Title: Reaping the Whirlwind (The Boom Boom Boom Ba Remix)

Author: Lizbeth Marcs

Category: Buffy: The Vampire Slayer + Dead Like Me Crossover

Genre: Fantasy/Supernatural

Characters: Xander H., Dawn S., George L., Mason

Summary: What does the addition of supernatural-related reaps to the reaping workload, Roxy's promotion, the addition of a new grim reaper with supernatural experience, a new sort-of boyfriend who may or may not be a pirate, and an approaching apocalypse all have in common? New grim reaper boss George doesn't know, but she's willing to bet that in the middle of it all the universe will kic

Status: Completed

Rating: T

Chapters: 14

Words: 82,036

Updated: 2014-01-03

Published: 2014-01-01

Downloaded: 2018-09-05

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9981228/1

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

My name is George Lass, and I've been dead — or rather undead — for 6 years, 3 weeks, and 2 days. Not that anyone's counting or anything.

My job: grim reaper. Well, that's mostly my job. These days I also supervise other grim reapers. I've been The Boss for 5 months, 4 days.

Before anyone gets this idea that being The Boss is all glamour and bling with my feet up on the desk while I snap fingers and order my adoring minions to pick up my dry cleaning or wash my car or buy me shit, I think you need to meet my crew.

No, really. You need to meet my crew. That's when you'll realize that it's been a long 5 months and 4 days. A very, very long 5 months and 4 days.

Still, being a reaper boss does have its small perks. I get my own place. Rent free.

Hell, if Rube told me that way back when I first sat my ass down at Der Waffle Haus that a free apartment came with a promotion, I would've…

I dunno…

Maybe put a little effort into taking-souls-for-an-unliving.

Okay, maybe not.

But I might've put some effort into it if I had known and that's the whole point. I think.

As for the whole undead issue, it happens to be true that I am one of the undead. Sure, people think "undead" and they think vampire. Zombie. All of that children-of-the- night-of-the-night horseshit. I'm not anything like that, but now I've got to live with the bad rep because guess who's been going nuts and giving all of us undead bad PR?

Go on. Guess.

None of us in the hinterlands we call "the field" ever knew that there were any undead except us reapers. At least we didn't know before 4 months, 3 weeks, and 2 days ago. Needless to say, my job as The Boss crossed over into the double-suck right about the time we all found out that vampires, zombies, and other children of the night or whatever they call themselves are real. And not just real. We're talking Real Assholes.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. The perks of being The Boss of Other Reapers.

The free apartment, which I mentioned. All other blessings flow from that very simple fact.

That means bye-bye roommates. Bye-bye Daisy with her two-hour iron-woman beauty regimen, which she always starts right when I need to get ready for another day at Happy Time. Bye-bye Mason with his bogarting the couch, and the TV, and all my food. Bye-bye to doing all the housework for three people because Daisy has a morbid fear of dishpan hands and Mason breaks out in hives if he sees a vacuum cleaner.

Bye-bye to all of that, and hello to sweet, sweet solitude. I get to sit on my couch and watch whatever I want on my TV and eat all of my food and not have to worry about Daisy throwing a fit because I put Nair in her shampoo out of revenge for that day she made me a half-hour late for work.

Best of all, when you have your own place you can set your own schedule. Then your schedule becomes your routine.

I like routines. They're comforting.

A routine means that there aren't any big surprises and no drama from roommates throwing your day into a tailspin before it even starts. No whining, no banging on the bathroom door, and no need to threaten Daisy with another visit from the Nair Fairy if she insists she needs five more minutes to remove whatever that is she puts on her face. Best of all: no discovering that Mason ate that leftover Chinese while you were asleep leaving you without that lunch you were so looking forward to because that was some really good moo goo gai pan.

Now it's all: get up at 6:30 a.m., collect the reap information for the day, scan the reports, head off to the Pancake Stack, and hand out the assignments. The key part of this is I can sometimes grab the earliest and easiest reap for myself if I haven't been pre-assigned one. I mean, what the fuck, right? I'm The Boss. I deserve a little something for putting up with Daisy, Mason, and to a way lesser extent, Roxy.

Once the soon-to-be-dead-person walking has been reaped and shown their lights, it's off to another day in corporate-ish America where I get to keep my Happy Time paycheck all to myself, instead using that money for stupid shit. Like rent.

After a day in the coal mines, it's home to a blessedly roommate-free apartment where I catch some tube until my eyes bleed. Then it's another night tossing and turning in bed while wishing that I could sleep for more than three damn hours. Come 6:30 a.m. it's up and at 'em following the same pattern. Sure, it sounds boring, but it works for me. If I were still alive, I'd call it the circle of life as a comfy blanket. Since I'm not, it's the circle of death as…unh…a comfy blanket.

The only creepy part is the fact that I get the reap information for the day slid under my door from God knows Whatever before I even get up for my morning bathroom routine.

But I can live with creepy. Or…unlive with it. Or whatever.

Fuck it. You know what I mean.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Good morning Seattle! Look, up in the sky! It's yellow! It's round! Why, it's the sun! That's right, kids. No need to panic. The long, dark days of rain, rain, and more rain is about to—"

With a groan, George slapped her hand down on her clock radio and shut it off. As per her usual, she also knocked it to the floor.

"Blessed silence," she groaned as she rolled out of bed.

She shuffled past the kitchenette of what her landlord laughingly called a studio apartment — More like an over-priced one-room efficiency with space carved out for a couple of appliances and a teeny bathroom, but it's not like anyone let me pick out my own apartment — and into the bathroom.

On this morning, like every other morning since she moved in, she grumbled about the cold tiles under her feet and made faces at herself in the mirror while she began her usual oral hygiene regimen: gargle, floss, brush.

Then it was back into the main room to pick up whatever El Creepo, as she had come to think of the Whatever that left behind the reap assignments, had slipped under her door. She was already bending down when she realized that the familiar manila interoffice envelope simply wasn't.

"Fuck. Me," George complained as she stood upright.

Just my luck. The gravelings probably decided to take the day off. On the upside, guaranteed no messy reaps today. On the downside, we've probably got a shitload of paperwork just waiting for us and only 24 hours to do it.

"I can't handle this right now," George complained. "I don't even know what to do."

She glowered at the door as if it had the definitive answer.

"Well, someone better be dropping off some instructions, or at least a treasure map where I can find everything I need or someone's records are going to be fucked," she informed the door.

The door remained door-like and provided no answers at all.

George turned on her heel and headed back to the bathroom and a nice, long shower. She got no more than three paces when she heard the sound of something at the door. She spun around and saw the familiar manila interoffice envelope waiting for her in its customary place. Today the usual was paired with a dark red envelope of the same size.

"Guess someone's running late today," George grumbled as she stomped over to the door. "And, oh, look! Something extra. This better not mean more work for me."

As she bent down to pick up the envelopes, she noticed the hint of a shadow through crack under the door. She froze and swallowed. El Creepo appeared to be waiting for something. George took a deep breath as she reached for the envelopes and called out, "In a sec."

It wasn't so much that I wanted to get the envelopes out of the way. Okay, actually it was that. I was a little afraid of what I'd find on the other side of that door. It's not that I wasn't planning on opening it, because I most definitely was. However, this struck me as a need-to-leave-fast-just-in-case situation. Leaving loose envelopes underfoot when I might have to back up at a run while slamming the door shut was probably a really bad idea.

I think I'm starting to get why Rube was a don't-ask-don't-tell kinda guy, because that shadow seemed like a Real Shadow. It was a shadow with extra shadow on the side. Or more like shadow-plus.

George straightened up and, keeping one nervous eye on the door to make sure that El Creepo didn't go anywhere, opened up the dark red envelope. She peered inside and saw two packages held together with a paperclip. One had several pages with what appeared to be a picture of a young woman attached. The other was a single sheet of paper with a picture of…

Why would there be a picture of…

George pulled the single sheet with its attached picture out of the envelope and stared at it, letting all the other paperwork fall to the floor.

Stamped crosswise across the paper was a red rubber-stamped "APPROVED" in all capital letters.

"No! Wait! No!" George hollered.

As George dove for the door, El Creepo's shadow took a powder.

George burst into the hallway just in time to catch something dark moving really fast around a corner.

"Get back here you son of a bitch! You get back here right now!" George hollered as she chased after the Whatever. "You can't do this to me! You can't!"

George skid around the corner and saw the elevator door was already closing on that hint of shadow she couldn't quite see. She put in an extra burst of speed in the vain hope that she could stop it.

"No you don't! No you don't!" George yelled as she slammed into the elevator door. She tried pulling it open with her hands even as the dial above her head showed that the elevator was already descending out of her reach. She began to pound on it. "Come back and say this to my face, you miserable bastard!"

I am George, hear me roar. Well, that sure told It, didn't it? What am I going to do?

George stepped back and spit, "Motherfucker."

She spun around, ready to stomp back to her apartment only to find that she had drawn a crowd. Just about every door on her floor was open and framed an irate person glaring right at her.

She held up her single sheet of paper with photo attached and explained in a weak voice, "Unh…I got a jury summons."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I had always wondered what Rube knew and when he knew it about me and the day I died. I even asked him once. Okay, more like yelled the questions at him while pointing out that I was only 18 when I died and that it wasn't fair.

Which it wasn't and it still isn't, but then again death is never fair. It just is. Reapers have two choices: accept it and move on, or don't accept it and get disappeared.

Now I know what Rube knew and when he knew it. I wish I didn't, but now I know.

And I still don't think it's fair.

You know, I never did find out the name of the guy I replaced. All I got out of Rube was that he was a pain in the ass, but then again Rube thought everyone was a pain in his ass. He took pains in his ass personally even when it wasn't personal.

The thing is, no one ever talked about the guy who reaped me, got his lights, and left me holding the bag. No one. Not Rube, pain-in-the-ass comment aside. Not Roxy. Not Mason. And not Betty. It was like: here was this guy we worked with for years, maybe even decades. Then one day he's gone and it's like he was never there at all.

Come to think of it, we don't even talk about Betty and that's despite the fact she took the fast exit out of being a reaper instead of waiting her turn and probably got obliterated in the process.

Is this who we are? Is this really who we are? Are we so used to the idea that one day you're there and the next day you're not that we even apply it to one of us?

If I have to go by everything that's never been said, I think the answer is "yes".
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The anger over the unfairness of the situation was still busily gnawing away in the pit of George's stomach when she pushed open the door of the Pancake Stack. However, all of that anger was now drowning in a sense of the loss that was coming.

Her merry band of reapers — a band that George would somewhat grudgingly admit were her fucked-up undead family — were already in full bicker.

Roxy was cackling over her coffee as George approached their usual booth. She stopped just short of finishing the trek and watched them.

I couldn't believe this was going to change. I didn't want it to change. I liked things just the way they were.

"It's not bloody funny," Mason grumped. "And I want to file a police report."

"Let me get this straight," Roxy was seconds away from howling with laughter and pounding on the table, "you want to file a police report because some lowlife grabbed your backpack and took your drugs? Seriously?"

The few working synapses in Mason's brain finally seemed to get just how fucked-up that idea really was. Typical Mason, though, he wasn't about to let it drop. "He took my wallet, too. And I'll have you know that those drugs were legal prescription medications."

"Yeah, none of which are in your name," Roxy pointed out. "So, what the fuck do you think is going to happen? I file a report, they catch the creep, and they find all these bottles on him. How long do you think it'll take for them to find out all those names belong to dead people?"

"We could leave out the part about the drugs, right?" Mason asked.

"What I don't understand," Daisy interrupted as she checked her make-up in mirror compact, "is why you didn't chase down the mugger and get back your things."

"Daisy, I explained this," Mason said with the air of a man who had repeated this point several times, "he had a gun."

"So?" Roxy archly asked. "You're already dead. It isn't like he can kill your scrawny ass again."

"Well put, Roxy," Daisy primly said as she snapped the compact mirror shut.

"Getting shot bloody well hurts," Mason said with a wounded air.

This is the part where I've got to interrupt.

The beauty-obsessed blonde with the good skin is Daisy. According to her, she not only knew every leading man in Hollywood back in the stone ages, she blew all of them, too. What? I'm only quoting Daisy. Anyway, Daisy was an actress. Is an actress. Kind of. She's still hoping to get discovered by a famous producer and make it big in Hollywood, despite the fact she's dead and reaping in Seattle. Still, if you squint you'll find that Daisy does have a heart buried in there somewhere. Blink and you'll miss it.

The grubby-looking British guy who looks like he never quite got out of the drug haze of the '60s is Mason. What to say about Mason, except: Mason, Mason, Mason.

The black woman in the police uniform is Roxy. She will Kick. Your. Ass.

"Well, I remember this one date I had with Tyrone Power," Daisy began.

"Oh, God," Mason groaned.

"Yup, it's going to be one of those fucking days. I can just feel it," Roxy grumbled as she sipped from her coffee cup.

Roxy, you have no idea.

"And this blackguard jumped out of the shadows with a gun and insisted that I hand over all my jewelry," Daisy continued. "Well, of course I just couldn't since Tyrone had gotten them on loan from Tiffany's. He was letting me wear them for this date and—"

"Roxy? Please shoot me," Mason begged.

"I'm thinking I should shoot Daisy instead," Roxy said.

"Are you going to let me finish this story or not?" Daisy huffed.

"I vote not," George said as she finally slid into the booth's sole empty slot next to Roxy.

"Weeeellll, look who decided to finally grace us with her presence," Roxy sarcastically commented.

"Look at that," Mason flashed the very new, very expensive Omega watch on his wrist, "our little Georgie is near a half-hour late. And I say, 'Good for her.' She's been getting a little too Miss Goody Two-Shoes lately. High time she bucked the trend and got back to her rebel girl roots."

George blinked at him. "I know that's not your watch."

"My reap from last night," Mason proudly answered.

"Speaking of filing a police report for thievery," Roxy grumbled.

"What? He said I could have it." Mason brought down his wrist. "Not like he's going to need it. Not where he's gone."

"That's just so tacky," Daisy delicately shuddered.

"Right. Because you've never enhanced your income by letting your fingers do a little walking where they shouldn't," Mason said.

"I was talking about the watch," Daisy sniffed.

"Guys!" George snapped. "Enough!"

Three pairs of eyes turned on George.

After a beat of silence, Daisy turned on her megawatt smile and said, "Well, aren't we a little ball of sunshine today."

Before George was able to say something cutting, a shadow fell across their table.

"Are you ready to order?"

George's eyes snapped up. "Oh, hey Kiffany. I'd like a round of Banana Bonanzas. My treat."

"Wrong restaurant," Kiffany reminded her as she tapped her pen against her pad.

"Oh. Yeah. Right." George winced. "Make that a round of Best Banana Busters. Unh, still my treat."

The synapses in Mason's brain were really on fire today, because it finally registered that George was actually paying for breakfast. "Really?"

"Yes, really," George wearily answered.

Kiffany finished her scribbling. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, coffee for me and put whatever they're having on my bill," George said.

Three pairs of eyes, this time widened in shock, once more stared at George.

"Got it," Kiffany nodded as she finished scribbling. Before she turned away to deliver the order, she paused and touched George on the shoulder. "Sometimes I miss the old Waffle Haus, too."

"Yeah," George glumly agreed.

The group waited until Kiffany moved off.

"I knew it. I knew it was going to be one of those fucked-up days," Roxy said.

"Why do you say that?" George tried to sound defensive, but instead sounded sulky. Sulky was so not what she should be going for right now.

"Well, Georgia, you have to admit that you buying us breakfast is unprecedented," Daisy pointed out.

"That's not true. I've bought you breakfast," George argued.

"Yeah, right before you told us you were now our boss," Roxy said as she sipped from her coffee.

"So you'll have to excuse us if we think that maybe you've got a little bad news tucked away in your Day Planner," Mason added. "What is it today? A bus full of little old nuns? A tragic accident involving an interstate pile-up caused by a herd of rabid goats?"

"Mason," George sighed.

Roxy snapped her fingers. "It's another fucking vampire attack on a nightclub, isn't it? God, I hate those things."

"Better that than the zombie-related reap I had last week." Daisy wrinkled her nose. "I'm still seeing that thing bite into my guy's brain every time I close my eyes."

"You know, I was trying to be optimistic," Mason complained. "Now you've completely put me off breakfast."

"You have to admit that adding supernatural-related reaps to our workload is just ridiculous," Daisy griped.

"I'm telling you, Someone upstairs fucked up big time," Roxy agreed. "Who wants to bet that They screwed up on staffing for the supernatural deaths? Figures that we're the ones who are paying for that. And you can bet They're not going to add more help now that They've got us doing it for free."

"Roxy, we don't get paid, remember?" George said. "We're doing this for free anyway."

"Yeah, well, that's bureaucracy for you, isn't it?" Mason asked without acknowledging George's point. "This is why we need a union."

"Look at you being all Norma Rae and shit," Roxy said.

"Guys, it's nothing like that," Geroge interrupted. "Really. No vampires. No zombies. No freaky creatures from Planet X. No monsters. And especially no giant squids with tentacles that suck off your face."

Daisy reached across the table and placed her hands over George's. "It's okay, Georgia. I completely understand why you're still traumatized by that. But I think you really need to see someone about your PTSD."

"Daisy," George said through clenched teeth as she yanked her hands off the table, "I'm just saying that this isn't about a reap."

This resulted in a few moments of blessed silence as the other three reapers considered this.

"At least, it sort of isn't about a reap," George amended in a mutter.

The other three reapers exchanged worried glances.

"Georgia, you're not making a lot of sense," Daisy said.

Unsure of what to say or how to say it, George silently opened her Day Planner and pulled out a single folded sheet of paper. She held it out to Roxy.

Roxy eyed the paper like it was a bomb that would go off the second she touched it. "Oh, no. I'm not taking that unless I know what it's about."

"It isn't going to bite. Besides, neither one of us really has a choice, do we?" George mumbled.

Roxy gingerly took the paper and unfolded it.

As Roxy's eyes scanned the page with the red rubber-stamped APPROVED, Mason and Daisy fidgeted.

Roxy was probably just as upset as I was, and that's why it was taking her so long to say anything. There's also probably a little shock involved, but she was definitely upset. I could tell.

"Rox?" Mason tentatively asked. "What is it?"

Roxy threw up her hands and let out of whoop of triumph.

Okay, maybe she wasn't that upset.

"Read it and weep, motherfucker," Roxy laughed as she waved the page in front of Mason. "This girl is moving on up, up, up and out of here."

"The hell you say!" Mason exclaimed as he snatched the paper out of Roxy's hand.

"Let me see!" Daisy demanded as she snatched the paper from Mason's hand before he had a chance to see what was on it.

Roxy, meanwhile, was doing some kind of break-dancing move with her upper body.

"I don't believe this." Daisy slammed the page down on the table top.

Mason snatched the paper and finally got a chance to read it.

"Ah-hah! Believe it, girlfriend. Read. It. And. Weep." Roxy began doing a one-person wave.

Daisy leaned forward and pointed a threatening finger at the celebrating Roxy. "I've been dead far longer than you, Roxanne Harvey. Decades longer in fact. If anyone should be getting their lights, it should be me."

"Oh, this is bullshit," Mason said as he waved the paper at George. "This is completely bullshit, this is. Roxy's been dead for, what? She hasn't been dead for even 30 years."

"Twenty-seven years, in fact," Roxy said. She began bouncing in her seat and singing under her breath, "Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah…"

George put her head in her hands.

"Well, what about me?" Daisy piteously asked.

"What about you?" Roxy cheerfully asked.

"I've been dead for 71 years. Seven. One," Daisy said. "I've earned those lights. I deserve those lights."

"That's right. I shuffled off the mortal coil 43 years ago, and I've yet to even get a sniff of freedom," Mason said. "Should be me or Daisy gettin' our lights. Not some Roxy-come-lately."

"Too bad, so sad," Roxy sing-songed.

"Are we finished?" George snapped.

"Alright settle down, settle down," Roxy said with a grin. "Let the boss lady have her say."

George resisted the urge to tell Roxy to go fuck herself.

"I want an explanation for this bullshit, that's what I want," Mason complained.

"As would I," Daisy daintily agreed. "Georgia?"

"Well, I…unh…I don't actually have one," George mumbled.

"Bullshit," Mason declared. "You know something, Georgie. So spit it out."

"I don't," George protested. "I don't know why Roxy and not you two. It's not like they asked me or anything. All I know is that Roxy's getting promoted and some information about the new reaper and that's it."

"Whoa! This is where I have to get off," Roxy said.

"What? Why?" George asked. "I mean, what the fuck do you care? You're up, up, up and out of here, remember?"

"The less I know about my replacement, the better," Roxy said. "I don't want to spend my last day feeling all guilty and shit."

In a fucked-up way, Roxy kind of had a point.

"Notice she's not feeling guilty about leaving us behind," Mason said as he nudged Daisy.

"Hell no I'm not," Roxy readily admitted.

"Four Best Banana Busters," Kiffany announced as she materialized at their table with four plates.

"I gotta take mine to go," Roxy said. "I'm late for work."

Kiffany swiped up one of the plates. "You got it. Meet you by the register."

As Kiffany sailed away to the kitchen to pack up Roxy's breakfast, Roxy held out her hand.

"What?" George demanded.

"My post-it. Remember? Can't reap without it," Roxy reminded her.

"Oh. Yeah. Right." George pulled Roxy's post-it from her Day Planner and handed it to her.

Roxy scanned the yellow square and made a face. "Two-thirty-five in the morning? You're fucking with me, right?"

"That's the time," George said.

"Shit. So much for sneaking out of work early," Roxy said as she made a shooing motion with her hand to indicate that George needed to get her ass out of the way.

"You're going to work?" Mason asked. "What are you? High?"

"Me? No. I'm pretty sure you are, though," Roxy said as she hauled herself out of the booth. "I've got responsibilities. I can't just not show up for my shift."

"And yet, that's exactly what you'll be doing tomorrow," George said.

"Smart ass," Roxy shot back as she headed off to meet Kiffany.

As George slid back into the booth, Daisy pounced.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Well what?" George asked.

"Our new reaper," Mason said. "C'mon, give us the dirt."

"It'd be nice to have someone with breeding join us," Daisy sighed. "We need more gentility in our ranks."

"If it's a man, I hope he's a real bloke. And if it's a bird, I hope she's a stunner," Mason said as he dug into his breakfast.

And just like that, Mason and Daisy moved on. It was like watching someone flip a switch. I didn't get it. There should be a little period of mourning, or at least a moment of silence. There should be something to mark the occasion; something more than me buying breakfast for everyone.

"First off, it's a she. As for whether or not she's hot, I can't judge one of those things," George said.

Daisy pouted. Mason looked hopeful.

"As for gentility, she has a PhD in linguistics. I guess that qualifies," George added.

Mason remained stubbornly hopeful. "Maybe she's got a sexy library thing going for her."

"You have to do better than that, Georgia, because honestly this tells me nothing," Daisy said.

I knew it was kind of mean of me, but I really wanted to make them sorry. Sorry about Roxy leaving. Sorry about getting a new reaper with no warning. Sorry about everything. So I probably shouldn't have broken the news to them like I did, but at this point I just didn't care.

"Also, she's an expert in the supernatural," George added in an off-handed manner.

Daisy's eyes widened as her mouth dropped open. Mason's fork froze halfway between the plate and his mouth as he stared at George in horror.

"That's right. It looks like we're not going to stop reaping supernatural deaths any time soon." George fake-smiled at them as she lifted her coffee cup in a salute. "Cheers!"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The hardest part about death is moving on, and we're not just talking about the living moving on either. As it turns out, it's the hardest part about life after death, too.

Roxy and me had our problems, sure. Roxy was always a hardass reaper, and me not so much. When Rube was around, she was the second in command. She made sure that Mason, Roxy, and, yeah, even me, toed the line and did our reaps the right way and according to the rules.

The problem was that after Rube disappeared the day Der Waffle Haus burned to the ground, Roxy temporarily stopped following the rules. It was like she had forgotten everything Rube was about when that asshole Cameron took over and insisted that the only rule was that there were no rules. God knows what got into Roxy. Maybe she got sick of being the responsible one. Maybe she got sick of being good. Maybe she just needed someone to give her permission to be bad.

Turned out that it was exactly the wrong time for her to stop following the rules.

While Daisy, Mason, and even Roxy started running around doing whatever the hell they wanted, I suddenly became a stickler for the rules and insisted on following them to a T.

Turned out that it was exactly the wrong time for me to start following the rules.

Sometimes I wonder if Cameron was a test, because when it was all over I got showered in post-it notes and Roxy got shut out of being the new Rube.

Yet, for all that, Roxy's getting her lights and I'm still here. I could see where Mason and Daisy were coming from. If you go by strict seniority, Daisy should be the first to go. If you go by who's been a good reaper versus a bad reaper…

Okay, maybe I still wouldn't be top of the list, but I bet I'd outrank Daisy and Mason at least.

But if becoming The Boss wasn't a reward then what was it? A punishment?

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Roxy popped her gum and pointedly looked at her watch. "Where the fuck is my reap?"

"For the millionth time, it's not 2:35 yet," George said.

Roxy looked over her shoulder.

"Mason and Daisy said they'd be here to say good-bye," George said.

Roxy made a face as she chewed her gum. "Yeah, well, Mason and Daisy aren't what you'd call reliable."

George felt she needed to muster some kind of defense for the others. "They get their reaps done without any fuck-ups."

"Daisy is usually okay, but Mason's had some beauts in his time," Roxy said.

"We all have," George said defensively.

"Yeah," Roxy quietly agreed.

There was a moment of silence as George and Roxy surveyed the street for any sign of D. Summers.

Roxy began to chuckle. "Hey, remember right after you told us that you'd been promoted and had the post-its to prove it?"

"You pushed me in front of that speeding truck, you bitch," George said.

"Squashed you flat like a pancake, right there in the middle of the street," Roxy cackled.

Even though it wasn't at all funny at the time, George started to laugh. "I ended up in a refrigerated drawer at the morgue. It took me hours to escape."

"And you were so mad," Roxy shook her head with a grin.

"I got back at you, though," George said as she nudged Roxy's shoulder with hers.

"My car still don't run right and it smells funny every time I turn on the defroster," Roxy said. "What the fuck did you do to it?"

George grinned at her and primly responded, "Trade secret."

"Yeah, well, guess it don't matter nohow. It's someone else's problem," Roxy said.

"Yeah," George quietly agreed.

The moments were ticking away, and still no sign of D. Summers.

No sign of gravelings yet, either.

Not-so-deep down inside I kind of hoped that D. Summers would miss her appointment, or that the gravelings wouldn't bother to show. I kind of hoped that I screwed up and wrote 2:35 a.m. on the post-it when really Roxy was supposed to reap her at 2:35 p.m. I hoped I wrote the wrong address and that right now D. Summers was really on the other side of town living her life without a care in the world.

I even kind of hoped that Roxy and me would stay forever just like this, shooting the shit in some alleyway at ass o'clock in the morning with 2:35 a.m. never getting any closer.

I hoped for a lot of things, even though I knew I wouldn't get any of it.

"Mind if I give you some advice?" Roxy asked.

"Since when do you ask?" George responded as her eyes scanned the street.

"True that," Roxy agreed.

George switched her focus to Roxy. She was surprised to see that the other reaper actually looked nervous, sad, and unsure of herself all at the same time. It was almost like looking at an anti-Roxy.

"You're not Rube," Roxy said once she was sure she had George's undivided attention.

That statement really irritated George. "I know that."

"I know you know that in here," Roxy tapped George on the temple, "but you keep trying to act like Rube and you're not Rube."

"I don't act like Rube," George huffed.

"Hey, I'm not criticizing or anything," Roxy said with a shrug. "Rube's the only boss you've ever known. Hell, he's the only boss I've ever known, besides you. But Rube had his own thing, y'know? His own way of kicking your ass into shape and making you fly right."

"I haven't kicked anyone's ass," George grumbled.

"'Cause you didn't have to"

George frowned at Roxy. "So all that whining, bitching, and moaning I get from the three of you is, what? Because you fucking love me?"

"We all whined and bitched at Rube when he was in charge," Roxy pointed out. "Hell, there were entire months where you were the worst one for that, and you know it. That's just the way we roll."

"Fine. Point taken."

"Look, what I'm trying to say is, yeah, none of us were thrilled that you got to be The Boss, but that's because we all wanted the job," Roxy said.

George snorted. "Mason wanted to be in charge."

"Sure, Mason. He gives good bullshit about it, but if those post-its rained down on his head do you really think he'd say no? Sheeya. Right. Pull my other one," Roxy said. "Fact is, we all wanted it, and you got it. So you gotta expect a little tension 'cause of that."

"Great. So when's it supposed to stop," George said.

"Don't know if you noticed, but it already has," Roxy answered with a shrug.

"Oh don't give me that," George said. "Mason's constantly busting my ass over being Miss Goody Two-Shoes. Daisy's always trying to negotiate higher class reaps. And you pushed me in front of a truck."

"I didn't do it a second time, did I?"

George rolled her eyes.

"Fact is we know you. We know you. We also know that you'll have our backs and that you actually give a shit," Roxy said. "So maybe we give you ulcers, but all four of us used to make Rube constipated. That's just the way it is."

George smiled a crooked smile. "Because that's just the way we roll."

"That's right." Roxy nodded. "But this new person? This new reaper? That person don't know you from dogshit. They're not going to trust you. They're not going to like you. And they're going to make your life miserable until they get it through their heads that you've got their backs and that you actually give a shit about them."

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Roxy," George grumbled.

"Remember what you were like?" Roxy archly asked.

"Ouch."

"Hey, you think it was any different for me?" Roxy asked. "I was a little terror those first few months. I did my share of purposeful fuck-ups, let me tell you."

"You," George said with disbelief.

"You think my going off the rails when Cameron was in charge came from nowhere?" Roxy shook her head. "I sucked it up with Rube because Rube kicked my ass and made me fly right. Having Cameron come along and say that I was right all along was like handing me a license to steal."

"I always kind of wondered about that," George said.

"Yeah, well. Now you know. All water under the bridge now," Roxy said.

"Between the two of us, I think you got the better end of the deal," George admitted.

"Yeah, maybe. We'll see." Roxy seemed to suddenly realize what she almost admitted to. "Don't you go telling those two fuck-ups I just said that."

George mimed zippering her smiling mouth shut.

