5.

It had been a fairly typical day for Mason when he realized he was in love with George. Strange? Maybe. Impossible? Not at all.

---

The day began in his place. The obnoxious alarm on his bedside clock was going off, and he angrily shoved it over the edge, onto the floor. He groaned as he rolled over, then grumbled to himself and clutched his head as he sat up, kicking his covers off. His head was pounding, and he cursed the fact that the undead had to endure the joys of hangovers, just like everyone else. You would think that their undead metabolism would take care of those kinds of things.

After exhausting his vast vocabulary of expletives and popping more than a few painkillers, his mind wandered to her. He wondered why she wasn't home at 10:52 PM the night before. He wondered why he didn't just pick the lock, like he usually did, and watch some television until she came back. He wondered if she was out celebrating the end to her reaper-depression…Without him. Which led him to then wonder what exactly she was out doing and with whom. But most importantly, he wondered why he didn't crash on her couch, because if he had, he wouldn't have woken up with this fucking hangover and he would have had some company heading over to Der Waffle Haus.

And then he picked up some laundry from the floor, hopped in the shower, and headed out the door. Another day, another reap. So it goes.

---

When he walked through the doors of Der Waffle Haus, the first thing he noticed was no George. He would have been worried, but both of them were notorious for their tardiness. If it wasn't one, it was the other.

"Hi all," Mason said noncommittally as he scooted into the booth beside Roxy. He furrowed his brow and looked up at Rube, who was busy with the crossword. "Where's George?"

"How should I know? You know that girl marches to the beat of her own drum." Rube replied, not looking up.

Of course. That's what makes Georgie-girl Georgie-girl, Mason thought proudly.

"She's never on time." Roxy was in a particularly calm mood to Mason's relief; he wasn't up for getting chewed up and spit out this early in the morning.

"Ah well then, guess we'll just have to order without her." Just as Mason picked up his menu, the girl of the hour burst through the door.

"RUBE! Mark my words I will never forgive you for this." She marched over to the booth, glared at Rube and the empty spot next to him, then squeezed in next to Mason, much to Roxy's discomfort.

"If you didn't notice, two people are sitting here already. Go sit on the other motherfucking side!"

Mason couldn't suppress his grin as he sat sandwiched between Roxy and George, anger emanating from both. This was the George he knew and loved.

"Good morning to you, too, Georgie," he said with a smirk as he slung his arm around her shoulders. George's eyes narrowed and she stared at him disdainfully before knocking his arm away.

"I am not in the mood, Mason," she said tersely before turning her attention back to Rube, commencing to chew him the fuck out.

It was almost criminal, how much Mason was enjoying the scene playing out before him. There was nothing like an angry tirade first thing in a morning to make a man's day. The sun was certainly shining down on them all.

"—AT THREE FUCKING AM."

"Shit, did you just say you had a reap at 3 AM?" Mason asked as he perused the menu.

"Why yes, yes I did Mason. And if you didn't catch the time just now, it's oh, SEVEN FIFTEEN. IN THE MORNING." She threw her arms up in angry exhaustion. "Some people have no respect for recovering insomniacs trying to develop normal sleeping patterns."

"Death waits for no one, Peanut." Rube monotoned as he tucked his crossword into the pocket inside his jacket and brought out his planner. "To compensate, you'll get your evening off tonight." He pulled off a Post-It and stuck it on the table in front of George, then proceeded to do the same for Mason and Roxy. "Now if you'd excuse me, I've got places to go, souls to reap. We'll continue this later." He gave her a knowing glance before turning and leaving.

Mason looked on in amusement as George sighed exasperatedly and threw her hands up once more. "What a douche," she muttered to herself. Just as Mason was about to retort something snarky back to her, he felt a strong push from his side, and suddenly him and George were sliding out of the booth and onto the floor.

"I'm leaving," Roxy said, standing up annoyed.

"FUCK! MY LEGS!" George shouted, pushing Mason's sprawled form away from her.

"Bloody fuckin' Hell, Roxy! You could have just asked us to get up." He whined, standing and brushing himself off. By the time he looked up, Roxy was already gone. Mason gave an 'oh well' shrug of his shoulders, and took a seat opposite George.

"How bout we get ourselves some breakfast, shall we?" He suggested, opening up the menu once more.

"Yeah, sur—Oh shit, my reap's in fifteen minutes! I'm gonna be late for work!" And with that, George ran out.

"Well then, eating alone builds character, I suppose." Mason muttered to himself. "Kiffany, darling! Waffles and eggs, please."

---

D. Fellerman
543 45th Street
ETD: 6:43 PM

Mason looked down at his Post-It, then up at the pizza delivery man in front of him. He crumpled up the little yellow square, tossed it in the trash, and walked toward the man who just happened to be sporting a red puffy jacket with a dirty, plastic name tag safety pinned to the front: Danny Fellerman.

"Oy, that my pizza?" Mason called out, digging in his pocket for some money.

