6.

It had been nearly a week since what he affectionately termed "That Fateful Night," and although Mason had no fucking clue what he should do or if he should do anything to begin with, he was sure of one thing: George was to be avoided at all costs. He needed time to sit on this. To digest. To understand the situation completely and figure out where he was going go from there. All things that were not very Mason at all. In fact, Mason hadn't felt very Mason for quite some time now. Which, to him, only seemed to make his decision to steer clear of the girl responsible even more justified.

He actually surprised himself with what good of a job he did at first. They crossed paths every now and again – understandably – at Der Waffle Haus, of course. And of course, he made idle chit chat, trying to make it seem as though nothing were up; there was no need for her to get suspicious. But at the same time, when ever he saw an opportunity to get the fuck out, he sure as Hell grabbed it and ran. And even though George always looked somewhat baffled, he kept telling himself that he just wanted his space. He wasn't being a jerk, he just wanted his space! Because maybe space was all he needed to make these…feelings…go away.

Although his plan went off without a hitch for the first few days, he couldn't say the same as the week progressed. Considering this dramatic decision and the fact that, quite frankly, he didn't possess anything near Marlon Brando's acting prowess, it goes without saying that Mason couldn't help but behave differently around George. After his small talk had degraded into nervous bumbling, he realized that maybe speaking wasn't exactly the best way around this sensitive situation. In fact, maybe the silent treatment was the best approach after all. She would probably bite his head off down the line, but it needed to be done. Because to be quite frank, every time he spoke, he lost more and more control of what was coming out of his mouth, and before he knew it, he could very well blow everything. And that could not happen.

Given the circumstances, and considering Mason's lack of stealth and finesse, it didn't take very long for George to notice the drastic change in his demeanor and for her to initiate her own sort of retaliation. In fact, he started to notice her taking on a bit of an icy air around the fourth day, perhaps reciprocating the seemingly cold shoulder he was giving her. And by the fifth day, he could have sworn he felt those daggers of hers being launched from her eyes straight at him. And that was when he realized, maybe all out avoidance was the only way for them to get over this little rough patch.

It was 8 AM on Wednesday morning when Mason rolled out of bed, surprisingly sober and alert. He trifled through the rumpled mess of dirty laundry on the floor, trying to find something to wear. It had been two days since he'd been to Der Waffle Haus, and he knew there was absolutely no way around it today: he had to go. Which also meant that he had to see her. He groaned to himself and mumbled incoherencies as he kept fishing through the pile for a T-shirt that, at the very least, didn't have any ketchup stains on it.

"Bloody Wednesdays," he said to himself, clearly feeling particularly grumpy, "I fucking hate them." He snatched up a ratty old pair of jeans and a plain green T-shirt with only two holes – stellar, considering whose wardrobe it was – and dragged himself into the bathroom.

---

"Look who decided to actually show up today," Rube called out as Mason made his way to the booth. Roxy and George looked up in surprise as he approached and reluctantly took the seat next to Roxy, directly across from George. He simply mumbled a tired "ha ha" before snatching up the Post-It Rube stuck to the table in front of him. He scratched his head nervously, and looked over at Roxy, then out toward Kiffany, keeping his eyes anywhere but ahead of him.

Rube and Roxy exchanged words, but Mason paid no attention and was startled out of his daze as Roxy nudged him out of the seat. After her and their fearless leader made their way out of the building Mason took a seat back down across from George, who was slowly – and contemptibly – chewing the last bite of her waffle. She simply stared at him coldly, her head tilted to one side and her jaw slightly agape. Mason just rolled his eyes and shook his head, the slightest trace of a bitter grin on his face. They were clearly both pissed off; the reason for their hostilities unbeknownst to each other. He scratched his head once more, and nervously looked around the place again. Even though his mind was screaming not to, he let his eyes settle on her cold ones and in an instant, his line of defense was breached. He opened his mouth, ready to speak, and her eyebrows rose in intrigue, her gaze becoming indifferent rather than seething. He thought twice, then closed his mouth abruptly and looked back down at his Post-It.