"You better." Roxy shook a finger at her. "What I'm trying to tell you is this: eventually you're going to have to kick the new reaper's ass and make them fly right. But do it in your own way. Don't go trying to be like Rube about it, because it won't work."

That…was actually good advice.

"I'll…keep that in mind," George said.

"Unh-hunh. See that you do," Roxy said as her eyes scanned the street. "Where the fuck is my reap? Don't got all night here."

There was the sound of running feet behind them.

"Showtime," Roxy said.

George checked her watch. "Still a few minutes yet."

"Good, we didn't miss the going away party," Mason huffed and puffed as he skidded to a stop behind them.

"Just barely," Daisy said as she followed at a far more sedate pace. "Mason decided that he knew a shortcut."

"Got us here in time, didn't it?" Mason asked.

George and Roxy exchanged glances and both rolled their eyes. They knew all about Mason's shortcuts.

"We could've gotten here 10 minutes ago if you took a right on Stensen Road like I told you," Daisy said.

"Will you two shut the fuck up?" Roxy asked. "You're going to scare away my reap."

Mason waved a hand at her. "We bust our arses to get here and see you off, and this is the thanks we get."

"You'll get your thanks with my fist if you don't shut the fuck up already," Roxy threatened.

As the other three reapers settled to bickering amongst themselves, George saw a puff of smoke and the appearance of a graveling.

"Guys, the graveling's here," George said.

"About fucking time," Roxy said as Mason and Daisy crowded them from behind. "Where?"

George pointed to the graveling as it gamboled up the front stoop.

"I am not going to miss seeing those guys," Roxy said under her breath.

The graveling squatted and pissed right in front the door.

George made a face. "Ugh."

"That's just nasty," Roxy said.

"You'll get no argument from me," Daisy agreed.

Mason waved a hand in front of his face as if he could smell the urine. "Looks like we're going for the fall down the stairs and break your neck routine. I swear those little buggers have no bleeding imagination at all."

"Same shit, different reap," Roxy agreed.

"Not to mention a sick sense of humor," George said.

"No one ever said they were subtle," Daisy said.

"They don't gotta be. They just gotta get the job done," Roxy said as they all watched the graveling scamper off and disappear in a puff of smoke.

The streetscape was suddenly awash in headlights.

George checked her watch. "I think this is it."

"Yeah." Roxy looked unsure of herself.

"Okay guys, let's keep to the shadows and let Roxy have her moment," George said as she pressed herself flat against the wall of the alley.

"Right behind you," Daisy said as she and Mason followed suit.

As we crouched in the shadows and watched Roxy brush down her police uniform, I realized that this was the very last picture I'd have of her. Actually the very last picture I'd have of her was her doing her reap, but this was the last picture I'd have of her that involved just the four of us.

The car rolled to a stop. The engine cut. The headlights went dark.

Roxy took her first step forward.

"Roxy," George called out in a strangled whisper.

Roxy paused and looked at her.

I wanted to tell her good luck. I wanted to tell her I'd miss her. I wanted to tell her thank you.

I wanted to say a lot things.

I just couldn't get them to leave my chest.

Roxy gave them all a half-smile. "If I see Rube, I'll tell him you said hello."

Then she stepped out onto the sidewalk.

"Geez! You scared me!" came an unfamiliar voice.

"Sorry about that, ma'am," Roxy responded.

George, Mason, and Daisy leaned forward as far as they dared so they could watch the scene.

Roxy made a show of looking at the car's license plate. "Are you D. Summers?"

"I'm D. Summers. I mean Dawn. Dawn Summers." The woman shut her car door. She was tall with long, dark hair. She was dressed in what looked like to be comfortable clothes, from the tasteful sweater to the well-worn jeans, right on down to her sensible boots.

"Not very fashionable, is she?" Daisy commented.

"Nice hair, though," Mason said.

"Guys," George warned.

"Well ma'am, I'm afraid we've had a complaint," Roxy said.

They couldn't see Dawn's expression, but they could definitely hear her puzzlement. "Complaint? About what?"

"That you've been parking illegally," Roxy said.

"Let me guess. The name of the person making the complaint wouldn't be Mark Sheffield, would it?" Dawn sounded irritated.

"I can't share that information, ma'am," Roxy responded. "All I can do is tell you that a complaint's been filed."

"Yeah, well, let's just say that I have one particular neighbor who seems to think that the parking spot in front of this building belongs to him," Dawn explained with irritation. "He doesn't seem to understand the whole public street equals you can park anywhere concept."

"So, you usually park here," Roxy said.

"Here, or one spot up. Yeah," Dawn agreed.

"Sounds like you've got a bad neighbor problem."

"More like a pain-in-my-butt problem." Irritation showed strong and clear in Dawn's voice.

Roxy held up her hands. "Unfortunately, I can't get involved in neighborhood disputes."

"I know, but I can dream right?" Dawn asked. "Well, good night officer."

"Good night," Roxy automatically responded.

"I can't see. Did she reap her yet?" Daisy asked.

"I'm not sure," Mason answered. "If she did, I missed it."

"No. No she didn't," George whispered.

As Dawn headed for graveling-prepared steps, Roxy called out, "Ma'am?"

Dawn paused, tensed, and spun around. "Yes, officer?"

"I know that sometimes these neighborhood disputes can get ugly," Roxy said as she dug around in her breast pocket. "First it's parking spaces, then it's they don't like the company or hours you keep, and next thing you know they're calling the police and swearing up and down that you're a drug dealer."

Dawn nervously glanced up at the apartment building next to her. "I…you don't honestly think it'll come to that, do you?"

"I've seen things like this escalate to actual physical violence," Roxy said as she fished something small and white out of her breast pocket. "I'm going to leave you a business card. If you sense that he's escalating beyond complaining about where you park, I want you to give us a call."

Dawn looked at the business card, but didn't take a step closer. This time they could see her expression by the light of the street lamp. She looked like she wasn't entirely buying Roxy's excuse. "I thought the police don't want to get involved in neighborhood disputes."

"We also like to head off violence before it happens," Roxy said as she scribbled something on the back the card. "If you can't get any traction when you call, tell the person at the other end of the line to come talk to me and I'll explain the situation."

"Unh, thanks but I really don't think that's—"

"Just the same, I'd feel better if you took my card," Roxy said. "Like I said, I've seen things like this turn ugly."

"O-o-okay."

Dawn stepped forward to take the proffered card. As soon as her fingers touched it, Roxy reached out with her free hand and closed it over Dawn's. There was the familiar bit of distortion as Roxy pulled Dawn's soul out of her body.

"Oh, she's good. She's bloody good," Mason whispered.

"A real pro," Daisy agreed.

"Shhhh," George ordered.

"Ummmm…" Dawn began.

"You have a good night, ma'am," Roxy said as she let go.

Dawn's expression was puzzled. "Yeah. Good night."

Roxy turned away, headed down the block, and out of sight from George's limited perspective of the street.

Dawn looked down at the business card. "I think she was hitting on me," they heard her mumble.

This caused some barely suppressed giggling on the part of George, Mason, and Daisy, even though it wasn't actually funny.

Dawn peered down the block, shrugged, turned away, and headed for the graveling-prepared steps.

"This is it," George whispered as Dawn reached the top of the steps.

"Oh, eeewwww," Dawn said as she looked down and waved a hand in front of her nose. "I don't want to know."

"Hey!" A male voice rang out. "What did I say about parking there?"

Dawn looked up. "Yeah? I just spoke to a cop about that and she said that my parking there was just fine!"

"We have assigned spaces on this street!" the male voice yelled.

"Wrong! I spoke to other people in the building and they said there was no such thing!" Dawn shouted up.

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"Tell you what," Dawn yelled up at her unseen neighbor, "the cop just walked down the block. I'm going to go get her and she'll tell you that you're full of crap!"

Dawn pivoted on her heel, which turned out to be a bad move when standing in a puddle of graveling urine. Her feet slipped and she fell headfirst down the cement steps. When she reached the bottom, she bounced.

George hopped to her feet. "You two, stay with dead girl. Make sure to get her out of the way and stay out of sight."

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Mason demanded.

George didn't bother to answer. She took off at a run down the street in the same direction she saw Roxy walk.

"George! Georgia!" Daisy called after her.

George kept running until she reached the end of the block.

"Roxy! Roooooxxxxxyyyy!"

She looked up and down the street as well as the cross street.

"Roxy?"

The only thing she saw was darkness.

"Roxy?" George whispered as she fell to her knees.

There was no answer. No answer at all.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her name is Dawn Summers, and she just turned 24. She got her PhD in linguistics from the University of Oxford two years ago, which makes her some kind of prodigy I guess.

She's not married. No kids. No pets. Not even any houseplants.

Her mother died while she was still in middle school, and her father is pretty much incommunicado.

She has an older sister named Buffy who's 28 years-old and lives Rome.

Right there is pretty much where normal ends.

That older sister is a Vampire Slayer, which is a new one on me. Don't get me wrong. I'm glad to know that someone out there is actually fighting all those supernatural things that kill people. It also sounds like a job that's suckier than mine, so I guess I feel kind of sorry for her too.

Dawn doesn't have any hobbies, unless you count her job as a Watcher as her actual hobby. Which she actually might, now that I think about it.

The point is that Dawn Summers is young, pretty, and has a whole life in front of her saving lives, doing good, and making the world a better place.

Sorry. I meant she had her whole life in front of her to do those things.

And no. It's not fair.

It's not fair at all.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Why are we here?"

"I told you. To see your autopsy," George said. "It'll make you feel better."

Dawn threw up her hands. "How is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Mason smirked at George, a silent dare for her to explain what he thought was her fucked-up, Rube-inspired reasoning. What he didn't know was that "visiting the new grim reaper's autopsy" was in the step-by-step instructions that were helpfully enclosed with the information packet she got about Dawn.

The fact that I got HR-style paperwork titled "Steps to Acclimating the New Hire" was proof that Daisy is right: being a grim reaper is like the world's longest temp job, except you can't quit. In a way, being a grim reaper is a lot like working for the Happy Time Temp Agency without a Delores as your boss, benefits package, or even minimum wage.

If the living knew that, they'd point and laugh at us after they died.

"Weeelllll," George began as her brain worked feverishly. "It's like your life is this Crackerjack Box…"

Dawn put her head in her hands. "Please tell me you're not going to go all Forrest Gump on me."

"Will you just listen?" George was trying to be patient. She really was. Dawn was not making patience an easy thing to achieve. "Your life is like this Crackerjack Box. Your body is the box itself, right? And maybe the crunchy candy inside, too. But your soul is the surprise inside the box."

Dawn stared at her disbelievingly. Mason pressed his lips together and turned red with the effort of trying not to laugh.

"You know how you open the Crackerjack Box and you eat the candy-coated crap inside, even though it tastes like complete ass, just to get the surprise?" George helplessly asked as she dove forward with what was turning out to be a really bad way to explain this. "Well, once you get the surprise inside, there's really no point to having the box or even the rest of the food-ish contents. Because the surprise is the important part."

Dawn blinked owlishly at her. "Did you just compare my soul to a two-cent Crackerjack Box surprise?"

"Hold on. Let me try this," Mason said with laugher in his voice.

"I think I got the concept," Dawn grumped.

"I don't think you do," Mason said. "It's more like you're this Happy Meal."

"Oh, God. You sound exactly like Spike." Dawn rolled her eyes.

"Spike?" Mason asked.

Dawn suddenly got defensive. "British guy I knew."

More like British boyfriend. Makes you wonder just what her sex life was like if she had a British boyfriend with a bad-boy name like Spike.

Wait. Did I just speculate about Dawn's sex life?

Clearly I need to get laid.

Mason beamed at Dawn. "Oh, yeah?"

"Mason," George snapped.

"Oh. Right. It's like you're this Happy Meal, right? Pretty packaging, delicious meat inside…" Mason began.

"Ew," Dawn and George said in unison.

"And fries! Don't forget the fries!" Mason course-corrected. "But the really important bit is—"

"The toy surprise?" Dawn asked with a raised eyebrow. "You might think that comparing my soul to a ten-cent plastic toy made in a Myanmar sweat shop is better than comparing it to a two-cent Crackerjack Box surprise, but I have to tell you that it really isn't."

"Well, some of those can become real collectors' items that sell for lots of money on E-bay," Mason said.

"What the fuck do you know about E-bay?" George asked.

"I hear things," Mason answered.

The sound of a bone saw started.

Dawn turned to look through the glass. "I can't watch."

"And yet, that's exactly what you're doing," George mumbled to herself.

"Will you look at that?" Dawn asked as she waved through the glass. "He's cute. Of course he'd be cute. The first cute guy to touch my naked body in more than a year, and I'm dead."

Yeah? Try being a virgin when the first cute guy to touch your naked body is when you're in pieces on a slab in the morgue.

George walked over to Dawn's side and joined her in staring through the window. "The point is that the body in there is not you. This standing next to me is you. What's in there isn't really important."

"Great. And what am I supposed to do with that?" Dawn asked. She seemed hypnotized by her own autopsy. "I'm dead. I'm standing in this room with two grim reapers. I can't touch anything. I can't interact with anyone. And I'm a ghost."

"At the moment," George said.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I've never been the one to put the "fun" into funerals. Except for that one time with Trip, which was directly responsible for my first and last experience with sex. Let's just say that it didn't end well and leave it at that.

My funeral was pretty much an uncomfortable affair. There were lots of people saying how wonderful, smart, friendly, beautiful, and all-around awesome I was, which was definitely a case of selective memory.

The truth is I was an 18 year-old college drop-out stuck in a crappy temp job that required me to file useless bits of paper in the basement of an insurance company. A job I earned, I might add, by pissing off Delores. The only reason why I didn't get fired is because I got hit by a toilet seat that was hurtling to earth after being ejected from the Mir space station while on my lunch break during my first day on the job.

I didn't get along with my parents. I didn't even acknowledge my little sister's existence. I had no friends. I had no hobbies. I was completely directionless. If I had lived, I probably wouldn't have been doing anything with my life anyway.

Which makes Dawn's funeral completely different than mine. When all those people said that Dawn was wonderful, smart, friendly, beautiful, brave, and all-around awesome, they not only actually meant it, they probably didn't need to employ any selective memory.

Yeah, Dawn's funeral wasn't any fun for me either.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"How are you doing?" George said as she sat down on the couch next to Dawn.

"A guy sat on me. Or maybe I mean sat through me. Then he was there for 5 minutes before he decided he wanted a beer," Dawn complained. "So I'd go with peachy with a side of keen. You?"

George took a bite of the canapé in her plate. "These are pretty good. Your sister hired some really great caterers."

"I wouldn't know," Dawn sourly remarked.

I never understood why Rube was so food-obsessed at my funeral. Rube was food-obsessed in general, but at my funeral he really took it to extremes. He tasted everything, drank everything, and made commentaries about every bite and sip he took.

It never occurred to me that maybe he focused on the food because he honestly had no idea how to make my trip from dead to undead any easier. Maybe focusing on the food was a way for him to deal with the dead 18 year-old sitting next to him.

Daisy was working the room and flirting with all of the handsome guys. The fact that they all looked pretty well-off in the financial department certainly added fuel to the fire. Not that any of the men were exactly opposed to Daisy paying attention to them.

"What is she doing?" Dawn asked as she glared at Daisy. "She's practically trying to merge with Dr. Giddings."

George watched as Daisy gave the man in question a lengthy full-body hug. "Daisy's a friendly person."

"There's friendly and there's being a ho," Dawn said.

"Really, really friendly," George said as Daisy's hug lengthened to way beyond what was proper.

"He's married!" Dawn protested.

"Daisy looks at it as 'borrowing'," George explained.

Dawn shot her a look. "Please tell me you're joking."

"Wish I was," George mumbled as she took another bite of her canapé.

"It would be nice if she'd enjoy my funeral a little less," Dawn grumbled as Daisy finally let go of the man and moved to another part of the room.

"It's the high-class rented hall and the first-class food," George said. "Those are the things that turn a good funeral into a great funeral."

Please tell me I didn't just say that.

"Oh, God," Dawn said in a strangled voice.

"What?"

Dawn was staring at the far corner of the room. "My sister."

George followed Dawn's gaze and saw a young, blonde woman standing next to a young redhead. Her eyes were red, her pale face was blotchy, and she looked like she hadn't slept in a week. It was obvious that she had just finished a crying jag and only now had pulled it together enough to face the mourners.

The redhead next to the blonde kept a protective arm around the blonde woman's shoulders. She scanned the room as if she were looking for someone, but was disappointed to find that her target was nowhere in sight. The redhead looked like she had done as much crying and had as little sleep as the blonde.

If George was to guess, she'd say the blonde was Buffy. She had no idea who the redhead was, or how she was related to Dawn.

"What am I going to do?" Dawn asked.

"Nothing you can do," George said as she doubled her concentration on her plate.

"Look at her. She's barely holding it together." Dawn sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

A crash caused everyone in the room to jump.

"You don' get it. You don'!" A young girl with light brown hair stumbled into the room. "I shouldda gone home with her. Made sure she got home a'right."

"Marguerite," Dawn groaned.

"Who?" George asked.

"My Slayer."

"Ah."

Marguerite began to flail. "'S not fair. 'S not! Assholes live all the time. All. The. Time. They do…they do…asshole things an' they live jus' fine. Jus' fine."

Buffy moved forward. "Marguerite…"

"You stay back," Marguerite ordered as she fought to keep her balance. "Where were you? Where the fuck were you? Hunh?"

Buffy's mouth disappeared into a thin line.

"Fuckin' 'round Rome. Thass what I heard," Marguerite accused as she fought to keep her balance.

"Damn it. I told Buffy to do something about those rumors," Dawn said.

Buffy went white with fury. "I don't know what you heard, but I know you didn't hear it from Dawn."

Marguerite spit on the floor at Buffy's feet.

Buffy's hands turned into fists and her voice got low and dangerous. "I'm going to let this slide, because Dawn was your Watcher and you're upset."

Marguerite flipped Buffy the bird. "Fuck. You."

"No love lost there," George remarked.

Dawn hopped to her feet. "Marguerite got along fine with Buffy."

"I'm guessing not so much anymore," George said.

Marguerite flailed her arms around the room. "Fuck all of you! She's dead and you're still here."

The Slayer then turned, probably to leave the room, tripped over her own feet, and face-planted on the hardwood floor.

"Marguerite!" Dawn cried as she rushed forward. She kneeled down next to the now-unconscious girl and tried to touch her, only to have her hand pass right through the Slayer's shoulder.

As Dawn stared dumbly at her hand, several people finally broke paralysis and rushed to the fallen girl's side. A few people passed right through the insensible Dawn.

Buffy and the redhead pushed their way through the crowd to check the girl for themselves.

"Whoof." The redhead winced as she waved a hand in front of her nose. "How long has she been drinking? Since last night?"

"Someone get her back to her place," Buffy ordered. "Let her sleep it off."

There was a distinct hesitation in the crowd.

"Now!" Buffy yelled.

Several of the men immediately hopped to it. As they lifted the girl off the floor, Buffy added, "And someone stay with her until she regains consciousness."

A brunette girl stepped forward. "I'll do it. If she wakes up while we're on the way back to her place—"

Buffy took a deep, shuddering breath. "Thank you. Sylvia, is it?"

The girl nodded.

"Tell her when she wakes up that I'll be by to see her later, okay?" Buffy asked.

"Will do," the girl said as she turned to follow Marguerite and the men bearing her unconscious body out the door.

Through the whole thing, Dawn remained kneeling on the floor. She hadn't budged and inch.

As the crowd dispersed, George unobtrusively picked her way over to where Dawn was kneeling. "You know what? I think that maybe—"

"Maybe what?" Dawn snapped back to life. "What could you possibly say to me right now? Sorry for your loss? Too bad your Slayer crawled back into the bottle?"

"That actually wasn't what I—"

"You know what? Marguerite was right. Fuck. You. Fuck all of you." Dawn hopped to her feet and rushed off into the crowd, passing through anyone who got in her way.

"Oh, fuck," George said under her breath as she tried to follow. The fact that she couldn't just walk through anyone who got in her way slowed her down considerably.

"Hey! Watch it!" Daisy shouted as George dodged one of the mourners, only to bump into Daisy's back.

"Sorry. Excuse us," George quickly said to Daisy's latest male mark as she yanked the other reaper aside.

"Georgia, now really. You're making a scene," Daisy scolded her.

"And I've lost Dawn in the crowd," George hissed through her teeth.

"I'm hardly surprised. That drunk girl put on quite a show. She must've been dying of embarrassment," Daisy replied. "I remember how Louis B. Meyer threw himself on my coffin at my funeral. I simply had to leave the room."

"Daisy! Pay attention!" Geroge ordered in an angry whisper. "Right now we've got to find Dawn and get her the hell out of here."

"All right, all right," Daisy said with a sigh as she put her empty glass on a try held by a passing waiter. "Which way did she go?"

"From here? No idea," Geroge said. "You go left, I'll go right. Whoever finds her first gets her out the front door right away. Once she's out of here, that person uses their cell to call the other."

"It's a plan," Daisy agreed. To her credit, she straightened her shoulders and marched off, easily sliding around the various clumps of mourners in her search.

George spun around and head off in the opposite direction. Lacking Daisy's natural grace, she spent a lot of time apologizing to people for bumping into them or stepping on their toes. Somehow through the general hubbub of mourners quietly conversing with one another, she managed to hear, "I want you to try again, Giles."

George's head snapped around to face the direction from where the voice came. That sounded an awful lot like Buffy's voice. Good bet that Dawn was probably in the area.

"As I've explained, he's simply out of reach," said a deep, male, and very British voice. Not Mason-British. More like PBS-British.

George managed to find Buffy standing in a corner with the redhead and a 40- or 50-something guy with glasses.

Okay, Dawn. Where the hell are you?

"Don't tell me that. Don't tell me that," Buffy said furiously. "We have the best witches and seers in the world, and you're telling me we can't find him?"

"Buffy, we explained this," the redhead timorously interrupted. "He's deep in Namibia right now, and because of the situation he's under a no-tracking silence spell. Nothing's going to find him until he breaks it."

George desperately searched the crowd in the area around the consulting trio. She moved as unobtrusively and as cautiously as she could around and through the knots of mourners, who seemed to be leaving a polite distance between Buffy and her two friends. The last thing she needed was to trip and stumble into that small open space.

"Are you sure he didn't get the message at all?" Buffy desperately asked.

"I spoke to his second, Joseph," the British gentleman answered. "The message was found in his quarters, but it appears that it was never read."

"How could he miss a mystically directed message?" Buffy demanded.

"C'mon, Dawn," George muttered as she craned her neck to look between two tall, well-dressed women with their heads bent close together.

"Buffy, as long as he was on the compound when it arrived, it would've just gone straight to his quarters," the redhead explained. "If he was in the middle of rallying the troops and preparing to move out when it blipped into existence, he would've never seen it."

"And you must recall his reports. He did have to leave on rather short notice," the British gentleman said.

Buffy crossed her arms, leaned against the wall, and put her head down, a movement that caught George's eye.

If Dawn doesn't pop up and go running to her sister's side, that means she didn't see it, and that means that I better go looking somewhere else.

"Buffy, I'm sorry," the redhead said as she placed a comforting hand on Buffy's arm. "I'm afraid he's not going to get the bad news until he gets back."

No Dawn. That means she's not here.

As George turned away to find better prospects for Dawn-spotting elsewhere in the hall, a hand closed around her upper arm.

"I'm a friend of the family's," George automatically said as she tensed.

"Georgia, it's me. I found Dawn," Daisy whispered in her ear.

"Why didn't you just take her out the front door?" George said.

"She won't go," Daisy urgently said as she began dragging George behind her.

"Where is she?" George asked.

"Near the back door, at least," Daisy said. "We'll only have to convince her to move a little instead of across this whole space."

"How bad is she?"

Daisy paused long enough to look back over her shoulder at George. She looked worried, a definite bad sign.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," George said as she let Daisy drag her forward.

By the time they reached Dawn, she had scrunched herself into a ball in a corner and was staring at the milling mourners. George would've bet good money that Dawn didn't see any of them.

"Dawn," George softly called as she cautiously approached. "Dawn?"

No answer. No sign that Dawn even heard her.

George looked helplessly at Daisy, who shook her head and shrugged in response.

George tried again. "I think maybe it's time we leave."

Dawn jerked her head to face George. "Coming here was a stupid idea."

"We…unh…what I mean is…it was necessary. You had to see this. To, y'know, say good-bye to your old life before moving on to your new one," George said.

"Still a stupid idea," Dawn murmured.

"C'mon. Why don't you get up and we'll sneak out by this door right here," George said.

Dawn slowly got to her feet and walked out the indicated door, leaving George and Daisy to follow or not.

You ever notice how at times like this we want to ask someone if they're okay, when it's pretty obvious that they're not okay? I always thought it was a pretty stupid impulse. I mean, you've got eyes, right? When you're looking at someone who died in a stupid accident and have just attended their funeral, they're not exactly going to be in the mood to go out for margaritas and dancing on tables.

Yet as we stepped into the sunlight, I felt that awful urge to ask Dawn if she was okay. If I had done that, it pretty much would've cemented the idea in her head that I was a heartless asshole. Of course she wasn't okay. She wasn't going to be okay for awhile, especially after she realized what her next step really was.

Dawn stopped on the sun-drenched lawn and contemplated the landscaping. "Buffy picked a nice place," she suddenly said. "For after the funeral, I mean."

"Yeah," George quietly agreed as she cautiously moved to stand next to Dawn.

"Your sister has exquisite tastes," Daisy said as she moved to stand on Dawn's other side. "All you needed was a little star power and you would've had the perfect Hollywood funeral."

Dawn half-snorted and half-sobbed. "In my world, those people in there have star power."

"If you say so," Daisy said as she uncomfortably began scanning the grounds.

"C'mon. I think leaving means that we should probably leave the property, too," George encouraged.

Dawn sighed. "He didn't come."

"Hunh?" George asked.

"He didn't come," Dawn repeated.

Daisy looked at George over Dawn's head and shrugged.

A metaphorical light bulb went off over George's head. "Oh! You mean your dad! Your dad didn't come."

Dawn gave her a what-the-hell look.

"If it makes you feel any better, I overheard your sister talking to a British guy and that redheaded friend of hers," George quickly said. "They're trying to reach him, but he's in some country. I forget which one. I think it started with an N. Or maybe an M. Anyway they sent the message, but I guess it didn't get there in time and he completely missed it."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "If Buffy's trying to reach Dad, she's totally wasting her time. He wrote us off years ago."

"Oh. Unh. Sorry," George apologized.

"Honey, if 'he' isn't your father, then who is he?" Daisy asked.

George looked over Dawn's head and made a cutting motion across her throat.

Dawn's faced screwed up, either because she was angry or was trying to stop herself from crying. George couldn't tell either way.

"No one," Dawn bitterly said. "No one important at all."

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

The week after my death is kind of a blur. It seemed I skipped around in time a lot. One moment I was standing next to a smoking crater and staring at my burned-out, blood-stained shoe. The next I was watching my autopsy. Then I was at my funeral.

Plus, I changed clothes. Several times. Which was weird.

And I sure as hell didn't see Rube or Betty do any reaping before I become solid and joined the grim reaper brigade.

It's weird that I didn't question any of it. I figure that from E.T.D. to becoming reaper-solid at least a week passed, and yet I wasn't aware of any time passing, at least not between any of those moments I just mentioned. Not how I changed clothes. None of it.

Now I know why.

Turns out that a pre-reaper kind of blips in and out of existence until they just are.

One moment you're moseying along, doing your thing, and the next…blip…dead girl is standing right next to you ready for the next step. Frankly, it creeps the hell out of me. It takes everything I have not to jump three feet into the air and yell, "Holy shit!"

I wonder if Rube was the same way. Then again, by the time I died he had already done it God knows how many times before I came along. Maybe for him, my death was just another day at the office.

I hope it never gets to the point for me.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I don't understand why I'm still here," Dawn said as she trotted next to George down the sidewalk. "Shouldn't I be going toward the light? Or something?"

"You in a rush to leave?" George asked as she set the pace.

"Not really, no," Dawn admitted. "What I'd like to be is alive."

"Join the club."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Sorry. I'm not buying that you're undead. I know from undead, and you're not it."

George grit her teeth. This was fast becoming an irritating argument. No matter how many times George explained grim reapers, Dawn pulled the know-it-all card and insisted that she knew best despite the fact that she knew shit.

"You're walking around during the daytime, for a start," Dawn said. "You eat like a horse, and I'm talking real food and not blood or brains."

"Why the hell would grim reapers eat anything but food?" Geroge said shortly. "Besides, it's not like it goes to our asses. Reapers have fast metabolisms."

"You also go to the bathroom," Dawn continued her litany. "You're not afraid of holy or mystical objects. "

I desperately wished that Dawn would hurry up and become solid so I could mash her face through a plate glass window.

"Okay, you say you heal right away, but you'd be surprised how many mystically endowed people heal quickly," Dawn continued. "Hardly a specific characteristic of the undead."

"Finished?" George growled.

"Excuse me for trying to figure out what taxonomy a 'grim reaper' falls under, since you're clearly not an anthropomorphic personification of a common human conceptualization," Dawn sniffed.

George spun around to face her. "You take that back!"

Dawn hopped backwards. "Take what back?"

"I'm not a pornographic anything," George hotly protested.

Dawn blinked as the muscles in her face seemed to be fighting one another. A snort escaped. This was quickly followed by a second and a third. She then began howling with laughter.

"I don't want to know," George sourly remarked.

Dawn doubled over as her howls of laughter got louder.

Then, a miracle occurred!

Well, not really. I just wanted to say that.

A nearby pedestrian careened into Dawn, nearly knocking the laughing woman off her feet and successfully putting a sudden halt to the laughter.

"Watch it!" the man shouted over his shoulder as he strode away.

"He just…" Dawn pointed after him. "He…what I mean is…"

"Welcome to club undead." George flashed a chipper smile. "Oh, and welcome to your new job as a grim reaper."

"What?" Dawn exploded.

"Now you'll have all the time in the world, or at least a couple of decades, to figure out if I'm wrong," George said as she grabbed the sputtering Dawn and pulled her out of the main rush of pedestrian traffic.

"Why didn't you tell me this before now?" Dawn roared.

