Thank you to the commenter who took the time to write something about this story. I'd lowkey given up on FF and so seeing that comment reminded me there are still people on this site who are interested in my work! So I will try to be updating the rest as I can.
Also now it's screwing with my punctuation that I use to denote "chapters" so if something seems off that's probably it
...
A few weeks later, she is filling out charts when she senses him. He walks past her and she nods, acknowledging him but he does not smile or acknowledge her back. He looks at her guiltily instead. She's confused by the expression until he walks past the elderly man's room she expected and heads towards the 6 year old's. The one who was in remission from chemo but suffering a horrible infection since her immune system was so weak.
Her mouth parts, "no-" the word escaping her lips and he almost winces, like she's slapped him. "Wait." She hurries over, stopping him from entering the room by blocking the door.
He could move her, but he pauses instead, looking like he's drunk something sour.
"You can't-" she pleads, "you-" but she knows what happens to him when he doesn't do his job.
"My apologies," he says quietly, "but I am here for her." Before her eyes his form shimmers and his childlike visage appears. Around 8 years old and wearing a sweater that covers his neck. Death slips past her and jumps up onto the girl's bed.
"Who are you?" The girl asks, "are you sick too?"
"I was…" She hears his voice, softer, more childlike, say, "now I'm not."
"Did you get better?"
Death shakes his head, "no, I got worse."
The little girl, akin to her disease and understanding, looks down, "oh…"
"It's not so bad."
The girl starts to cry, "I don't want to leave my momma."
Peggy's throat is tight, like someone has a fist crushing it.
"It is hard…" he says, "I get that." He shrugs his mini shoulders, "but where I went, there was no more pain, and you can play the whole time and you'll never get sick ever again. And one day your mom will come join you."
"How long?"
"That I don't know," Death admits, his feet swinging off the bed, "but where we're going it won't feel like very long. I promise."
The girl is wiping at her eyes, "what does it feel like to not be in pain?"
Peggy turns away, covering her eyes and trying not to sob out loud.
"It's real nice," Death answers, "I can take you, if you want?"
"I think I need to take a nap first," the little girl says, her tears turning into a yawn, "but then I'll tell my momma I gotta go real quick."
"Alright," Death says, she hears him hop off the bed, "I'll see you."
Peggy turns back to see the little girl leaning back, her breathing changing, and it's seconds before the little girl starts to code. Peggy hears the nurses running and she helps them try to save her. But it's mechanical. Just going through the motions numbly as they try the defibrillator and oxygen.
The time of death is called and Peggy sits on the stool, staring at the lifeless body.
A cool soft hand touches her shoulder and she shakes her head, "you let me try…"
"I…" his voice is quiet, "I knew it would not make a difference for her… But perhaps it would make you feel better. To know you had tried."
She sobs into her hands. Never has she felt such deep unease at her patient's death until she had met him. Somehow knowing death was coming made it worse, not better.
Her eyes lifted to see him in his large visage, huge and imposing yet looking at the little girl like he would rather burst into flames than take her.
But gently he reaches down, picking her up and cradling her in his arms, her head tucked against his chest and her small hand resting over his heart.
She moves and mutters like a child in a dream and tears stream down Peggy's face as he gently moves his other hand to secure her against him and starts to walk out of the room. She reaches out, grabbing the tail of his soft black sweater.
He stops, looking at her hesitantly like she might yell at him, but she just chokes out, "you'll take care of her?"
His face is sad, but soft as he responds quietly, "that's what I've been trying to get you to understand. I take care of all of them…" She lets go and he smiles sadly at her before heading down the hallway, taking the little girl with him.
...
He doesn't show that night, probably assuming she's mad at him. But she isn't. Something resigned and weary has settled in her chest.
It's cold as she wraps her fist around the little scythe. No matter how long it lays against her skin it doesn't warm.
It takes a minute but then he's there, standing by the far windows.
"You weren't going to come?"
"I wasn't sure you'd want me too."
Instead of answering, she walks over, running straight into, wrapping her arms around him and just holding him tightly. She hated what he had to do. But she didn't hate him. And she fully understood that he did not enjoy or relish in his job either.
After his initial surprise, he wrapped his arms around her, cooling her core temperature and laying his chin on the top of her head.
Later that evening, she is lying on her couch, her head in his lap. His fingers run through her hair and she has her eyes closed, enjoying the soothing repetitive touch.
"Do you remember anything about your time before becoming Death?"
He's pensive, looking towards the windows, "I don't."
"I wonder who you were, and I wonder when you became Death. You said time attends to you… Do you remember all the souls you've collected?"
"I believe I could, should I try."
"Could you remember your earliest?"
He frowns, "I'm not sure… I've never tried."
"Try," she says, tapping at his chest, "perhaps it will give me a time frame for when you became Death. I can find your name."
He raises an eyebrow. They've talked about this a few times now, and he has never seemed convinced about the possibility.
"Try," she urges, "for me?"
He closes his eyes and sits there for almost 20 minutes in silence. The only reason she does not interrupt is because the deep seated frown on his face tells her he's thinking of something unpleasant.
"It was in Siam, what you know as Thailand now."
"Perhaps-" he's frowning and she stops. Realizing she's asking him to relive his entire career of leading people from their deaths. "I suppose it would be difficult," she switches course. "Depending on when you became Death, there could be-" then she tilts her head, "what did Thailand look like? Was there a certain type of dress or perhaps someone was holding a newspaper with the date?" She lightens the question with a tease and is relieved when he smiles.
"Unfortunately no newspapers in sight," he says amused, then his face goes thoughtful, "she was in a small village. No notable features other than it was clearly from a very long time ago. I would guess-" he closes his eyes, probably picturing it, "before the rule of Jayavarman the seventh."
"Who is that?"
He grins, "one of many rulers. But perhaps the name can give you a timeline?"
She picks up her phone and googles the name after getting him to spell it for her. "He began his rule around 1181…" She taps at the screen, "so you think before then?"
He nods, closing his eyes again, "yes, I believe so."
"Well, it's a starting point at least," she says slowly. Not that it gave her much. People have been dying everyday for the last however many thousands of years. Narrowing it down to less than the last thousand years wouldn't be that much more helpful. He could have been from anywhere… How does one even begin looking for a long lost dead person who can't remember anything about his previous life?
She wakes to him being gone and she wonders where he went. But she does not call to him. Aware that his job is never ending. He simply forces time to attend to him to spend time with her.
After a long soothing shower, she eats something small and climbs into bed, whirling through possibilities of who he could be and how to figure out his name.
It doesn't take long before she's lost in the haze of sleep.
"You're at a library…"
She smiles, not looking up, "yes, the fountain of knowledge. How does Rupert or perhaps Luke sound?"
He wrinkles his nose and she sighs, "not those then."
"You're at a library. Spending your precious time off the clock at a library."
"I promised you I'm going to figure this out," she insists, "I'm making headway."
"How so?"
"I've eliminated names that didn't appear until after 1200 A.D. since it can't be those."
"Peggy," He says her name, her eyes widen, She's almost sure it's the first time he has… It gives her a thrill, "please do not waste your time on this."
She frowns, "you think this is a waste of time?"
