Five years later...

Behind a stack of papers, the dark haired figure gives a frustrated sigh, throwing his quill down angrily. It was Sunday night. A time that usually consisted of a calming bath followed by tea and biscuits for William T. Spears. But with the recent rise in soul collections, his relaxing night would have to wait.

"Come now William darling~ Why don't you take a break? Perhaps take a walk with me~?"

A tinkling laugh follows as the wispy voice echoes through Will's head. He tenses suddenly as the ghost of his late subordinate dances around his office. After so many years he could still envision the scarlet reaper as if he could burst through the door any second.

"Enough Sutcliff!" He bellows, standing up suddenly enough to shove his neatly stacked papers onto the floor. Bracing his hands on the desk, he hangs his head in an attempt to control his breathing. The death of Grell had taken a massive toll on him personally, yet he couldn't figure out why.

"Because you couldn't save me?" The voice giggles cruelly. "Oh Willy~ Why didn't you move faster?"

Quickly he squeezes his eyes shut against the threat of tears. This part of his mind, the guilty part, was commonly found nagging at him when he was most vulnerable. When finishing overtime, even alone in the comfort of his own home it would remind him of how he had let down a fellow reaper.

"Cry~ Live with the fact that I'm dead because of you."

William knew that Grell would never say these things to him. Would he..? No... The Grell he remembered was too light-hearted, albeit annoying at times. He smiles ever so slightly at the memory of the many times Grell had made a fool of himself while under his care. Never again would he witness his antics, regardless of how frustrating.

With a sigh he flops down heavily into his chair and props his elbows on the desk, head in his hands. Surrounded by nothing but scattered papers, he lets silent tears fall onto the smooth wooden surface.

"I'm sorry Grell." He mumbles.

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A sharp knock echoes through the office, startling Will from his fitful rest. Giving a quick glance around at the scattered sheets of paperwork he realizes that he hadn't gone home last night, instead falling asleep at his desk. With a scowl, he stands up to retrieve his work when another knock sounds from the door. Sighing, he sets the papers down and quickly fixes his ruffled hair before opening the door.

"G'afternoon boss."

Standing before him was three of his most promising subordinates. Ronald Knox, Eric Slingby, and Alan Humphries. They all give an acknowledging nod before Ronald speaks up again.

"You mind if we step in for a sec'? There's something we'd like t' discuss with ya."

Pushing up his glasses and assuming an air of higher status, Will steps back and allows the three to enter before shutting the door quietly behind them.

"What is it, Knox?" He asks harshly, once again sitting behind his desk.

This time Alan speaks, his cultured voice very different from Ron's. "Its come to our attention that production has been slowing down as of late." He states, standing up straighter. "Perhaps its time to train new recruits to replace some of our... reduced staff." They all new that Grells death was a touchy subject around their superior and tried to avoid it at all costs. "To keep up with the increased amount of deceased souls being collected of course." Eric adds, seeing Williams expression harden.

The three reapers stiffen as he narrows his eyes behind his glasses, fixing them all in an icy glare. "Are you saying that soul collection has gotten too much for you?" He asks, his voice dripping sarcasm.

"Nah. We were reborn for this. What we weren't meant for was overtime. And if we keep up like this, there's going to be more of it." The two to Rd reaper huffs. "Which means more work and less play for all of us."

"I see." William staples his fingers and leans back in his chair, purposely keeping the others in suspense. They all fidget imperceptibly as he looks them over curiously. "Perhaps you're all becoming unresponsive to the task of the reaper." He drawls dramatically. "In that case, maybe I should show you how its done."

Swiftly, he flicks open the closest case file and lays it on the desk. "Jordan McGrath. 26 years of age. Death by mercury poisoning." He pushes the file towards the expectant males. "In exactly two months, Mr. McGrath will drop dead at the age of 27. This date will also be exactly five years after his miraculous revival from a two year comatose."

The three reapers look down at the file sceptically. "And this has to do with our short staff... how?" Eric inquires.

Standing up, their boss snatches the file and closes it with an audible click. "Of I can complete the recon and collection of his soul within the two month period without having to endure overtime, then you can complete your case files complaint free. Agreed?"

"Hold up! Hold up! You expect us to gamble with the fact that we're short staffed?!" Knox accuses angrily. "That's no way to-"

"Agreed."

The small voice cuts Ronald off as all eyes turn to Alan, his own eyes level with their superiors. "And if you fail, within the boundaries of standard soul collection, then you put us in charge of training the new staff. Agreed?"

Will raises an eyebrow, mildly surprised by Alan's bargain. "Fine. But I promise you that won't be necessary."

"we'll see." is the only reply he gets as the brunette male exits the office, a silent Eric and fuming Ronald following in his wake.

With a heavy sigh, Will pushes up his glasses and flips open his new assignment, his eyes skimming over anything of mild importance. This latest bet would help him keep his mind off unpleasant thoughts for the time being at least. And he didn't plan on losing.

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"Ideas. Ideas. Ideas. Where do they come from?"

This mumbling could be heard from behind a pile of papers that would rival even Williams. The owner of this voice was hastily scribbling down notes for his least novel, occasionally reaching up to scratch his head as he pondered the placement of events.

Sighing heavily he shakes his head, pushing layers of reddening hair, a side affect of his coma, out of his eyes. It had been five years since he'd come back to the land of the living from his injury induced comatose. Since then, he'd decided to choose a safer occupation, a novelist. Though his fiancé was sceptical, he couldn't help but follow his dreams and had currently written three books as a result. But this time was different. The ideas he was currently using to fuel his latest novel felt much more personal than the others. Like they were coming straight from his soul. Lowering his eyes to the page, he continues writing.

"A world of mystery. Of death and life." He chirps happily. "Inhabited by..." here he stops and taps his quill thoughtfully against his temple.

"Reapers."