George winced. "Rules."

"Rules? What rules?" Dawn demanded.

Those would be the rules from Death's own HR department. If I ever get a promotion, the first thing I'm going to do is find out where they work. Then I'm going to kick their asses.

Unfortunately, this wasn't exactly something I could tell Dawn, so I punted. Much as I hate punting, if there's one thing that Happy Time taught me is that it's sometimes better to get close to the truth without actually telling the truth. This goes double when it's an irate client demanding to know why you sent them an asshole temp. It goes triple when you've got an irate temp demanding to know why you sent them to work for an asshole boss.

Since Dawn just found out she was working for Death, I figured the punting should come with a side of tap dancing on the head of a pin.

"Because I actually didn't know for sure until you became solid that you were the new reaper," George said.

Technically true, if you squint really, really hard.

Dawn began to pace back and forth on the sidewalk. "This is impossible!"

"And yet, here you are," George pointed out.

"No! You don't understand! I shouldn't be here!" Dawn insisted.

"And yet, here you are," George repeated.

"No! No! No! There's been a mistake! A horrible, horrible mistake!" Dawn was just short of shaking her fist at the sky.

"And yet…" George shook her head. They really weren't getting anywhere at this point. "You're not going to make me repeat myself a third time, are you?"

Dawn stopped and fixed George with a pleading look. "Is this because I'm The Key?"

Hunh?

"The key to what?" George asked.

"The Key to opening doorways into other dimensions," Dawn said.

Well, don't we just have an over-inflated sense of self-importance. Or you're a nut. Either way, we're all pretty screwed.

George fought the urge to take a step back. "Rrrrriiiiiiiiiggggghhhhht. You're really a key for whatever and not a person at all."

Dawn seemed to deflate right in front of George's eyes. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"Let's make that a 'no'," George responded as she grabbed Dawn's arm and hustled her down the sidewalk to their destination.

"Then why am I here?" Dawn wailed.

George decided to play to the idea that Dawn was self-important instead of crazy. "Because you have a destiny?" she hazarded.

"Don't say that! I hate that," Dawn vehemently said.

"Fine. The flying fickle finger of fate fucked you," George said.

"Is that supposed to be comforting?" Dawn asked.

George mentally threw her hands in the air, because she was now at a loss. "Would 'I have no fucking clue why you and not someone else' make you feel any better?"

"Not really, no."

"To bad, because 'no clue' happens to be the truth," George shortly said.

"You know, you could be nicer," Dawn complained.

George stopped her forward momentum and took a deep breath. "You know what? You're right."

"I…am?" Dawn asked with surprise.

"I've been where you are and I know how much it sucks," George admitted. "So let's try again. You're now a grim reaper, which means you work for Death."

"I got that part," Dawn cautiously said.

"Your mission, regardless of whether or not you decide to accept it because it's been pretty much decided for you, is to reap the souls of people who are about to die," George explained.

Dawn's expression darkened. "I won't kill people."

"We don't kill anyone," George said. "These people are going to die no matter what. The only thing we do is take their souls moments before they die so they don't die alone, don't feel the pain of actually dying, and don't go into the afterlife bearing any of the, ummmm, signs showing how they died."

"That didn't happen to me," Dawn huffed.

"Actually, it did," George said. "Think about this. Your head's not at a 45-degree angle and your brains are actually inside your skull."

"I think I'd remember if someone—" Dawn suddenly stopped as the penny dropped into the slot. "The police woman who I thought was flirting with me. The one that grabbed my hand."

"That was Roxy," George said.

Dawn's face darkened again as she asked in a low, dangerous voice, "Where is she?"

"She got a promotion. You're her replacement," George said. "I don't know where she is."

"No one asked me if I wanted it," Dawn huffed.

"I wasn't asked. Mason wasn't asked. Daisy wasn't asked. Roxy, wherever she is, wasn't asked either," George said. "Welcome to Club No One Asked Me. There are lots of members."

Dawn suddenly looked down and kicked at the pavement. "Yeah. There are a few clubs like that. I should know better, shouldn't I?"

Dawn's sudden change in demeanor threw George for a loop. That didn't mean that she wasn't about to take advantage of it. "Don't feel so bad. You should've heard me yell when I found out," George said. She waved her hand around as if to indicate everyone within hearing distance. "This conversation we're having is practically civilized compared to the one I had back in the day."

Dawn studied her as if she were trying to figure out if George was lying.

"I'm telling the truth," George said. "Including the part where you're stuck with being a reaper."

"For now," Dawn said almost to herself.

"You'll find out I'm telling the truth soon enough, especially if you try to break the rules," George said.

That strangely seemed to perk Dawn right up. "Rules. Of course. There are always rules. You just have to learn them first."

George wasn't sure why, but she didn't like the way Dawn said it. "You'll learn the rules on the job," she said as she grabbed Dawn's arm again and propelled her down the sidewalk. "I'm going to demonstrate the first one to you right now."

"Lay it on me." Dawn actually sounded chipper at the prospect.

George began with the thing she could demonstrate right away. "The reason why you're in a town where anyone would recognize you—"

"Hey! That's right! I am in a town where people know me." Dawn sounded even more chipper about the idea.

"Will you let me finish?" George asked as she stopped in front of an electronics store. "The reason why they haven't shipped your ass cross-country is because no one you knew while you were alive is going to recognize you even if they trip over you."

"Don't tell me. Reapers are automatically glamoured," Dawn said sourly.

"Glamoured?" George asked with confusion.

Dawn sighed. "People who know me are going to see someone completely different, aren't they?"

I felt like I was having one of those conversations where the other person was already way out in front of me. How the hell did she already know that?

"Ummm, yeah," George said. "You also have to add to that list: anyone who is alive is going to see you as someone else. The only people who'll see you as you are other reapers."

"Well, let's get it over with. What do I look like?" Dawn wearily asked.

George indicated the hi-def, widescreen television in the window that showed their patch of sidewalk. "Right there. I wouldn't exactly call it 'glamour,' though."

Dawn stared. She blinked. Then she stared some more.

"Please tell me I'm the young blonde," Dawn finally said.

George held up a peace sign. Her televised image did the same. "Sorry. That's me."

Dawn blinked at the screen some more.

I'm guessing she's in shock.

"Mason's theory is that how we look to the living reflects our inner person or some kind of shit like that," George explained.

Shut up, George! I'm sure that didn't help!

"I look like one of those middle-aged bag ladies who live under the overpass with their shopping carts and mumble to themselves about cats!" Dawn wailed.

Yup. No help at all.

George uncomfortably patted Dawn's shoulder. "There is a bright side."

"Bright side? What bright side?" Dawn asked.

"The way people see you can improve," George said. "When I first started out, I looked like I had a meth dealer boyfriend and had dropped a couple of trick babies along the way."

Dawn looked suspiciously at George's televised image. "The glamour you've got now doesn't reflect that at all."

"The trick is to take care of yourself, settle into a routine, and find something to fill up the time between reaping that won't drive you completely crazy," George advised. "Think of this as the bottom of the barrel with nowhere to go but up."

"Great," Dawn grumbled.

George spotted Daisy across the street and checked her watch. Right on time. She tapped Dawn on the shoulder to get her attention. "I want you to watch this."

"I'm not sure I can take more horror today," Dawn said.

"Ummm, yeah. Sorry about that. But honestly, it's better this way," George said. She waved her hand across the street. "Daisy's over there."

Dawn turned around with a sigh and looked across the street. It took her about a minute to spot Daisy flirting with a businessman at a hot dog cart. "God! Does she ever stop throwing herself at men?"

"This time she's doing her job," George said.

Dawn slit her eyes toward George, before turning back to the scene. "What am I looking for?"

There was a puff of smoke behind the businessman from which emerged a graveling.

"Demon!" Dawn shouted.

George grabbed Dawn just as she was about to charge across the street to do who the hell knows what. "Graveling!"

Dawn fought her hold. "Same diff," Dawn snarled.

"Um, actually, no. They work for Death, too. I think," George said.

Dawn paused. "Hunh?"

"Just watch," George ordered.

The graveling hopped in its simian-like manner over to a manhole cover and began sniffing around the edge.

"What is it doing?" Dawn asked.

The graveling's fingers played around the edges of the manhole cover until it found a grip it liked. It yanked at the cover several times before it came up with a pop, knocking the graveling ass over teakettle with the manhole cover still in its clawed hands.

"Doesn't anyone see this?" Dawn asked.

"The living can't see gravelings," George answered.

"I figured that much out," Dawn huffed. "I'm talking about the manhole now being uncovered."

"You'd be shocked."

Dawn seemed to think about this a bit. "You know what? I'm actually not."

Daisy appeared to notice the graveling when it disappeared in a puff of smoke. She reached out and brushed the man's shoulder as if she were brushing off lint or dandruff. She smiled a cheeky grin, turned, and walked away.

The businessman had a grin as he also turned away from the cart. He walked in the opposite direction right toward the manhole cover.

"Don't tell me—" Dawn began.

The business man didn't notice the open hole right in front of him, at least not before he dropped through it and disappeared with a very loud yelp.

Dawn's expression darkened. "So the gravelings kill people."

"Ummm, no. They just set the scene," George corrected. "We know who's going to die before they show up for their appointment. The gravelings just set things in motion. That businessman did all the work of dying by himself. No one told him to walk in that direction."

"You know ahead of time who's going to die," Dawn snarled.

"Unh, yeah. Reapers get first initial, last name, location of death, and E.T.D."

"E.T.D.?"

"Estimated time of death," George answered.

"Of course. It couldn't possibly mean anything else." Dawn shook her head. "Wait. Did I hear you right? Just a first initial?"

George shrugged. "To keep it clean. The less information you actually know about your reap, the better."

Dawn was still staring at her dumbfounded.

"I don't make the rules," George uncomfortably added.

"Georgia!" Daisy's voice called out.

Dawn spotted Daisy as she finished crossing the street before George did. "Hey! That guy with her. Didn't we just see him—"

"Unh-hunh," George agreed.

Daisy trooped over to them with her reaped soul in tow. "Georgia, Dawn. This is John."

"Hey," George acknowledged.

"Um, yeaaaaah," Dawn said.

"John was just telling me about these wonderful investment opportunities," said Daisy with her best fake actress smile.

George frowned at Daisy. "With what money? You're always broke."

"You don't need much to invest. I trade in penny stocks," John interrupted. "There are a few start-ups that I think are going to be big. Have you ever heard of—"

"Yeah, that's great," George interrupted. "Daisy, don't you think you should be taking John here to his lights?"

"Lights?" Dawn asked.

"Mason will explain it to you, assuming he gets here," George said.

"I'm not going anywhere. I need to put a hold on a couple of sells," John stated.

Daisy rolled her eyes. "Georgia, do you think you could help—"

"No," George interrupted.

"Georgia, I have to get to this audition and I really don't have time," Daisy wheedled.

"Talk to me after he's been here a few days," George said.

Daisy made a face. "Fine."

"Well, well, well, the gang's all here," Mason said as he strolled up behind them.

"Mason! Great!" George exclaimed. "I leave Dawn in your hands for the rest of the day."

"Where are you going to be?" Dawn demanded.

"Away. Mason'll show you the ropes," George said. "He's taking you to his 3 o'clock appointment."

"The reap's at a head shop I know," Mason said. "Promises to be a bit of a laugh."

"Death. As a laugh," Dawn dead-panned.

"Got to find your jollies where you can," Mason said. "Dibs on the contents of my reap's pockets."

"You've got to be kidding," Dawn said. "Please tell me he's kidding."

"Mason, is there a head shop in the city you don't know?" George asked.

"So much for kidding," Dawn mumbled.

Mason didn't even think about his answer. "No."

"What a surprise," Daisy remarked.

"Excuse me," John interrupted. "But I really need to get to my office."

"As I've explained, you can't go back to your office," Daisy said with irritation.

"You know, if someone last week had asked me to imagine that Death had a bureaucracy and asked me to describe it, I'm pretty sure my description wouldn't even come close to this," Dawn said.

"This is one of our better days," Mason said.

"Not helping, Mason," George said.

"Oh, God." Dawn put her head in her hands. "This is worse than my days as a Scooby."

Mason brightened. "Yeah, some days it is a bit like a cartoon 'round here, isn't it?"

"If you start imitating that stupid dog, I'm going to hit you," George threatened.

"Before Georgia begins to employ violence, I must be going," Daisy sing-songed.

George's arm shot out to halt Daisy's escape. "Also, I want you two to take in Dawn as a roomie."

This caused both Mason and Daisy to explode with a number of objections.

"What if she's a nutter?" Mason asked.

"We don't know her at all yet," Daisy protested.

"Can't be too careful about these things, Georgie Girl."

"I have some very expensive skin care products, and she looks like a borrower."

"Is she a drinker? Because nothing upsets me more than someone drinking all my booze."

"I bet she borrows clothes, too. And I have some very expensive things. A lot of people had to die for me to get my Chanel dress."

"Enough!" George shouted.

To her utter shock, Daisy's and Mason's mouths snapped shut.

"Thanks a lot guys," Dawn sourly remarked. "Way to build up my self-esteem there."

"Dawn, that goes for you, too," George said.

"What about me?" John asked.

"Shut up, John," George snapped. "You two are taking Dawn in as a roomie, at least until she gets her reaping feet. And don't tell me you don't have room because I know that's bullshit. Got it?"

Mason and Daisy mumbled their grudging agreement.

George beamed at Daisy, Mason, and Dawn. "Good. This'll work out great. You'll see."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And so Dawn joined the ranks of the undead — even though she really didn't think the term applied to any of us — and the ranks of the grim reapers.

She joined us at the Pancake Stack in the mornings, witnessed the ritual passing of the post-its, and then spent the day following around Daisy and Mason as they reaped.

She also asked a lot of questions, mostly about the rules. Not why they existed, just the rules themselves. Most of those questions were directed at Mason and Daisy.

Without a doubt, Dawn was looking for a loophole.

As a connoisseur of loophole searching and using to dodge responsibility, I had to respect how Dawn was going about it. Don't ask The Boss, because there's always a chance that The Boss will figure out what you're doing. Ask your slacker co-workers, because odds are they know what'll work and what won't. Plus, they know The Boss and what The Boss will tolerate.

Honestly, I wasn't that smart when I was in Dawn's position. I usually just asked Rube about the rules. You can imagine how well that went.

Dawn clearly was a pro at this kind of thing and I had to take my hat off to her. That is if I wore hats, which I usually don't unless it's really cold out.

I also knew that in the end it wouldn't do a whole lot of good.

Death always gets you in the end.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Here's your reports," George said as she dropped the files into Delores's inbox.

Delores looked up from her computer terminal. "Thank you. And Millie?"

"Yeah?"

Delores looked like she didn't want to talk, but was going to anyway. "Millie, take a seat."

"Unh, okay," George said as she gingerly sat on a chair.

Delores folded her hands and got a concerned look on her face. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Why?" George asked. "Is there a problem?"

Delores immediately held up her hands. "Oh, no. No problem with your work. None at all. It's just you seem…" She made a sad face and hunched her shoulders.

Before we go any further, meet Delores Herbig, as in "her big, brown eyes" and "her big, strange heart" and "her big, weird life".

When I was alive, Delores had placed me in a shit filing job after I pissed her off. My first day on that job, I got killed by a falling toilet seat, which you know.

After I died, she hired me as her assistant at Happy Time. Of course she thought she was hiring someone named Mildred Hagen, which is kind of the truth if you go by all the false I.D. I have. In a weird way, I kind of became a project for her, like a stray cat that she just had to take in so she could lavish all kinds of attention on me.

It's one of those win-lose situations. Sometimes it's really helpful, sometimes it's not.

Right now, it's not really helpful.

"Oh, it's just that someone I know moved out of town," George said as her brain furiously worked to come up with something that would stop Hurricane Delores in her tracks.

Delores leaned forward, full of empathy. "Was it a man?"

"What? No. No nothing like that," George quickly said. "Just…a friend. A female friend."

Delores blinked. "Millie, if you prefer the company of women that's perfectly okay. I've stuck my toe in that pool myself."

"Not a friend like that," George interrupted before Delores could go any further.

How many times can I trot out the AA excuse? Let's find out!

"Just…it was someone from my group," George said.

"Your group?" Delores seemed momentarily confused, before her expression brightened. "Ooooh, your group."

"Yes, so you can see why I can't actually talk about it," George said.

Delores became all tea and sympathy. "Fell off the wagon, hunh?"

"No! No, nothing like that," George quickly said. "She, unh, she got a better job. In another city. So, yeah. She just moved, so that wasn't code for anything. No wagons involved at all."

Delores nodded. "It's always rough losing people you know when they move on with their lives."

Or their deaths.

"So, how's the search for a new cat going?" George brightly asked before Delores could show any more sympathy.

Delores seemed touched. "It's not going so well I'm afraid. Every shelter I go to I see so many cats begging just to be loved. I want to take them all home."

"Unh, I've been in your apartment. Maybe you could take two cats, but more than that the neighbors will start calling you the crazy cat lady and they'll all tell their kids to stay away from you," George said. "Plus, think of all the fans of your Getting Things Done with Delores Web site. I don't think they'd be too happy to watch you clean litter boxes all the time."

"I know," Delores tsked as she reached out to swivel her computer screen around to face George. "But just look at these little scamps at the SPCA shelter. They're all so precious."

"Ummmm, yeah," George said as she watched Delores pat her computer screen like she could reach through it and scritch every cat pictured there behind the ears.

"It's so hard choosing just one," Delores sadly said.

"I know you can do it," George said as she slowly got out of her seat. "Do it for your fans if nothing else."

"There you are!" came a male voice from behind her.

George startled. "Mason! What are you doing here?"

Delores plastered a friendly smile on her face. "Mason! It's so good to see you again."

Mason gave a weak wave from the doorway of Delores's office. "I need to talk to Geo— I mean Millie. It's important."

George groaned. This couldn't possibly be good.

"Do you need to talk privately?" Delores asked.

"More private, the better," Mason said.

"Millie, the conference room down the hall should be free," Delores said with a wave of her hand.

"Cheers," Mason said as he head off in the direction Delores indicated.

"I better grab him before he causes trouble," George said.

"There's always one in every support group," Delores said sympathetically.

You don't know the half of it, lady.

George darted out of Delores's office and quickly caught up to Mason. "Stay with me," she said in an undertone as she grabbed his arm, dragged him down the hall, and through the right door.

As soon as George shut the door behind them, Mason began pleading his case. "I don't think Dawn's ready."

"Say, what?" George asked. "Slow down. What happened?"

Mason's shoulders slumped. "That's just it. Nothing."

"Nothing? What does that even mean?" George asked.

"What it means is that I don't think she's ready to start reaping," Mason said. "She's too…she's too…calm. That's it. She's too calm about all of this."

George folded her arms. "So let me get this straight. Dawn's not freaking out, she's not causing trouble, nothing bad happened, and nothing's actually wrong, which means that you don't think that she's ready to start reaping."

Mason beamed at her. "Exactly."

"I don't get it."

Mason slumped. "Right. Let me see if I can explain it another way."

As Mason launched into his explanation why I should keep Dawn off the schedule for as long as possible, I finally understood why Rube asked Mason to show me around my first week despite the fact he thought Mason was a fuck-up.

I could also see why Rube would get so frustrated with Mason, too.

Mason, who managed to screw things up just by standing still, was weirdly perceptive when he set his mind to it, something I never realized before now. It was so strange to see Mason acting like he was the responsible big brother who had his head on straight instead of the jobless big brother who sat around the house smoking weed and watching game shows all day.

It made me want to actually take his advice.

"Okay, stop right there," George interrupted.

Mason looked at her with puppy dog eyes.

"Do you really think it's necessary for Dawn to have a nervous breakdown before she can do her job?" George asked.

"She needs to mourn, George," Mason insisted. "I did it. Roxy did it. I bet Daisy did it. I know you did. She hasn't. It's not bloody normal."

"She has supernatural experience, y'know," George pointed out. "Maybe none of this is all that surprising or new to her. Okay, being a reaper is, but she's way out ahead of us on some concepts."

Mason shook his finger at her and began to pace. "That's not it. Okay, maybe that's part of it, but that's not everything. It's almost like it hasn't sunk in that she's really dead, or like she believes that any day now she'll wake up alive again. I really think that she needs more time for it all to sink in that there's no going back."

"Mason, I can't not put her on the schedule," George began.

"Oh, don't give me that toff. I've been around long enough to know that you've got some leeway on handing out assignments," Mason scoffed.

"You do?" George asked.

"George, I know some reaps, maybe even most of them, are assigned to us and you don't get a choice," Mason said. "And I know that sooner or later Dawn's going to be assigned a reap and there's bugger-all you can do about it. I'm just saying that—"

"If I've got wiggle room to use it," George finished for him.

Mason nodded.

"If I do this, that means you, me, and Daisy will have to carry the extra load," George said.

"I still think it's a good idea," Mason stubbornly insisted.

Wow. He's really worried about Dawn.

"I don't remember you being this protective about me," George said.

"That's because Rube was," Mason said.

"Rube? Protective? Of me?" George began to laugh. "You have to stop smoking the crack you find in your reaps' pockets."

"He was, in his weird Rube-like way," Mason said. "He really loved you, Georgie."

George stopped cold and stared at Mason in surprise.

"He really did," Mason insisted. "I could tell by the way he'd never stay mad at you, and the way he beamed like a proud papa whenever you did good."

George looked down and kicked at the carpet. "I wish he was dealing with this instead of me."

Mason leaned against the conference table. "Not sure how Rube'd take to Dawn, to be honest. She's a bit of an odd duck, that one."

"Yeah. Yeah she is," George glumly agreed.

"All-in-all, I think I prefer you on this one," Mason said. "I think you're just better equipped to handle her."

"Really?" George's eyes narrowed. "Do you mean that? Or are you buttering me up?"

"Unh, both?" Mason smiled a cheeky grin.

George grumbled and shook her head. "Fine," she said to Mason. "A week. I'll hold off a week, assuming she doesn't get an assigned reap before then. After that, she's got to go on the roster, nervous breakdown or no."

"Fair 'nuff," Mason happily agreed.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And so started my week from hell.

Or rather, my, Mason's, and Daisy's week from hell.

The post-its started coming fast and furious. Sure, there are always heavy death days, but everyday was becoming a heavy death day. Every day was turning into a two-reap minimum, with one of us getting a third reap in the bargain.

I also noticed we were getting at least one supernatural death in the mix per day.

Someone was definitely pushing me to use Dawn.

Much as I wanted to get Dawn out and reaping on her own, if only so that Mason, Daisy, and me could catch a break, I did promise. One more week.

As long as my reap reports didn't specifically assign Dawn a reap, I planned to keep my word even if it killed me.

Again.

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

"I hate doing these reaps," Penny said in her Lisa Simpson voice.

"I can't believe they're making you guys do these, too," George said as she watched two vampires bicker about where they should go get a bite to eat. "Since when does this count as 'natural death'?"

"The people upstairs found a way to make us do it," Penny said. "I'm still trying to figure out how they managed to change the definition of 'natural death' to include death by supernatural means. You'd think the word 'supernatural' would be a clue that it's not 'natural', right?"

"Mason says we need a union to fight this thing," George glumly said. "And to push for better staffing in the supernatural death division so we don't have to deal with this crap anymore."

The vampires got into a tussling match. Out came the fangs, the fucked-up face, and the yellow eyes.

"I miss the days when we didn't even know that shit like this existed," George remarked as the taller vampire got the shorter one in a headlock.

"Hey, at least having reapers who deal with death by external influences take on some supernatural deaths makes sense," Penny said.

George shot her a glare.

"Murder's an external influence, even if it is supernatural creatures doing it," Penny said as she waved at the vampires, who were now hissing and snarling at each other as they rolled around on the ground between the between two large dumpsters.

"Thanks for throwing me under a bus," George grumbled.

"You're welcome," Penny said.

They watched as the vampires separated and resumed their argument about where they could find the tastiest blood.

"So, how are you holding up?" Penny asked.

"Hmmm?" George absently acknowledged as she checked her post-it.

"With the new girl," Penny clarified.

"Heard about that, did you?" George asked.

"You need to get plugged into the grapevine," Penny giggled. "So, spill."

"Her name's Dawn, and she has experience with the supernatural."

Penny made a face. "Ouch."

"It gets better," George said. "She has experience dealing with assholes like these two."

"Guess you're not going to stop doing supernatural deaths any time soon," Penny sympathetically said.

George nodded as she watched the vampires resort to playing rock-paper-scissors to choose where they were going to eat. They both came up with 'rock'. "Like you said, murder's still murder. Doesn't really matter how or who does it. Or in the case of these bozos, what does it."

"Do you know what really creeps me out about this?" Penny asked as she waved at the vampires.

Once again, both vampires came up with 'rock'. Clearly neither one of them could list imagination as one of their strong suits.

"Unh, I'd guess 'they're vampires' would pretty much cover it," George sarcastically answered.

"Besides that," Penny huffed. "It's how we're standing right in front of them and they can't even see us."

"It gets creepier," George said.

"How?"

"The new girl, Dawn, went with Daisy on Daisy's vampire-related reap the other night. Minute she saw the vampire she went nuts and attacked it with a piece of wood," George said. "I guess she was trying to stop it from killing Daisy's reap."

Penny's hand flew to her mouth. "No!"

George nodded. "Yep."

"What happened?" Penny demanded.

"Hard to describe," George said with a shrug. "So I gotta show you instead."

"Show me what?"

George suddenly whooped and ran right at the two knucklehead vampires, who were now digging through their pockets and looking for a coin they could flip.

"George! What are you doing?" Penny shouted after her.

George ran right through one of the vampires like she was a ghost.

"Are you kidding me?" Penny shouted.

George bowed. Then she kicked out at the vampire she didn't run through. Her foot passed harmlessly through his shin.

"They're not even reacting," Penny noted.

George walked back, again passing through one of the vampires. "Seriously. They not only can't see us, they can't feel us either. We can't even touch them, and that's even if we hold a piece of wood and try to stab them with it."

"Can you feel them when you walk through them like that?" Penny asked as she stared at the vampires in horror.

"Nope. It's like there's nothing actually there, even though my eyes tell me they're there," George said as she rejoined Penny.

"Is it like that with all these supernatural things we're dealing with?" Penny asked.

"Haven't done a lot of these, hunh?" George asked.

"My second vampire-related reap, my third supernatural one," Penny answered.

George nodded. "We're pretty much invisible to all of them. Although I think there was a monster with spikes and pleather skin that could see me, but I'm not sure. It might've been aiming for the kid standing next to me."

Penny shivered and hugged herself. "In other words, so far yes we're invisible to these things, but no idea if it's true across the board."

"That about sums it up," George glumly agreed.

A graveling appeared in a puff of smoke and made a beeline for one of dumpsters.

"The vampires will be so thrilled that dinner is coming to them instead of the other way around," Penny sourly remarked.

The graveling jumped into the dumpster and began rooting around. Several pieces of wet-looking garbage were tossed out and landed on the ground with a disgusting plop.

"Oh, ew. Yuck." George waved a hand in front of her nose to get the smell away. "I don't want to know."

"Two post-its. Two vampires. What more needs to be added to this," Penny complained as she grimaced.

George considered the wet garbage on the ground. "Bet you $20 that only one of the reaps dies by vampire."

Penny professionally eyed the graveling as it hopped out of the dumpster and lumbered toward the vampires. "Not a bet. I'll pay if you can accurately guess how the non-vampire reap dies."

"Easy. Slips on the garbage and cracks open their head on one of the dumpsters," George said.

Penny stuck out her hand so she and George could shake on it. "You're on."

The gaveling reached up and tapped one of the vampires on chest before scurrying off. In response, the vampire froze and turned. He then elbowed his companion and mimed that he heard something.

Right at that moment, George heard a male and a female voice talking.

"This is it," Penny said as they turned to face the approaching couple.

George linked arms with Penny and whispered, "Pretend to be drunk."

Penny sagged against her as George began weaving her way toward the couple.

The couple stopped and eyed George and Penny warily.

"Scuze me," George slurred. "But you look familiar."

The couple exchanged confused glances.

"You. Hey, I'm talking to you," George waved at the guy. "You're Dusselberg, right?"

"Unh, no," the guy shook his head.

"She wa'n't talkin' ta you," Penny slurred.

"Thass right," George nodded. "Talkin' to her."

The girl looked like she wanted to hide behind her date. "Do I know you?"

"N. Dusselberg, right?" George carefully enunciated. "Knew you in college."

"I…don't remember you," the girl said.

"S'okay. I remember you," George slurred as she and Penny continued their slow, but relentless walk by the couple.

"Unh, do you need us to call a cab or something?" the guy asked.

"Nah," Penny said as she forced herself to trip so she could strategically land into the guy. She ran a hand down his chest to reap his soul. "We gotta ride."

George flung an arm around N. Dusselberg and informed the girl, "We jus' gotta find it." As she pulled her arm away, she felt the tingling sensation in her hand indicating a completed reap.

"Night-night," Penny waved as she once more began leaning on George.

"Smooth," George complimented Penny as they continued their fake drunk walking.

"This ain't amateur reaping hour you know," Penny said.

They stopped when they heard the vampires roar behind them.

George straightened up. "Guess that's our cue."

"Remember, you owe me $20 if you're wrong," Penny reminded her as they turned to go back to the dumpsters and the vampires.

Both vampires had one victim each.

"No way," George protested.

"I think I'm going to buy something nice with my $20," Penny cheerfully said.

The vampire holding N. Dusselberg bit into her neck, which caused her date to go nuts. He managed to twist out of his vampire's hold and began running to save the girl.

"That's so sweet," Penny sighed.

George nodded. "You wouldn't believe how many guys I've seen turn tail and run instead of trying to save whoever they're with."

"Only goes to show that there are a few good men out there," Penny said.

"Too bad he's not going to survive it," George said.

Right on cue, the guy stepped on the wet garbage, which caused him to slip. He fought to keep his balance, but before he could recover he smacked his head against the corner of the dumpster with a sickening crack and went down.

"Damn," Penny swore under her breath.

"I think someone owes me $20," George brightly replied.

"Excuse me, but what just happened?"

George and Penny turned in unison to see the reaped couple standing behind them.

N. Dusselberg stepped forward as she stared at the scene in front of her. "Is that us?"

"I'm afraid so," George said as she grabbed the girl's arm and gently led her away.