"Where the fuck have you been the past two days?" She asked, her tone surprisingly flat, as she placed her fork back down on her plate.

"I—" his mind raced, and he finally sighed, stuffing the yellow paper into his pocket, "I better head off. My reap's in twenty minutes and it's all the way across town. Sorry, Georgie." He ducked his head, almost frightened to look at her again. Her eyes narrowed angrily, and she laughed bitterly to herself. As he was walking out, he heard her call out to him.

"Typical."

This lovely day only seems to be getting lovelier, he thought as he shook his head sadly and pushed the door open.

---

The next morning, determined to start the new day off on the right foot, Mason made a point to be the first to arrive and the first to order breakfast. By the time he finished up his side of hash browns, Rube and Roxy had joined him, but George was still glaringly absent.

"What is it with you two? Can't you both ever be on time? If one of you's here, then the other's not. Fucking ridiculous." Roxy muttered to herself as she glanced at her Post-It then proceeded to eat her fruit salad.

"It's an art form, really." Mason commented distractedly, his mind wondering to George, and whether she was really as mad at him as he expected or if maybe things weren't as bad as he thought they were.

"If she doesn't show—" Before Rube could get his sentence out, George burst through the door and charged straight for the booth, her arm outstretched, waiting for her daily Post-It.

"Morning to you, too, Peanut." Rube replied as he placed the Post-It in her hand. George smiled at him, excessively sarcastic, then turned to look at Mason. He looked down at the table guiltily, then over to the other side of the restaurant. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him angrily for a brief moment, but not brief enough for both Rube and Roxy not to notice. Finally, she turned back to those two, muttering something indecipherable about work. With her Post-It in hand, George spun around and headed back towards the door.

"Have a good one." Rube called out as the door swung shut.

"I would say that was strange, but knowing that girl…" Roxy didn't finish her thought, and instead put her police hat back on and stood up. "I'll catch ya later, Rube."

"Bye Roxy!" Mason called out eagerly, turning around in his seat as she walked away.

"Whatever, Mason." She called out, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

"So I guess it's just you and me, Rubey." Mason said as he reached over and grabbed the leftovers from Roxy's plate and placed them on his own.

Rube glared across the table at him suspiciously. He had that glint in his eye that Mason hated so much; the glint that told you that he knew exactly what was going on, but he wasn't going to say a thing. Not a single thing. He would just sit there, waiting for you to spill your guts, which was inevitable because no one has as much willpower as grand master Rube.

"You got something you want to tell me about?" He urged, leaning comfortably back onto the linoleum seat.

"What?" Mason laughed nervously and instinctually stuffed more food into his mouth. "I have no idea what you're talking about Rube."

"Yes you do. Hellen fucking Keller would have noticed something strange was going on between the two of you. And trust me on this one, I reaped her."

Suddenly, Mason felt the room getting hotter and sweat beads starting to form on his forehead. He was all nerves, and there was absolutely no way of getting around it. Not with that man's stone-face staring back at you, beating its little beady eyes into your soul, ready to suck you dry. A fucking vampire, that's what Rube was.

"Strange? What? Me? Around George? What? George? Me? Oh, Rubey, you've lost your bloody mind, you have!" Mason stuttered and bumbled, dropping his fork two times and his knife three. A goofy grin was plastered to his face, but he couldn't stop his right eye from twitching.

Rube simply continued to stare at him, not only suspicious, but thoroughly disturbed and disgusted by Mason's strange reaction. Mason continued fidgeting before finally shouting, "bloody fuckin' hell, Rube! What is this, the Spanish Inquisition? Fuck me!"

Rube lifted an arm and rested it on the back of the booth, raising an eyebrow at his fellow reaper before slowly turning his attention back towards his waffles and extra, extra crispy bacon, shaking his head disdainfully.