"What do you truly expect to happen when or, most likely if, you do figure out I had a name before? You'll say it and like Rumplestiltskin, my boss will vanish? Hardly. I appreciate your efforts, but-"
"It is not hopeless!" She snaps, earning a reproachful look from the librarian. Who then frowns in confusion as she sees there's no one there for her to be yelling at. Peggy picks up her phone and shrugs apologetically so she doesn't seem insane.
He falls quiet. His thinner stature leaning a hip against the large wooden study table she's sitting at.
Then something else worms into her thoughts. "You… do you want me to figure this out? Or…" she forces herself to ask, "are you happy as things are between us?"
Death, in his soft high neck black sweater and his dress shoes and his shiny shoes stares at the people all around them. Young children reading together in the children's section. Two boys playing games at the bank of computers. An older woman looking at cookbooks and a few girls doing homework at the table next to them.
"As long as I have been Death…" he starts softly, "I have wished to be a part of life." The words make an ache in her chest. "The idea that I could somehow be free from my bonds is terrifying. Because if it doesn't happen. And one day I have to come to collect you…" his voice breaks off and there's a surge of chill through the air. "I don't think I could bear it." His voice is now a whisper, black inky smoke wisping off him. "Excuse me."
He steps back and is gone. She's left watching the smoke filter and dissipate through the air.
...
"I don't think I could bear it"
The words echo in her head all the next day and for the next week. He's always been so somber and solemn. He's laughed and been engaging and everything. And she knew he cared for her as she cared for him. But something about the way his voice had sounded when he'd said, "I don't think I could bear it", made her realize just how sharp of a razor she was walking on.
She had to figure this out. Had to remember…
If she'd known him before… had he collected her before? Had he collected his family? She shudders at the thought and continues filling out paperwork.
Death stops, feeling a sort of nausea he's unused too. His eyes scan the little cottage and his mind wars with what he cannot comprehend. Has he been here before? Collected a soul from here before?
His fingers ghost over the thick wooden beams by the door as he enters. A beautiful glass rose in a vase sits on a windowsill in the kitchen. It makes him strangely emotional.
A man rushes past him, grabbing a cloak and rushing out the door, looking panicked. A blood curdling scream echoes through the cottage and he knows where he is supposed to go.
His soft footfalls lead him to a bedroom, cozily dressed with thick furs on the ground and sturdy wooden furniture. But his eyes land on the woman, light haired and young and screaming.
"He is retrieving her-" an older brunette woman says in a rush, "she shall be here any minute, with your grandmother* as well, do not fret!"
The young woman screams again, blood pooling on the linens. She is not to make it. It sickens him. How many mothers are lost in the process of bringing life to this earth? To him it seems too many. Too many…
His black robes swish softly against the floorboards, and he sits on the bed, reaching a hand to the woman who seems… She seems so familiar to him. A strange sensation.
Her eyes find his and she shrieks again, "who- devil be! Who art thou!"
"A friend," he says softly, "come to take you home."
She wrenches her eyes from him, "no, I-" she pants, holding back a scream, "I am home-"
The brunette is looking at her confused, "of course you are home- Do not fear, your mother will be arriving soon, the pain is great, but you must not give in!"
Death studies the older brunette. She is also familiar… What a strange place to find so many familiarities. Perhaps he's collected from this house recently?
"I-" the woman huffs, more blood pooling, "I cannot-" she is crying, "tell him I love him-" she gasps, arching her back and screaming like someone was tearing her from the inside out, "and my moth-" she chokes on her words and seems to fall quiet, looking dizzy.
"No," the brunette cries out, shaking the woman's shoulders, hands and body, "no, Elizabeth! Stay with me! Do not!" She looks towards the door! "Paul! Margaret!" She turns back to the young girl, sobbing, trying to shake her awake, "stay with me, Elizabeth? Elizabeth! Sarah is soon coming! She is coming to help thee!" She chokes out a sob, turning back to the door, "Please!" She screams, "Hurry!"
But it is no use. Elizabeth, as he now knows her name, is fading in color as he watches her. The life floods from her and she goes limp.
The woman sobs into her hands and Death sighs. It is always so futile…
The young light haired woman stirs, looking at him.
"What is this?"
Death feels a heaviness he does not usually feel when collecting souls. "It is your time."
"Time?"
"To come with me. There is somewhere new you must go."
"I cannot leave," she whispers, looking at the brunette woman, "my family is here. My mother, my husband-"
"They will join when they can," he urges softly. "It is only your time."
The young woman studies him. "You look like my grandmother."
He smiles, "I hope that provides comfort. I am your new family now." He stands, "will you come?"
Her eyes downcast, looking at all the blood and the still sobbing brunette. She reaches out but her touch does not rouse the crying woman. Unaware of them now that they were past the plane of life. "I suppose I do not have a choice…" her voice cracks.
Then Death shudders, feeling sick and ready to sink into the earth.
"Wait," he says hoarsely, "there is someone who is to come with us…"
The woman does not yet understand and for that he is glad. He reaches towards her body and very carefully collects the second voyager for the journey they're about to embark on. The baby, a dark haired boy, wriggles in his arms and he has the strangest urge to sob. To let out an earth wrenching guttural roar of terror. To shred a world in which such tragedy is possible.
"Is that?" He hears the woman start to ask, "is that my baby? My b-" She starts to sob and he gently rests the baby in her outstretched arms. She holds the baby close, crying and weeping at the infant in her arms.
"We need to go," he says softly, trying very firmly not to show how much distress this home and these deaths are causing him, "join me," he offers quietly.
Tears are still falling as she reaches her hand out, accepting his. The warmth of her skin makes his throat tight. And he goes silent as the air shimmers and he steps through it, leading the two with him.
...
Death has gone by many names-
She scrubs at her eyes and sighs. The library, all of google, and any expert of Greek Mythology she has emailed has been unhelpful. But of course they have. She's not looking for a different name that still means Death. She is looking for his name… And in the millions of names that exist… How is she to accomplish that?
Angie shakes her awake, "you're killing yourself."
"I'm just tired, Angie."
"And not sleeping enough is proven to kill you faster."
She rolls her eyes, "I've been busy."
Angie frowns, "I want to be supportive of you, Pegs, but I also want to see you take care of yourself. I know you said you're on some sort of mission, but maybe… I don't know. Take a night off once and a while will ya?"
Peggy nods, "I will. I promise."
Angie just shakes her head and answers the ringing phone at the station.
When he doesn't arrive at their designated time, she patiently waits for about an hour and then summons him.
He still does not arrive and she wonders what is keeping him, but she decides to use the time to fulfill her promise to Angie. She runs down the street, grabs a hearty soup, baguette, and large salad from the corner shop, eats, and then cuddles up on the couch with a book.
She must nod off because it is pitch black outside the next time she opens her eyes.
A cold presence makes the hairs on her skin raise and she turns, seeing him back in the same place he was all those months ago. Sitting on her windowsill, staring out at the night sky. He turns to her and his eyes are once again those black pits, smoky wisps radiating off him and powerful aura radiating out.