"But don't worry," Penny said as she gently took the guy's hand, "we're going to take you someplace safe."

"There'll be lots of pretty lights," George promised the girl as they got further away from the feeding vampires.

"And you won't have to worry about the mess behind us at all," Penny promised. "It's all taken care of."

"But what about—" N. Dusselberg began.

The end of her question was swallowed by screeching noise.

George froze. "Oh, no. Get down. Get down!"

"What? What is it?" Penny demanded.

"Just do it!" George ordered as she grabbed her reap and pulled her to the ground.

"What's going on?" Penny's reap demanded.

"Shhhhh!" George ordered as she wildly looked around.

There was another screech as a giant squid-like creature strode into view. It was using its two-dozen tentacles like they were legs. It moved in an odd, lurching gait down the street.

N. Dusselberg whimpered and hid her face in George's chest. George automatically hugged her reap and whispered something about how it couldn't see them.

As I huddled with my reap telling her that there was nothing to worry about, I was having a hard time making myself believe it. For a start, that thing was easily 10 times bigger than the last time I saw it in action, namely ripping the face off a guy and leaving him with only the back half of his head.

Sure, it couldn't see us. We weren't in any danger, because it sure as hell wasn't going to come after what it couldn't see. That really wasn't the point.

The point was that it could see the living just fine.

If that thing's appetite grew as much as its body did, there was definitely a tag-team of grim reapers running ahead of it and working like hell to make sure all of the relevant souls had been reaped before the face-ripping began.

If this kept up, there wasn't a single grim reaper in Seattle who wasn't going to need some heavy therapy.

"George, what are those things hanging from its, unh, I hate to say waist but I don't know what to call it," Penny asked.

George forced herself to study the squid-like thing as it strode by. "Oh, my God," she groaned.

"What?" Penny sounded terrified.

George swallowed to prevent herself from throwing up. "Faces. Those are the skins from people's faces."

N. Dusselberg tried to burrow into George's chest.

"Are we in hell?" Penny's reap asked.

"No, honey. You're not in hell, and you're not going their either," Penny soothed.

"I promise there are lights. I promise there are lights. I promise there are lights," George whispered into the top of her reap's head.

The squid-like thing turned a corner and its screeching noise began to fade.

"Is it safe?" Geroge's reap whispered.

"I think so," George answered as she began to stand.

As Penny got to her feet, she said, "Change of plans."

George paused in helping N. Dusselberg get upright.

"I say that after we get these two crazy kids to their destination, instead of me paying you that $20 I owe you, I buy you $20 worth of drinks," Penny said. "I'll double it if you tell me everything you know about that thing we just saw."

George didn't have to think about it. "You're on."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The good thing about being a reaper, and the bad thing about being a reaper, is reaper metabolism. Good, because if you do something stupid like eat something that's been poisoned with enough crap to kill an elephant, you'll get sick but you'll also recover pretty fast. Bad, because if you have the overwhelming need to get drunk, it's like waging a war to get there.

While it's very hard for reapers to even get buzzed, let alone drunk, it's not impossible. Thanks to years of living with Mason I knew that with enough money, or at least with enough determination, it was possible to get falling down, rip-roaring, dancing-on-tables-with-a-lampshade-on-your-head blotto.

The key was to keep guzzling the booze until you go blind.

The first time, and before now the only time, I ever got drunk was right after what turned out to be a one-night stand with Trip, he of I'll-call-you-but-never-did fame.

After I left the bar that night, I walked by a bridal shop and saw a bride-and-groom display. Naturally, I did what any sane, drunk, heartbroken, dead girl would do in that situation. I smashed the plate glass window and attacked the mannequins. By attacked, I mean that I pushed the bridal mannequin to safety before kneeing the groom mannequin in his non-existent nuts. By the time the police arrived, I was beating the crap out of that tux-wearing moron.

I ended the night by calling Delores from jail. You haven't lived until you've seen your boss arrive at your jail cell in full renfaire costume with a certified cashier's check made out in the amount of your bail.

I should've known that it would lead to trouble if I tried it again.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

George cracked open an eye with sleepy moan.

Damn it. Her alarm didn't go off.

She reached out with a heavy arm to smack her radio alarm clock to the floor. Her hand hit a lamp instead. Thankfully, the lamp remained cemented in place, like it had been bolted to her nightstand.

"Ow," George grumbled.

Wait. A lamp? I don't have a lamp on my nightstand.

George's eyes flew open as she sat up in bed. "What the hell?" she demanded.

A warm lump underneath the sheets next to her gave a complaining moan and stirred.

"Holy shit!" George hopped out of bed dragging the sheet with her.

A very naked man groaned in protest and rolled over. He smacked his lips with a wince and looked up at her.

Remember how I said the first time I got drunk I got arrested and needed Delores to bail me out of jail?

This time I was apparently kidnapped by pirates.

Naked pirates.

The man's one visible eye flew open and he let out something between a shout and a scream. He reached for the sheet as he also hopped out of bed, which resulted in a tug of war over the sheet.

"Let. Go," George yelled as she tugged on the sheet.

"Sorry! Sorry!" he shouted as he did exactly what she asked him to do.

George went hurling backwards and landed with a smack against the wall.

"Sorry!" he shouted again as he rushed over to her.

"Stay back!" George yelled as she pulled the sheet up to her chin.

The naked man with brunet hair and the eye patch stopped short and held up his hands. "Staying back."

"Ummm, you're still—" George nodded at him.

The one-eyed man blearily blinked at her and then looked down. He made an "eeep!" sound as he turned around.

"View's not an improvement," George complained.

"Best I can do because you've got the sheet," the man said.

Obviously he wasn't thinking too clearly because he could've just yanked the bottom sheet off the bed. Could be he didn't think of it because he was hung over. Or maybe he didn't think of it because he woke up next to a complete stranger and was panicking.

I'd just have to live with staring at his bare ass. It wasn't a bad ass to look at, to be honest. It just wasn't an ass I actually knew.

Unless I did actually get to know it at some point last night.

Oh, God.

"Okay, who are you and where are we?" George demanded.

"I think we're in my motel room," the man answered.

Or maybe he didn't grab that bottom sheet because he was confused and had no idea where we were.

"You think we're in your motel room?"

"Not sure. I got a lot drunk last night," he said apologetically. "This is what I get for trying to keep up with the serious drinkers. I'm more of a one-beer kind of guy."

"Don't need to hear your life story," George snapped.

"Shhhhhhh. My head's trying to fall off," the man said as he slowly swiveled his head.

"Well?" George demanded.

"Yes. Yes we're in my motel room. The Avalon Motor Inn." He began to nod, but stopped and grabbed his head with a hiss. "I'm never drinking again."

"Good for you. Now where are my clothes?" George asked.

"Ummm, no idea."

George firmly wrapped the sheet around her. "Great. Then we need to do a search."

The man waved toward the bathroom. "Why don't I get a towel first? For the sake of being a little less naked than I am now."

"You do that," George said as she got to her feet.

The man scuttled sidewise like a crab into the bathroom.

George managed to unearth her shirt, her jeans, and one sock by the time the man returned.

"I found this," he said as he held up her panties between a thumb and forefinger.

George snatched them out of his hand. "Thank you."

He nervously shifted from foot-to-foot as he kept the towel wrapped tightly around him. "I think I saw something clothing-like behind the television.

George stomped over to take a look. Success. The other sock and her bra had been found. "I need to get dressed."

"Bathroom's all yours," the man said.

With a nod, George went in and closed the door.

The only good thing about this situation was that I didn't have a raging hangover, unlike the half-naked pirate in the next room. Score one for reaper metabolism.

I've experienced so many firsts since my death. My first apartment. My first bills. My first kiss. My first time with a guy. And now my first walk of shame.

Yup. Life after death is just full of surprises. Let the good times roll.

George emerged from the bathroom fully dressed in a matter of a few minutes, just in time to catch her hung-over host pulling a battered t-shirt over his head.

"Igottago," George said in a rush of breath.

"I, unh, found a wallet, a belt, a watch, and a jacket on the floor in the corner," the pirate said with an uncomfortable nod to the pile on the bed. "Since they're not mine…"

"Thanks," George mumbled as she proceeded to gather everything up.

The man ran a hand through his hair as he shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. "I, unh…"

"What?" George snapped as she slid her watch into place on her wrist.

"This was," he swallowed hard, "consensual right? I didn't, ummm, force any issues or anything?"

George snorted.

Right, pal. I'd love to see you try forcing me to do anything.

"Pretty sure I went willingly," George said shortly.

"Soooo, you remember what happened last night? Because I have to tell you, I'm drawing a blank," the pirate sounded so hopeful that it gave George pause. "The last thing I remember I was trying to convince— Actually, forget that. I was talking to some people I…knew. Sort of. I vaguely remember someone telling a joke and me getting up to get another round of drinks, but I honestly don't remember a thing after that, so I have no idea what I said or…or…did that might've resulted in you maybe doing something…something…ummm…that maybe you didn't want to do."

I actually started to feel bad for the guy. He was so worried about whether or not I consented to this mess that he tying himself into knots. On the one hand, I wanted to slap him for not taking me at my word, on the other hand it was actually kind of sweet in a fucked-up way.

"I, unh, was there with a friend myself and, ummm, I don't actually remember even seeing you at the bar," George said as she watched the man's shoulders sag. "But, really, if I'm here I came willingly because I'm pretty sure my friend would've stopped it if I wasn't. Willing, I mean. And, sure, I was drunk off my ass, but the way I figure it, you were too. So, y'know, the whole fucked-in-the-head thing goes both ways in this case."

Pirate man didn't seem entirely convinced, but he nodded his head. The head nodding turned out to be a big mistake. His skin took on a slight shade of green as he slapped a hand over his mouth and ran into the bathroom.

George followed him a few steps, but the sound of him throwing up killed the impulse to go any further. "I, unh, I think I just better go."

Pirate man gagged his response.

"Oooooohkay. Bye," George said as she turned and fled out of the motel room.

As soon as the door slammed behind her, she checked her watch and swore. She had to swing home, pick up the reap reports, get everyone's post-it written out, run the mess over to the Pancake Stack, and then run to work.

If everything went perfectly, and if she skipped breakfast, she'd be only 45 minutes late. She'd have to think of a good excuse to feed Delores.

George purposely set off for the motel's parking lot and stopped.

"Shit!" George exclaimed with a stamp of her foot. "Where the fuck did I leave my car?"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Don't ask me how, but I managed to keep Dawn reap-free for the extra full week that Mason asked for. As it turned out, the extra week was all Dawn had. In short, she got her first assigned reap. Luckily it wasn't a supernatural reap, just a dumb car accident. I don't know why, but the fact that her first reap would be normal came as a relief, because fuck knows what she'd do if it was some kind of monster, like the giant squid-thing that kept giving me nightmares.

Even though Dawn had way more time finding her place in the reaper universe than I did, I figured she'd need someone to watch out for her on her first reap.

Maybe Mason's worries were getting to me. Near as I could tell, Dawn hadn't yet broken down or begun mourning her own death. There was something unsettling about the way she just accepted everything. What if Mason was right? What if Dawn didn't think her death was real? What if Dawn thought she'd wake up tomorrow alive and well? And if she did believe either or both, how would she act with those ideas in her head?

Worse, what if I was right and Dawn was looking for a loophole to get out of this? What would happen if she thought she had found one? The potential for her fucking up and screwing herself over in that case could lead her to doom herself in ways I didn't even want to imagine.

All I knew for sure was that we were out of time. Someone had decided that it was time for Dawn to be thrown into the mix, and had decided to force the issue.

And there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Pancake Stack was quiet, not surprising since it was after the supper rush.

George took a sip from her coffee and hoped neither Dawn nor Daisy noticed that her hand was shaking.

"Stop being so dramatic, Georgia," Daisy complained. "The pregnant pause doesn't suit you at all. Only a trained actress like myself can do it properly with the right amount of style to make it truly compelling."

"Sometimes a sip of coffee is just a sip of coffee, Daisy," Georgia said as she put her cup down and flipped open her Day Planner.

"Do I have to do this?" Dawn asked.

"You're a reaper." George held up Dawn's post-it. "And you've been assigned your first reap, so yes you have to do it."

Dawn gingerly took the post-it from George's fingers and studied it. "Not a lot of information here," she complained.

"You get the same information that we all get," George stated.

"Now, Dawn, just remember everything Mason and I showed you," Daisy soothed. "It's no more complicated than that."

Dawn slit her eyes at Daisy before returning her attention to the post-it. "I wonder what'll kill this person."

A car accident, but I wasn't allowed to tell Dawn that.

"As I explained, our reaps are death by external influences, usually by normal means," George said.

Dawn raised her eyebrows. "So I only imagined those few vampire-related reaps I saw Daisy and Mason do."

"We actually don't get a lot of those," George said.

Daisy, who'd been silently watching George through the whole exchange, said, "Dawn, honey, if Georgia says that this reap is normal, then it's a pretty good bet that there's nothing supernatural about it."

Dawn caught the subtext of that quick enough. "So you get more information than what's on this post-it."

Dealing with Dawn is a lot like walking through a minefield. You never know what she's going to notice.

"I tell you exactly what I know," George carefully said.

Notice that I didn't say that I told her everything I knew.

"So how do you know this is a 'normal' reap?" Dawn asked as she waved the post-it like a flag.

"Because I've got no indication that isn't. If I knew, I'd tell you." George hoped that her tone was enough to stop Dawn from asking more questions she didn't want to answer.

Dawn leaned back and suspiciously eyed George. "So definitely not a vampire."

George resisted the urge to grind her teeth. "I swear to God, you want my ulcers to get ulcers. No, this reap will not feature vampires, zombies, freaky monsters, and definitely no giant squids with tentacles that suck off your face."

Dawn sat bolt upright as her jaw dropped.

Oh-oh. Something tells me I just swallowed my foot.

"You'll have to excuse Georgia," Daisy said. "She's a little obsessed with the squid."

"Drop it, Daisy," George said.

"Excuse me, but this squid." Dawn cleared her throat. "What color was it?"

"How the fuck should I know? I've only seen it at night, which is not the best way to judge color," George said. "Now, about your reap—"

Dawn leaned forward. "Did it have about two-dozen tentacles? Have an icky habit of wearing faces around its middle?"

"According to our fearless leader, it more has a habit of ripping faces off of people," Daisy said. "Sounds rather fantastic if you ask me."

George shot Daisy a glare.

"It screeches, too, right?" Dawn pushed. "A loud screech that makes you want to run and hide."

George switched her glare to Dawn. "Why are you asking?"

"I'm right." Dawn sat back as she studied George. "I can see that I'm right."

Daisy's gaze pinged between Dawn and George. "Are you trying to tell me that our Georgia is actually understating how bad this squid-like creature is?"

George ignored Daisy, and instead kept her focus on Dawn.

"Impossible." Dawn seemed lost in thought. "Can't exist in this dimension at all. It'd collapse inward in 10 minutes. Unless…" As her voice trailed off, Dawn's head snapped up. "You know what? We need to go do this reap. Like right now."

"You have 2 hours to get there, and it's barely a 30-minute walk," Daisy said. Her southern accent was bleeding through around the edges.

"Might as well get there early and get the lay of the land," Dawn said as she hopped to her feet. "I'm heading out. Later, George."

George and Daisy stared after Dawn as she scurried for the exit.

"Oh, my. What on earth was that about?" Daisy asked, this time with her southern accent in full force.

"I don't know, but it worries me," George said.

Daisy twisted back around to face George. "I think we have a problem."

"Maybe," George cautiously agreed. "Daisy—"

"I know." Daisy held up a hand. "I'll keep a close eye on her during her reap tonight."

"May need you to do it for longer than that."

Daisy's eyebrows lowered, a sign that the idea didn't thrill her at all.

George quickly waved her hands. "I'm not asking you to turn narc. I'm just saying that someone needs to watch her for trouble."

"And trouble is coming, that's for sure," Daisy glumly agreed.

"Look, use your judgment," George said.

Daisy blinked with surprise.

"If you see trouble, the kind of trouble I need to know, give me a head's up," George explained. "But make sure you only tell me if it's important and the kind of thing that'll blowback on her."

"Or us," Daisy added.

"That, too," George agreed. "Anything you tell me, I'll have to act on it. So only tell me if you think I really need to know." George began to slowly nod her head. "Understand?"

Daisy actually smiled and sat up a little straighter. "I'll do what I can."

"Daisy, are you coming?" Dawn's voice rang out across the restaurant.

George and Daisy peered over the divider and saw that Dawn was poking her head into the restaurant.

"Be right there," Daisy waved back.

"God! Let's get a move on," Dawn ordered as she stepped back outside and let the door close behind her.

"That change in attitude isn't weird at all. Nope. Not one bit," George remarked.

"I'll keep an eye on her," Daisy said as she got up. "And Georgia?"

"Yeah?"

Daisy half-smiled. "Thank you."

"For what?" George asked. "Dumping a mess in your lap?"

Daisy half-shrugged and turned to follow Dawn out of the restaurant.

"I just don't get anyone today," George grumbled as she sat back in her seat.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I half-expected to hear a horror story about a reap gone wrong from Daisy, but nope. I half-expected Dawn to come storming back to the Pancake Stack to inform me that she absolutely would not do another reap, but nope. If anything, the next four days were almost approaching normal, except for the fact that Dawn and not Roxy was the fourth member of our club.

The number of post-its also increased. It was still a two-reap minimum with bonus third reap for some lucky chump in our club. That's nine reaps a day, which was a far cry from the four or five souls a day our merry band had to collect when Rube was The Boss, and more than the six or seven we were doing while Dawn was still shadowing Mason and Daisy.

Also, Someone upstairs was clearly annoyed with me. All of our reaps were now assigned, and I was all out of wiggle room in picking and choosing reaps that best matched my schedule, let alone anyone else's. Worse, the reaps were all over the map, time-wise that is. The only good news was that at least half occurred at night, so I wasn't stuck trying to explain to Delores why I was sneaking out of the office twice a day.

As for Dawn, she seemed downright cheerful. While Mason and Daisy groaned about the workload, Dawn just swooped up her post-its with a smirk and a quip. It was fucking irritating.

I should've realized that Dawn's positive, can-do attitude was sign that trouble was boiling on the horizon.

What really blows my mind is that when it exploded, I didn't hear about it first from Mason or Daisy. Oh, no. When it exploded, it happened on the fifth day after Dawn's first reap right in the middle of the Pancake Stack.

Chapter 5: Chapter 5

"George, can I talk to you? Privately?" Dawn asked as Mason and Daisy shifted out of the booth.

"I really have to get to work," George said.

"It won't take long," Dawn said.

Mason and Daisy paused and looked expectantly at George.

George sighed. "Sure."

Mason moved to sit back down.

"Unh, hello? What part of 'Dawn needs to talk to me alone' are you not getting here?" George asked.

"Well, I thought—" Mason began.

"I know for a fact that you're on a tight schedule for your first reap of the day," George interrupted as she tapped the face of her watch.

"C'mon, Mason," Daisy said as she grabbed Mason's arm. "I'll walk you to your reap."

Mason held up his post-it. "I reaped a drug dealer at this address just last week. Whatever it is, it's probably dangerous. My guess? Drug murder."

"I could use a little dangerous," Daisy grinned.

"What? The supernatural reaps aren't filling your quota of dangerous?" George asked.

"I mean normal dangerous." Daisy sighed. "I do so miss reaping old-fashioned murders."

"If anything, it'll be messy. So we best get a pair of slickers on the way, yeah?" Mason bowed. "After you, my darling."

Daisy grinned as she turned to leave the restaurant. Mason paused just long enough to salute George before he followed suit.

"I'm never going to get used to the cavalier attitude about death," Dawn grumbled.

"It takes time," George said.

Dawn waved a dismissive hand. "I know, I know. Gallows humor. I had it, too. But it's different when you're alive and making sick jokes about death. It's just creepy when you're a grim reaper making the same jokes."

"I…guess." George frowned. "Is that what you want to talk about? You're offended by our bad jokes?"

Dawn shook her head. "Actually, I want to talk to you about getting a job."

"God, I'm so stupid." George slumped backwards in relief. "I should've realized that Mason and Daisy were probably pushing their sketchy 'here's how we make money' schemes on you. If you need a job, I've got you covered."

"I really don't think—" Dawn began.

"Seriously. Not a problem. I'll bring you with me to Happy Time and we'll check the listings." George could feel herself smile. At last she could do something nice for Dawn, instead of playing the part of the big, bad boss.

"That's not—" Dawn began.

"If you see something you like, and if it's something we can work with, I'll let Delores know and she'll send you right over," George interrupted. "I know that Delores will probably sign her commission for placing you over to me, because she's just like that. When she does, I'll hand you the cash. That should tide you over until your first paycheck. You won't even have to pay me back."

"When I said I wanted to talk to you about getting a job, I meant my old job," Dawn finally got out.

George blinked. "What?"

"My old job," Dawn slowly repeated.

George could feel her eyebrows rise. "I thought you were, like, in the field with your Slayer fighting supernatural monsters."

"Okay, not exactly like my old job, because I know that'll be a big no just waiting to be noed," Dawn said. "I'm talking more like freelancing as a researcher for the Council."

"The Council. As in the Watcher's Council," George slowly repeated.

See? I can learn new stuff. Plus, it showed I had actually listened to Dawn in the 4 weeks since she died.

"Exactly," Dawn nodded.

"No."

"Why not?" Dawn asked. "I've already got the crazy bag lady look, the half-insane roommates, and the brand new name Caroline Browne to go with. All I've got to do is cultivate a rep as a recluse, manufacture some fake credentials, get my hands on a computer, set up a proxy server, and start sending the Council information that's actually correct."

"Oh, is that all," George sarcastically said.

"Besides, if they send someone to check me out, they're going to see exactly what they're supposed to see," Dawn insisted. "You said it yourself. Even people who know me well aren't going to recognize me, no matter how hard they squint."

"Finished?" George archly asked.

"You gotta admit that it's a good plan," Dawn desperately pointed out.

"Let me think about it." George glowered at Dawn. "What do you know? It's still no."

"You don't get it," Dawn argued. "That squid monster you and Daisy talked about? It's a N'goth demon. It isn't even supposed to exist in this dimension. Or rather, it can't. Not unless there's a really, really powerful mage controlling it and keeping it alive during its acclimation period. And that's bad. That's bad times a googolplex."

George felt her hands turn into fists under the table. "That's not our problem. Or more specifically, it's not your problem. Not any more."

"How can you say that?" Dawn demanded. "I saw the expression on your face. You want that thing gone as much as I do. Maybe even more."

"Don't turn this into what I want, especially when this is all about what you want," George said through clenched teeth. "This is all about you trying to get your life back. A life, need I remind you, that's dead and buried."

"I'm one of the few people in the world, let alone in Seattle, that can do anything about the N'goth," Dawn ground out. "If you don't want to reap the whole fucking city, I have to do this. I can work by email, without any personal contact with anyone from the Council, or its seers or witches. Everything'll work out just fine."

"We can't. Fuck around. With the living." George insisted. "We can't interfere with their choices while they're alive, and we sure as shit can't fuck around with their fates. If we start doing that, no matter how small that step is, we could end up reaping the whole fucking city anyway. Except this time we'll be the cause, and not some giant squid."

Dawn's nostrils flared as she got to her feet. "Well, I'm going to do this, and fuck what you have to say about it. It's not like my being dead is a huge drawback. In fact, my people are used to working with the dead."

Dawn then turned on her heel and practically ran out of the restaurant.

"Shit!" George exclaimed as she got to her feet and chased after her.

"Hey!" Kiffany shouted from the register.

"I'll be right back to pay the bill, Kiff," George shouted over her shoulder. "I've got a bit of an emergency."

George burst out of the Pancake Stack and spotted Dawn half-way down the block walking at a fast clip.

"Oh, fuck me," George groaned as she chased after her recalcitrant reaper.

My mind worked feverishly as I went after Dawn. I needed a plan to stop her, and I needed one fast. When inspiration struck, I immediately threw it out. No. No way was I going to do that to her. But when I didn't come up with a better idea when I finally reached her, I knew that I really had no choice.

George gasped as she caught up with Dawn.

"I'm done talking about this," Dawn snapped over her shoulder as she kept walking.

"I'll make you a deal," George gasped as she forced herself to run a few more steps. "A deal that could lead to an unqualified yes with free computer equipment."

Dawn stopped short, but didn't turn around. "I'm listening."

George slowed down to a walk and went to stand in front of Dawn. "If you can do this one thing for me, then I'll take it as a sign that you were meant to follow through on what you just told me," she gasped.

"Go on," Dawn suspiciously said.

"If you do this one thing, I'll call in some favors from the Happy Time tech support department to help you out," George said as she fought to slow her breathing. "They'll deliver all the computer equipment you need, and they'll even set everything up for you, no questions asked and no cost to you. As for the credentials you need, you're going to have to deal with that."

Dawn took a step back. "This is a trick, isn't it?"

George shook her head as she fought to breathe normally. "No trick. I'll even shake on it, if it'll make you feel better."

"What do I need to do?" Dawn suspiciously asked.

"You looked after a Slayer, right? Margery?" George asked as she straightened up.

"Marguerite," Dawn corrected. "And yes."

"I want you to walk right up to her and introduce yourself," George said.

Dawn's eyes narrowed. "I thought we couldn't do that. I thought it was against the rules."

"Most of the time, no, we can't make contact with people who knew us when we were alive," George said. "But sometimes people from when you were alive need to hear a message, and they can only hear it from you. In that case, you can do it."

Dawn looked like she was thinking very hard. "And you've done this."

George nodded. "More than 6 months ago, I made contact with my little sister."

Dawn's expression melted into one of surprise mixed with sympathy. "You had a little sister," she softly said.

George uncomfortably cleared her throat. "Yeah. Someone she cared about was dying, which was bringing up all kinds of crap from when I died. She needed to hear that it wasn't her fault every time something she loved died. Most importantly, she needed to hear that it was time for my memory to stop haunting her, move on, and go live her life. They let me deliver that message to her."

"So what happened?" Dawn asked.

"Within a month, she convinced my mother that it was time they moved someplace else. Someplace that didn't have any memories for them," George said. "I watched them move. I even got to wave good-bye to my sister."

Dawn looked like she was studying her feet. "So you got closure with your sister."

"Actually, she got closure with me," George corrected. "What I wanted really didn't come into play."

Okay. Not entirely true. It was for me, too. But I suspect that I was allowed to talk to Reggie because Someone decided to make me The Boss. That same Someone probably figured I could do my job better if mom and Reggie were living somewhere else, namely a city where I wasn't in charge of a merry band of reapers.

"And your dad?" Dawn asked in a low voice.

"Moved on years ago," George said dismissively. "Reggie told me he moved cross-country and started a new family."

Dawn snorted like she'd heard that story a few thousand times before.

"Seriously, Dawn," George said. "If you can talk to your Slayer and tell her who you are, I'll take it as a sign I'm overreacting."

"She won't believe me."

"There's a way around that," George said.

Dawn stiffened with surprise. "How?"

"Well, first, you need to come up with a story that only you and her would know," George began.

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Duh."

"I recommend picking one ahead of time and practicing it until you can spit it out without hesitation," George continued. "Take a couple of days. Make sure it's word perfect and that you can recite the whole thing in a single breath. Do this at random intervals over those couple of days until you're telling that story in your sleep."

"Okay," Dawn slowly nodded.

"Oh! And make sure it's a really special story that you can tell her. Make sure it's so special that she'll have to believe you," George insisted.

"So that's it. I just walk right up to Marguerite, tell her who I am, and in the 2.5 seconds between her staring at me in disbelief and telling me to get lost, I spit out a story that only she and I know, preferably without pausing to take a breath," Dawn said.

"Exactly."

Dawn seemed to think about it. "There's a catch."

"No catch," George earnestly shook her head. "If you can do it, if nothing stops you from doing it, I'll take it as a sign that you're right, and I'm wrong. Then I'll follow through on the deal."

Dawn began to slightly nod her head. "You're on."

George brightly smiled. "Then it's a deal."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yeah, my little deal with Dawn was a shitty thing to do her. I knew when I made it that there wasn't a chance in hell she was ever going to be able to collect on it. Worse, she was going to pay in spades right before she figured out just how badly I screwed her.

I could completely understand why she wanted to do it. I knew exactly what it was like to have your life snatched away from you while you were young and healthy by a stupid accident. I knew what it was like to be on the outside, but wanting so badly to get back in and get your old life back.

I also knew that it could never happen, that it should never happen, and I knew why.

On the face of it, there shouldn't have been problem with Dawn's plan. She wasn't asking to change anyone's E.T.D. after the post-it had already been written out. She wasn't even asking to get out of reaping. Hell, if she'd been actively reaping for longer than 3 weeks I might've given it a hesitant okay.

The problem was that Dawn, with her massive experience of 3 weeks, had no way of knowing that everything we do, and everything we don't do, matters. Our reaps, the lives we build for ourselves in between reaps, have a habit of rippling out and rebounding back on us in a way no one expects.

I've lost count of the times that I did something that I thought was good, only to make things worse for everyone involved. And we're talking about doing a small favor for individual people with normal lives. Dawn wanted to do something with the supernatural that could affect the whole world.

Whenever you mess around with the fate of living people, it's 75-25 that the end results are a net positive, with the bad coming in way ahead at that 75% chance. If you had a proposal in front of you that had a 25% shot of making the world a better place versus a 75% shot at making the world a much, much deader place, what would you do?

Yeah. That's what I thought.

Dawn's plan could potentially lead her to make a mistake that could be fatal for a lot of people. I figured that it was better for everyone if she made a small mistake and paid a small price that would only affect her.

Even if I did feel like complete shit about it.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

George spent a lot of time hanging out at the Pancake Stack over the next 3 days. After work, between reaps, and every spare moment that she had to spend.

As for Dawn, she continued to act like she hadn't a care in the world. She continued to show up for the daily breakfast meeting, collect her post-its, and head off to do her reaps. She didn't mention anything about the one-sided deal she had struck with George.

Still George waited, half-expecting an enraged Dawn to show up, start grabbing things off tables, and throw whatever she grabbed right at George's head.

It was on day three that George decided that Dawn had figured out there was a catch and had backed off on the idea. She mentally waved the flag of victory and declared to a half-empty restaurant at 11 p.m., "Enough of this shit. I'm going home."