---

"Alright kids, Papa Bear has decided to be nice today, so you better fuckin' appreciate it." It was 8 AM on Friday morning, and to everyone's surprise, both George and Mason had arrived at Der Waffle Haus; on time, no less. Although they were both present, the tension between them was as thick as the stack of blueberry pancakes on Rube's plate, and everyone knew it. They still hadn't spoken to each other, and it was starting to weigh heavy on Mason's mind, as evidenced by his shoddy appearance. His hair was a mess, he hadn't shaved, had large, dark bags under his eyes, and basically looked like he was just hit by a bus. Ordinarily, George would be worried about her friend, but not now. Now she was one hundred percent certain that he deserved to feel as shitty as he looked. "Roxy, you get the day off. Mason," Rube reached out and stuck a Post-It in front of the languid British man. Mason moaned before snatching it up and holding it two inches from his eyes, squinting as he read it. "And of course, we can't forget little miss Peanut over here," George rolled her eyes as he placed her Post-It in front of her. "The two of you get to go to a pretty prestigious event downtown tonight. Which means…" The two of them looked confused as he reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope, clearly containing cash, "chump change. So you can dress the part."

"Bloody brilliant!" Mason grinned widely and immediately reached out to grab the envelope from Rube, only to have it snatched away. He frowned and folded his arms across his chest like a spoiled child. Rube handed the envelope to George, and she smiled slyly.

"Peanut, I'm giving you the sole responsibility to make this one," he motioned to Mason with his head, "look decent and respectable. I'm talking the works. Hose him down if you have to."

"Will do, boss," George replied, fingering through the money in the envelope.

With that Rube grabbed his jacket and slid out of the booth. He leaned on the table, looking at George, then over at Mason. "You'll have to pretend to like each other tonight, so you better get over whatever drama is going on between the two of you."

She looked at him curiously before speaking up. "Exactly what kind of an event is this?"

"It's a fundraiser ball. And you're his date." Rube put on his jacket, and quickly left, not allowing any time for either of them to protest. George plopped back down into her chair with a huff before glaring over at Mason, who looked confused, yet utterly terrified.

"A ball? A fucking ball?" He squeaked, then looked over at her. Her expression was cold and unsympathetic as she simply stared at him, her head tilted slightly. Mason let out an exhausted sigh and shook his head in frustration, averting his gaze from her searing one.

"I'll have you know, Mason, that you have no fucking right to be such a fucking jerk to me. I have done nothing to you to warrant this behavior, and quite frankly, I take offense to it. But instead of continuing with whatever ridiculous game we have going on here, I'm just gonna come out and say that you're an asshole and need to stop giving me the fucking silent treatment because I didn't do anything to deserve it."

His jaw dropped and his mouth immediately opened in defense. "I'll have you know that it takes two to make the silent treatment actually work, so…You're not one to talk, missy."

"One, that makes no fucking sense. Two, you fucking know that's the only way I could get back at you for being such a bastard to me."

Again, he opened his mouth, ready to protest, but was silenced by the warning finger she had pointed in his face. "Now I'm gonna say this once and only once, so you better listen good. We're gonna stop this stupid shit and be friends again, okay? Because, as much as I hate to admit it, life is fucking boring without you're freeloading and idiocy to keep me entertained."

He could have sworn that steam was coming out of her ears, yet he couldn't stop a smile from creeping on his lips and his eyes from sparkling. She truly had a way with words. He missed her sarcastic, yet incredibly endearing jibes, and in that instant, he forgot about everything that had been plaguing him for the past week. Sure, those…feelings...were still there – almost unbearably so – but right then, it didn't matter, because all he wanted was to have his Georgie-girl back. It had been much too long since he'd seen her smiling face and felt her biting sarcasm.

"Deal?" She asked, her voice slightly softer this time.

He looked at her for a pregnant moment with a typically adoring grin on his face. Finally, her defenses broke, and she smiled back at him. He laughed and just shook his head at her, his eyes betraying his casual demeanor. After a prolonged moment he nodded slowly, then tore his eyes away and stared at his menu. "Deal."

George let out a huge sigh of relief, then picked up her menu and scanned over it. "Whaddya say we go all out? I mean breakfast is on Rube after all…" She grinned mischievously and peeked out from behind her menu, envelope in hand. Mason leaned over the table and laughed, snatching the envelope from George and raising it in the air.

"Kiffany, darling!"

TBC