But unlike last time, no fear envelopes her. Only sadness for him. She grabs her blanket and approaches him quickly, without thought, throwing the blanket over his shoulders and wrapping him in it. She rests her head against his and just holds him.
For a long while it was silent, but she can feel him calming at her touch. She can calm Death. What a strange and intoxicating thought.
"What was it?" She asks quietly.
His hand reaches out and flicks towards the TV. It snaps on, to a channel it definitely wasn't on before, and she waits. It's a commercial right now, but she is patient and soon a news anchor is talking about a breaking story.
A children's house in flames because of a negligent carer, who fell asleep smoking and set the place ablaze.
Emotion is tight in her chest and she turns, burying her head against him. She feels the blanket open and then encircle her too and they stay in that embrace for a long while. "How do you do it?" She asks seriously in a quiet voice, "how do you not break?"
His voice, almost sinister in its aching grief, asks back, "what makes you think I am whole?"
She has no answer to that. Not right now.
"I have to go," he whispers to her, "the longer I stay the more time I must make up."
She tries a jest to lighten his spirits, "I thought you said you do not attend to time? It attends to you?"
His smile is brief and mostly humorless, "A statement that is true, and yet only a clever phrasing. I can halt or slow time to my needs…" he sighs, "but I must always set it right. I will still have to live each moment and through each collection at the normal pace. Which means-"
"That you need to go," she nods, "I understand."
He's about to leave when she grabs his hand, "wait," he turns to look at her, wondering and she pulls him closer, kissing him deeply and holding him tight. He responds, the grief clear in the way he holds her, kisses her back. When they break, she kisses his forehead, cool to the touch of her lips, "I love you."
Something within her cracks from relief. It is true. She does love him.
He frowns, "what? You cannot love Death."
"But you're not Death, are you?" She answers calmly, "It is your job, for now. It is not who you are."
Suddenly he's kissing her again, more fiercely than she's ever been kissed and she shivers at how he affects the temperature. His aura radiates, surrounding them, adoration, relief, longing for her. It's a heady swirl of emotions and it takes seconds for her to come back to earth.
"I love you too-" he responds, somehow out of breath even though she knows he does not rely on it. "You are the life I seek…"
Then he kisses her palm, her eyes closing at the gentleness of it. When she opens them again, he is gone and the room feels altogether too warm.
That night, she dreams.
It doesn't make much sense to her, there's fire in bronze braziers and loud cheering as she gardens in what looks like an olden greenhouse. She swears she hears the roar of a lion while she offers what looks like fresh fruit and oils at a grecian temple.
Her heart rate increases, a sense of unease at these images. How did she get here? She stands at night staring at blood on her hands and screaming for someone's life.
A pain in her gut makes her gasp awake and she doubles over, gasping for breath.
Her pulse is racing and she stumbles out of bed, trying to get her bearings. Her bathroom mirror shows a flushed face and sweat beading on her brow. She tries to suck in air and takes several long moments to just breathe in and out. Slowly it settles her heart rate and her pulse back to normal.
They were dreams… and nightmares all at once.
But there was something she could not deny.
She had seen his face. He'd been there too…
...
Two days later, she sees him again at work. He's heading towards a room she doesn't know who is in there, and frankly does not want to know at the moment.
She catches his eye, "come speak to me when you've time, alright?"
He nods and she gets back to work.
It takes another day, but he finally materializes in her apartment. The change in temperature alerts her and she walks out to her living room to see him in his shorter, thinner stature. It makes her wonder, "do you know which is your original form?"
He shakes his head, "I do not. But I do feel most comfortable in this appearance, so perhaps this one?"
She walks over, just perhaps a half inch taller than him in this form. "It's lovely," she says softly, "you're lovely."
Death seems amused, but he doesn't argue, allowing her to brush his hair back with her fingers.
"I need to tell you something…" she starts, "I had dreams,"
"I'm assuming since you're mentioning them, that they were unusual?"
"They were," she leads him to the couch and they sit, "you were in them. And It was like we were in different times. I saw your face, I saw… things I don't understand. But I saw you and you weren't Death. You were human-" she drags the high neck of his shirt down, "and this was not there." Her finger caresses the scar and he closes his eyes at the touch, "I somehow knew you before."
"You've said that-"
"Yes… but now it's more solid. Like I had an idea and now I have theories and evidence to back up that idea."
"And what sort of life did we live?" He's asking with a raised eyebrow and she frowns,
"You're teasing me."
He shakes his head, "I'm not. I just…" His thumb touches her bottom lip, "I would remember collecting you before. And I haven't. To choose reincarnation… There is a whole process. It's actually rather rare and I would remember you… I would."
"But your boss," she counters, "you've said he messes with your memories. Could he have done that in this case?"
Death takes a moment to consider it, "I suppose…"
"Or…" she leans against him, "if Hades is real… does that mean… the other greek gods are real?"
"You're getting into complicated waters. But yes, although I have no idea how everyone sees what is happening to them. It is different for every person."
"It is?"
He nods, "of course. Humans are a strange breed. Stubborn and unwilling to bend. They see what they want to see even in the underworld."
"But it is possible that other powerful beings might have answers about us?"
He tilts his head… "I suppose they could. I don't know."
"Can humans summon them?"
He huffs a laugh, "I'm sure you could try. They're rather fickle and I doubt they would answer."
She's contemplative for a while and then sighs, "I'm not giving in."
"I don't believe you've given up on a thing in your life."
She looks up at him, "think you've got me pegged do you?"
His smile is sly and powerful and breathtaking, "you underestimate my knowledge of you Margaret Carter-"
The words draw a gasp from her lips. A vision of white washed ceilings and heat from a fire and dirt under her nails and glass.
She blinks, coming back to the present and he's looking at her in worry, "Peggy? Are you alright?"
Words fail her, her mind replaying the scenes, as he cradles her face, "are you okay?"
She nods, then speaks quietly, "Say it again."
"Say what?"
"My name. Say my full name."
His brow furrows but he complies, "Margaret Elizabeth Carter-"
Again the words pull images. His skin against hers, nights spent together, colorful cloth tents and hissing cats and grapes in belly buttons."
"Peggy!" His voice is distressed and she blinks, only to see her vision has gone blurry. Warmth seeps down her cheeks and it hits her that she's crying. "What's wrong?"
Her voice is cracking, but joy is present, "we-" she laughs, pulling him closer, "we were married!"
That startles him and she grins, climbing onto his lap and brushing his cheek with the backs of her fingers, "we've been together," his eyes widen again, "many times."
"How," he clears his throat, "how can you be sure?"
Her hips settle against him, his legs under her and his hands on her waist. She closes her eyes and relaxes, pulling the images into her mind. A cottage, a garden, a wagon. A station that looks like someone has painted there. A bed with thick blankets and a lantern beside it.
"Say my name again," she breathes out, eyes still closed. "Say it again."
He does and the memories flood her vision. A brunette family laughing at their table. Days spent picking flowers and roots and leaves in the fields. Her, mesmerized, as Death and a brunette man create blown glass with incredible skill.
Him kissing her, his hands tracing her skin and she begging him to go faster but him teasing her by moving excruciatingly slowly but still it builds and builds and- she gasps, leaning forward and panting, the moment feeling more real than reality.