As George pulled her stuff together she looked up, just in time to see Dawn storm into the restaurant.

"Oh, fuck," George muttered as Dawn spotted her.

So much for declaring victory and getting the hell out of here.

Dawn paused, primly straightened her shirt, plastered on that kewpie-doll smile, and finished the trek to their usual booth with something resembling placid grace.

George sat down and invited Dawn to sit. "So, it went well?"

Dawn slid into the booth. "Perfect."

My ass.

"Perfect, hunh?" George asked with a wide smile. Had Daisy or Mason seen that smile, they would've told Dawn to quit while the quitting was good. Then they would've advised her to run.

"It took me a little bit to track her down. She quit her civilian job after my funeral," Dawn waved at herself, "so I don't have to tell you that I didn't get very far there. I couldn't get within two blocks of the Council's offices because I figured I'd trip the wards—"

"Wards?" George interrupted.

"A kind of security alarm, only a mystical one," Dawn smoothly answered without breaking stride. "Let's just say that if I tripped it, it would lead to bigger problems, so I've been steering clear of Council property because of that. Still, I had a lot of places I could check. I went to some of her favorite haunts, but she stopped going to those places around the same time she quit her job, so I had to stake out her apartment. I finally saw her leaving alone earlier today, and that's when I grabbed her."

George put an elbow on the table and rested her chin on her fist. "Do tell."

Dawn doubtfully paused and regarded George with a frown. She obviously picked up that The Boss wasn't entirely buying her story.

"I have to tell you that this is absolutely riveting," George said. "I want to hear every detail. Leave nothing out."

"Ummm, yeah." Dawn now sounded far less certain. "When I realized that she was alone, I walked right up to her, and told her who I was. Of course she thought I was some obsessed, crazy bag lady because, y'know, that's kind of what I look like. But then I managed to tell the story I'd been practicing over and over again for the past few days. When she heard it, she believed me right away."

"Just like that," George said with the kind of smile that would've had Roxy slowly backing away from her.

"Yeah, pretty much," Dawn brightly insisted. "I did what you told me. I told her a story that only the two of us would know."

"What was the story?" George asked.

"What?"

"The story," George slowly repeated. "What story did you tell her?"

Dawn shrugged. "Just a story. That only the two of us knew."

George made come-on-come-on motions with her hands. "Which waaaaasssss…"

"What does it matter?" Dawn asked. "I told her. She believed me."

George tilted her head and smiled a smile that would given even gravelings a little pause. "Great! So when do I get to meet her?"

That caught Dawn short. "Meet her?"

"Weeellll, I'm sure that right after your tearful reunion, you made plans to meet up again, right?" George asked. "If I were in Marguerite's shoes, I'd want a little proof that you weren't, y'know, undead. The bad kind of undead. For all you know, she could be setting a trap even as we speak. Might be a good idea to bring along your boss so you have someone to watch your back and even back up your story."

Dawn blinked.

Gotchya!

George sat back. "Know what I think really happened?"

"It happened the way I said," Dawn insisted.

That's the thing about the big lies. You just can't ever let them go, especially when you think you've got an important principle on the line. I should know.

"I think you walked up to her and called her by name. Of course, she gave you the who-the-fuck-are-you look," George said. "Naturally, that story you were going to tell her flawlessly ran through your head, complete with the tearful reunion ending. What came out of your mouth instead was a lot of stammering and stuttering and disconnected words that made you sound exactly how you look: like a crazy, obsessed bag lady. She got pissed off and did one of two things: she walked away from you like you were poison, or she screamed in your face to fuck off."

Dawn's hands clenched into fists and her eyes narrowed into a glare. "You—"

"You lose anything important?" George interrupted.

The change in subject threw Dawn off. "What?"

"Like, I don't know, that story you were going to tell?" George asked. "No. Wait. Don't bother to answer the question. I already know that you not only don't remember the story you were going to tell her, you don't even remember the memory it's attached to. The worst part about it, though, is that you know it's gone, but you'll be damned if you can even remember what's gone missing."

"You set me up," Dawn said in an enraged whisper. "You lied to me."

Ouch. Kind of true since I lead her to believe she had a shot at succeeding, but still ouch.

George fought to keep her expression neutral. "Remember what I said? If you could tell your Slayer the truth, meaning if nothing stopped you from telling her, I'd take it as a sign I was wrong and I'd do everything I could to help you. Well, the big, bad rules just kicked you in the teeth, just like it would for any other grim reaper that tried what you just did."

"But you said that you were allowed to do it," Dawn angrily. "Were you lying to me about that?"

"I was telling the truth there, too," George said. "I was allowed to come clean to my sister because the bosses above my head decided it was necessary. And by the way, if you think I didn't show up on my family's doorstep trying what you just tried before that? Guess again. You bet I tried. Same thing happened to me."

"Which leads me right back to how you set me up," Dawn snarled at her.

"Don't you want to know why?" George asked.

"Because you worship the rules, that's why," Dawn angrily countered as she moved to get up.

George reached out and grabbed her by the wrist. Like big sisters the world over, she knew just how to do it in way that imparted maximum pain. "I did it to save you from yourself, not to mention anyone who happened to be in your immediate vicinity."

"Let go. You're hurting me," Dawn said through clenched teeth as she tried to tug out of George's grip.

"You're going to listen to this story. You'll love it. It's about this stupid reaper named George who decided to help a guy out, and then got him killed," George said.

Dawn stopped struggling. "Seriously?"

George nodded.

"What happened?" Dawn asked. "And, ow, are you sure you weren't a Slayer? Because that grip hurts."

"You going to stay until I'm done talking?" George asked in a threatening manner.

"To hear how you screwed up? You bet I will," Dawn said.

George kept her eyes on Dawn as she retracted her grip. Dawn kept her eyes on George as she rubbed her newly freed wrist, but stayed put.

"You know how I work for a temp agency?" Geroge asked.

Dawn slowly nodded.

"Well, one day my boss, Delores, decides to increase my responsibilities at dear old Happy Time," George began. "She has this high profile job that needs to be filled right away, but three equally qualified candidates. She asks me to interview them, and pick one of them to fill the job. Of course, I didn't want to do it. Something told me it was a huge mistake. I even delayed as long as I could in making the decision, but eventually I did reach a decision and I picked one to fill the job."

"Not seeing how you screwed up yet," Dawn said.

"Getting to it," George answered. "The next day, we get multiple post-its, all within minutes of each other, all at the same address. As it turned out, there was a stressed out guy working at this company who snapped and decided to take his gun to work that day."

"Let me guess," Dawn interrupted. "The guy you hired just happened to have a post-it with his name on it."

George nodded. "If it wasn't for me, he wouldn't have even been there. But because I picked him for a job, he wound up dead."

"And yet, you're still doing that job," Dawn sarcastically said.

"No, I'm not."

Dawn shook her head. "But you still work at Happy Time."

"Unh-hunh," George nodded. "And do you know what I actually do there? I make sure the paperwork flows around the office so that it gets to the right person at the right time. I work as Delores's assistant. I make calls on her behalf to temps and to companies that want to hire temps. What I don't do is make any hiring or firing decisions. I don't vet clients. I don't vet temps. I don't vet permanent hires. In short, I stay the hell away from any and all decisions that can affect someone's life if I can help it."

"But what I want to do is completely different," Dawn stubbornly insisted. "I'm trying to avert an apocalypse and save lives, not find someone a job."

"But it could have the same effect," George argued back. "You send information to this Council, they make decisions based on that information, which effectively means that your information could lead to someone's death, maybe someone who wasn't supposed to die. But because your information saved Joe Blow in Seattle, Jane Smith gets it in the neck in Boston."

"The Council makes decisions like that all the time based on the best information they have," Dawn said. "There are always trade-offs. I don't like it, but sometimes you've got employ your resources where they'll do the most good, especially when there's an apocalypse on the line."

George felt her jaw tighten as she leaned forward. "Fine. Let me put it another way. Your information saves Joe Blow in Seattle, but your sister gets it in the neck in Rome."

"That wouldn't happen," Dawn stated in a flat voice.

"Really?" George asked. "You know that for sure already, do you? Decided that if it means saving your sister, you might withhold information so that Joe Blow gets it while your sister stays safe in Rome?" She leaned forward and hissed, "Look me in the eye and tell me that you wouldn't do it."

Dawn suddenly found her hands a very interesting object of study.

George leaned back. "And that's why I can't let you do it."

Dawn refused to even look at her.

"Dawn, this job is about balance. We can't go around picking and choosing who we're going to reap," George explained. "The sad fact is everyone dies, and everyone only gets a certain amount of time before it happens to them. If someone doesn't die who's supposed to die, that means someone else has to take their place. And that's if you're lucky."

"Lucky. You call that lucky," Dawn quietly said.

"A one-to-one trade? You bet I do," George emphatically said. "Usually the trade is much higher. Save one life, see a dozen, two dozen, three dozen, or more die in their place."

Dawn's head snapped up and she regarded George with horror.

"I've seen it happen," George said.

Hell with that. I made it happen once. I'm just lucky the gravelings tortured my sorry ass for a week instead of the rest of my existence.

"What you want to do is too dangerous, and not just for the people you're trying to help. It's dangerous for you," George added. "There'll be too much temptation for you to meddle, or save someone who probably shouldn't be saved. You'll start with the best of intentions, but then something small will come up and you'll think, 'Just this once.' Then the next thing comes along, and the next, and the next. And then…well…measures will be taken."

"The way you're talking, I won't even get that far," Dawn bitterly said.

"Yeah, the rules have teeth, but sometimes you don't bitten in the ass when you fuck with the rules. Or sometimes you think getting bitten in the ass is worth it," George countered. "But I can promise you this: break the rules enough times and something bigger, badder, and a whole lot less forgiving than I am is going to stomp on you. By the time it's over, the only thing left will be your rotting corpse and a headstone in a graveyard. As for you," George shook her head, "you'll be just gone and there won't be a damn thing I can do save you."

"They can do that?" Dawn asked with horror.

George nodded. "On the upside, you'll never have to worry about the entire population of Seattle getting reaped. On the downside, you'll never have the opportunity to worry about anything ever again."

Dawn's hands clenched into fists. "You know, you could've just explained this to me before you started playing head games."

"You weren't in the mood to listen, and you wouldn't have believed me anyway," George flatly said.

Dawn was shaking with rage as she got to her feet, and turned to walk away.

"Dawn," George began.

Dawn paused but didn't turn around. "What?" she asked with a growl.

George deflated. "I'm sorry. I just didn't want to see you make a mistake that would land you in a world of hurt or leave a trail of bodies."

"You made your point. You don't have to keep pounding it into my head," Dawn said in a low angry voice as she stalked away.

"I expect you here on time tomorrow morning," George yelled after her.

Dawn didn't bother to answer as she pushed open the door of the Pancake House and disappeared into the night.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And so it began.

I had become the enemy.

Dawn subjected me to the silent treatment, the kind of silent treatment I used to subject Rube to when I got pissed off at him. Her sulking presence was waiting for me when I arrived, and she'd only talk to me if I said something directly to her, usually using words of one syllable. She only stuck around long enough to collect her post-its.

Although Daisy and Mason were careful not to take sides, they started treating me differently. Not in any big way, but in small, subtle ways.

It wasn't that Daisy and Mason agreed with Dawn, because I knew them well enough to know that they didn't. And it wasn't that they didn't have doubts about Dawn, because they told me they did. However, all of that was meaningless because Dawn was their roommate and coworker. Even if they agreed with my point, they had to take her side against The Boss out of working-class reaper solidarity.

I had crossed the line. I was no longer "just George". I was now truly The Boss in a way that went beyond just handing out post-its at the start of the day.

I remember back when it Just Us. Sometimes it was Us — meaning myself, Roxy, Mason, and Daisy — against Rube, who was The Boss. Sometimes Rube was even one of Us, especially when it was Us versus the world. But there was always and Us, and I was always part of it.

Now it was Just Me on one side, and Them on the other.

For the first time since my death, I felt completely alone.

Chapter 6: Chapter 6

George wasn't thrilled about making a return appearance at the bar she went to with Penny, but left with a drunken pirate. However, the reap report brooked no argument since she had been specifically assigned to this one. She was to present herself and be ready to reap two guys with more testosterone than brains at 8:42 p.m.

The good news was that the deaths involved a knife-fight and a mutual stabbing, head and shoulders above anything having to do with the supernatural. The bad news was that it was messy. Very messy. It didn't help that the two knuckleheads kept trying to kill each other after they were dead, despite the fact that their fists kept passing harmlessly through each other.

In the end, George managed to deliver them to their separate lights thanks to a lot of yelling, swearing, and threatening to send them to the afterlife with their intestines wrapped around their necks.

Needless to say, she was relieved when it was over and could head back to her car.

"Jesus Christ," George muttered as she ineffectively dabbed at the blood splatter on her shirt. She paused and looked up at the sky. "Look, I'm getting really sick and tired of having to burn my clothes. I know these are old, but I was hoping to make them last another month. Have a little pity on a girl's paycheck."

She looked back down at her clothes again, and threw her hands up in despair. "So much for begging for mercy."

She stamped her foot on general principal, blessed nighttime Seattle with a final exclamation of "fuck", and continued the long walk to her car.

She managed to get half a block before something careened into her.

"Hey! Watch it!" she yelled as she stumbled.

"Sorry! I wasn't paying attention." A hand grabbed her by the upper arm and hauled her upright before she face-planted on the sidewalk.

"A little bit more with paying attention, a little less with running me over," George complained as she looked up.

Staring back at her, looking as shocked as she felt, was Pirate Man.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," he said.

"I think that's my line," George said.

"My brain was kind of elsewhere," he apologetically said.

"Yeah, that was kind of obvious," George mumbled. "Igottago."

He straightened up, opened his mouth, and then froze. His visible eye was wide as he stared.

"What?" George snapped.

He shifted into a wide stance, like he was getting ready to throw a punch. "Are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" George repeated. That was when she realized he could see that the front of her shirt was crisscrossed with blood splatter from the stabbing. "Oh. Unh. This. It's not mine. I mean, I'm not hurt. It was," she turned and glanced behind her, "unh, these two guys stabbed each other."

"What? Where?" He definitely sounded like he was ready to leap into action. "How badly hurt are they?"

"They're, ah, dead," George stuttered.

"Dead," he repeated. He sounded almost suspicious. "Did you call the police?"

"Well, noooooo," George said. Her brain furiously worked as she tried to think of how public murders in full view of witnesses were handled. "Someone else called the police while I was trying to make sense of what happened. Oh! I was questioned by the police, though. As a witness."

Pirate Man doubtfully studied her. "And they let you go even though you look like an extra from Carrie."

Usually I'm better at lying than this. Okay, not really. But usually when I get stuck like this I'm able to distract the person asking questions by saying something that's totally irrelevant. However, gut instinct told me that this guy wasn't going duck and turn around if I shouted, "Hey! Look out behind you!"

"I…I didn't actually see anything," George said. "And…and…there were a lot of other people there anyway. Plus, I just…I need to go home."

"You didn't see anything, but you were standing close enough to get spattered when the stabbing started?" he asked as he shifted his weight.

C'mon, brain. Think! You need to get around this guy without him thinking you actually did the stabbing. Or were involved in it.

"I was distracted," George said. "See, the bar was crowded and I was too busy looking for my cell phone. I turned around and, well…got splattered."

I was looking for my lost cell phone in a bar? Where the hell did that come from?

"The bar?" His visible eyebrow rose. "Do you mean Mario's?"

Since he was probably going to read about the stabbing in the newspaper tomorrow, I figured that I might as well go with the truth.

"Yeah. See, I lost my cell phone and that was the last place I saw it," George said in a desperate attempt to reinforce the lie behind why she was actually there.

"I didn't realize that was your hangout. I haven't been back since," he winced, "well, y'know."

"Oh! No, no. I actually haven't been in that bar since that night," George quickly said. "Or any bar. I'm not really a bar person."

"So, wait. You lost your cell phone, and you're just noticing now? That was 2 weeks ago." He was back to sounding suspicious again.

When in a tight spot with blood all over your shirt, sometimes you just need to act like you're in shock. It's worked with Delores more than once. Here's hoping it worked again.

"See, I don't use my cell phone all that much, except I kind of needed it the other day and I…I…couldn't find it. I tried calling it, but all I got was voice mail. I can't afford another phone so I figured…I figured…" George hugged herself. "I just went to the bar to look for it because that was the last place I saw it. Then there was stabbing and there was blood and…oh, God! I just watched two men die!" George began to pace back and forth in front of the stunned man. "And the police have my name as a witness. And what if it was a gang killing? And I'm covered in blood! And I still haven't found my phone!"

The man held up his hands and backed away a step. "I'm sorry, I should've realized that maybe you were kind of in shock and… Know what? Why don't I call someone for you and get them to pick you up from someplace safe. Maybe a friend? Family member?"

Yay! It worked! Now who should I call? Delores is out, because of the blood. Daisy is out, because she's either reaping or on her way back from a reap. Dawn's not even talking to me and she doesn't have access to a car. Mason doesn't have a car either, plus I'd never hear the end of how he had to save me from a big, bad pirate asking too many questions.

"There's, unh, no one," George said. "Umm, my family doesn't live around here. I have a few friends but they're kind of…kind of…flaky. They'll say they'll come, and we'll be here until noon tomorrow waiting for them."

The man let out an irritated breath. "I'd offer to drive you, but I've got to jump through hoops in this state to get a driver's license," he waved at his eye patch, "and I don't know if they'll accept my international license as legit. Not to mention that I haven't even gotten started with the hoop-jumping. No car, either." He snapped his fingers. "I could call a cab."

Great. I've either got a hero on my hands, or a real dickhead looking to get laid again. And I'm still stuck with the same problem of getting around him.

"I…I…just want to get to my car," George muttered.

He frowned at her, although this time it seemed more worried than suspicious. "You sure you're in a condition to drive?"

"I want to go home," George firmly said.

"Okay, okay," the man held up his hands, "but I'm walking you to your car. This isn't the world's best neighborhood."

"I think I figured that out." It took everything she had not to roll her eyes.

"I'd feel better if I knew you at least got to your car safely," he added lamely. "I swear this is not a pick-up line, okay? I'm not going to ask for your number or anything."

"You're just an old fashioned guy, hunh?" This time George didn't bother to hide the sarcasm.

The sarcasm appeared to go right over his head. "I'd offer to walk you even if you were a guy. I'm very big on numbers equaling safety."

I couldn't tell him that there really wasn't anything in the dark that could hurt me, and that he was a lot more likely to get killed walking the streets than I was. I'd just have to suck it up and let him walk me to my car.

"O-o-okay," George hesitantly agreed.

The man fell in step next to her. "Just so you know? I'm not a picker-upper."

George slit her eyes toward him. "Hunh?"

He winced. "I don't go around picking up random women, or…ummm…taking advantage of people in distress."

Oooh-kaaaaaay.

He uncomfortably cleared his throat. "I'm Xander Harris, by the way."

"Millie Hagen," George muttered.

They fell into an uncomfortable silence as they walked another half-block and turned the corner.

"My car," George said with relief.

"Nice car," Xander said appreciatively.

"Inherited," George explained.

"If I got a second-hand car like that, I wouldn't be apologizing," Xander said with a wide smile. He looked like the boy who got the bike he always wanted for Christmas.

"Who's apologizing?" George asked. "Look, thanks for walking me this far. I think I can make it the next 50 feet without—"

The end of her sentence was interrupted by an unholy screech that echoed off the buildings. A familiar unholy screech that brought to mind giant, face-ripping squids.

Out of sheer instinct, George grabbed Xander, pulled him against the building, and dragged him down into a huddle. By the time the two of them were low to the ground, it dawned on her that Xander had reacted the exact same way she had by grabbing her and dragging her out of the line of sight of whatever might be heading their way.

"That's not good," he said in a tight voice.

George looked up at him, only to find she was nose to nose with him as he looked down at her. She moved her head back a couple of inches. "You okay?"

His head twitched toward the sound of a second screech ringing out, only this one sounded a little closer. "No. I'm thinking we may want to run."

That's when it hit me. What if Xander was supposed to get killed by a face-ripping squid monster? What if I had interrupted a reap in progress?

Oh, shit!

George looked wildly around in a panic. There had to be another reaper around, although they were probably staying out of sight because there was no automatic secret reaper code that allowed Death's Own Employees to recognize each other. For all Xander's reaper knew, somewhere between the actual soul-taking and the E.T.D., Xander had picked up a second party and a potential witness to his death. In this situation, any smart reaper would follow their mark and stay out of sight.

When she didn't spot anyone else on the street, she doubled her visual search to look for gravelings. The gravelings wouldn't care if she spotted them. They had to be around somewhere fucking up shit so Xander would die right on schedule.

"Millie, I need you to not panic," Xander's voice said as George felt him hug her. "What I need you to do is to get to your feet and run like hell on the count of 3, okay?"

"Wait. I can't…" George began as her panic doubled. She couldn't see any gravelings, but they had to be around here somewhere. Once she spotted them, she'd know for sure that she fucked up and then she'd run like hell and leave Xander in the care of his reaper.

A third screech echoed off the buildings. This time it sounded much further away.

George could feel Xander slightly relax. "You okay?" he asked.

George blinked at the empty streetscape.

No reaper. No gravelings. No post-it for Xander. That meant I didn't fuck the dog.

It also meant that I had a new problem.

"Ummm, what the hell is that?" George asked, hoping that Xander hadn't noticed that she'd grabbed him and pulled him out of the way at the same time he did the same thing to her.

Xander shifted, but didn't get up. "I have no idea."

I don't know why I didn't believe him, but I didn't. His reaction was as automatic as mine was.

He looked down at her, noticed they were again nose-to-nose and jerked his head back until it thudded against the brick wall. "I really don't know," he said. "I spent the last 6 years wandering around Africa. I learned that if something sounded big, ugly, and dangerous like that screech we just heard, that it probably was all that and my best bet was to keep my head down and run like hell away from the area."

"Oh," George said.

The explanation completely made sense. It was pretty obvious that I was jumping to conclusions that he had something to hide because I had something to hide. Actually, I had a lot of things to hide, so the sooner I got away from Xander, the better off we'd both be.

"C'mon, let's get up," Xander said as he got up and helped George to her feet.

"I better get going," George said.

A fourth screech, this time sounding like it was coming from very far away made George jump.

"You know what? Why don't you search my motel room," Xander suddenly said.

George's head whipped around to face him. "What?"

Xander took a step back. "I don't mean like that! I mean so you can look for your cell phone."

"My cell—" George caught herself. "Oh. Right. My cell phone. Which I lost."

"I won't even enter the room while you look. I'll stand right outside," Xander said.

"Wouldn't you have noticed a spare cell phone in that tiny motel room?" George asked.

His grin was a little weak. "Not really. I don't spend a whole lot of time there. I pretty much use it for sleeping."

George raised her eyebrows.

"My second night in town aside," Xander quickly said. "Seriously, you've checked the bar; you might as well check my room too."

"If you find it, you can just call me," George said.

"I don't know your number, and I did promise I wouldn't ask for it," Xander pointed out. "If I can't keep that promise, you sure as hell can bet that I won't keep my promise to stay out of the motel room while you look for your phone."

"Ah. Good point," George said.

I could've said, "Thanks Mr. Xander, sir, but I've decided that maybe I should just get a new phone. That one was really old anyway."

Or, I could've gone the bitch route and said, "Mr. Xander, sir, I suspect that you're doing this because you want to get laid, so I'm going to bid you good night and fuck off."

I didn't say any of that. Instead I said…

"Where's your motel?"

See me live life on the dangerous edge. I'm such an idiot.

Thankfully, Xander's motel wasn't too far out of the way and only required a two-block walk. The painfully uncomfortable silence was broken only a by a few instances of the two of them jumping at shadows whenever an out-of-place noise reached their ears.

George was so grateful when they reached the entrance of the parking lot for Xander's motel that she nearly did a cheer when they passed underneath the sign for the Avalon Motor Inn.

Xander walked up to his motel room, fished out his key, unlocked door, and swung it open. "As you can see, I have a beautiful view of the parking lot and an empty pool."

George poked her head in. "It's a mess," she remarked.

"Unh, yeah. I haven't had a chance to do laundry," Xander replied.

George stepped into the room. "Well, this will take forever."

"Don't worry. I can pretty much guarantee that there's nothing underneath the mountains of dirty clothes since there was nothing but empty floor space when I threw them there. So you don't have to handle my dirty underwear."

George looked over her shoulder at him. He was still standing in the doorway, but for some bizarre reason he was grinning at her like a loon.

"What's with the grin?" George asked.

He coughed and tried to make the grin disappear. "Sorry. You should see the look on your face."

George looked around the room and muttered, "Bachelors."

As I stared at what looked like a disaster scene, I wondered how I'd be able to convincingly fake a search for a cell phone that I hadn't actually lost in a room where I knew it wasn't.

Right on cue, a cell phone trilled a generic ring.

"That's mine," Xander explained as he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. He checked the Caller ID and softly swore. "Sorry. I have to take this call. You go ahead and search."

As Xander turned away and answered with something resembling a professional greeting, George carefully picked her way over to the desk since it seemed like a convincing place to start.

"Yeah, I heard," Xander said. "Where did it show up?"

George made a face as she picked a pair of dirty socks off the desk's surface between pinched fingers and dropped them to the floor.

"At my motel," Xander said. "I…unh…have company."

George looked up from her inspection and saw that Xander was looking at her over his shoulder.

He turned away and continued his conversation. "It is possible for me to win friends and influence enemies, you know," he sarcastically said. "None of your damn business who it is."

George's eyebrows rose as she softly said, "Whoopsy." She carefully slid open a drawer and hoped that nothing disgusting would jump out and attack her. All she saw was a Gideon Bible with dust on it.

"So where did it go? You lost it?" Xander's voice rose to a near-shout on the second question. "How the hell do you lose something that big?"

George paused and glanced over to her strange host. Xander had started pacing the walkway in front of the door. She shrugged, gingerly swept a t-shirt out of the way, and opened another drawer. This one had a telephone book.

"And again, I'm waaaaaaay on the other side of town at my motel and completely car-less." Xander sounded frustrated. "Who reported in?"

George gave up searching the desk and speculatively looked at the bed. She supposed that she should check under it, but that would mean getting on the floor. She grimaced at the thought.

"I can't believe you sent her." Xander was now ranting. "Well, did you check to see if she was actually sober when you sent her out to look for it?"

"Drinkin' on the job. Not good," George sarcastically and quietly said to herself. She'd hold off checking under the bed until Xander could actually see her do it. No need to torture herself before then.

"Right. Like you've ever bothered to notice she had a problem before I pointed it out it out," Xander said. He mimed throwing a punch.

George crossed her arms and checked Xander. Honestly, she didn't have to search the room at all. The conversation had gone on long enough that she could just say that she did all the searching she was comfortable doing while he was busy.

Xander froze. "What are you implying?"

George looked to the ceiling and muttered, "Someone's really pissed."

"I told you. I did not know there was a problem before I transferred here." Xander pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it as if he couldn't believe what he had just heard before returning it to his ear. "I don't like what you're implying. And actually, it's beyond insulting for you to say this to me. If I knew before I got here, I would've said something the second I got off the plane."

Xander began pacing again. "You know what, Steve? This conversation is going round and round. We've both had a long, bad day. If we keep going, this is going to get uglier." He stopped and shook his head. "That's it. I'm done. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Do not call me unless the city's on fire."

George quickly turned around and pretended to pat down the top of the desk in a desperate search for a missing cell phone.

"Son of a bitch," Xander forcefully said.

George spun around in time to see Xander throw his phone at the bed. It bounced twice before settling near a scrunched-up pillow.

George pointed at it. "Unh, just so you know. That's not mine."

Xander looked at her like he'd even forgotten she was there. After a frozen moment, he began to giggle as he backed up so that he was standing in the doorway again.

George helplessly looked around the motel room. "That conversation sounded intense."

"Problems at work," Xander snorted as he tried to bring his giggling under control.

"Join the club," she grumbled.

"Couldn't find your phone, hunh?" he asked.

George shook her head.

"I'm sure me being distracting didn't help." Xander folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. "I'm really sorry about that. My transfer from Gaborone to Seattle has turned out to be the bust to end all busts."

George was interested despite herself. "Gaborone? Where's that?"

"Botswana, where I was stationed for six years," Xander said. "I work for a human rights NGO. Sorry. I meant nongovernmental organization. And it's more focused on women's rights and civil liberties."

George raised her eyebrows.

Xander grinned and shook his head. "It's okay. I've heard it all. Up to and including, 'What's a nice boy like you doing hanging out with women who don't need you and may not necessarily want you around?'"

"I didn't say anything," George said with amusement.

"Just heading the jokes off at the pass," Xander said easily. "Mostly I was a kind of teacher for some of the younger girls at the school my NGO runs in Gaborone. I was also a handyman, a troubleshooter when there was big trouble that had to be dealt with, a fixer when diplomacy was needed, and all-around jack-of-all-trades. Mostly I specialized in dealing with big trouble."

I don't know why I was interested. Maybe it was because I never left Washington State. Maybe it was because I'd spent my entire life and my entire afterlife — one semester in college aside before I died — in the greater Seattle area. I had never travelled. I had never gone anywhere that wasn't familiar. I had never done anything that really mattered.

Here was this guy who had travelled and who had done things and he was willing to talk about them. He wasn't even that much older than I would've been had I lived. Plus he was kind of cute, if you could get beyond the eye patch.

Maybe I was jealous. Maybe I was curious. But I really did want to hear more.

"Sounds like you had a lot of trouble in…Botswana, right?" George said encouragingly.

Xander waggled a hand. "Botswana is safe as houses, which is why Gaborone was our base of operations. Other countries where our NGO is active? Not so much. I spent a lot of time traveling around the African continent, especially the real hellholes."

"Sounds like you had a really cool job," George wistfully said.

Xander gave her a what-the-hell look.

"I mean, you did a lot traveling and tried to make a real difference in people's lives, even if sounds like it wasn't always a whole lot of fun," George quickly explained. "I just don't get how you went from that to," she looked around the messy motel room, "this."

"I lost someone."

George sharply focused her attention on Xander.

Of course. Reaper. I should've known that death would come into play.

