been. Knox and Peter Miles-Graystone could have engaged in fistucuffs right there, instead it looked as if Knox walked away before it could get too bad, albeit with some impolite words and impolite gestures that could have provoked someone. William knew he had to count his blessings as they came.
William's eyes wandered up the office wall as Dr. Sutherland signed his papers. He didn't care to think on this matter any longer. He saw a few anatomical posters as usual with the occasional print of Highland scenes or trains. William saw a framed certificate from the University of Edinburgh School of Medicine dated 1673, below that was the doctor's current certification to practice medicine on reapers. It was dated from when he transferred to the London office and was good for the next ten years. William imagined reaper doctors went through a recertification and training process every ten years to update their skills.
A small shelf in the corner was lined with model trains, though he saw a few other models of contraptions: some kind of flying machines. A small gold dirigible hung from the ceiling by a wire on a hook.
"You see my little collection, don't you," Dr. Sutherland said.
William returned his glance front and center and saw the doctor looking at him with a smile between looking down to his paperwork.
"Yes, they are rather fascinating," William said.
"I made all of them myself, most from kits save for the airplanes," Dr. Sutherland said. "That dirigible flies too, not by some charm either. All by mechanics and aerodynamics."
William raised his eyebrows, genuinely curious.
"I can imagine mechanics are a great skill for medicine as well," William said.
"The workings of a machine and the workings of the body are not too philosophically different," Dr. Sutherland said. "Both have their own unique parts, mechanisms, and careful handling requirements. It's just a matter of understanding both."
"Interesting indeed," William said with a nod.
Dr. Sutherland smiled and put his signatures on the last pages. He then put his pen back in its well and closed the folder.
"This should take care of that," Dr. Sutherland said, picking up the folder and handing it to William.
William took the folder with a nod.
"Appreciated," William said, rising from his seat.
"Oh I did want to give you forewarning I'll be taking a working vacation soon," Dr. Sutherland said. "Probably within the next few months. If Mr. Sutcliff is in need of any sort of care by then, he'll be in good hands with Dr. Kingsbury. So if you see me coming to your office scythe in hand, you know what's going on."
William nodded.
"I'd say you truly need to be under duress for taking on a few assignments as a 'vacation,' but considering your job I can imagine a change of scenery must be nice," William said.
"I love what I do, Mr. Spears, but that change of scenery keeps the mind fresh."
"Understandable, though pardon me if I don't take time off volunteering in your department."
Dr. Sutherland gave a loud chuckle.
"Can't say as though I blame you," the doctor said.
William smirked a little and nodded.
"Thanks for your time," William said.
"Anytime Mr. Spears," Dr. Sutherland said.
William took a hold of his folder and walked toward the door, opening it and exiting and closing the door behind him. He was about to go down the hallway, when a sight from the opposite end of the hall caught his eye. He looked over and saw two of the younger reapers standing in the hallway and looking into the main infirmary. They were talking amongst themselves, he was a bit far away to hear the full conversation though they were smiling. One was a small, skinny kid with black hair, Silas Phillips. The other was Henry Morton, a tall chap with shaggy blond hair and the physique of an amateur bodybuilder. Both were out of the academy only a few years.
William went invisible and walked over to them. Maybe this was a good time to listen in on their conversation. This time he wasn't sneaking around, he was right here and suspecting suspicious behavior right in front of him. If he heard something he didn't like, he was not going to keep quiet.
"Oh he's so very pretty now, I gotta say I like this look on him better," Morton said chuckling. "Grand diva's a bloody cue ball now."
William walked a little more cautiously. He wanted to hear everything.
"I'll tell you, I pity the poor sod who's in the same room with him when he sees himself," Phillips said.
"Though will this make him less of a pain in the arse," Morton said. "Maybe they gave him a lobotomy while they were at it."
Both of them had a nice laugh at this. William took a few more steps and stood still, getting himself into a nice position and summoning his scythe.
"We can only hope," Phillips said "Though he ain't gonna be gettin' much tail the way he looks now. Serves him right, wanker."