"You-" she pants, "you were mine," she opens her eyes, his stunned eyes staring back at her, "and you made me yours."
"Did you just…?"
She laughs, "no," her breathing is calming, "but I was there, in that moment, we had a home, a cottage, a family-" she smiles, then pauses, "but-"
"But?"
"But there were other pieces of my dreams that don't add up to that... A lion and-"
"Did you say a lion?"
Her eyes pop, "stand up!" she shimmies off him and stands, "now!"
He complies and she gestures to his shirt, "take it off!"
"What?"
"Just do as I say!" she commands, "off with it!"
He laughs and his visage shimmers, now shirtless in dress slacks and shoes.
"Turn."
"Peggy-"
"Turn around!"
He rolls his eyes, "you're bossy when you want to be," he teases before turning around.
But there's nothing.
She frowns… then realizes, "change into your largest form."
This time he doesn't argue, shifting into his large and imposing frame and she gasps, "There!" she slides her hand down the claw marks, "there was a lion!"
He twists his head and tries to see where she's looking although the angle makes it difficult. "You've fought a lion."
His eyes are unamused, "when? When I was married to you?"
She frowns, "No…" her mind is trying to process, "I think… I think there may have been more than once…" She turns him to face her, "say my name again."
"Margaret Elizabeth Carter."
But this time? Nothing. She frowns, closing her eyes, "say it again."
"Margaret Elizabeth Carter."
Still nothing. She frowns, "change back, to smaller."
While her eyes are still closed, she senses the power shift. "Say it again."
"Margaret Elizabeth Carter."
Images flood her brain again, more memories. Snow, and feasts, and trips to the market. Bartering with a man for horsehair and another for flour.
"I knew you," she states, opening her eyes, "in this form, with this name." She points to herself, "when we were married, you looked as you do now, and I had the same name."
"But not when I was larger?"
"Something is different about that form," she hypothesizes, "I wonder what?"
"I'm still confused about your dreams. You said there was a lion?"
"In my dream, there was a lion and an ancient structure, like a temple."
"A temple? Like an actual temple or a church?"
"No, like… an actual temple. Like..." She struggles to remember her knowledge of history for a second, "the one in the mediterranean?"
"Parthenon in Greece? Or the Pantheon in Rome?"
"Both…" she says softly, "I think I saw both actually."
"Well I don't believe Margaret was a common name with the Greek or Romans," he says in amusement.
Her eyes widen and mouth gapes, "that's it!" She scrambles to the couch, throwing the pillow and blanket to find her phone. "Ah-ha!" she pulls it free and goes to google.
"What now?"
"I would assume-" she says, typing in her name," that if I was named similarly in what appears to be medieval Enlgand, that I would carry the same name. But perhaps not exact, an older form-" she stares at the results and weeds through them.
The lion… She closes her eyes trying to picture her dreams again. There is something distinctly ancient about the places she sees. "Alright," she glances at her phone again, "say this." She points to a name.
"Margarites."
Another set of images- no, memories flood her. The smell of olive groves, dust from her father's mines. The colosseum, large and imposing. Her brother-
"Michael!" She says in shock, "and my parents! They've been with me all along!"
Death frowns, "I don't see how that is possible. Even if you all chose reincarnation… there is little to no chance you would be reincarnated as humans each time, let alone in the same family."
"I can see it," she breathes out, "say it again."
By the time they work through the entire list of ancient variations of her name, her head is pounding. Lifetimes of partial memories swirl through her and she lays, curled up on the bathroom floor.
"We need to stop," he says worried, "this- you're hurting."
"I still don't have your name," she grits out, the headache making her sensitive to light, "I have to remember your name."
"I have to go," he says sorrowfully, "but I don't want to leave you like this."
"I'll call Michael," she promises, or Angie."
His fingers grasp her phone gently and place it in her hand, "call one of them now."
She frowns, he was smart to assume she would have just not called one once he'd left.
The phone rings and Michael answers, "hello?"
"Are you free?" She tries to say in a normal tone, "I need some help with something."
"Pegs? You alright?"
"Just come over, will you?"
"Alright, I'll be there soon."
She nods, not able to voice a thank you, and then she hangs up. "Go."
"I can wait until he gets here-"
"That will be at least 30 minutes," she answers, "I can handle thirty minutes of a headache alone. Alright? Go."
He kisses her temple, cooling it briefly, some relief waves over her and she sighs, relaxing against the linoleum. "Sleep," he whispers, "rest your mind and worry about names later."
She succumbs to his suggestion while wondering if Death can command someone to sleep…
...
"Pegs?" She feels a hand shaking her gently, "you alright? What happened?"
Micheal is crouched beside her and she slowly gets up, her head pounding a little less. "I'm alright, just a long day."
"I thought you were off today?"
"I was, but…" she sighs, "Death was here."
Her brother frowns, "okay, I don't need to know-"
"Not that!" She huffs, smacking him and making her head pound again in the process, "you prat. It was something else."
"Alright," he grins, "like what?"
"Like the fact that you and I have known him in a previous life." Another idea strikes her, "and it's why we can see him and no one else can." Her eyes widen, "it probably means that mum and dad could see him too!"
"Whoa, wait a minute, you've gone batty, come again?"
"I am trying to figure out Death's real name. His human name. I've known him in past lives. In all my past lives. But I can't remember his name. But-" Michael is staring at her like she's insane, "when I do remember his name, he will be free." She frowns. "I Think. The note wasn't clear. Just that he'd return to me. I assume that means he'd be human again."
Michael looks quite like a fish caught on a hook.
"You don't believe me?"
He wrinkles his nose, "I know what I saw on that field. So even though you sound more psychotic than I did all those years ago… I guess I believe you. How do you figure out his name?"
She sighs, leaning back against the tub, "now that I don't know yet."
"If we knew his name but we can't remember it… then who the hell would?"
It's the question she and Michael have been ruminating about for days.
She still has pieces of her memories back but after the first day, they've refused to stay for very long. She has to really concentrate to remember details and if she gets distracted, they try to slip away again. The sheer amount of them overwhelm her and she thinks that's part of the reason they don't stick around. Her brain cannot hold that much information all at once.
It's a scary and incomprehensible thought that's she's lived so many lives… that she's watched him die too many times.
But now her and Michael have been rummaging through whatever memories she can focus on. They'd tried it with Michael but he hadn't remembered anything. Even using the ancient variants of his name. So it was something special between the her and death.
She'd also called her parents on FaceTime and had Death stand behind her, but visible on the screen, and nothing. They hadn't mentioned him. After a quick debate between her and Michael about whether technology would show Death's presence, she had them travel to London and she'd stood outside the window as Death entered her parents' home.
And still nothing. He'd looked out the window at her and shrugged and she'd waved for him to come outside. Her brow had been furrowed, "why can Michael see you, but not them?"
Death had offered his hand and she'd taken it and they'd stepped forward, back into her apartment in New York.
"Perhaps," his soft voice said, "Since I chose to save Michael… and he was close enough to death to have been able to see me anyways… It created a domino effect. He was dying, and therefore allowed to see me, and I don't know how to rescind that permission. I've never had too. So perhaps that's why."