"Someone I used to be close to." Xander uncomfortably shrugged. "By the time I heard about it, the funeral had already been held and the body buried. The news hit me hard, I guess. Made me look in the mirror and realize that maybe I was losing bits of myself without realizing it, and that I needed to reassess before I turned into the Robbie the Robot."

"So you decided to run away to Seattle?" George asked.

Xander snorted an abortive laugh. "Basically the gist, only it was more of a lateral transfer."

"No offense, but why would a women's rights NGO have an outpost in Seattle?" George asked.

"Hey, women's rights and civil liberties are issues in the good ol' U.S. of A. too, you know. Just because you don't have it as bad as someone in, say, Saudi Arabia doesn't mean there aren't problems that have to be overcome on the homefront."

George held up her hands as she plopped onto the edge of the bed. "You don't have to quote the pamphlet at me," she said with amusement.

Xander good-naturedly winced. "Sorry. You can tell I've memorized all the talking points, can't you?"

"Still didn't answer my question."

"We have a private school here," Xander explained. "A mixed population of girls. Half of them come from good backgrounds, stable homes, loving families, the whole enchilada. The other half? Not so much."

"And you're the fish out of water," George sympathetically said.

Xander looked away. "More like my reputation preceded me. It didn't help that the head of the NGO is a good friend of mine and basically expedited the transfer. Half of the staff thinks I've been sent to Seattle to spy on them and report back any rule-breaking and bad behavior to the big boss. The other half thinks I've been sent here because there's trouble brewing on the horizon and I've been sent to fix it because the home office in London doesn't believe they're up to the job."

George rolled her eyes. "None of which is true, of course."

"Actually, it isn't," Xander said in a defeated tone. "The problem is that right after I showed up, the Seattle facility found out they had a big problem that's about to hit them like typhoon. So every time I try to explain that my being here is a coincidence, the less they believe me. Right about now, they're stopping just short of calling me a liar to my face."

"Can't you ask your big boss buddy to help?" George asked.

"If I ask him to explain things to the facility director, word'll get around and everyone will start believing the 'Xander's a narc' story. And I can't quit, because the facility is facing a huge problem and I really can help them get through it." Xander suddenly shook himself. "God! I'm sorry. Listen to me whine. I'm sorry I'm dumping this on your lap. I don't even know why I'm dumping this on your lap. I'm boring myself."

"Sounds like you needed someone to listen and you don't have anyone you can talk to," George said.

"I guess." Xander suddenly grinned. "So what about you? I just dumped on you. The least I could do is listen if you've got bags that need dumping."

Why not? It wasn't like I'm getting any inspiration to fix the mess I had by just thinking about it. He said he was a troubleshooter, so maybe he knew how to deal with people who hated their jobs and their bosses.

"I'm facing the same problem you are," George said.

Xander snapped his fingers. "That's right. You mentioned that you didn't have any family around. I should've realized you might've been new in town, too."

"No, not exactly new. I've been here awhile," George said.

Try just about my entire existence.

"Well, lay it on me." Xander waved at himself. "All lines are open and operators are standing by."

"I got this promotion a little over six months ago, and even though everyone I worked with wanted it too, they were eventually okay with me getting it," George said. "Then one of the people I supervised left and I had to take on a new person. The problem is that this person isn't fitting in so well and I had to crack down on her pretty hard. Now everyone's acting weird around me."

"Like they suddenly realized you were the boss," Xander added.

George looked up at him. "Yeah. That's pretty much it."

"This new hire," Xander smiled crookedly, "how much trouble is she?"

"She does her job, if that's what you're asking," George answered. "But her attitude sucks, and I have no idea how to get through to her."

"You can't go to your boss for advice?"

"Nooooo," George shook her head. "And I can't fire her or transfer her out of my division. I'm basically stuck with her."

"Ouch," Xander winced as he entered the room and sat on the bed next to George. "Believe it or not, I sort of have experience with this."

"Was hoping you'd say that."

"See, back before I worked for the NGO, I was in construction," Xander began.

"Really? Wow. Didn't see that coming."

Xander chuckled. "Yeah. Not a lot of people do. Anyway, about two years after I got hired full-time, my bosses promoted me to foreman."

"That's kind of fast," George remarked.

"Don't I know it," Xander agreed. "The thing is the construction company I worked for had high turnover. And by high turnover, I mean you didn't bother to learn the new guy's name unless he'd been there a week. I always showed up on time, did my job without too much complaining, and usually did it under budget. Hence, the fast promotion after two years that leapfrogged me over people with a lot more experience."

"And they weren't happy," George finished for him.

"I got crap about it, sure." Xander shrugged. "But they all accepted it pretty fast because I really wasn't doing anything different. I still worked onsite with the guys. I'd still go grab the occasional beer after work with them. Not a whole lot changed. At first."

"Let me guess. Bad employee, which meant you had to be the big, bad boss," George said.

"Unh-hunh," Xander nodded. "Someone showed up drunk on the job, the sixth time in less than a month. The company had gone through all the steps with him. Verbal warning. Written warning. Referral to a substance abuse specialist. Letters of warning put in his personnel file. The whole process was followed to a T. This time when he came in drunk, it was his final strike. Lucky me, I was the supervisor in charge and had to fire him on the spot."

"Yikes," George grimaced.

"And what's happening to you, happened to me," Xander said. "Everyone onsite banded together and gave me the cold shoulder. People who were my work buddies basically shut me out and would only talk to me if it was business. I had become The Man, and they weren't about to forgive me for it."

"How…how long did it last?" George hesitantly asked.

Xander waved a dismissive hand. "A few people were coming around by the end of the week. The guy I fired really was an accidental death waiting to happen. Once they got over the shock of me acting all boss-like, they realized that I was just doing my job and following the rules. By the time the month was out, I was pretty much forgiven by everyone."

George deflated. "They kept treating you differently, didn't they."

"Afraid so," Xander sympathetically said. "But on the upside, once the people you work with get over the shock of you acting like a boss, they'll come around. It'll never go back to the way it used to be, but as long as you're a fair, enforce the rules equally, and don't play favorites they'll be fine with you. They'll even be friendly towards you again."

"Just a different kind of friendly," George groaned.

"Welcome to boss-hood. Sometimes it sucks," Xander said. "As for the employee with the rotten attitude that you can't do anything about, maybe—"

George's head snapped around to look at him. "If you have advice, lay it on me."

"She's doing her job, that's half the battle, right?" Xander asked. "Maybe she just needs to be motivated."

"Motivated," George deadpanned.

"Sure. Find something she enjoys doing and point her at it. Her attitude might still suck, it just won't suck as much," Xander said.

"And if she doesn't come around?" George asked.

"Hate to say it, but you might have to step on her again if her attitude affects her work," Xander answered. "But I'd leave that as a last resort if I were you. Call it the if-all-else-fails option."

George slumped. She should've known it wouldn't be that easy.

"Sorry I couldn't be more helpful," Xander apologetically said.

"No. You were," she looked up into his face. "I needed to hear someone other than the voices in my head tell me what my best options were."

Xander grinned as he nudged her with his shoulder. "Glad the voices in your head agree with me."

George quickly looked away. "I…I better go."

"Yeah," Xander uncomfortably agreed. "I just realized I broke my promise about not coming into the room while you were still here."

"It's okay," George quickly said. "I wasn't exactly objecting."

"But still…" Xander uncomfortably cleared his throat. "I'll walk you to your car."

"That's really not necessary. I can take care of," George turned to face Xander and realized she was practically nose-to-nose with him, "myself."

Xander nervously licked his lips. "Still. Safety in numbers, right?"

"Yeah. Right. Sure."

"Well, we better go." Xander moved to stand.

That's when George grabbed him by his collar, and pulled him down for a kiss.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You know how in the movies you see this dorky couple making stupid small talk, and suddenly one of them kisses the other? Notice how it always seems like they go straight to having bone-rattling, very sweaty, screaming sex on every available surface without either one of them pausing for breath?

And you know how every time you see it, you say, "Oh, that's just bullshit! That never happens!"

Except, y'know, sometimes it kind of does.

Don't get me wrong. My first time with Trip was good. Weird, but good.

My second time with Xander? A whooooole lot better.

I finally got why Mason, Daisy, and Roxy would get so irritable if they went too long without getting laid. I'd get pretty irritable too, if I had known what I was missing.

As for Rube…

Oh, God. I don't even want to think about Rube having sex, especially the bone-rattling-I-didn't-know-my-body-could-bend-like-that kind.

The best part about it was the guilt-free, this-is-it aspect. There were no hearts and flowers, no pretending that this had anything to do with true love, no exchange of phone numbers, no promises to call, and definitely no boyfriend-girlfriend crap.

This was straight-up wham-bam-thank-you-Xander. Or in his case, wham-bam-thank-you-Millie.

And I was perfectly fine with that.

You might say it was the ultimate anti-love story about two frustrated, stressed-out people who were in so far over their heads that they couldn't even see daylight. If no one is going to throw you a rope, you might as grab the person right next to you who's drowning too.

For a little while at least.

Chapter 7: Chapter 7

George happily hummed to herself as she walked into the Pancake Stack with plenty of time to spare, despite the fact that Xander still insisted on walking her to her car and that she returned the favor by driving him back to the Avalon Motor Inn even as the sun peeked over the horizon.

"Good morning everyone," she sing-songed as she slid into the booth.

While Dawn sullenly glowered at her from across the table, Mason and Daisy exchanged confused looks.

"And how is everyone today?" George cheerfully asked.

"What's the bad news?" Daisy suspiciously asked.

"No bad news," George said as she flipped open her Day Planner. "Can't a girl be in a good mood just because?"

Mason began to laugh. "Oh, my God! Our Georgie Girl got laid!"

"Mason!" George said through clenched teeth as she signaled for him to settle down.

"I don't want to hear about it," Dawn said. "Just give me the post-its."

George refused to let Dawn drag down her mood. "Fine. Dawn, here's three for you. Mason, three for you. Daisy, three for you. And, oh look, two for me."

Dawn glared at the pattern of post-its on the table. "How come you only get two and everyone else gets three?"

"Because I was assigned two reaps and everyone else was assigned three reaps," George said as she snapped the Day Planner shut.

"Fine," Dawn said as she grabbed her post-its. "I'm out of here."

"Don't you want any breakfast?" George offered.

"I already ate," Dawn said as she huffed out of the restaurant.

George looked to the ceiling. "I know it's possible for the two of us to have a civil conversation. I know it is. And someday we'll have it." She looked down and reached across Daisy to grab a menu. "That day is not today, apparently."

"So?" Daisy demanded.

"So…what?" George asked.

"Georgia, don't be stubborn," Daisy said as she tapped her fingers impatiently on the table. "What's he like?"

"Weeelllll, he's in his late 20s, he's travelled all over Africa, and he's cute, despite—" George began.

"Sounds like a romantic adventurer," Daisy interrupted. "When are you going to see him again?"

"I'm not," George said as she studied the menu.

"All right, Georgie Girl," Mason cheered. "That's the way you do it. Get your rocks off, and leave them begging for more."

"Or in your case, when they start begging you to leave," Daisy said.

Mason blew Daisy a kiss. "Well I think this calls for a bloody celebration. Kiffany!" He waved at their regular morning waitress. "Coffee for our fearless leader. On me."

George raised her eyebrows. "You're paying for my coffee."

"It's a special occasion," Mason said as he dug some wrinkled dollar bills out of his pocket. "You finally got a righteous rogering that left a smile on your face, and a song in your heart."

"That is a really crass thing to say," Daisy primly scolded.

George and Mason paused to look at her. Then they burst out laughing.

"Ha, ha, ha. Very funny guys," Daisy said as she fought a smile. "I'll have you know that I like a little romance mixed in with my amorous adventures."

"Especially if he's got a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame," George said.

"And money. Lots and lots of money," Daisy added as she dissolved into giggles.

"Good to see you three in a good mood," Kiffany said as she placed George's cup on the table and began pouring. "These days you've been acting like you're at a funeral when you get together in the mornings."

"We've been under a lot of stress," Daisy sweetly said.

"It's that new girl, isn't it?" Kiffany said as she refreshed Daisy's and Mason's cup. "She's unhappy. Anyone can see it. And it's rubbing off on the three of you."

"We're trying to help her out," George said.

Kiffany stood up with her coffee pot at the ready. "Well, I hope you manage to help her soon. When someone's that unhappy, Lord knows what they'll do if they stay in the mindset too long."

"Cheers, Kiff," Mason said as he saluted the waitress with his coffee cup.

"You're welcome," Kiffany replied as she bustled off to refresh coffee cups at the other occupied tables.

"Speaking of which," Daisy began.

"Ah, Daisy. Do we have to?" Mason waved at hand at George. "Look at her. She's in such a good mood."

"We agreed, Mason," Daisy said with hidden steel in her voice.

"Bugger," Mason sighed as he put his coffee cup on the table.

"What is it?" George asked.

Daisy placed a hand over one of George's. "It's about what Kiffany said."

George sighed. "I know. I know Dawn's unhappy. I just don't know what to do about it."

"It's more than that," Daisy grimaced.

"Just tell me," George said with resignation.

"When she's not out doing her reaps, she's on the couch watching bad soap operas on the Spanish channel," Daisy said.

"When she gets up, she leaves behind a permanent imprint of her body in the sofa cushions," Mason said.

"She barely eats," Daisy continued.

"Good thing she'd already dead, otherwise she'd have starved to death," Mason helpfully added.

"Worst of all, she doesn't contribute anything to the household," Daisy said.

"No money for the bills. No food. Doesn't lift a finger doing chores. We're basically supporting her," Mason said. "The ill-gotten gains from petty larceny can only stretch so far."

"I'll have you know I brought in a healthy paycheck from that voiceover I did for a commercial," Daisy sniffed at Mason. "So we're not completely dependent on your criminal nature."

"Hold it. Stop right there." George held up a hand. "She's your roommate. Talk to her."

"We tried," Daisy said.

"I don't think she actually hears anything we say," Mason echoed.

"Just explain to her that you agreed to let her stay until she got her reaping feet, but that if she isn't even going to try then she should pack her bags," George said.

Daisy and Mason exchanged looks.

"Look, I'm not saying you have to actually do it," George said. "Maybe she needs you two to put the fear of homelessness into her to get her motivated and off the couch."

"Make a threat that we're not prepared to back up with action," Daisy said. "Georgia, I know for a fact that you wouldn't make a threat unless you planned to go through with it."

"Hey, no one babied me when I was newly dead," George said. "I had to squat in some dead guy's apartment because no one would let me room with them. I had to take a menial, part-time job at a temp agency that paid next to nothing just to get enough money for food."

"But that's you Georgia," Daisy said.

"What? So I'm special now?" George asked.

"Georgie, you're a tough girl. You could handle it," Mason said.

"And Dawn fought scary monsters for a living before she died, so I hardly think she's a damsel in distress," George said.

Mason leaned forward with his elbows on the table. "I think that's the problem. From her point of view, she's now the monster."

George rubbed her forehead. "How many times have we explained the whole grim reaper thing to her? Five? Six?"

"Four," Daisy answered. "And I think Mason is being a little melodramatic. I hardly think that Dawn believes she's a monster."

"George, you've got to talk to her," Mason begged. "Bury the hatchet. Offer an olive branch. Have the dove of peace take a shit on her head. Whatever it takes."

"Fine," George said. "I'll step in and solve your roommate problem."

Daisy beamed as she patted George's hand. "Great. I knew we could count on you."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As everyone knows, there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

If you're a reaper, you need to add a sixth: rebellion.

To be completely fair to Dawn, she went through the five stages of grief in record time, even if the steps were a bit jumbled up. I think she reached acceptance so quickly because she had experience with the undead before she died. Sure, it was the asshole contingent of the undead, but that's a fuckload more than anyone else gets.

It took her awhile to get to rebellion, but when Dawn got there she did it with a style that was all her own. All signs pointed to her digging in for the long haul.

To be honest, most grim reapers never get beyond the rebellion stage. Granted, no one made a real show of it like Dawn, but there are a million little ways to rebel that won't result in a graveling biting your ass or getting a pile of dead bodies dumped at your feet.

The key is to rebel in such a way so that the rules are merely bent instead of broken.

Rule-bending is like a reaper Olympic sport. What you do is to step up to the line and then, using your big toe, move the goal posts just one more inch away from where you're standing. Once you've managed your mischief, step slowly back and watch the goal posts snap back into place.

The Gold Medal is always, "Hah! I got away with it!"

Although losing may not result in a graveling beat-down or a trail of dead bodies, it could result in bad karma. Like the time I was accidentally responsible for my dad meeting the college girl he left my mom for, which in turn led directly to their divorce.

Yup. Karma can be an even bigger bitch than gravelings on a rampage.

I think reapers as a species — and I say this from admittedly limited experience — can't resist flirting with disaster because so much of our lives are nothing but rules.

It's like this:

You can't steal from the living (but if they're already dead you can grab the contents of their pockets, the clothes off their backs, their cars, and even their houses).

You can't interact with the living (but since reapers don't get paid, if you want to eat and have a roof over your head, you better go find yourself a job or start stealing from the dead to pay for the basic necessities).

You can't date the living (but a one-night stand is perfectly kosher).

You can't refuse to reap a soul when they make their appointment because that means the soul will either begin to rot inside a very living body or the soul will go into the afterlife bearing the scars of a violent death (unless your reap misses the appointment or there's a clerical error, in which case your mark gets to live and die another day).

And on, and on, and on…

For thousands of years, maybe even millions, reapers have tested the rules, seen how far they're able to bend them, and then passed the collected wisdom down to the newbies who joined the ranks. Then each new generation of reapers bends the rules a little bit more just to see how far they can go before hearing that terrifying crack.

You might say rebellion is a reaper way of life.

Dawn's rebellion was a different kettle of fish. This wasn't memorizing all the rules and looking for loopholes. This wasn't watching the people she knew when she was alive from the shadows. This wasn't haunting familiar places. It wasn't even about holding on to bad habits. This rebellion was all about saying "fuck you" to the world, while doing the bare minimum to keep the gravelings off her ass, karma from kicking her ass, and post-its chasing her ass all over hell and creation.

Since Dawn wasn't breaking the letter of the rules, no invisible hand was going to yank her upright and slap her across the face to snap her out of it. Since she was only breaking the spirit, the slapping had to be done by me.

Oh, God.

No one said dying meant that I'd turn into my mother!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

George hit the button on the TV and the screen went off with a series of musical electronic beeps.

"Careful," Daisy scolded. "Mason and I had the most awful time getting that 47-inch flat-screen cross-town from my reap's lovely home in Broadmoor last week."

"I think you mean I had a bloody awful time dragging it cross-town after your reap," Mason complained. "You were too busy stuffing your pockets with skin care products."

"I needed to restock," here Daisy glared at the pile of blankets on the couch, "since someone has turned out to be a borrower."

"I simply can't resist. Your facial cream makes the skin on my cheek feel as soft as a virgin's bum," Mason said.

Daisy put her head in her hands.

"You two," George pointed to the front door, "vamoose."

Daisy grabbed Mason by the arm and dragged him outside.

The mound of blankets didn't even stir.

"Dawn, we really need to talk," George said to the mound.

She was answered by silence.

"Look, I know you're pissed. I'll even go so far and say that you've got lots of good reasons to be pissed," George said. "But this isn't helping anyone, least of all you. You've got to know that—"

There was the sound of a toilet flushing.

"You're not here because you're too busy taking a piss," George finished with a sigh.

Dawn shuffled into the room wearing sweatpants and a large t-shirt. The ensemble looked like it had come from Mason's dirty laundry pile.

"Dawn, we really need to talk," George began again.

Dawn squeaked, jumped, and spun around to face George.

"Hello," George waved.

Dawn frowned at her. "What are you doing here?" She then noticed the TV was off. "Hey! I was watching that!"

"We really need to talk," George tried for a third time.

"There's nothing to talk about," Dawn flounced onto the couch and began making a nest in the pile of blankets.

"As I was telling your blankets earlier, I know you're pissed. I'll even go so far and say and say that you've got a lot of good reasons to feel the way you do," George said. "But—"

"Like how you tricked me into losing a memory that was really important to me? One I shared with Marguerite, my Slayer? One that only the two of us knew? Except now, oh wait! She's the only one who knows it because I lost it," Dawn angrily interrupted.

So much for the big speech that I practiced on the way over here.

"I'm sorry about that," George said.

"Didn't it ever occur to you that memories are all I have?" Dawn asked. "And boom, just like that, you make me lose one."

"Did it ever occur to you that memories are all any of us have?" George asked.

"Then you should've known better," Dawn sniffed as she pulled the blankets up to her chin. "Now go away."

"Sorry. You're not getting rid of me that easily," George said as she flopped into a nearby easy chair.

"Fine. Then I'll just ignore you." Dawn's hand snaked out for the remote.

George jumped out the chair and swiped the remote off the coffee table before Dawn's fingertips got close. "You'll be ignoring me without the soap opera soundtrack."

Dawn snarled at her, and covered her head with the blankets.

"How old are you, really? Eight? Nine?" George asked with frustration.

"The answer would shock you," came a muffled voice.

"Ah-hah! I thought you were ignoring me," George triumphantly said.

The blankets stirred, but stubbornly refused to answer.

"Dawn, by your own admission, you can't get anywhere near your old life without stacking the odds in favor of people you care about," George said. "And I understand the impulse. I do. Really, I do. That's why I can't let you get with a million miles of your old life. You understand that, right?"

A hand snaked out of the blankets and made a world's-smallest-violin gesture.

George grit her teeth. "Which I explained to you before. Now I'm going to explain how you're not helping yourself by turning into a couch potato or wearing Mason's dead crack-dealer duds, which he probably stole from an actual dead crack dealer."

"You don't get it, do you?" Dawn emerged from her blanket fort by sitting up. "It doesn't matter what I do, because in a couple of weeks there's going to be an apocalypse."

George crossed her arms. "You think the world's going to end just because you're dead? Are you shitting me?"

"No. I know the world's going to end because a N'goth demon is running around loose in this dimension and very soon it's going to be acclimated enough to our world that it won't need whoever its powerful magic-using master is to keep it alive." Dawn hopped to her feet and began to pace. "As soon as it's fully acclimated, magic-boy…or magic-girl…is going to let it off the choke chain."

"The N'goth is the squid-monster, right?" George hesitantly asked.

"Yes! Yes, it is!" Dawn shouted with frustration. "You're scared of it now. Just wait until it's allowed to rampage! You ain't seen nothing yet!"

In my head, I could see the squid-monster with its belt of faces lurching down the street looking bigger and uglier than it did the last time I saw it. I still could hear the echoes of that thing's scream in my sleep. The very thought of it getting even more deadly than it already was scared me shitless.

I almost changed my mind. I almost said yes. Dawn will never understand how close I came to saying yes.

Then she pushed her luck.

"I have to make contact with the Council center here in Seattle. I have to work with them to fight this thing before we're all drowning in blood," Dawn insisted.

George took a physical step back and studied Dawn.

"You know it's the right thing to do," Dawn said.

"The Council's that big, powerful organization you told me about. The one with all the Vampire Slayers, right?" George asked.

Dawn relaxed. "Yes."

"And right here in Seattle they've got…what?" George asked.

"A training academy for Watchers and Slayers, as well as regular actives," Dawn said. "Ummm, regular actives meaning Watcher-Slayer pairs who actually do vampire slaying, demon-killing, and all-around supernatural patrol."

"So, just to be clear, you weren't the only Watcher and Marguerite wasn't the only Slayer in town," George said.

"In a city this size?" Dawn waved at a window. "Once upon a time, yeah, there'd only be one, but only if there was a Slayer already living here. Now there are plenty of Slayers to go around, so the Council doesn't make a single team patrol a large city anymore."

"Which means there's a lot of other people who can fight this squid thing who live right here in town," George said.

"No, that's not true," Dawn shook her head. "As I explained, I'm one of the few people in the world that even knows anything about N'goths, let alone how to fight them."

"Buuuut, you're not the only one," George said slowly.

"None of them live here. I do," Dawn countered with frustration.

"Correction. You do not actually live at all," George said. "You're dead. It doesn't matter that they'll see Caroline Browne instead of Dawn Summers. Doesn't change the fact you're dead."

"And again as I explained, the Council's used to working with the weird and wacky, including normal-appearing people who are genuinely weird and wacky. As long as my information's good, they won't look too closely at me." Dawn sounded desperate now, like she somehow knew that she got close to winning George over but had lost the plot somewhere along the way.

George folded her arms and contemplated the ugly area rug under her feet.

I wasn't sure if this was the right decision. I really wasn't. Dawn had good points, lots of good points. Her biggest and best good point was the fact that I had seen her squid-demon with my own eyes, and I had reaped one of its victims. I knew how bad it was. I didn't need her to tell me that.

In the end my decision all came down to the odds. That was something Dawn never could never win against, no matter how much either one of us wanted it otherwise.

"No," George said quietly.

"No?" Dawn asked with a note of despair.

"No," George repeated.

"Didn't you hear a word I said?" Dawn asked barely above a whisper.

"I did," George nodded. "I also heard that there were other people in the world who know about this demon of yours."

"But they're not here," Dawn insisted.

"What? The Council doesn't believe in planes, trains, and automobiles?" George archly asked. "They can't just tell one of their in-the-know employees to leave East Bumfuck and get their asses to Seattle?"

Dawn's mouth snapped shut.

"Dawn, have you even seen this thing?" George asked.

"I heard its hunting scream the other night," Dawn said.

"But have you ever seen one? And I'm not just talking about the one lurching around the city," George insisted.

"I read about N'goths as part of my training," Dawn mumbled.

"I see," George deadpanned.

"The last time a N'goth was in this dimension was more than a century ago," Dawn insisted. "No one has ever actually seen one."

"Except for me," George quietly corrected her. "Oh, and Penny, a reaper friend of mine. And God knows how many other reapers."

"And it's still no," Dawn slumped. "Despite what you've seen, it's still no."

"Dawn, you may be trying to play up how important you are in the fight against face-ripping squid monsters, but you just told me yourself that you're not that special," George said.

Dawn's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

"I didn't mean it like that," George quickly said. "I'm sure that when you were alive you were very important in your little pond. But on this issue? The issue of face-ripping demons? You told me that there are other people who know about this thing, and they've got just about the same level of experience you do, which is to say none at all. Not to mention the fact that we've got an army of Vampire Slayers and Watchers right here in town."

Dawn's eyes narrowed. "This isn't over."

"Oh, this conversation is so very over," George countered.

"I see." Dawn jutted her chin out. "When we're drowning in post-its and wading in blood, I'm going to remind you of this conversation."

"You do that," George said with a mean smile. "But maybe you might consider a whole different option. Maybe you might want to consider that this Council center of yours will be able to kill this thing. Maybe they'll bring in the so-called experts, come up with a plan, and take care of the problem without your help." George tilted her head. "Or is that what you're afraid of? Are you afraid that the world won't end just because you're dead?"

"Get out," Dawn said between clenched.

"I think not," George said.

"You don't live here."

"Ah, but your roomies invited me here," George said. "And until you start contributing to the household budget and doing your share of chores, you don't get to say shit about who comes and goes through that front door."

"Then I'm leaving," Dawn said.

George skittered sidewise to block Dawn's path. "I don't know if you know this, but Daisy and Mason are very close to putting you out on the sidewalk with the trash."

"They won't," Dawn defiantly said.

"They will because I'll tell them to," George threatened.

Please don't make follow through with that.

Dawn took a step back and stared at George.

"There's only one way you're staying, and that's if you get off your ass and get yourself a job," George said.

"A job between the three reaps I do a day," Dawn said with disbelief. "How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

"I do it. I do it all the time," George answered. "If I can do it, a genius like you sure as shit should be able to."

"According to my fake ID, I have the bare minimum for work history and education," Dawn pointed out. "Who is going to hire someone with a light résumé and looks like a bag lady?"

"Good thing I work for a temp agency, hunh?" George said.

"I have a PhD in linguistics," Dawn argued. "I'm pretty sure I'm overqualified for a job that involves filing."

"Then you'll be a really smart temp," George said with anger.

"I'm not doing it." Dawn stubbornly crossed her arms.

"Then you really will be sleeping under that overpass," George shot back. "So it's that, or tomorrow morning you squeeze yourself in some decent clothes and after breakfast you follow me to Happy Time where I will introduce you to Delores. Delores will find you a low-pressure job that at least pays minimum wage and gives you a little flexibility to play with. Understand?"

"Do I even get a choice?" Dawn angrily asked.

"You get to pick the job, but by the end of the day tomorrow, you will have a job." George turned on her heel. "Make sure you bring all of your Caroline Browne paperwork and necessary ID. The last thing I want to do is run our asses back here in the middle of the day because you 'forgot' it."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dawn may have humphed and grumphed all the way to Happy Time, but when faced with "Hello, I'm Delores Herbig, as in her big brown eyes" she turned into something resembling sweet.

Sometimes I forget how good Delores actually is at doing her job. Before 20 minutes was out, she knew that Dawn fluently spoke several languages. Before 45 minutes was up, Delores had subtly tested Dawn's claims by having her speak Spanish to Jesus in accounting, Portuguese with Jules in maintenance, Russian with Boris in IS, and French, Vietnamese, and Mandarin with Crystal.

I was shocked. Who knew that Crystal spoke French, Vietnamese, and Mandarin? I guess she really did serve as a Special Forces operative in Southeast Asia.

Once Delores was satisfied that Caroline Browne's résumé didn't actually capture all of Dawn's talents, she revealed that she had a client who'd been desperately looking for a translator. The job was for a small book publisher specializing in small runs for a very select audience, she explained. It didn't pay as well as it should for the skill sets they wanted, but they were flexible about hours. As long as Dawn, or rather Caroline, got her work done by deadline, they wouldn't ask too many questions about the hours she kept.

Dawn actually cracked a smile when Delores sent her out for an interview.

That job lasted a week-and-a-half.

To be fair, Dawn wasn't at fault. As it turned out, the company was a front. It really was a spy ring for Tuvalu and the books Dawn was translating contained coded messages for the Tuvalu government.

Yeah, that's what I said. Why the hell would a 9-mile-square pimple in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with a population of 12,000 want to get into the spy business?