William dropped his invisibility and extended his scythe. The tip hit the wall between their heads with a loud thud, putting a small dent in the plaster. They both yelped and flinched out of the way, looking first at the wall and then following the pole to their unhappy supervisor. Their eyes widened and their mouths dropped open slightly.
"Number one, that 'wanker' you're talking about is a gravely injured colleague," William said, keeping his tone even but communicating his displeasure. "Number two, we have already had two deaths in this office in recent memory and you'll regret celebrating if there is a third. This 'wanker' you speak of, Mr. Phillips, does have colleagues who would gladly do terrible things to you if you repeated those words in their general vicinity. Let's avoid a messy situation, shall we."
William retracted his scythe, glaring at the two idiots. They continued staring at him, he even saw Phillips shaking. Cowards like this were only tough in their side conversations.
"Mr. Phillips, Mr. Morton, both of you are on warning," he said.
The kids nodded and walked away from him toward the main corridor. William fixed his glares on them until they were out of sight. He couldn't help but feel a little satisfied with himself. William looked in the infirmary and easily found Sutcliff's bed.
Grell's eyes were open, his head turned toward the window. A chill went through William's body. Did he hear all that? He must have known something was going on, his head was turned right to the window. William stared at him, meeting his gaze. Was he awake now, or was he just opening his eyes for a moment?
"Is everything all right, Mr. Spears," a voice said from down the hallway.
William pried his gaze away from Grell, looking down the hallway to see Dr. Sutherland walking toward him. He took a few steps over.
"I recommend that you add Silas Phillips and Henry Morton to your list of those not allowed to visit Mr. Sutcliff," William said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Or not allow them into the infirmary unless they're the ones getting treated."
Dr. Sutherland rolled his eyes and shook his head with a grimace.
"Blasted goons," the doctor said.
"Yes they were saying some rather impolite things," William said. "Hopefully they will be keeping their mouths shut, I had a pleasant little chat with both of them."
Dr. Sutherland snickered.
"I see, you used a little gentle persuasion," he said, pointing to William's scythe.
"It's effective," William said. "It also looks as if Mr. Sutcliff might have having a moment of consciousness. I just saw his eyes open."
William walked back to the window and looked inside. Grell's eyes were once again closed, his head turning back to a straight position.
"Well they were open, looks as if they aren't now," William said with a small sigh. "His head was turned right to the window too, almost as if he understood what was going on."
"That is indeed a promising sign," Dr. Sutherland said, walking over to him. "I told you about how he's been responding to voice commands a bit more. This means he might be becoming more aware."
William stared at him for a moment and nodded. Perhaps there was some optimism to be had, though William preferred anticipating nothing. He looked back at the doctor and bowed his head again.
"Keep me updated as always with any changes," he said, taking a few steps away.
"Never a problem, Mr. Spears," Dr. Sutherland said.
William nodded and walked away.
8:45 p.m.
Ronald flipped through the book, deciding on a little challenge.
"Now what shall we read tonight," he said, looking down at Mr. Sutcliff. "Any requests?"
Silence, naturally: Mr. Sutcliff remained completely still.
"I know I say this every night, but this is getting annoying," Ronald said. "Will you just open your bloody eyes for Mr. Spears? Maybe he needs to accompany me here in order for you to get any interest. In fact I'm almost right offended."
Ron knew this statement gave Mr. Sutcliff more of an incentive to keep his eyes shut, even if it was just to antagonize him. He at least hoped to see a twitch or a shift, but nothing. This was a master actress after all.
"Well you know what, let's turn the screws a bit harder this time," Ron said.
He flipped the pages of the book and stopped on the perfect passage: "Hamlet: Hamlet's Famous Soliloquy, Act 2:2."
"Now that's what I'm talkin' about," Ronald said.
He dramatically cleared his throat whilst skimming over the words to get a feel for them.
"'To be or not to be, that is the question,'" Ronald read in the most dramatic tone he could muster. "'Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them. To die — to sleep."
He looked down at Mr. Sutcliff and practically leaned in his face.