"So someone has to be close to death to see you?"
He nodded, "that's how it's always worked."
"Except me."
He'd nodded, gently brushing his cool knuckles against her cheek, "except you."
—-...
Weeks later, no closer to knowing his name, the three of them, her, Michael, and Lily, sit in her living room. Lily, is sitting there picking at their chinese takeout, eyeing them in suspicion.
Lily's used to their antics by now and Michael hasn't told her much, for fear she'd think they're insane. But she knows they're up to something.
The truth is, Peggy is about to start going insane. She'd felt they made such a leap with her remembering their past lives, but now she is stalled.
"I wish…" She starts, unsure how to word it, "I wish memories had sound."
Michael snorts and Lily eyes the two of them, finally breaking and setting her takeout down on the table with a thump, "what is going on with you two?"
She sighs and Michael goes back to eating.
Lily's face shows an ounce of hurt but Peggy can't do much about that. She's about to change the subject when she feels the temperature drop. Her eyes cast to the window about to smile at his presence when she feels the air catch in her chest.
He's there, in his massive form, except- he's paler than she's seen him without him being skeletal. Eyes not black this time, they're bloody. Dripping down his cheeks and onto his dress shirt. His clothes are smoking and his hair is mused, like someone had yanked at it.
She stands, horrified, and Michael turns around, yelping out loud as he catches sight of him.
Lily looks up, "what?" Seeing nothing she huffs, "what the hell are you two on!?" Then she pouts, "and when did it get so cold?"
Death's eyes trail to the new party and his shoulders droop in realization. He's about to disappear but she can't let him leave, who knows when he'll be back, "Wait!" she cries out, "Don't! Please stay-"
"Lily," Michael says softly, still looking at Death, "we should go,"
She frowns, "I know we haven't been drinking, so what are you both looking at?!"
She ignores Lily's question. If the woman wants to think she's insane, then so be it.
Peggy gets close, agony at his state filling her chest. She reaches up, cradling his face in a gentle hold and his eyes close, something akin to grief crossing his expression as he sinks into her touch. "What happened?" she whispers, "what happened?"
The blood on his face, still freshly dripping out of his eyes, is cold.
It starts to run over her hands and she knows this is no wound. This is punishment.
But for what? What did he do? Or who did he save? "Speak to me," she says gently, "what happened?"
He doesn't open his eyes, but his lips barely part, and blood immediately seeps out, over his lips and down his chin. She sucks in air in surprise and his lips close once more.
"Oh," she breathes out, pulling him into an embrace and just holding him tightly. The blood seeps onto her shoulder making her shiver.
"What is going on?" Lily asks, "why is she hugging the air?"
"We need to go," Michael urges, grabbing his wife's hand, "we need to go."
"Um, Peggy's having a mental break and you just want to leave?"
"She's not, it's-" he sighs, "it's hard to explain, okay? She's alright. Let's go,"
"No," Lily urges, "Michael, are you nuts? Peggy-" She feels a warm hand on her shoulder before it yanks back, "Micheal, she's freezing!"
"Lily-"
Peggy pulls back, "can you let her see you?"
He opens his eyes, his bloody gaze studying her, but he frowns, as if to say, "you want her to see me like this?"
"For me," Peggy begs gently, "she'll understand. Could you allow her to?"
He sighs deeply and turns to Lily, who is staring at her like she's got three heads.
"What is happening," Lily breathes out, "you guys are scaring me."
Death looks back and shakes his head. So he can't willingly reveal himself to those not close to death…
"Lily," Michael says slowly, "you know that nightmare I have? About being wounded? And the man who sits with me?"
She turns back towards her husband, "yes…"
"It's Death. And that's who is here."
Lily is just staring at them, like she can't believe they had the audacity to say something so ridiculous.
Peggy turns to Death, "maybe she can't see you, but Hodge and Angie have both felt you… Perhaps?"
The temperature plummets and the terrifying aura starts to radiate out from him. Tendrils of black inky smoke, a look she's familiar with now, start to radiate out from him, and Lily gasps, goose bumps appearing and she shivers. "What the hell," her teeth chatter, "what are you doing?"
Michael speaks for her, "I told you, it's hard to explain, we need to go home now-"
Peggy turns back, focusing on him again, "who did this to you? Hades?"
He nods but he can't speak. Another punishment that infuriates her. She hates when he loses his voice.
She can hear Michael tugging Lily away and whispering something to her that she can't hear. She leads Death to the couch and presses him down onto it, he sits wearily and stares with bloody eyes at the blank TV.
Her apartment door closes behind them leaving and she doesn't envy the conversations Michael will have to field, but she can't focus on anything but the being before her. The look of misery so clear on his bloodied expression.
She holds him tightly at first, but then shifts, laying down, resting her head in his lap and gently holding his right hand, her thumb running circles on his palm. Thankfully, the translucent quality of his skin doesn't keep her from touching him.
But it's not healing him this time either… She wonders what's that about. Or perhaps he has to be much further gone for that to be the case?
Eventually the misery and grief fade from a sharp presence to a low thrum. When he's less on edge, he runs his fingers through her hair and brushes his cold knuckles gently against her cheek. Yet the blood never stops running and the chill of it disallows her to relax fully.
"I wish I could march down there right now and tell him off for treating you this way!" Peggy gripes, crossing her arms over her chest.
And that brings a small smile. She grins back and he bows his head, the laughter quiet since it just comes from his throat.
She sits up and faces him, "what can I do? How can I help?" He frowns and shrugs, still keeping his mouth closed. "Who did you save?" He shakes his head. "You didn't save someone?" He shakes it again. "Then why did you get punished?" He shakes his head again and his bloody eyes turn down, like he's frustrated. "Can you see?" He nods. "Can you write?" He nods again. She yanks open the drawer in the coffee table and pulls out an old receipt and a pen, "write to me."
He holds the pen for a moment and studies it, like it's foreign to him, but then he places the nib on the paper and writes 'I can't remember'.
She frowns, "can't remember what?"
'Why I was punished.'
She stands, "he punished you and then erased your memories? That bastard!" He shrugs and fiddles with the pen. She gestures to it, "you've been an artist you know… In many if not most of your lifetimes."
His bloodied eyes look to her and she gasps as water starts to flow, tears mixing with the blood and making her heart leap in her chest. Without hesitating she straddles him, pulling him against her and hugging him so fiercely she's surprised he doesn't shatter under the pressure.
He makes no noise, but the soft shaking of his shoulders makes her throat tight. "I'm going to fix this," she promises, throat rough from emotion. "I'm not going to let this continue." He says nothing. Just the cold press of his hands firmly on her back as he holds her back. She can feel the blood and tears soaking into her shirt. She runs her hands through his soft hair and kisses the top of his head over and over and tries to keep from shivering as she knows that will make him worry for her.
Finally, his tense demeanor softens and she pulls back, looking at his weary expression. Blood is smeared over his cheeks and face and she tries to clean it off with her hands but can't manage. So she slides off the couch, walks to the kitchen and grabs a clean dish towel, dampening it with warm water and returning. Slowly cleaning his face and neck as best she can.