Luckily for Dawn, she had the mad reaper power of slinking away without being noticed. Delores was not so lucky. It took her a week to get out of federal custody. Although the FBI cleared her of all charges, somewhere there's an agent hunkered down in front of a computer looking for coded secret messages to the Tuvalu government in Delores's live stream from her apartment as she puts on her Getting Things Done with Delores show.

Poor bastard. On the upside, he's probably getting some really good tips about decorative shelf liners.

As for Delores, she remained undeterred. She would find Caroline, or rather Dawn, a new job to make up for the snafu.

Dawn's next job was translating court transcriptions from English to Whatever language was needed. This company was willing to let Dawn work from home 3 days a week, so that was a positive built right in. Dawn complained that the work looked boring, but after her adventure with the Tuvalu spies, she was willing to go for boring in exchange for a paycheck.

That job lasted 4 days.

Again, Dawn wasn't at fault, and neither were Tuvalu spies. Faulty wiring was the culprit. The entire company burned to the ground, and Dawn was out yet another job.

Delores cracked her knuckles and let her fingers dance across the keyboard. Another job was found and Dawn once more landed employment.

One problem: Dawn never showed up for her first day at work.

Delores was understanding, but firm. She was willing to let Dawn slide on this one no-show and find her yet a fourth job. However, if Dawn blew it again, Caroline Browne's name was getting nuked from Happy Time's books as a credible job candidate.

As for me, I began to wonder if I was allowed to kill Dawn again.

Chapter 8: Chapter 8

George sat at the counter of the Pancake Stack and frowned at her cup of coffee. What she wanted to do was go home, forget about Dawn until tomorrow morning, and watch quality bad reality television, preferably something in the Real Housewives oeuvre on Bravo.

Instead she was killing time until her next reap. Her mood was not improved by the fact that it was a vampire-related reap. Then she had another two hours to kill before she had to deal with a nice, old-fashioned DUI doing wheelies on a motorcycle. The spread of time between reaps was proof in her mind that Whoever was responsible for assigning reaps had it in for her.

"I used to be a reader. Hell, I am a reader. I need to buy myself a trashy novel to kill time," George grumbled at the Formica countertop.

"What was that, honey?" the waitress asked as she swooped by to refresh George's coffee.

"Nothing," George mumbled.

The waitress smoothly moved away without so much as a second glance at her. George felt guiltily grateful that Kiffany wasn't on-shift, mostly because Kiffany would've tried to draw her out and then would've offered advice that seemed a little too pointed at resolving the issue at hand. George wasn't exactly in a sharing mood, especially since she just might have to admit to someone other than herself that she was tragically bungling the Dawn situation.

Some boss she turned out to be.

"Yay! You're here," Dawn happily declared as she plopped herself at the counter next to George.

George blinked stupidly at her.

Dawn's grin was so broad that George almost imagined that her teeth were sparkling in the restaurant light. "You are never going to believe my day."

George snapped out of it. "You never showed up for your job this morning."

Dawn waved away George's concern and flagged down the Unknown Waitress for a coffee. "That's because I landed a different job."

"What kind of job?" George suspiciously asked.

"Bookstore job," Dawn chirped as she bounced up and down on the stool like an over-sugared 5-year-old.

"Um, that's good. I guess. But retail's not exactly the most flexible job in the universe," George said. "What if you've got to leave mid-shift?"

Dawn waggled a finger at George. "I knew you were going to say that."

They paused their conversation as the Unknown Waitress placed a full coffee cup and the check in front of Dawn. They didn't start speaking again until she sailed away to wait on a table elsewhere in the restaurant.

"Not seeing where I'm wrong about the problem with retail," George said as she lifted her coffee cup to her mouth.

Dawn giggled. "The bookstore owner's a reaper."

George did a coffee-flavored spit-take.

"So, I'm thinking the perfect job, yes?" Dawn asked. "Unless there's a rule against reapers from one division working for reapers in another division in a civilian capacity. Just so you know. If there are, I'm sooooo ignoring them."

"No. No rules about that. At least, not as far as I know about," George said as she mopped up her coffee spray with a napkin that was inadequate for the job at hand. "And if there are, we'll find out soon enough."

"Good," Dawn said. "Oh! And tell Delores thank you for trying to find me a job, and apologize to her for me about me not showing up to work for her latest good try. Tell her I found a job somewhere else, but that it kind of came out of the blue and I completely spaced on calling her."

"Unh, sure," George said. "By the way, you might want to breathe when you start babbling like that. I'm pretty sure even reapers will pass out from lack of oxygen."

"Well, aren't you going to guess?" Dawn's smile seemed mischievous.

"Guess what?"

"Guess what my other reaper boss reaps." Dawn's smile was most definitely mischievous.

George was more than willing to humor Dawn if it kept her in a good mood. "Let me guess. The poor bastard works for plague division, doesn't he?"

Dawn's eyebrows rose. "There's a plague division? Seriously?"

"They don't get a lot of business," George said. "And I'm guessing by your reaction, my answer is wrong."

"So far off the mark, it would stun you." Dawn's mischievous smile returned. "I'll give you a hint. He doesn't reap people."

George frowned. "That's weird."

"Unh-hunh." Dawn nodded and bounced up and down on her stool.

"Every reaper I know in the division for pets are all kids." George shrugged. "Since this guy owns a bookstore, I'm guessing he's not a kid."

Dawn stared at her.

"Hah. I knew guessed right," George smugly said.

"Pets?" Dawn asked. "There are reapers for pets?"

"So I guessed wrong then," George responded.

"And kids? They make dead kids become reapers?" Dawn seemed shaken by this new bit of information.

George looked away. "Yeah. All the ones I know about also died violently."

"My God," Dawn said in a horrified whisper.

"If it's any consolation, I don't think they stay around that long," George said. "I haven't seen Charlie in years, so he's probably moved on by now. At least I hope so."

Dawn silently sipped her coffee.

"I'm not a fan of that either," George said.

"I know."

George looked at her and saw that Dawn was looking back at her with some sympathy.

George waved it off. "So, if he doesn't reap people, and he doesn't reap pets, what's left? Plants? Minerals?"

"No minerals. No plants." Dawn was more subdued. "Actually, wait. Now that I think about it, he reaps something that could be vaguely plant-like in some circumstances."

"Plant-like?"

Dawn's smile made an escape, although it was much smaller than it was before. "Bryan reaps books."

George blinked. She coughed back the giggle that threatened to reach her mouth. Then she blinked some more. "Books?"

Dawn nodded as her smile broadened.

"How the hell—"

"Some books have souls," Dawn interrupted.

"How's that even possible?" George asked.

"Mystical books, mostly." Dawn nonchalantly shrugged.

"I see," George deadpanned.

Dawn squirmed.

"Let me guess," George said. "You went back to an old haunt, the kind of haunt you'd go to on Watcher business, to look for information on that squid monster, didn't you?"

Dawn's chin jutted forward. "So what if I did?"

"What did I tell you about—"

"I wasn't going behind your back and trying to land a paycheck from the Council, if that's what you're thinking," Dawn interrupted. "You were pretty clear with that no."

"I'm kind of having a hard time believing you," George said.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I was doing the research for us?" Dawn asked.

"Why would we need to know?" George asked. "It can't even see us. What it can't see, it won't attack. And even if it did see us, it can't actually kill us."

"You sure?" Dawn asked.

"I'm very sure it can't see us," George definitively answered.

"But you're not sure about the rest of it." Dawn waved an airy hand.

Dawn actually had me there. It was entirely possible this demon could destroy us in some way without even knowing we were there. While I was pretty sure that only bad, rule-breaking reapers like Cameron could be destroyed, I didn't actually know it for a fact.

"Also, I was thinking that a little research could help us get into crash positions," Dawn continued.

"Crash positions?" George asked.

Dawn regarded her with a gaze that was professional in nature. "I was hoping to get some estimates on the size of the body count we might expect. Of course, it's all theoretical because the last time one managed to survive the trip to our dimension was more than a century ago, which I already mentioned to you at some point. In any case, I figured if we knew ahead of time what to expect, we could make preparations to handle the workload. You know, maybe take some accrued vacation time rather than call in sick day after day. Or maybe set up a buddy system so none of us would have to face reaping the N'goth victims alone. Stuff like that."

"And maybe convince me that I should let you go play with the Council rather than let it get that bad?" George innocently asked.

Dawn tensed. "I wouldn't say no if that was a side benefit," she admitted.

George tapped her fingers on the Formica countertop. "And, did you find anything?"

Dawn's shoulders relaxed. "He only had two medieval demon compendiums, and neither one of them had anything on the N'goth. Not all that surprising because usually they're not a threat to anyone in this dimension. He wouldn't let me take a look at the truly mystical manuscripts, but he assured me that they didn't have anything either."

"He wouldn't let you look at any of those mystical books for yourself?" George asked.

Dawn winced. "He doesn't have too many. Only one or two at any given time. And all of the ones he has are reaped, or at least about to be reaped."

"So?" George asked.

"So now you're on board with me doing some research," Dawn smiled crookedly.

"I'm on board with you doing some research that might help us," George said. "Hell, you can research day and night about anything you want for all I care. As long as it isn't for your Council, we're cool. That still doesn't explain why he won't let you look at the mystical books, reaped or otherwise."

"Leaving a dead book around where anyone can find it is like leaving a dead body in a well," Dawn said with a shrug. "It'll certainly get you sick, and could actually kill you. He has to dispose of the book corpses right away after he's done reaping."

"This is just too weird," George remarked.

"Actually, makes a lot of sense to me," Dawn said. "Okay, at first it sounded weird, but once I thought about it for more than 10 seconds I could see why leaving dead mystical book around could cause a huge problem."

"I'll take your word for it." George checked her watch. "Shit. I have to get going."

"I'll walk you outside. Oh, and your coffee's on me, since I'm now job-having girl." Dawn paused before throwing the money on the counter. "I am job-having girl, right?"

"You want the job?" George asked.

"Yes."

"Then you're job-having girl," George responded. "And thanks for the coffee."

"Well, it's actually kind of a bribe," Dawn admitted as she got to her feet.

"Why? I said you could keep the job."

"My boss wants to meet you. Tomorrow if you can." Dawn giggled. "According to him, you're kind of famous, Toilet Seat Girl."

George came to an abrupt halt. "What?"

Dawn cackled. "He said you were known as Toilet Seat Girl. What's that about?"

"Don't call me that," George snapped as she pushed open the door and escaped the restaurant.

Dawn was still cackling as she followed George outside. "Seriously. 'Toilet Seat Girl'? I need to know what you did to deserve that nickname. A deep, soul-burning need."

George glared at Dawn. "Forget it."

"Then I'll ask Mason and Daisy," Dawn light-heartedly threatened.

"All right! All right!" George shouted. "If you have to know, I was killed by a flaming toilet seat that got ejected from the Mir space station and crashed to earth."

Dawn abruptly stopped laughing. "Oh."

"It's not like it's a secret." George added under her breath, "Obviously."

"That really sucks," Dawn said.

"I was 18," George softly added.

Dawn folded her arms and looked down at the sidewalk. "And I thought falling down my front steps and cracking my head open was bad way to go. And at 18? At least I got the college experience before I died."

George shrugged it off. "Hey, you didn't know."

Dawn uncomfortably cleared her throat. "I better let you get to work. See you in the morning?"

"As always," George answered.

Dawn gave a little wave and turned to head home.

George walked a few steps before she suddenly spun around. "Hey Dawn?"

Dawn stopped and turned. "Yeah?" she called back.

"Why reap books?" George asked.

Dawn ambled back to George. "That's what I asked."

"What did he say?"

Dawn stopped in front of her. "He said that sometimes old books have to die because old ideas need to die. It's to make room for new ideas."

"Hunh."

"Yeah." Dawn nodded. "That's what I said."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You would think a bookstore specializing in ancient manuscripts and antique books that's owned by a reaper whose specialty is reaping mystical books with souls would be located in some out-of-the-way neighborhood on a narrow, nearly abandoned street.

But you would be wrong.

You would also think that such a bookstore wouldn't have a listing in the Yellow Pages, let alone have a Web site detailing the proprietor's expertise in locating hard-to-find, one-of-kind collectables and a detailed list of his inventory.

But you would be wrong again.

You would also think that this theoretical bookstore would have a mysterious-sounding name that only hints at what it sells, but doesn't come right out and say it.

And once again, wrong.

Welcome to The Lonely Book, a boutique specializing in books looking for a good home and owners that will love them in same way that Delores loves cats.

Hey, don't look at me. I read that right on the Web site. Well, not the part about Delores and cats, obviously. But the fact that the Web site clearly talked about books as if they were living things that needed to be loved and taken care of made perfect sense in a crazy way. It's precisely the attitude that you'd expect from a bookstore proprietor who also happened to be a reaper that reaped books.

Not that I was having an easy time accepting the idea that some books have souls. Since I was definitely walking in unexplored territory, I thought it was best if I didn't ask too many questions and just went with it.

As for the location, Bryan Wassermann had set up shop on prime real estate right in the heart of downtown Seattle. I can't imagine that he had a whole lot of foot traffic, since I suspected that rare manuscripts and antique books were probably not in the realm of affordable. His mail-order business had to phenomenal.

Unless he was engaged in the time-honored tradition of reapers everywhere and was squatting on the real estate.

Okay, probably not.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

George frowned at the sign that said, "Open on Saturdays by appointment only."

She crossed her arms, looked around, and wondered why she agreed to come.

Oh, who am I kidding? I just wanted to see what a book reaper looks like.

She tried the door, but it was locked tight.

"The only way to get in is if you have the key with you," Dawn's voice said behind her.

"Which I assume you have," George sighed.

Dawn flashed a key ring at her along with a cheeky grin. "I am the key."

"He already gave you keys, hunh? You've been working for him, what? One day? Trusting guy," George remarked.

"Isn't there some kind of omertà that forbids reapers from betraying other reapers?" Dawn asked as she worked to unlock the door.

"Last I checked, we weren't the mafia."

"Could've fooled me," Dawn remarked as she pulled open the door.

The Lonely Book had a shop bell that tinkled with a silvery sound as the door opened. George couldn't resist looking up to see it as she walked over the threshold.

"The bell's made of blessed silver to keep away practitioners in dark magicks," Dawn explained as if the concept meant a damn thing to George. "If any of those losers try to get in they'll find out pretty quickly that they won't be able to step foot in the store."

"Gee, anything else I should know about?" George asked with half-hearted sarcasm.

"There's a few wards scattered around the place, but that's mostly a passive defense system to prevent people with evil intent from finding the store. The Web site has the same deal, so no bad guys can come in that way either since the only thing they'll get is a 404 Error. There's also a repel circle around the entire block that'll cause any attempted attack on the store to fizzle before it can do any damage," Dawn answered. "Other than that, Bryan's got shaman on retainer to regularly cleanse the space of any negative influences. Pretty lightly protected, all things considered."

George blinked at Dawn. "I was thinking something more along the line of burglar alarms."

"Silent. Goes right to the police station," Dawn automatically answered.

And so I took my first step into Dawn's world. It was a world where magic was not only real, but used as easily as someone might scratch the tip of their nose. In this world, magic didn't make all your fairytale dreams come true. In this world, magic was used to keep potential bad guys from buying your stuff, and potential thieves from stealing your stuff.

I see plenty of weird shit every day. Hell, I experience weird shit every day. The Lonely Book was already shaping up to be the weirdest shit of all, made all the weirder because everything was so normal. Even the magic bits that no one could see or sense were used for nothing more than the unbelievably mundane, like it was a useful tool to keep in your tool box and nothing more than that.

Dawn's ease with the situation showed that, for her, this was what passed for normal.

It made my skin crawl, to be honest.

"Bryan's probably in the office," Dawn said as she took off for the back of the store.

"Hey!" George called after her, but Dawn had already disappeared in the stacks.

"So much for that," George muttered as she looked around.

For a space that supposedly had so much ooky magic dripping from the ceiling, the bookstore looked shockingly like a normal, independent bookshop. There were comfortable chairs festooned with a generous number of throw pillows scattered around the open area in front of the store. The desk at the front had a computer, but she couldn't see anything resembling a cash register. There was, however, a small cappuccino machine where a cash register would be.

Although she was afraid to do it, George took a few hesitant steps away from the sunlight streaming through the large windows revealing the hustle and bustle of the street outside and entered one of the aisles. Here The Lonely Book lost some of its sense of normalcy. The shelves were carefully stocked with all manner of thick, leather-bound books with gold lettering on their spines. They looked expensive, and George was willing to bet they felt expensive.

"Wow," George quietly remarked as she turned in a circle and strained her neck to look at the very topmost shelves.

"Ah, Ms. Lass. So good to finally meet you," a male voice boomed behind her.

"I didn't touch anything," George protested as she spun around.

Bryan, thank God, actually looked like the kind of guy who'd own a bookstore. George wasn't sure how she'd react if he looked like the kind of guy who should be a lumberjack.

Dawn peered around Bryan at George. "Bryan, this is the famous Georgia Lass. George, Bryan Wassermann."

"I think I got that," George said.

"It's a pleasure. Now if you'll excuse me a moment." Bryan looked down at Dawn. "I have some excellent news. My buyer for the Fantastical Beasties of North Umbria by Sir Eldred the Uncertain has agreed to my price."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Collectors," she said with the same tone that some people might say "bugs".

Bryan indulgently chuckled. "The manuscript hardly cares that it'll be nothing more than a lesser jewel in a collection."

"It's just a shame that all that beautiful illumination work is going to be locked in a private residence instead of on display at the Metropolitan Museum of Art," Dawn grumbled.

"Um, not to sound stupid or anything," George interrupted, "but isn't that the kind of thing you'd be all over when you were alive?"

Bryan and Dawn burst out laughing.

"That's a no, I guess," George mumbled.

"Eldred the Uncertain was…" Dawn's laughing voice trailed off as she mimed guzzling from a bottle. "I'm totally shocked that pink elephants don't make an appearance in any of his books."

"Ah. So not exactly the Time-Life publisher of his day," George said.

Bryan cleared his throat. "In more positive developments, it turns out that our client is equally interested in the text of the manuscript."

Dawn was immediately on alert. "He reads Latin?"

"Hardly," Bryan waved a dismissive, elegantly manicured hand. "He agreed to pay an additional sum for a translation."

Dawn's eyes shined as they widened and she clasped her hands. "You mean I get to look at that beautiful art for a few hours?"

Bryan draped a friendly arm around Dawn's shoulders. "I knew taking you on was a wise decision. Already your presence is bearing financial fruit."

"That better be the only fruit it's bearing," George bristled.

Bryan's aimed a slight understanding smile at George. "Rest assured, it is."

Dawn grinned at her. "I'm the wrong gender."

"Ah." George blinked. "Oh. Okay. Not that it's really any of my business or anything."

"As you will be doing the translation work, I think it's appropriate to pay you a percentage of the additional billing. Say 20%?" Bryan removed his arm from around Dawn. "I'm certain you won't say no to an additional $1,200 as a bonus."

Dawn squealed with delight as George's jaw dropped.

Fuck me. I need to learn a second language. Preferably one no one speaks any more.

"As you settle down for such a tedious slog, I hope you don't mind if I steal your boss away for a chat." Bryan winked at George.

"So you can promise that I'll behave?" Dawn seemed amused.

"Among other things," Bryan said.

"Have fun, you two." Dawn waved them away. It was clear from her distracted manner that her mind was already on the translation job ahead.

"Excellent. Ms. Lass I know this most charming café around the corner and just down the street," Bryan said as he swooped by George. "They sell the most delightfully strong coffee and the flakiest pastries."

"Unh, yeah. Sure," George said as she waved a quick good-bye to Dawn and turned to follow him. "And it's George, not Ms. Lass, okay?"

"Fair enough," Bryan agreed as he held the door open for George and turned to lock it behind him.

"Just so you know, I already know that Dawn was a regular customer when she was alive," George said.

"She's being honest with you. Excellent," Bryan said as he gestured in the direction they'd be going. "I've worked with her for some years starting with her time at Oxford via my online presence. Very reliable client. Highly knowledgeable. Always knew what she was looking for, and was always able to provide me with particulars for her requests. A veritable dream of a client, I assure you. I was positively delighted when I learned she was moving here."

"Hmmm, she didn't say you two went back that far," George said with irritation as she fell into step next to Bryan.

"It hardly matters now, surely," Bryan said.

"I guess not."

"I had heard she had died some months ago, but when I saw her walk into my shop the other day I stupidly assumed I'd been mislead," Bryan continued. "You must understand, people in her former line of work must sometimes play possum when they attract too much of the wrong kind of attention. Then, after a few months, they resurface without any explanation."

"So when you jumped to a conclusion, the word 'reaper' didn't even cross your mind." George barely could keep the doubt out of her voice.

"I don't have to tell you that becoming a reaper, or should I say, being chosen to become a reaper, is hardly a common occurrence," Bryan said as he turned a corner.

George followed him a few more steps and froze.

"What is it?" Bryan asked.

As I stared down the street, I realized that we were less than seven blocks away from the spot where I died. It isn't like I actively avoided the area…well…okay, I did actively avoid the area but it wasn't an entirely conscious thing. To suddenly be standing in a spot where a 20-minute walk would take me right to the crossroads where a piece of Mir fell on my head felt like a straw settling on a camel's back.

Light dawned in Bryan's expression. "Oh. Forgive me. I should've realized that this area would hold bad memories for you. If you wish, we can go else—"

"No, it's okay," George interrupted. "My love of coffee trumps everything."

Bryan looked like was debating something in his head. He looked around and smiled. "Ahhh, there it is." He waved at a group of umbrella-covered tables on the sidewalk. "That charming café I raved on about is right here."

Bryan was lying through his teeth. That didn't stop me from being grateful.

George followed him to one of the tables. As soon as they settled in their chairs, one of the café waitresses appeared to take their order. She soon returned with large coffees and pastries. Through it all, Bryan kept up chatter about his business and how Dawn was such a marvelous get for him because now he could offer translation services for his less-than-select clientele with too much money in their bank accounts.

"Which means people like Dawn were your real clientele," George interrupted as she picked at her chocolate croissant.

"Certainly among my most cherished," Bryan said as he scanned the street.

George noticed that. "Looking for someone?"

As Bryan leaned toward her, his studied cultured manner disappeared. All it took was a subtle change of expression, and a slight tenseness in his shoulders to reveal that even though he reaped books, he was still a reaper just like her. "I probably shouldn't be doing this, but I'm going to anyway."

Welcome to Reaper Rebellion. This Olympic event will involve a tag team of reapers dancing on the high wire above a pit of ravenous gravelings. Will they touch the Gold, or will they fall in the barrel of suck? Let's watch and find out.

George leaned back and studied him. "Shouldn't be doing what? Employing Dawn?"

"My supervisor assures me that employing Dawn doesn't pose a problem. Given her background, he was highly enthusiastic about the prospect. All the better to keep an eye on her," Bryan said in a low voice.

"You hired her to spy on her?" George asked.

Bryan motioned for her to keep her voice down. "I work under the auspices of the supernatural division."

"You son of a bitch," George snarled at him.

Bryan winced. "I suspect your antipathy toward supernatural division involves more than just Dawn."

"What the fuck is wrong with you guys?" George demanded. "We're stuck doing your jobs. Why don't you get more reapers so that all the other non-supernatural reapers in Seattle aren't getting your post-its piled on top of their own?"

"It's not that simple," Bryan said. "Adding new numbers to our contingent has to be done cautiously and with great care in selecting candidates. The balance, you know."

"Yeah, yeah. The balance between life and death. I've been dead long enough that I've memorized the speech," George huffed as she crossed her arms. "Still doesn't explain what the fuck happened that people like me are doing your reaps."

"Not my reaps," Bryan held up a finger, "I only reap books."

"Your coworkers then," George snapped.

"It's more than just balance between life and death. There are other balances that must be considered," Bryan said. "Unfortunately, these other balances were thrown off some years ago. We did plan for it. We began building up ranks as quickly as we dared as soon as the population of mystically endowed and aware persons exploded. Unfortunately," here he shrugged, "we misjudged the time it would take for chaos to reach a crescendo."

"Which means the shit rolled downhill," George complained. "Fun-fucking-tastic. Sometimes I think I'm actually working for Punk'd instead of Death."

"If it's any consolation, life and death are self-correcting systems," Bryan apologetically offered. "A new balance will be restored, and although the new balance will bear little resemblance to the old, there will be balance. Once the crisis is past, most reapers will never see a supernatural death again."

George was not mollified. "That's not true for us poor suckers who deal with death by external influences, though."

Bryan blinked at her.

"Don't look at me like I'm stupid." George leaned forward. "Dawn may have died by pitching headfirst down a set of concrete stairs, but she knows all about this bullshit. She wound up in my crew, not in the supernatural division. There may not always be a reason for a death, but Death never does anything without one. I knew even before she was reaped that we were going to be stuck looking at ugly-ass vampires and other monsters for a looooong time."

"And once again, I can offer some consolation on this front." Bryan winced. "Once the crisis is past, at best your people will only have to do the occasional supernatural-related reap. Innocent bystanders, people in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the like. You won't be called upon to get involved with persons of mystical interest."

"That's not an improvement," George growled.

"It can't go back to what it once was. I'm sorry." And Bryan actually did seem sorry about it.

George blew a harsh breath out of her nose. "You also keep using the word 'crisis'."

Bryan tapped on the table, "Yes."

"Are you going to tell me? Or is it going to be surprise?"

"I shouldn't be doing this," Bryan mumbled.

"Doing what?" George demanded.

Bryan took a deep breath. "I want to be clear. Technically I'm not breaking any rules by telling you what I'm about to tell you. There's nothing specifically saying that I can't share information with another reaper, and my boss hasn't warned me against telling a fellow reaper what I know."

And awaaaaaaay we go.

George tensed. "But we're about to see how far the rules can bend, aren't we?"

"I'm sorry I'm being so hesitant about this," Bryan said. "Although the rules for reapers in the supernatural division aren't quite as strict as for reapers elsewhere, the cost of stepping over the line is," he nervously swallowed hard enough to make his Adam's apple dance, "much harsher for us than it is for reapers in other divisions."

George clutched her coffee cup to hide her nervousness. "And whatever you want to tell me is important enough that you're willing to risk it."

"There's an apocalyptic battle coming."

George sat in silence as she tried to process what Bryan just said. Even though she knew what all the individual words meant, putting them together in a sentence made the words lose any kind of sense.

"In two weeks most likely, three weeks at most. There isn't a reaper in Seattle who'll be spared from working when it happens," Bryan said.

"You need to talk to Dawn," George numbly said. "She's the expert. I don't…what I mean is…I just don't know. Anything. At all. It's like you're speaking in a foreign language."

"I can't tell Dawn," Bryan said. "She would be compelled to do something about it."

George stared at her pastry and coffee cup without really seeing them. "It's that squid demon of hers. It's involved right up to its evil tentacles. Dawn said this would happen. I should've let her—"

"No," Bryan quickly interrupted. "You were right. You acted appropriately."

George shook her head. She wasn't exactly seeing it that way.

"Saving the world is the sole province of the living. Only the living can create life. It's an immutable rule," Bryan explained. "We are neither dead, nor alive. Our sole province is to help the living put down their burdens at the proper time and place and move on to wherever it is they go once they embrace their lights."

"I think you mean watch while they get slaughtered." George felt the overwhelming need to cry, but she sure as shit wasn't going to do it in front of a reaper from supernatural division.

"That's all we're allowed to do." Bryan reached out and grasped George's wrist. "If we got involved in this, the consequences would be…they'd be…"

George looked up and Bryan. He looked as heartbroken as she felt.

"Tragic," he added in a whisper. "We can't intervene and we can't interfere. It would bring down terror of biblical proportions on the living and dead alike because the balance would be upset beyond recovery. Only the living can save the world, or fail in the attempt."

"And if they fail?" George asked.

"Then we'll do our jobs and wait for the day when life pushes back," Bryan said. "When it does, we'll be here waiting."

That shouldn't have made me feel any better, but in a strange way it did. I couldn't exactly explain why.

"You can't tell Dawn," Bryan insisted.

"Dawn's already guessed it's coming," George countered.

"Guessing isn't the same as knowing." Bryan once more scanned the streetscape. "If you tell Dawn, there's always a chance word would get back to a reaper in my division."

"And you might end up fucked for it. Fine. My lips are sealed," George grudgingly agreed.

"I best get back to—" Bryan moved to stand, froze, and immediately sat back down.

George resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. "What is it?"

"Something you should know, and this I can tell you without worrying about any repercussions." Bryan focused on her. "You should know that Dawn's people are dangerous."

"Dawn's people," George repeated. "You mean the crowd she hung with when she was alive."

"Exactly."

"To us? In what way?" George asked.

"They notice things," Bryan answered.

"Ummmm, can you explain what you mean by that? Because I know they can't see us as reapers already," George said. "When I pulled the go-talk-to-your-Slayer shit on Dawn, her Slayer had no clue who she was."

"What I mean is that our ability to do our jobs is rooted in the normal blind spots most people have," Bryan said. "They may notice how a complete stranger engages them in conversation, or brushes against them, or a slight distortion as their souls slide out of their bodies, or the slight tingling sensation as their souls are reaped. They may notice how they suddenly and implicitly trust you, a complete stranger that they've only just met, and how they so willingly share with you what they would never willingly tell their loved ones. They may even notice a shadow where it shouldn't be as a graveling scurries away from the scene. They may notice all of these things, but they don't make any connections to themselves or to people around them. It's sensed and dismissed as unimportant."

"And Dawn's old crowd doesn't do that," George said.

"They don't dismiss oddities like others do, no," Bryan said. "They may not understand precisely what it is they see, but they do remember. They store the odd moments away in the back of their minds and subconsciously puzzle over what they've seen until they create a mental pattern that makes sense to them. Then they have a distressing tendency to act, if action is at all possible."

"Can they hurt us?" George asked.

"They can cause…problems." Bryan delicately coughed. "They can't destroy us, no. But don't underestimate their abilities, and for heaven's sake don't assume that if they seem otherwise normal — chosen profession aside — that they're going to miss or dismiss anything you might do in their presence. And don't assume they won't take action if they see something they don't like. I've seen even the mice of the supernatural world roar, and Dawn did not associate with mere mice at any point in her life."

George sat up. "Her sister's coming, isn't she?"

"I don't know for sure."

George's eyes narrowed.

