2.

It had been a long day, and all George wanted to do was to come back to the comfort of her home and not think about anything. She wanted to sit down and turn her brain off; to forget about what she was, where she was, and who she was. She just wanted silence. So needless to say, walking through the front door only to see a lanky Brit lounging on her couch simply added to her mounting aggravation. And much to her chagrin – but not to her surprise – he was feeling friendly.

"Hey there, mate." He called out as he rested one leg on the coffee table and the other across the length of the couch. His head sat on the armrest, but he slid his neck down so he was staring up at an upside down George.

"I am not your mate." She croaked, in that oh-so-welcoming, sarcasm-laden tone that had become her trademark. She walked in front of the couch and swatted his legs away so she could take a seat, and with a heavy sigh, heaved herself downward, covering her exhausted face with her hands.

"You know, nothing comes on the bloody telly during the summer. Why is that? I mean, why waste my time watching a fucking reality television program, when I can go outside and observe reality in person? Television executives are fucking morons, is what they are." Before George could let out another breath, Mason's mouth was moving a mile a minute. "And another thing: I find it hard to believe that you have no alcohol here. An absolute travesty, it is. This environment is not at all capable of fostering a healthy living atmosphere without at least one bottle of hard liquor in the kitchen…Maybe seven."

"Jesus! When I said you were free to come around, I didn't think I was signing up for a fucking Siamese twin!" George screamed out, finally finding a window of opportunity to cut Mason off in mid-ramble.

"Shit, what crawled up your trousers and died?" He asked, excited for the chance to egg her on a bit more. He knew that with George came three things: sarcasm, pessimism, and a complete and utter disregard of authority. Although it was the latter he found most attractive, the first two also suited her quite well. And in fact, he was pretty sure it was precisely those three things in unison that kept them on such good terms over the past seven or so years.

"Shut the fuck up, Mason."

"Things not so happy at Happy Time, eh?" He asked, lifting his legs and resting them on her lap. She finally took her hands off her face and gently placed them on Mason's legs, much to his surprise. Usually, these kinds of moods meant he had the pleasure of enduring all sorts of verbal and physical abuse at the hands of George, but if she wasn't even willing to throw a punch or slap him around a little, whatever was bothering her must have really been bad. His joking grin that featured most prominently in their exchanges quickly transformed into a concerned frown. "George, what happened today?"

George's friendship with Mason was a strange one. Well, most people would have probably thought it to be normal – if not extraordinary – but she wasn't most people. It wasn't strange in a bad way, just in a…Different way. She wasn't used to having a friend who was so genuinely concerned with her well-being, and to be honest, it was something she tended to shy away from. Being a loner meant not having to deal with other people's shit, but it also meant having to deal with your own shit alone. But having Mason in her undead life made things easier, and she liked that.

She sat for a moment, trying to figure out how to put her thoughts to words. She could feel Mason's stare burning a hole through the side of her face, and it took all of her energy not to run away and tell him to fuck off.

"Do you ever miss your parents?" She asked finally, turning to face him. The question threw him off guard, and before he could reply, George spoke up again, as if to amend her question. "I just mean, I never appreciated mine while I was alive…I kind of hated them actually. But now that I'm gone, I just miss having that— sense of security. Having them. Who have to care about you no matter what, and who will always be there no matter how much you make it seem like you hate them. You know? I know, I'm crazy. Fuck it. I'm tired." She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "I'm so fucking tired, Mason."

Mason simply sat there, looking over at his closest friend. He didn't know what to say. A normal response to death, sure, but as we've already established, she wasn't normal. And after so long? It was bizarre, to say the least, and he was at a loss for words.

"Did you go home today?"

"No."

"Did something happen at your reap?" He asked, suspecting that maybe this outburst was rooted in something deeper than simple regret and nostalgia.

"Nothing happened. Nothing at all. I went to the fucking train station, and I took the fucking souls. I did what I was supposed to do, and what I've been forced to do for the past forever. I followed the rules, just like Rube always wants. Putting up a fight requires way too much energy."

"Very true." He thought for a moment before speaking up again. "You know, Georgie, that life is done with. There's no sense in making a shit time out of this life because we fucked up the last one. The way I see it, that gives us even more of a reason to make this one count, you know what I'm saying? Like, since we're given this chance, we sure as Hell better live it to its fullest. And fretting about the past certainly doesn't help ease things along, am I right?"

George looked over at him slowly, her eyes burning with tears and anger in her gaze.