He does not fight against her ministrations and even seems to be at peace with them. She tries to pull up memories. How many times has she cleaned him? Bathed him? Tended to a wound or wiped away a tear?
She feels a tug on her wrist and she looks over to see his bloody gaze studying her. She can read it without needing him to speak or write. "What's wrong?"
"I am wondering how many times I have cared for you."
His face doesn't shift. But it does get a bit more pinched. He's less inclined to discuss their past lives. She knows it pains him. For her to remember and him not. And she also knows there's a piece of him that doesn't believe. It's too good to be true that there might be a solution to his immortal problem.
Her eyes catch on the pen and she gets an idea. "Draw something for me," she whispers out, "anything."
Without waiting, she gets up and goes to her little home printer. She drags out a few sheets, wincing at the bloody fingerprints she leaves on the machine and brings them over.
There's nothing but a calm blankness on his face now, but the tears have stopped and the blood seems to be flowing slower. She picks up the pen, placing it in his hand and the sheets of paper on a coffee table book in his lap. But he just sits there, looking unsure.
His hesitation makes her question if she shouldn't have mentioned their past. She's about to say never mind when his hand starts to flow over the page, sketching something roughly. It takes a moment, but then she recognizes the form of the cat, her adopted cat, curled up in its favorite spot in the apartment. On the window's wide ledge with sun streaming down on him.
She watches enraptured as he's able to capture the cozy feel of the moment in a simple but eloquent sketch.
When he finishes, his hand moves to the bottom right and he signs it before pausing. His bloodied eyes widen as his head tilts. She gasps, and snatches the paper out of his hands.
She stares at that bottom right corner.
SR
"S.R.?" She asks, "is that you?" She looks at it again, "are these your initials!?"
He just looks frozen. But he writes on another sheet of paper, brushing and smearing a drop of blood, and writing quickly, 'Didn't think, just wrote. Like a habit…'
Her eyes are wide and she feels a laugh bubble out of her as she holds the paper tightly. "Another clue! S.R. You were an artist for so many lifetimes… You must have written these initials or their variants a thousand times! It's not memory, it's muscle memory!"
His excitement at the revelation is decidedly less enthusiastic but she can't blame him at the moment. There's a part of her that still knows he is refusing to have hope just in case she doesn't figure it out.
Then he frowns and stands, he looks apologetic, the blood now drying. Then he steps back and is gone.
Of course she wonders where he went and why he had to go, but she she's more distracted by the two little letters.
S.R.
A smile plays on her lips. She is going to figure this out. If it's the last thing she does.
...
"So you have his initials," Angie says, "that's great."
Peggy laughs, "your belief in me has kept me sane when I thought I was actually losing it!"
Angie grins, "this sort of heavy delusion would have turned to real madness ages ago if it was true mental illness." Peggy laughs as the woman continues, "but your sharpness of mind, mental acuity and other skills have never wavered and—" She shivers, "it's hard to ignore the signs."
Peggy turns, feeling the temperature drop as well. "I wonder if others can feel it? Or if it's because I've made you aware?"
Angie shrugs, "I dunno. Who is he here for?"
Peggy turns to see him walking towards a man who was about to be put on hospice.
"Room 1294."
Angie sighs, "I see. I'll call the family."
Peggy nods, "thanks."
Her footsteps are quiet as she walks towards the room. Death is in his middle stage. Tall but thin, and pale but not as startlingly pale as he was a few days ago.
"It's time then?" The old man asks, "I can't evade it forever I suppose."
Death nods, "It's time."
Her mouth gapes, he has his voice back. And there's no blood. That's a good sign.
The older man, Jameson, if Peggy remembers correctly, gets out of bed and sighs heavily, looking around the room, "do I bring anything?"
Death shakes his head, "there's nothing you need to bring."
"What about me wallet?" The man reaches back to grab it.
"No need," Death reassures.
"But it's got my wife's picture in it—" the old man presses. Trying to grab the thick leather thing on the small bedside table. But his hand just passes through. Unable to grasp it.
Death looks incredibly sympathetic, "I'm sorry. You can't bring anything with you."
The old man wipes at his eyes and tries a soft rough throated chuckle. "Guess those ancient pharaohs got quite the surprise then huh?"
Death pauses and a soft grin crosses his face before he also chuckles softly, "you know? I bet they did."
"You weren't there?" The man asks, as they walk out the room, passing in front of her.
"No…" Death responds slowly, "I wasn't."
"I guess even the grim reaper needs to be replaced every once and a while," the man says with a humored tone, "no offense of course."
Death lets out a soft "um-hm," but his eyes turn to her and there's an interesting expression of surprise on his face. But he doesn't stop. Just keeps leading the man through the halls.
"Any better?"
"After the eighteenth argument she sort of gave in."
"Gave in?"
"She stopped arguing with me. She still thinks we've both suffered a mental break."
"Sometimes I wonder if we have. But then… I know I haven't. This has been over the course of years. Mutual sibling delusion is unlikely."
Michael just laughs, "we've always been delusional, Pegs. Just doesn't keep us from kicking ass. How's he been? Better?"
Michael hasn't seen Death since that night.
"He's better. Healing much faster than usual."
"Healing touch still not working?"
She sighs, "unfortunately."
"I wonder if we'll ever have all the answers."
She snorts, "not having the answers will make me delusional."
He just laughs in response.
—-...
The note puzzles her.
Whoever is keeping her alive through all these lives… why have they been quiet? Why not come back and help?
She knows there's pieces she doesn't understand. And it drives her crazy.
"You're somewhere else."
She turns to see Death has stopped, a few steps behind her. Other tourists pass by her, and she bites at the inside of her cheek. "It's like trying to build a puzzle but the pieces are all white."
"A frustrating experience I assume?"
She nods.
"Well you're missing the streets of Edinburgh."
A grin pull sof the side of her lips, "and that is a crime?"
"Indeed." He gestures to the small shops nestled in beautiful buildings, "these demand attention."
She reaches out her hand and waits.
He barely hesitates before reaching out and clasps hers. She pulls him to her side, walking along the streets slowly, swinging their joined hands.
"I know you're skeptical," she says softly. "But I'm going to figure this out. And maybe if you went searching… Found someone in the afterlife who knew you as a human… maybe they would remember?"
He tilts his head, "that's an interesting idea."
"I've been ruminating it for a while."
"It's possible…"
His voice is hesitant and she tugs gently on his cold arm, "but what?"
"In the multitude of years I've been doing this… I've never met anyone that I knew."
She thinks about this for only a second before shaking her head. "That you were allowed to remember."
He nods, "true…" Then he sighs, "what makes you think I would be allowed to remember now?"
That makes her frown. And he huffs a soft laugh before tugging her forward. "Can't we just enjoy being in one of the most beautiful places on earth before I'm summoned away?"
But her mind is whirring, "what if…"
He raises an eyebrow, waiting.
"What if you took me down there?"
His eyebrows pull together, "down where?"
"I mean… I don't know if it's down, persay. But what if you transported me to the underworld and I—"
"No."
"Death—"
He winces, "not happening."
"But I can remember our past lives! I can see faces and know I knew them!"
"I'm not taking you there."
"And why not?"
"Because it's not meant for the living."