"You John Stevens?" He asked, as he opened the heat-sealed carrying case and pulled out a large pizza.

"Sure, why not. How much?" Food was certainly a plus; funny how things always worked out perfectly. And maybe, just maybe, if Mason was feeling extra generous, he could stop by George's place and see if she was up for some dinner. It sounded like a right fine plan to him. Certainly better than eating yet another meal alone.

"Ten bucks even." Mason handed the guy twelve dollars, took the pizza, and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, both expressing his thanks and taking his soul in one fell swoop.

"Cheers, mate." As Danny Fellerman got back on his bike, Mason started to head down the street only to stop after about a minute when he heard a loud crash and people screaming and running. He turned around and saw Danny's body and bike strewn across the pavement like children's toys in a playpen. And on top of it all, the car that had just hit them was now speeding away. Mason shook his head in disgust.

"Motherfucker." He turned to his right to see Danny Fellerman standing beside him, looking angrily at the car. "Mark my words, he'll fucking pay. Karma's a bitch."

"That is so very true." Mason replied, nodding before patting Danny on the back encouragingly.

"So, are you my guardian angel or something?" Fellerman asked as they made their way down the street. Mason laughed at the thought, and looked at the man's soul jokingly.

"Far from it, mate. I'm Mason. I took your soul from your body before the accident." He motioned to the scene behind them, and then looked down at his shoes anxiously.

"So I take it that pizza wasn't really yours, Mason."

"Well, it bloody is now." He laughed, and Danny just shook his head with a smile.

"So what now?" Danny asked, his voice both fearful and excited.

As Mason accompanied Danny to the light – a pasture with a farmhouse in the distance – he heard someone call out, "Shit, that was my pizza guy! I better get a fucking refund, man." Mason rolled his eyes, but couldn't stifle the sly smile that crept across his lips.

Now off to Georgie-girl's.

---

"…I mean, I could have waited 'til after he died to swipe the pizza, but then I ran the risk of blood or body parts or even worse insides ending up in it. So yeah, it sucks that I had to pay ten bucks, but I figure it was worth it." Mason took a big bite of his slice of pizza, then leaned back, putting his feet up on the coffee table and one arm on the back of the couch, behind George.

"Smart move," she said, digging in. "Thanks, Mason. I was thinking of doing Der Waffle Haus tonight, but I'm not gonna lie, it's starting to be overkill."

Mason scoffed at her, and then started to talk, his mouth full of pizza. "Well imagine 40 years of it."

George turned to him, a frightened expression on her face. "You're such an old man!" She pushed him in the gut, and he laughed for a moment before becoming serious.

"Now I'm warning you, Georgie. That's a dangerous game you're playing, yeah. I could very well puke all over that lovely little pajama ensemble you have going on there because I really don't think large quantities of hard liquor and mozzarella cheese are meant to be consumed together." George looked disgusted and shuddered. "By the way, why are you in your pajamas already? You realize it's only 8:30 on a Wednesday night, right? The night is still young. In fact, that's an understatement. The night is still in its early stages of infancy for Christ sake."

"Are you trying to tell me that I should go out and be young and reckless?" She asked, sinking lower into the couch so that she was talking to Mason's arm rather than his face.

"Yes!" He exclaimed excitedly, "that's exactly what I'm trying to tell you!"

"You forget, one can't really go be young and reckless all by themselves. Then it's just sad and pathetic."

"Georgie. You forget that you just happen to be sitting right beside the reigning king of young and reckless. All you have to do is say the word and we're there in a flash, ready to behave terribly and make regrettable decisions. Whaddya say?"

"As appealing as that sounds," there was surprisingly no hint of sarcasm in her voice there. No matter how hard George tried to stay out of the mainstream and be her own woman, with each passing day she wanted nothing more than to fit in and be one of the "crowd." But whether she'd actually act on that desire was another issue entirely. "I have to admit that's not really my thing."

"How would you know," he asked, turning his head towards her and resting it on his shoulder, "if you've never tried."

"I have tried, thank you very much, and I just know." She offered her uneaten crust to him and he quickly accepted it with a huge grin.

"Okay, but how do you know?" He asked again, his mouth full of pizza crust.

"Just do." George sat up straight and was looking intently at the remote on the coffee stand. She rested her right arm on Mason, effectively pinning him to the couch, and eliciting a long string of colorful obscenities that she proceeded to pay no attention to. She leaned both of her legs over Mason's, grabbed the remote with her feet, then flicked it up towards the couch and caught it.

"With skills like that, who needs friends?" She joked with a smile – something she seemed to be doing a lot more these days. Mason liked her smile. It was warm and carefree, and a refreshing change from the bitter, angry expression she'd perfected over the years.

He laughed and smiled genuinely back at her. He didn't know what it was about her that made him so happy and strangely at peace. "With skills like that, why aren't you in the circus?" He joked, reverting back to his normal, sarcastic self. She let out a fake, loud, obnoxious laugh before punching Mason in the stomach. Within seconds her legs were back in their previous position – crossed on top of the table, and her head inches from his upper arm.