"Fuck. Off." She bellowed from behind clenched teeth. "If I needed a fucking lecture, I'd go to Rube."

Not even the most heartfelt words of encouragement would help. Nothing would make her feel better right now, and he knew it. He could propose that they have an impromptu night on the town, and he could take her out and really make her feel alive – like she was still a part of this world, which she was – but he knew that wasn't what she wanted right now either.

All reapers had these moments, so it wasn't anything unique to George. Right now, all she wanted to do – all she had her mind set on – was wallowing in her own self pity. He knew how it was, he went through the same thing all the time. And whenever he was set on it, she was the one who bought tequila for them to drown their sorrows in. The least he could do was do the same. But something told him a bottle of tequila wouldn't make her feel any better tonight, either. The one thing she hated more than her troubles was running away from them.

Mason frowned exaggeratedly before shaking his head. "C'mere." He sat up half way and pulled her down onto the couch with him. He could feel her shoulders shaking with sobs and they lay there together, him holding her in his arms, and her crying on his chest. It broke his heart whenever she got like this. "You think too much, Georgie-girl."

He simply stayed there, holding her quietly for a while before deciding to speak up again. "Do you want to talk about whatever's really making you feel so shitty?"

Her head was still buried in his shirt as she shook her head; a clear no. With raised eyebrows, he nodded to himself and stroked her back soothingly.

"Alright then, I suppose." The minutes were adding up, and Mason surprisingly didn't mind. He liked feeling like Mason the Fuck-Up was capable of saving someone, rather than always been the one who needed saving. And he liked knowing that George didn't always have to take everything on herself. She needed someone around to be there for her, and he was willing to fill that role. Because, to be honest, who else did he have in this life?

He was getting lost in his thoughts and didn't notice when George's irregular breathing settled down and it was a surprise to him when she suddenly woke him from his reverie. "Why don't people like me, Mason?"

"Wh-what are you talking about, Georgie? Why don't people—Okay, you clearly are not living in this world because that's just about the most ridiculous question I've ever heard in this life and the last."

"Cut the bullshit," she said, still not willing to lift her head as she spoke. "Why don't I have any friends?"

"What am I then? Some random junkie you met through work? I'm your bloody friend, George! Jesus Christ." He muttered, rolling his eyes and trying to fight the faint traces of hurt he was feeling.

"No, no, I mean—" As she started to speak, Mason stopped her abruptly and lifted her head from his chest. Her eyes were streaky and cheeks red.

"Ah, there we go. And you were saying, love?"

She sighed with frustration and rolled her eyes before resting her chin on her hands, which were sitting comfortably on his chest. He just stared up at her with a big, adoring, Mason smile.

"I don't mean you – you don't count. I mean why don't I have any other friends?"

"Oh, I don't count, do I? I see how it is, then."

"Yeah, you don't count." She growled, glaring at him with annoyance written all over her face.

"Darling, believe me when I say it's better that way." He started, getting back to her original question. "I mean, you can go out and do whatever you want, but it makes what we do so much easier if you just let that all…Go."

"That's easy for you to say, you have a ton of friends." She replied, averting his gaze.

"...Which is why I spend most evenings with you, of all people, here, of all places." She glared at him disdainfully, her eyes narrow and face scrunched up in that way that told everyone that someone just really pissed her off. Mason rolled his eyes and laughed to himself. He reached out and placed his hands on George's face. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding, there's no need to send me those daggers with your eyes. We're just two lost souls, Georgie-girl. Think of it this way: at least we have each other."

Mason generally tried not to think of George in the romantic sense, but as he sat there, her lying with him and his hands on her face, he found it harder and harder to fight the urge to just lean down and kiss her. Sure, he'd kissed her before, but she was so young then, and he had done it out of sheer brotherly love. Plus, there was the whole impending doom thing hanging over his head back then. Right now, though, was entirely different.

She was looking downward, thinking God-knows-what. Finally, she looked up and smiled sadly with a nod before letting her head rest on his chest once again. He laughed inwardly, secretly glad that she had inadvertently thwarted whatever rash, illogical plans he was formulating in his mind. He knew making any sort of move would be a mistake that would most likely result in him fucking this up and losing George as a friend – something he so desperately needed – for good. Every now and then, he had to fight off the urge, and he always did so pretty effectively.

He lifted his hands from her face, and rested them on her hair, stroking it slowly. His dick was not going to get in the way of this friendship.

"Thank you, Mason."

TBC