"I'm not planning on staying there!"
"And how would you know you'd be allowed to return? It's his domain."
"You would protect me."
He grimaces and steps off to the side, letting a large group of tourists pass.
She hears someone comment on a 'chill' in the air and she knows it's them.
Once they've gone, she steps closer. "What?"
He looks down the long stone street. "I can't protect you. I never have. Or at least…" he gestures to the both of them, "that's what I understand by the fact that we've lived hundreds of lives together apparently. At the end of each one…" He frowns, "I let you down. I did not keep us safe. So I'm not taking that chance again. He's—" He stops and clears his throat and looks away, the paleness of his skin in contrast with the glowing lamps off the side of the building. "It's just not the place for you."
"It's not the place for you either!" Then she tilts her head, "he's what?"
His lips press to a firm line before he shakes his head, "he's not one to trifle with."
He starts to walk again and she glares at his back. She knows what he's saying is true. But she also relatively sure that wasn't what he was going to say.
But the tight set of his shoulders tells her to drop it.
So she will.
For now.
...
"Samuel."
He rolls his eyes and continues drawing. It's a beautiful little sketch of her coffe cup. Him somehow capturing the curve ahd shine of the ceramic.
He'd surprised her by showing up that morning while she was getting ready.
While he hadn't said anything was wrong, he hadn't seemed his normal self, and so she'd called Angie, told her she'd be an hour late, and pulled him to the couch and handed him a recently purchased sketch pad and pencils from her local crafts store.
"Sean."
His eyebrow raises but still he continues to sketch.
"Stuart."
His nose wrinkles and this time he even spares her a glare.
"Fine. Not Stuart." Then she sighs, "but what if I'm saying the right name but the wrong form? You've got multiple forms and I have to match the name to the correct one!"
His fingers twiddle the pen before it signs a small S.R. And then he rests the sketch pad on the coffee table.
"Thank you for allowing me this moment of peace." He says quietly. "My apologies for disturbing your morning." Then he kisses the top of her head and nods his goodbye. The air shimmers as he steps back and she sinks back into her couch, staring at the sketch.
—-...
She's eating her dinner. Some microwaved something since she didn't want to cook or wait for delivery, when her door receives a knock.
"Pegs!" Michael calls through the door, "open up!"
She hurries over, opening the door, only to be greeted by pink and blue balloons being shoved in her face.
"We're pregnant!" Both Lily and Michael cry out at the same time.
"What!" She gasps, "you are!?"
Hugs and more hugs are exchanged as she congratulates them, 'oohing' and 'awwing' over the sonogram.
"When's it due?" She asks.
"November," Lily replies, "hopefully after thanksgiving but before Christmas!"
"I hope it's a girl," Michael says with a grin. "A little fiery thing just like her mum and aunt."
The two women laugh and Peggy gets them some water.
While Michael is in the loo, Lily tilts her head, and then gestures to the fridge, "when did you start sketching?"
Peggy looks over to see the few sketches Death had done magneted to her fridge. She of course saves every one.
"I don't," she answers quietly. "Those were drawn by Death."
Lily studies the sketches and takes a deep breath. "Okay."
"I understand it's hard to believe."
The woman gives her a wry look. "Hard to believe? That my husband and sister in law have a joint hallucination that does in fact seem to be based in some form of your reality and yet is completely insane?"
Peggy winces. "Yep."
"Right." Then Lily laughs, "just keep him away from my baby."
Peggy laughs back, but her gut twists. She's seen Death collect infants and young toddlers and children far too young to be taken from this life. It's his job. It is not his choice…
"I'll let him know," Peggy responds with a tight smile."
—-...
There's 2 months where she doesn't see him. She summons him— or tries— a few times but nothing. She frets endlessly. People live and die on her floor but no sight of him. She wonders who is collecting in his place.
—-...
"It's a boy," Lily says with a grin.
Peggy laughs, "if he's anything like Michael was then I wish you the best of luck!"
Lily laughs, "Michael said you'd say that!"
"Do you need something?"peggy offers, "water food for two?"
Lilly yawns, "actually, do you have a pair of socks? My feet have been colder lately and I foolishly wore sandals and now my toes are cold!"
Peggy stands, "the fluffiest pair of socks I own, coming right up!"
She walks to the bedroom and is rummaging through her drawer when she feels the air shift.
"P-Peggy?" She hears Lily's scared voice.
Death.
She runs back out to the room, expecting to see Death.
And stares into black eyes filled with stars instead. His voice is silky smooth and makes goosebumps erupt, "We need to talk."
"Hades," she gasps out. Then looks at Lily who is frozen in place, eyes wide and mouth parted, "can you see him?"
"She's paused," Hades responds, "stuck in time if you will. And when I release us back into the flow of time she won't remember a thing."
Peggy glares at him, "that's what you do best isn't it? Ruin people's lives and erase their memories?"
"There is nothing you can say to me that I haven't heard a million times before," he responds with an annoyed tone and an eye roll. "Please, sit."
He gestures to her own couch and she folds her arms and glares.
His black abyss eyes narrow and his aura radiates, "I asked nicely. Don't make me force you."
Peggy narrows her own, "I suppose you'll have too."
He throws up his hands like she's exasperated him and then she watches his hand reach towards her. Cold stiffness envelopes her and she can't move or speak. Suddenly she's being dragged and dropped unceremoniously onto her couch.
"Are you ready to listen now?"
Instead of letting her answer, she feels her own head bob up and down.
"Good," he says with a mocking sneer to her forced response.
"I have been collecting souls since the dawn of our era. I was not there when the underworld was created but I've been around long enough to know a flawed system when I'm forced to oversee it." He sighs, studying her apartment, "death is a part of all life. Even, eventually, for us immortals. It's unavoidable, no matter how hard some try. And yet almost every person is scared to embrace it. My idiot brothers complain about their small issues. And yet I rule over a region that no one wants to be in." He crosses his arms, leaning a hip against her kitchen counter. "Do you understand how awful it was to have watched the majority of souls arrive kicking and shouting? Screaming bloody murder that there 'must be some mistake'. 'It couldn't be them'. 'They couldn't be dead'." He rubs at his temples like he has a headache. "I can still hear the screaming. The fighting. The weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth."
He walks over, studying Lily with an auspicious eye and then turning back to Peggy who is still rigid.
"And then I am dragged to the death of one young couple by my niece. A young Grecian female named Margaritas—" her eyes widen and he grins, "and a young slave named…" his dramatic pause tells her he knows what she needs to know, "Stephanos."
Her heart lurches. Stephanos. Stephanos! She knows his name! Panic grips her that she needs to write it down but she can't move.
He looks at the fridge and studies the sketches, "I watched that man die with such dignity, I was impressed. So impressed actually that I allowed my niece to convince me to give you both another chance." He huffs, "and another and another until I was up to my eye sockets in this mortal's blood." His lips purse, "but there was something about him. Something about you two specifically. And I'll deny it til my fading breath but most of the reason I allowed you both so many lives was because in every iteration of his existence, he accepted his death like an old friend. Never once, even with the most horribly gruesome manners in which he was killed, did he cry or scream or wail or beg that it was some mistake." He makes his way to the fridge and pulls each sketch down. She wants to yell at him to not touch them but she has no power to speak.