"'No more," he continued, emphasizing the line before coming back to a straight position. "And by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks," he paused and sounded out the next line to make sure he didn't stumble over it before continuing, "'That flesh is hair to,' no, dammit that's 'heir.' All right then. ''Tis a consummation
devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep,'"
Ronald paused again and read the next few words, his smile straightening.
"'To sleep — perchance to dream,'" he read, looking down at Mr. Sutcliff's sleeping form. This little speech was having more meaning than he thought it would. "''Ay, there's the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause. There's the respect that makes calamity of so long life.'"
The words struck him hard. Old Hamlet was talking about humans naturally, though Ron couldn't help but apply the same to reapers. This was no longer a mortal coil, it was more of an immortal one though a coil nonetheless. Humans were destined for a ride that would end, reapers were the ones that picked them up and took them to their last reward. Reapers had been removed from the ride, this was their living afterlife; they could still be removed from that too.
Mr. Humphries and Mr. Slingby already were, only Mr. Humphries knew what was going to happen to him. He seemed to make peace with this too, he didn't take people's sympathy too well; he just shrugged it off and said he was here now, that's all that mattered. Ronald looked back down at his mentor, his close friend; a man who narrowly avoided his own final end. He looked sick as hell and opening his eyes was a rare occasion, but he was still here.
Maybe this Shakespeare fellow wasn't just a windbag after all.
"'For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,'" Ron continued. "Th'' wait, oh that's 'the' isn't it. 'Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's,' con-tume-elly? Con-tume, 'contumely, the pangs of despised love, the law's delay, the insolence of office, and the spurns that patient merit of th'' the 'unworthy takes.'"
He was butchering it, but he really didn't care. He looked down at Mr. Sutcliff; this time his eyes were open. Ronald jumped in his chair and nearly dropped his book, but he managed to hold onto it, even keeping a finger in place of the page he was reading. Mr. Sutcliff smiled at him; not just some idle reactionary smile, it was one of his mocking smirks. Ronald's heart pounded.
"Reading me Shakespeare in my sleep, darling," Grell whispered, his voice soft and weak. He sounded as if he were trying to grasp words. "Oh how romantic."
Ronald's face grew hot, his mouth opened but only gasps came out. He had to say something, but his mind was blank. Finally something came through.
"You…you've been listening the whole time?" Ron gasped.
"Don't worry, dear, you're doing magnificent for a novice," Grell said, his voice growing stronger the more he spoke.
Ronald chuckled a little. He's awake, bloody hell he's awake! The words went through Ronald's mind at a relentless pace.
"Well…I'm trying to…umm," Ronald said, words escaping him.
"Woo some of the girls?" Grell said, his voice still soft but his words clear. "I'd say 'Hamlet' is a rather poor choice, but good for practice."
Ronald stared at him, the full situation dawning on him. This was the perfect lead-in to welcome him back to the world.
"Yeah, that's it," Ronald said, managing a nervous smirk. "I was hopin' maybe you could help me a little."
Grell looked at him and smiled, though Ronald could see his eyes fluttering again. He was fading from consciousness by the moment.
"I'm sure I could do that," Grell said, his lids clearly growing heavier. "But I'm a little too tired right now."
This couldn't be happening, he couldn't be going back to sleep. Though maybe this wouldn't be the same sleep. Maybe this would be a normal sleep. He was so frail, being awake for this long had to be exhausting. He needed as much time as possible to recover his strength. Ronald nodded, trying to control his shaking. This didn't mean he was going to let him off without some ribbing.
"Hey I can wait," Ronald said. "Just don't take too long. Mr. Spears is gonna be pissed if he catches you taking your sweet time."
"I saw him a little while ago, he's probably pissed already," Grell said, his voice growing softer and his lids drooping. "Oh sod him, I'm bloody tired."
He remembered seeing Mr. Spears earlier that day; he was conscious that little time that afternoon. He was indeed coming out of it little by little.
"Your funeral," Ron said with a chuckle.
Mr. Sutcliff smiled a little, then closed his eyes again. Ronald couldn't help but feel a little crestfallen, but then he opened them again.