"I gotta say, this is more my thing." She picked up the remote and started flipping through channels aimlessly.

Mason rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Well then, we're going out tomorrow night because spending the evening in front of the telly on a Thursday is forgivable, but on a Friday night? Well that's just blasphemous."

"Yeah, whatever," she said, clearly paying more attention to the channels she was surfing through than what he was saying. Finally, she settled on Nick at Nite, as always, and tossed the remote to the side.

"Oh no, no, no. I simply cannot have this. We are not watching Nick at Nite again. If I have to see any more of those bloody Olsen twins, I'll kill myself…Again." He reached across George and grabbed the remote. "I would rather watch bison grazing on that Animal Planet channel you have than those fucking twins saying atrociously cute things, and that stupid uncle who loves his hair."

"As you wish, Mason. Because it's not like this is my place or anything."

"Oh come on. You can't tell me you want to watch that bullshit. I find that very hard to believe, Georgie. Especially considering the fact that you eat little girls like that for breakfast."

"Hey! Are you trying to say I'm an angry person?" She asked, sitting straight up, suddenly defensive.

Mason laughed loud.

"How about we watch a movie, yeah?" He asked, changing the subject before she could attack again. He jumped up quickly to check out her DVD selection.

"Nah, I'm not feeling very movie-going. Two hours is too much of a commitment. I don't like it when those kinds of restrictions are placed on my life, ya know?"

"The fucking man, always trying to impose his tyrannical rule on our lives." Mason bellowed, pumping his fist in the air. "Now that's what I'm fucking talking about!"

"Yeah!" George said facetiously enthusiastic, before plopping back down and speaking in her normal, low key voice. "Lets just channel surf or something."

"Fine," he groaned, jumping back onto the couch. They sat there for a solid five minutes in silence, simply watching as channels passed, but nothing even remotely good seemed to be on. Finally, Mason spoke up. "You know, we could always watch Jerry Springer and play that drinking game where you take a shot every time someone says 'fuck'."

"Um thanks, Mason, but no thanks."

---

It was nearing midnight, and George had fallen asleep on Mason's shoulder watching The Godfather. True, she didn't want to commit herself to a movie, but it was the only thing that they both could even slightly agree on.

"Fucking brilliant," Mason said to himself, staring at the credits. "Every time, just fucking brilliant. Don't you agree Geor—" He looked down and realized she was long gone. He could feel the steady warmth of her breath on his arm, and he smiled affectionately. He didn't know exactly when things between him and George became this comfortable; it was just a gradual progression, he supposed.

After Daisy left, it was just them and Rube and Roxy. So really, it was just them. It was a hard time for him, and he was surprised that she cared enough to step up and be there. Instead of turning (primarily) to booze and drugs, he had her. Someone he could talk to, and someone who could help him fight his own demons – or in some instances, fight his demons for him. Mason was weak and confused; always was and always would be. He didn't know what to do. He was scared. But George? She was fearless. She was his support. She dealt the blows when he needed a kick in the pants, and she gave him strength when he needed it. Sure, he had been there for her countless times over the past seven years, too, but he couldn't help but feel like he was getting more out of this friendship than she was. Because honestly, what could Mason offer? Slurred words and a sloppy, drunken hug? He couldn't save her. And no matter how much he wanted to, he was pretty sure she didn't want to be saved by anyone. She was going to save herself, and he just desperately hoped she'd take him with her.

...And she would, right?

As he stared down at her peaceful, sleeping form, it just clicked. George wasn't just another reaper Mason worked with; he cared about her. A lot. And he worried about her. And he thought about her constantly. Her scowl made him smile. Her smile made him smile. Her presence made him smile. She made him feel safe. She made him feel permanent.

He didn't just love George like a best mate; he loved her loved her. And it fucking scared him.

Mason stood up and stared at her incredulously. He rubbed his eyes, which were wide in disbelief, then let his hands drop to cover his open mouth. This couldn't be right. He couldn't be in love with anyone. Fuck, he didn't even know what love was. For all he knew what he was feeling could have been anything. All he could be sure of was what his gut told him. And his gut was telling him that he was in love with George Lass.

He shook his head, still surprised at the workings of his own mind. He had to get out of here. But he couldn't just leave George asleep on the couch; she'd kill him for not waking her up if she woke up the next morning with a stiff neck.

But she looked so peaceful.

Mason smiled and laughed quietly to himself. What have I gotten myself fucking into?

He reached down, scooped George up in his arms, and carried her to her room. He laid her down in her bed, placed her covers over her, and then quietly made his way out of the house.

---

And that was how it happened. That was how he, Mason, realized he was in love with George – Georgie; his Georgie-girl – as T.S. Eliot profoundly wrote: not with a bang, but a whimper.

TBC