"And an idea formed…" the man turns and walks back, sitting on her coffee table facing her. "I had always used past spirits, skeletons, and other minions of mine to collect souls as it was my least favorite part of the job. But then I thought… What if I had this particular human? What if a man who seemed to never fear death could also assure others that death was not to be feared?"
He crunches the pile of sketches in her fist and she watches them go up in a whisp of black smoke. She mentally thrashes against his control but to no avail. She feels tears form and he studies her expression before leaning back, his pale palms pressing against the wooden top. "And once I get an idea in my head?" He raps at his forehead gently, "it's hard to get out. So… I took matters into my own hands."
She growls something through a clenched jaw and pinched lips.
He raises an eyebrow, "what was that?"
She feels control of her jaw return, "you killed him!"
His brow pulls together, "no. Humanity did that. Over and over."
"But you just said—"
"I said," He emphasizes, "that I took matters into my own hands."
She wracks her brain trying to remember details but it's like a fuzzy black and white telly set. "He disappeared."
Hades nods. "He and I made a deal. And I don't appreciate you trying to help him break it."
"Where is Death?" She asks changing the subject, "what have you done with him?"
"He's a little… tied up right now," Hades responds with a grin, "and the truth is, he will stay that way until you actually die and I'll make sure my brat of a niece doesn't hide your soul from me again." His glare is terrifying. Pure icy spacial darkness enveloping her. Then his aura breaks and she's allowed to feel heat again, "unless we make a deal."
Peggy glares at him, "I won't ever make a deal with you!"
He rolls his eyes, then raises his hands like it doesn't matter, "fine." He stands and she see sthe air start to shimmer. Like he's about to disappear. But she can't let him go.
"Wait!" She calls, fear gripping her chest, "wait."
The air settles and he looks at her, "yes?"
"What… what is the deal?"
He grins.
"Like I said," Hades responds as if she was a petulant child who wasn't listening. "Death has transformed the underworld. For the last almost thousand years, practically every soul has come willingly. Do you understand what that's like? To go from hearing the wailing and the screaming to having an underworld at peace?" he huffs out a laugh, "He's somehow figured out how to make every soul at ease." The tone of his voice makes him seem like he truly is in awe of Ste—- she blinks. Oh no. The name is fading. No. S—
She growls out of frustration and tries to focus. Nothing. Her eyes flick up to his amused expression, "say his name again!"
He laughs, "faded already hmm? That's what happens when a normal human brain is forced to collect hundreds of memories. It's too full."
"Please," she begs, "please. Why won't you let him live? Live a happy life?!"
"Over the 300 lives you've lived, you've spent plenty of time together."
"Did we ever end a life happily together?" She challenges.
Hades stands staring out the same window S—- Death does. "That's beside the point. The point is that I don't want to deal with the kicking and the screaming that will take place if I keep him under lock and key for the duration of your life. Even the three years of refusing to allow him above the surface was like torture. but thankfully he seemed to learn his lesson after that."
"Michael. The time he was after Michael."
Hades nods, "at first… when the first couple souls from that hospital didn't return…" he shrugs, "he framed it like accidents. Contrary to popular belief. We immortals are not omniscient. We rely a lot on human patterns, our minions, and the unerring inevitably that knowledge will eventually reach our ears. So, when he framed those lost souls as an upstart doctor who had a sixth sense about death…" he roll shis eyes. "I believed him. Strange and gifted humans have popped up from time to time. And he was more frustrated by you keeping the souls form him than relieved. So I had no thought that something more was afoot. then…" He turns to her, "a soul fails to appear from some far off battlefield. No upstart doctor in sight…" His eyes blink and the paleness of his eyelids are darkened by the blackness beneath them, "and that's when I realized he was more of the problem than some doctor I had yet to pay attention to."
"You tortured him!"
"He needed to be retaught certain lessons. Of course when he'd first started the job there were some adjustments. But he'd been doing so well for centuries that I was confused why he'd reverted back to old tendencies. So I wanted to remind him of the consequences."
There are tears streaming down her face now. She's unable to wipe them and they soak into her collar.
"then… after he was released… He came back healed. A process that should have taken years—"
"why make him a frightening monster if you hate people being frightened?"
Hades glares at her, "because as much as I hate dragging people, he hates it more. It's always been an effective tool to get him to behave."
"You're a monster!"
"I'm the god of Death, sweetheart. You expect me to be sunshine and rainbows?"
"You're purposefully cruel—"
"I've saved billions of people from entering the underworld terrified and you think I'm cruel!?" His aura darkens and he leans closer, her muscles feeling like sharp ice beneath her skin. "You had hundreds of chances to have a good life and neither of you could manage it! Yes, one human suffers, but the rest benefit. That trade off is worth it for me."
"It's not for me—"
"You would rather Michael have died than Death be tortured for three years?" He asks sharply.
She opens her mouth to respond but her throat closes on the words.
He raises an eyebrow. Not haughty. Not prideful. Just calm understanding. "See? You know some things are worth the pain. You think I'm cruel. But I have significantly improved billions of people's deaths. And I have even allowed you and he to circle around each other in this strange relationship. I've been mostly hands off except the odd here and there—" he smiles like he's told an inside joke. "So no. I'm not cruel, and I'm not a monster. I'm doing my job. And I've found an efficient way to do it well. And I would thank you to not screw that up."
"I won't stop trying." She blurts out. "I won't stop trying to save him."
Hades sighs, shoulders sagging like she's putting the weight of the world on his shoulders, "then I suppose I have no choice..." He looks over at Lily, "it would be a shame…"
His eyes flick to Lily's stomach and Peggy's own gut twists, "no—"
Hades raises an eyebrow, "then you'll behave? You'll drop it?"
She doesn't know how to respond.
And he nods, "see? It's difficult isn't it? Having to make a difficult choice? Should other people suffer for your happiness?"
"You're asking me an impossible question!"
"Who is more important? Your family and it's newest addition? Or the life of a man you've already spent cumulative decades with?"
Her head hangs, tears hitting her lap, "that's not fair—" she chokes out.
"Death isn't fair," he responds kindly. "You work in a hospital. You know that well enough."
"He's impartial. It's different."
"And yet… He made a choice to save your brother. That's not impartial. That's not fair to the others who suffered the same fate in his unit."
"That was a unique situation," she argues, throat still tight with emotion, "he did that for me."
"Exactly. He's willing to upset the balance of life and death for you. That makes you dangerous. Powerful even. So I need your word that you won't interfere."
"You'll free him? Allow him to come back?"
Hades frowns in annoyance, "yes. I want him working again. But I need your word that you're going to forget this whole thing."
She nods, fully intending to figure out another plan to free Death. "Fine. I accept your deal." He allows her arm to move and he extends his hand. She shakes it and he laughs, and his aura shifts to cocky and amused.
"You both are so susceptible. Making devil may care deals without really understanding what you're agreeing to."
She frowns, his hand icy cold on her grip, "what do you mean?"
He grins, "don't worry. You've promised to forget all about it."
And as those words wash over her, she sees the air shimmer and darkness rises up to greet her.