"Hey, Ronnie," Grell said, his voice groggier. "Who was the poor bloke who was hit by the angel blast? I've been hearing about it all afternoon."
Ron's mouth dropped open and he stared at Mr. Sutcliff. He didn't know? He probably didn't remember any of it. If he had been going in and out of it, he would have heard things about a reaper getting a Voice Attack though maybe he never heard a name.
"Where did you hear about that?" Ron said.
"A little bit of talk around," Grell said. "So dreadful."
He didn't know. He just thought he was overhearing some dire news spreading through the office. "All afternoon?" As in all that day, or he didn't know what day it was. What if he still thought it was that one day, what if he thought he had been just taking a long nap on the couch in the lounge? Ronald didn't know how much he wanted to be the one to tell him.
"I…I'm probably not the one you want to be talking to," Ron said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "I'm sure someone else can tell you."
Dr. Eliza was on duty tonight. Ronald readied himself to get up and fetch her.
"I'll probably be hearing about it soon enough," Grell said, his lids drooping again.
Maybe that was for the best. Ronald didn't know if he wanted to be present for that pleasant conversation.
Mr. Sutcliff's eyes closed once again and his body relaxed, he went back into his old state. Ron stared at him, then let out a hard sigh. He would wake up again and soon, Ronald told himself. He came this far in just one day, he had to continue onward.
Ronald got up from his seat, taking a look back at Mr. Sutcliff and walking toward the door. He should at least tell Dr. Eliza about this. He walked from the infirmary and looked around for her. He saw her come out of the exam room adjusting the stethoscope around her neck.
"Is everything all right, Mr. Knox?" she said.
Ronald nodded with a chuckle that threatened to turn into a sob.
"He woke up," he said. "He opened his eyes and started talking to me."
"He spoke to you?" Dr. Eliza said, an amazed look coming over her face.
"Yeah, we had a short conversation before he went back to sleep."
"A conversation, as in he was coherent?"
"He was a bit groggy, but talkin' like normal. I don't think he knows what happened to him though. He ever asked me 'Who was the poor bloke who got hit by the angel blast?'"
Ronald couldn't help but laugh a bit. A slow smile came over the doctor's face.
"What did he sound like?" she said. "Was his speech slurred, did you have a hard time understanding him, was he having a hard time forming words?"
"No to all that," Ronald said. "He sounded like he'd just woken up from a really intense nap; really groggy, a bit soft, but the more he spoke, the stronger her got."
Dr. Eliza was practically grinning from ear to ear.
"That's wonderful," she said. "This might mean he is recovering beyond expectations."
"He did go back to sleep though, said something about feeling really tired."
"That's probably to be expected," Dr. Eliza said with a nod. "His level of response has been very gradual, he has made enough strides today alone. If he continues on this course, he will likely wake fully."
"That's really good news," Ron said.
"I'm just going to have a quick look at him," she said, walking toward the infirmary.
He followed her for a few steps, but this was her game now. Ronald had to be up relatively early tomorrow, maybe it was best to let her be.
"This might be a good time for me to shove off," Ron said. "Maybe he needs a more enlightening conversation than I can provide now."
Dr. Eliza looked at him and nodded.
"Well good night to you, Knox," she said. "I'm sure there will be more talks later. I know you've been doing a magnificent job bringing him into the conversation."
Ron chuckled a little and rubbed the back of his head.
"I just can't keep my big mouth shut, is all it is," he said. "Night, doctor."
Ronald threw her a wave and turned back toward he door. He took a quick look back to see her standing over Mr. Sutcliff and opening his eyes to check his pupils. He was still staying asleep, but maybe he would be whining about the intrusion later. Ron smiled and turned around. That might not just be wishful thinking now.
Author's Note: In reference to Undertaker: To keep some aspects of continuity with a previous story, this story isn't going to take into account the Campania arc of the manga. That isn't going to effect this story too much, but I did want to keep the option of having Undertaker as a more mundane presence.
Also Undertaker's "real name" in this story has no basis on canon and comes entirely from my own headcanon.