Bryan spread his hands. "I honestly don't."

"So you're warning me, just in case," George sarcastically said.

"I'm warning you because all of Dawn's former associates are dangerous, and there's a very large facility of those same people stationed in this city. Anyone walking the streets right at this very moment could be one of them, so I urge you to be very careful," Bryan explained with great intensity. "There's a very good reason why the supernatural division has long been isolated from other reapers, and a very good reason why the rules are different for us."

George sat back and studied Bryan. "This just keeps getting better and better."

Chapter 9: Chapter 9

By the time Bryan left to go back to his shop, I was pretty thoroughly wiped. I mean, the hell? An apocalypse? That piece of news alone had me wanting to crawl into my bed and hide under the covers. And it was going to happen in Seattle. Seattle. Why here? Why in my home? Of all places on earth, it had to be here. I was relieved that my mother and my sister moved to a different city months ago. I had no family left to worry about.

No matter how many times Bryan said he didn't know if Dawn's sister was going to show up in the middle of the mess, my gut told me that her sister was going to be running around city and that Dawn would see her doing just that before it was all over.

I think it was the fact that I couldn't tell anyone about what was coming, or at least I couldn't tell anyone until it was time to pass out the post-its. Or maybe it was because I knew I'd have to act like I was brave when I really wasn't when it all went down.

I decided I was going to walk by the scene of my death.

Don't ask me how, but I had convinced myself that if I couldn't suck it up and walk by the spot where I died, then I probably wouldn't be able to face an apocalypse.

Yeah, I don't understand what was going through my head either.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

George kept her head down and ordered her feet to keep moving. All she had to do was walk by the corner. She didn't have to actually look at it. Looking at it was just a little bit more than she could probably handle.

But she was going to do this. She was.

George stopped and glared at the sidewalk. "Ah, who the fuck am I kidding? This is stupid."

She turned on her heel and began to walk back.

"Millie!"

George didn't even register the shout.

"Millie!"

This time the voice was close enough to cut through her mental fog.

"Hunh?" George's head snapped up and she looked around.

"I thought that was you." Xander jogged over to her.

"What are you doing here?" George asked with surprise.

He awkwardly came to a stop. "Meeting someone. A someone who's a half-hour late, I might add, so she's probably not going to show."

George couldn't resist grinning. Normal. This was normal. She needed normal right about now. It didn't get any more normal than some guy getting stood up, even if the guy had an eye patch and had two one-night stands with her in the somewhat recent past. "Blind date?"

Xander made a 'pffft' sound. "Hardly. One of my students."

"So field trip, then," George sarcastically said. "Just so you know my dad and my mom ended up divorced because my dad took too many field trips with a student."

Xander's jaw dropped. "Isn't a high school teacher going out with a student grounds for arrest? Or at least getting fired?"

"She was over 18," George said. "He was a college professor."

Xander made a face. "It's still an abuse of his position."

George couldn't help but laugh. "I guess you really are going on a legitimate field trip."

Xander shook his head. "Not exactly that, either. More like an intervention."

"Oh?" George asked.

"She's in serious danger of getting alcohol poisoning."

"Ooops." George winced. "Sorry about me busting your balls.

Xander looked toward a small, elevated garden with benches in the center.

That's when I realized that I had actually forgotten where I was. What's more, I was looking right at the spot where I died. I had looked without even thinking. It was so strange to look at, especially since I was older and deader.

"So much for that urban legend." Xander shook his head and looked back at her.

George blinked at him. "Unh, urban legend? What urban legend?"

Xander crookedly smiled at her. "You haven't heard it?"

"Obviously not."

"According to some of my students, if you sit on a bench in that memorial over there and just let your mind wander, the ghost of Georgia Lass will get you the help you need, although it might not be the help you want," Xander said with a broad grin.

George stared at him a beat. "What?"

"Yeah, I know, I know." Xander progressed to a chuckle. "The urban legend is very legend."

George didn't even hear him. "What?"

Xander blinked at her. "Y'know, most people when they hear about an urban legend that can't possibly be true, they laugh it off. They don't stare at you in horror and keep asking, 'What'."

George shook herself. "What?"

"There's that word again," Xander remarked.

Where does shit like this even come from? And my ghost is supposed to be some kind of wish-granting genie? Well I'm still fucking here, and I sure as hell haven't been granting any wishes. If I could do that, I'd start by granting me some wishes.

"You know that urban legend is total bullshit, right?" George demanded.

"Whoa. Sorry." Xander held up his hands. "I didn't know I stepped on a sore spot. So I guess you actually knew her."

"Knew who?" George asked as she fought to keep her temper under control.

"Georgia Lass," Xander hesitantly responded.

"N-n-no. No," George stuttered as she shook her head. "Didn't know her at all. I know someone who knew her. A little. My boss at Happy Time, Delores, I think hired her for a temp job. Or something like that. I don't know for sure. But me? No. I didn't know her."

"Let me guess, you're one of those realists and superstition pisses you off." Xander sounded amused.

George forced a smile on her face, and gave a curt nod. "Exactly. If more people started accepting reality, the world would be a better place."

"Well, I figured it couldn't hurt," Xander shrugged. "At the absolute worst, I'd spend some time in the sunshine sitting in the middle of flowers staring at the brass sundial in the center of the memorial. Not a bad way to spend part of the day, even if it turned out that I had totally wasted my time."

"If you're wishing on non-existent ghosts, I guess life still sucks, hunh?" George asked.

Xander looked back at the memorial, almost as if he were a little fascinated by it. "It hasn't gotten easier, if that's what you mean. In some ways, it's gotten a lot harder." When he looked back at her, he was almost smiling. "On the upside, I'm out of the motel and in my own apartment. Plus, I'm finally car- and driver's license-having."

"Baby steps, right?" George uncomfortably looked over her shoulder. "I, unh, should be going. I've got a lot of stuff to do."

"Oh! Sure. Sorry," Xander apologized. "It was nice seeing you again, Georgia."

George's head snapped around to face him. "What?"

"Sorry. Millie. I meant Millie." Xander looked embarrassed. "I guess I have Georgia Lass on the brain, since I've been sitting in the middle of her memorial and all."

Just so long as you keep her in your brain, no one will get hurt.

"Bye," George quickly said as she turned away.

"Wait, before you go," Xander began.

"I…I really have a lot of things to do," George stuttered.

"Well I was wondering…dinner sometime?" Xander thrust his hands in his pockets and uncomfortably shuffled.

"Dinner?"

Xander's expression brightened. "Yeah. I figure I owe you. I know it might not seem it, what with my life still in the suck, but you really did help me out."

"I...I…don't know," George said as she began surreptitiously looking around for an escape route. For whatever reason, her reaper ability to blend in with the crowd and not be noticed had evaporated.

"Just dinner. That's all," Xander promised.

Just agree with the nice man, and he'll let you get away without any fuss.

"Ummm, okay. Depends on the day," George hesitantly agreed.

Xander paused a moment before pulling out a pen and the kind of small notepad someone would use to jot down notes. "I have some downtime Friday night. Here's my cell number. If something comes up, or if you can't make it just let me know." He glanced up from his writing as he tore the sheet out of the notepad. "If you call and say you can't, no hard feelings, okay?"

George gingerly took the piece paper. "No harm no foul."

"Exactly." Xander uncertainly looked at her. "It really was good seeing you again, Millie."

George folded the paper and stuffed in her pocket. "Unh, thanks."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I planned to throw away his number. I had every intention of doing it. Getting too involved with the living beyond what was necessary was a bad idea. That's not just me parroting Rube, that's me talking from experience. The phone number in my pocket was a ticking time bomb just waiting to blow up in my face and I knew it.

Good intentions I had, but I didn't act on them. I had three reaps that day that required me to crisscross the city in some heavy weekend traffic. In between reaps, I kept playing my conversation with Bryan over and over in my head. By the time I crawled into bed, I had completely spaced on the fact that I still had Xander's number crumpled up in the middle of some bills that I had thrown on top of my dresser; that I hadn't actually thrown it away like I planned.

Saturday become Sunday, and I didn't give Xander or the phone number another thought.

By the time Monday rolled around, I was occupied by even bigger problems.

Our three-reaps-a-day workload had become a four reaps. Dawn was assigned all the normal, old-fashioned deaths that all happened during daylight hours. Daisy, Mason, and I got all the supernatural ones that happened after dark. It was a sure sign that Someone didn't want Dawn getting within sniffing distance of an apocalypse that I knew was coming.

Although I didn't reap any victims of the face-ripping squid demon, most nights I was close enough to it that I could see it moving between the buildings. Every night I could hear it scream. I spent half of every one of those nights diving for cover, closing my eyes, and covering my ears as if that alone was enough to wish the monster away.

It seemed to me that the demon was so big and so noisy, that someone somewhere had to have noticed it. Yet, the evening news (when I had a chance to see it) and the newspaper only made mention of gas leaks all over the city that was causing some kind of mass hallucination. There were completely unrelated articles and bits of news that speculated about a serial killer who removed the front half of his victims' heads. It didn't make any sense at all. How can anyone not notice when there's a giant squid-monster walking around a city and make the connection to the bodies? How is that even possible?

It didn't help that Dawn said that it was not only possible, it was actually normal. While I was shocked that she didn't expect things to be any different, she was shocked that I did expect things to be different. After all, she said, who the hell notices us when we're out reaping?

Daisy got stuck with a reap related to the giant squid at 2 a.m. Tuesday morning. When she completed her reap and sent the victim off to his lights, she went straight to my place. She pounded on my door and demanded to be let in. When I did, she stumbled into my apartment and began to hysterically cry. All I could do was hug her until she calmed down. There wasn't much else I could do for her.

Mason's turn came the next day. He turned up on my doorstep drunk and high. He had full liquor bottles in each hand and a backpack full of pills. He handed me a bottle, collapsed onto my couch, and then proceeded to get absolutely shit-faced with the kind of grim determination people get when they're fighting for their lives. He ended up passed out on my couch muttering about evil, giant squids. There wasn't much else I could do for him, either.

When Friday rolled around, I grabbed the crumpled bills off the top of my dresser without looking at them and stuffed them in my pocket in my rush to get out the door. As I made my way over to the Pancake Stack that morning, I wondered how much more any of us could take. All four of us were already stressed out, exhausted, and half-crazy.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

George slid into their regular booth at the Pancake Stack without saying a word under the combined nervous gazes of Mason, Daisy, and Dawn.

"Well?" Daisy asked.

George flipped open her Day Planner. "They changed the pattern today."

Mason slumped down in the booth. "Please tell me that means fewer reaps."

"Same number for each of us as always," George said.

"I wouldn't call that a change, Georgia," Daisy said.

"I'm on normal reaps today, all daylight hours," George said.

This caused Mason and Daisy to grumble.

"Don't look at me. All of our reaps have been assigned since Dawn came on board," George tiredly explained. "I've got zero leeway."

"So this is my fault."

George looked up, ready to snap at Dawn for getting defensive. Dawn's guilty expression showed that getting defensive was probably the last thing on her mind.

"No," George quietly assured her. "It's not your fault at all."

Dawn looked doubtful, like she wasn't sure if she should believe her boss.

George began ripping post-its out of the Day Planner. "Four for you. Four for you. And four for you."

Dawn picked at her post-its. "If you've got the normal reaps, I'm guessing all of mine are supernatural, right?"

"All yours are straight-up vampire reaps. Nothing bigger or badder than that," George said as she wondered when she began thinking of vampires as small potatoes barely worth worrying about.

Dawn bit her lip and looked up at George. "Any of them Slayers?"

"How the fuck should I know?" George asked shortly.

Dawn's jaw line began to work. "I won't reap Slayers."

"Don't have a choice, darling," Mason said as he laid his head down on the table. "They've got a post-it. They're as good as snuffed whether you do your job or not."

"This is bullshit," Dawn said as she leaned back and crossed her arms.

I was not in the mood for this.

George glared at Dawn as she leaned forward. "I've already gone over this, but since you've decided that you won't reap certain kinds of people, I'll go over it again," she said in a low, angry voice. "If you save your reap from getting killed, their soul will slowly die and then begin to rot inside their unharmed body. While I haven't seen it happen myself—"

"I have," Daisy raised a hand. "Charles Manson, anyone?"

Mason, Dawn, and George stared at Daisy.

"Don't tell me you blew him, too," George finally said.

Daisy shuddered. "Good God, no. His soul was already dead by the time I knew him during my thankfully brief time in Haight-Ashbury. Necrophilia is just disgusting."

"Anyone else think it's weird that someone who died more than 70 years ago is squicked out by necrophilia?" Dawn asked.

Now Mason, Daisy, and George stared at Dawn.

"So it's just me then," Dawn mumbled.

"Stop changing the subject," George said.

"I heard you," Dawn snapped. "There's no fighting the almighty post-it. My options are: save the body, condemn the soul to die and rot; don't save the body, and leave the soul inside where it will be trapped and suffer like it's buried alive; or do my frickin' job."

"Which means you will…" George prompted.

"Do my job, even if it is a Slayer," Dawn grumbled.

"Glad we understand each other," George said. "Now all of you go away. I need to get in the mindset to face Happy Time, and that means I need to be alone with my coffee."

"I'm getting some sleep," Daisy declared as she shooed George out of the booth so she could leave.

"Right behind you," Mason agreed as he followed Dawn out of the booth.

"You're sleeping in your own bed, Mason," Daisy said. "Mine is off-limits."

It was pretty damn clear to George that Mason wasn't making any of his usual innuendos, so she had to admire the way Mason drew himself up and threw himself into the game anyway. "It's never too late to change your mind."

"Ugh. Will you two just have sex already?" Dawn asked with rolled eyes. "I'm really getting sick of the Sam-and-Diane crap."

"Now that's bloody insulting, that is," Mason said with faux outrage, even as tired as he was. "I think we're more akin to Bogey and Bacall."

"I knew Humphrey Bogart. I blew Humphrey Bogart. Well, by 'blew' I mean thank him for helping me get a part as an extra in Swing Your Lady where he played such a charming scoundrel," Daisy said.

Mason and Dawn exchanged glances as began heading for the Pancake Stack door.

George bit her tongue to stop herself from laughing out loud.

Daisy crossed her arms and glared after Mason and Dawn as they left the restaurant. "They left. They left before I completed my witty put-down."

"You need to actually say the put-down before you get sidetracked into talking about your old boyfriends," George deadpanned.

Daisy sighed as she turned to follow the others. "And if I wasn't bone-tired, I wouldn't be blowing my punch lines."

"And yet, you're still getting more sleep than me," George grumbled as reached in her pocket to get some dollar bills to throw on the table.

As the bills came out of my pocket, I finally noticed that folded and wrinkled mysterious piece of paper. When I opened it, I realized that I had not thrown out Xander's number like I thought. I still had it on me. What was more, Someone had arranged things so that I would be completely free to take Xander up on his offer.

George suspiciously peered up at the ceiling. "What the fuck are you up to now?" she mumbled.

"What was that?" Kiffany asked as she materialized with a full coffee pot in hand.

George startled. "Nothing. Warm me up."

As Kiffany poured, she noticed the paper with Xander's name and phone number. "A man gave you his phone number. You lucky girl."

"I dunno. I'm not so sure," George said.

Kiffany stood up, coffee pot at the ready. "Something wrong with him?"

"No. No, nothing like that," George said. "He's perfectly nice." She tilted her head and studied the number some more. "I'd even go so far as to say that he's interesting."

"So are you going to call him?" Kiffany asked.

"I reeeaaaaally don't know," George said.

Kiffany put the pot on the table and regarded George with sympathy. "Bad timing?"

"You might say that." George reached out and crumpled the piece of paper into a ball. "I'm kind of in a weird place. Calling him would be a big mistake."

"Maybe it's the mistake you need to make."

George sharply glanced up at Kiffany's round, brown face. "You offering the advice as a waitress or because you've had a psychic flash?"

"I'm not psychic," Kiffany firmly said. "And I'm offering the advice based on what I know about one of my favorite customers."

"You're just saying that because you want a big tip," George lightly said.

"Is it working?"

"Maybe."

Kiffany hefted the pot. "All I know is that you're too young to be carrying the whole world on your shoulders all the time. What have you got to lose? A few hours? Before you can live, you do need to actually live."

"I'll think about it," George said.

"Unh-hunh," Kiffany nodded as she moved on to the next table.

George stared at the balled-up paper in front of her.

Oh, what the hell.

She uncrumpled the paper and smoothed it out with her hands on the table. After studying the number for another minute, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed.

Xander picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Hey," George said as she began collecting her post-its, "is that offer for dinner still on?"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sometimes life is just like a commercial: Just do it.

Fuck the consequences. Fuck the complications. Fuck the problems. Just do it.

Go for the Gold. Reach for the brass ring. Take the plunge. All of that motivational bullshit that advertisers spout to get consumers to buy, buy, buy and not worry too much about tomorrow when the Visa bill comes due and you're already overdrawn at the bank.

Yet, despite the fact that I was flirting with disaster, I found that I was actually looking forward to someone trying to impress me by cooking me dinner.

I really walked into that one didn't I?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

George reached up to knock on the apartment door, but found herself pausing as she noticed the nametag above the apartment number.

"A. Harris?" she quietly asked. She checked the note she hastily scribbled to herself. According to her own handwriting, she had the right apartment. Besides, the last name was the same. Okay, not exactly a stretch since Harris wasn't an uncommon name. But how many Harrises could there be with this apartment number?

"Stop being so stupid," George grumbled to herself as she knocked.

The door flew open revealing a thankfully familiar face with eye patch. "Hey! Glad you could make it," Xander grinned at her.

"What's with the A. Harris on your door?" George asked.

"Because I qualify as a Harris?" Xander's face suddenly brightened. "Oh, the nametag. The A's for Alexander."

"But all your friends call you Xander," George said with a touch of sarcasm.

"Actually, everyone calls me Xander," he good-naturedly countered. "The only reason why I bother with Alexander at all is because that's the name on my birth certificate and passport, and because a lot of my mail has that name on the address label."

George poked her head into the apartment. "Smells good."

"Shhhh, don't jinx it. I think I finally have the oven beaten into submission," Xander said as he stepped aside to let George in. "If it realizes that I actually won, it might decide to do something evil. Like overcook the chicken."

"God knows we wouldn't want that to happen," said George as she stepped over the threshold. "So what am I smelling?"

"Generic baked chicken with various spices thrown on top and left at the mercy of my oven, which I'm half-convinced is possessed," Xander said. "It's hard to ruin chicken. Just ask Colonel Sanders."

George expectantly looked around the entrance hallway. "Nice. Not a lot of decoration."

"I think you mean no decoration," Xander counted. "I don't have much, and most of it is still in boxes. So, anyway, this is the entrance hall."

"I can see that."

Xander turned to lead her down the hall. "And in there is my kitchen. The only appliance that's actually evil is the oven. The others are perfectly safe."

"You really are obsessed with that oven," George said as the click of her boots echoed on the hardwood floor.

"The closed door at the end of the hall is a linen closet that has some linens in it only because I squeezed in a visit to Bad Bath & Beyond when I realized that I had one towel and no sheets." Xander led George through a doorway. "In here is the living room-slash-dining room. Please ignore the half-dozen scattered boxes containing everything I own." He pointed at a closed door. "That way is the bathroom." He pointed to another closed door. "That way is the bedroom, but the only thing in there is a sleeping bag because the furniture store keeps screwing up delivery of an actual bed." He spread his arms. "And that concludes the tour of my under-furnished cave."

"Comprehensive," George remarked. "I notice there's no actual dining room table in here."

Xander winced. "Stuck at the warehouse with my bed, yet weirdly, the couch got here on time. Hope you don't mind eating off a coffee table."

"As long as I'm not cooking, and the TV actually works, we're good." George gave him the thumbs up.

"My cable went live just today," Xander said. "Unless you'd rather hit up a movie after dinner."

George wasn't about to take a chance that she'd accidentally cross paths with the squid monster. After a week of hearing its screams and not being able to do a damn thing about it, she wanted to do everything possible to avoid seeing it for at least one night. "No, thanks. Hiding indoors from the world sounds exactly like the thing I need."

Xander seemed relieved. "After the week I've had, I'm really good with that."

"So why'd you offer?" George asked.

Xander hunched his shoulders. "In case you wanted to go out and do something."

"Um. Thanks." George's eyes desperately looked around in hopes of finding something to talk about. Awkward discussions about a mostly empty apartment had to be better than awkward silence. "It's a nice apartment. Lots of room. Big windows. Hardwood floors. Better than my cubbyhole, that's for sure."

"Certainly beats living out of a motel room, which I did for waaaay longer than was healthy," Xander said. He pointed at the boxes. "There are some DVDs in that box next to the one marked camping gear. All of them are housewarming gifts from my friends via the magic of Amazon. Take a look. If there's something in there you'd like to watch, we'll pop it in my secondhand DVD player."

"So you're piecing the apartment together using the secondhand method, hunh?" George asked.

"I didn't go to Africa owning a lot of stuff, and I barely collected anything beyond the basics while I was there," Xander said with a shrug. "Most of my secondhand crap I bought while still living at the Avalon Motor Inn, or right after I moved in here. It's safe to say that none of my dishes match, and my silverware and glasses are strictly Target specials."

"You really know how to impress a girl," George joked.

"I'm hoping that if I keep talking you won't notice the L branded on my forehead," Xander joked back.

"Loser is not the word that springs to mind," George assured him.

Xander ducked his head out of embarrassment, while George kicked herself.

Why did I think this was a good idea? When it comes to the whole boy-girl thing, I suck. I don't know how to flirt, I can't make small talk, and I have no fucking clue what to do when trapped in a potential dating situation. It's no wonder I died a virgin. The hell with that. It's no wonder that I didn't get my first kiss until after I was already dead.

"I better go check the chicken," Xander suddenly said.

"And I'll check that box for the DVDs," George said.

"Great," Xander said as he skittered out of the room.

"Please have something good. I don't think I can survive more painful conversation," George muttered as she approached the box Xander had indicated.

As I reached to open the box, I didn't hear the tell-tale soft click of the universe cocking the fuck-with-me gun and I didn't notice the universe aiming it right at my head.

Shocking, I know, especially since it had become such a familiar sound over the past six years.

George lifted the flap and looked inside. The DVD sets had been thrown in willy-nilly. As she began lifting them out, she realized that although Xander had lived a pretty cool life he was also a hopeless nerd. She spotted something called Babylon 5, another something called Farscape, Star Trek: Next Generation, the entire collection of Star Wars movies, and a few movies featuring superheroes ranging from Spiderman to Batman, among others.

She didn't spot the framed photograph until she took the final DVD set (Battlestar Galactica, Season 1) out of the box.

"What's this?" she quietly asked as she stared at the back of the facedown picture. She glanced over her shoulder. "How's it going in there?"

Xander popped his head into the living room. "Chicken needs a few more minutes, but I need to keep my eye on the couscous to make sure it won't overcook."

"Just wondering," George brightly said.

As soon as Xander retreated to the kitchen, George reached into the box and grabbed the picture.

When I got the big reveal, I knew the universe had scored a headshot.

Bang.

George was nearly hyperventilating as she hopped to her feet. Her eyes raked across the faces in the picture even as her brain insisted that she had to be hallucinating.

On the extreme left was an older guy and a redhead, both of whom seemed vaguely familiar. Next to the redhead was younger-looking Xander with his familiar eye patch. Then there was someone who looked an awful lot like Dawn's sister. And next to her was a very young-looking Dawn. They were all standing by the side of the road with their arms around each other and grinning goofily at the camera. A cornfield was in the background, so it was entirely possible the picture was taken before Xander started working in Africa.

"Shit!" George exclaimed in a whisper as she wildly looked around. "Shit, shit, shit. I'm so fucked."

"Hey," Xander said as he popped back into the living room. "The chicken's out of the oven and—"

George hid the picture behind her back.

Xander's mood shifted to concerned. "Is something wrong?"

George quickly shook her head.

His mood shifted to suspicious. "Then what's behind your back?"

I remembered what Bryan said. Dawn's people are dangerous. They notice things, the kind of things that other people might dismiss. I wondered what Xander had noticed about me, and I wondered how he was subconsciously moving those things around in his head. The last thing I needed was for him to add "habitual liar" to the list of facts he had already filed away about me.

"Oh. This." George reluctantly revealed the picture. "I found it in the box with the DVDs. I wasn't snooping or anything."

Xander relaxed. "I wondered where that disappeared. Guess I threw it in the wrong box."

"I found it…unh…it was under the Battlestar Galactica DVDs," George stuttered.

Xander came over and gently took the picture from her hands. "Millie, it's okay. I know you weren't snooping."

"Um, you do?" George asked.

"None of the other boxes are disturbed," Xander said as he looked down at the picture.

"Oh. I didn't think of that," George said.

He held the picture up so she could see it. "This is my family."

"Family?" George practically shouted the question.

"I'm not married," Xander quickly said.

"I didn't say you were," George nervously responded.

"Then what's with the shocked tone?" Xander asked.

"Taken by surprise, that's all," George said as she tried to come up with an excuse that would get her out of Xander's apartment within the next five minutes. "You never mentioned family."

"Well, none of us are related by blood if that's what you mean, but they're the family that counts," Xander said as he gently rubbed the glass over Dawn's face. He suddenly pointed at the older man on the extreme left. "That's Giles. He's the guy who actually runs the NGO I work for."

"The big boss friend you can't ask for help. Yeah, I remember," George said.

"And this is Willow," he pointed to the redhead. "I've known her since I was a few months old. That's me standing next to her. And the blonde girl next to me is Buffy. I've known her since high school. And the younger girl next to Buffy is her little sister, Dawn." He winced. "Sorry. Dawn was Buffy's sister."

"Was?" George asked.

Xander took a deep breath. "She died a few months back. A stupid accident, from what I hear. Fell headfirst down her front steps."

George frowned at him as it suddenly occurred to her that she didn't remember seeing Xander at Dawn's funeral. Granted she wasn't paying attention to a whole lot other than Dawn, but she was pretty sure that she'd have noticed a guy wearing an eye patch wandering around in the crowd.

Xander placed the picture on top of one of the boxes and stepped back. "I missed the funeral," he softly said, almost as if he had read her mind.

"Oh my God," George quietly said. "She's the person you lost. She's the one you didn't even know was dead until after she buried."

"Yeah," Xander quietly said. "A week after she was buried, in fact. I was on my way to Namibia on urgent business when the message that Dawn had died hit Gaborone, but by the time anyone found it I was long gone. There was no way anyone could reach me."

The way Xander related the information, like he had something to feel guilty about even though there was no reason why he should, pinged George's radar. There was something more here. She could feel herself getting angry on Dawn's behalf.

George folded her arms and studied Xander's profile. "So if it's not your fault, why are you acting like it is?"

Xander looked down. "To tell the truth, I'm not sure I would've gone even if I had known." He paused and looked momentarily confused. "I never told anyone that. I have no idea why I just told you."

George fought to keep the anger out of her voice. "So you would've given the funeral a miss because you two weren't all that close anymore?"

Xander's jaw tightened as he turned his head to look at her. "What?"

"The first time you mentioned this, you also mentioned that you had lost someone you used to be close to. Past tense," George said.

Xander pinched the bridge of his nose and apologetically said. "Oh. That's right. I did say that." He dropped his hand and went back to studying the picture. "That's not the reason. I did still care about her, and I'm still close to everyone else. If I could've gone, I would've. To be supporto-guy if nothing else."

"You keep contradicting yourself."

"The situation in Namibia really was an emergency, and I really did have to be there to straighten it out. There wasn't anyone else who had the experience or the ability to handle what was very quickly turning into a really bad situation." Xander sighed. "I guess I feel guilty because I'm glad that I didn't know about Dawn before I left Gaborone. It meant I didn't have to make a choice between friends who really needed me and my job."

And just like that, my anger deflated.

He was one of Dawn's people, which meant his "really bad situation" probably involved monsters that killed people, and his "job" was to stop that from happening. If that was the case, then Xander made the right decision.

Here's a tip: when given a choice between helping the living and honoring the dead, chose the living because the dead don't give a shit. Before the body's even cold, a soul is already long gone and off doing something else. The only thing left is a corpse, or what there is of it, and it might as well be a piece of furniture for all that it matters.

"So, let me get this straight," George carefully began, "you feel guilty about something you didn't actually do."

"It sounds stupid when you put it that way."

"No one can actually blame you for what happened." A light bulb went off over George's head. "Unless you are getting blamed and that's part of the reason why your life kind of sucks right now."

"No, everyone was pretty understanding after the fact," Xander said. "The only person who hasn't come around is one of Dawn's students, but she's been taking Dawn's death pretty hard overall and she's blaming everyone for what happened."

"Let me guess. She's the student on the verge of alcohol poisoning," George remarked.

Xander slowly nodded. "It's an old problem, too. Dawn took her in, and helped her get sober. When Dawn died," he shrugged, "she crawled right back into the bottle while everyone politely looked the other way and convinced themselves that she'd stop when she got over Dawn's death. I had to raise holy hell before anyone would admit that maybe this was a little bit more than just a really rough mourning period."

"Look, Xander—" George began.

She was interrupted by the trilling of a cell phone.

"Sorry," Xander apologized with a wince as he pulled his cell phone out of his jeans pocket. He groaned. "I really have to get this."

"Go ahead," George said.

She doubted Xander even heard her as he flipped open the phone and headed for his bedroom. "Yes?" he snapped.

He froze with his hand on the doorknob.

"What?" he asked in a horrified voice. "When?"

There was a pause before he again snapped, "What happened?"

Another pause as he opened the bedroom door. "I thought I said to keep her off the rotation until she twelve-stepped her way to sobriety. I don't care that it might take awhile."

He turned around and leaned against the living room wall with a horrified expression. "It appeared in Lynnwood? How the hell did it get there? Are you sure? Because it usually sticks pretty close to—"

He waved a hand as if the person he was talking to was standing in the room next to George. "All right, all right. I get it. Everyone else was busy and you didn't think you had a choice. Fine." He took a deep breath. "They're both alive. That's what counts."

He appeared to be listening. He nodded, even though the person he was talking to couldn't actually see him. "Right. On my way."

He snapped his cell phone shut and grimaced apologetically. "Millie, I'm really sorry but—"

"You have an emergency," George finished for him. "Sounds serious."

"You have no idea," Xander distractedly said.

"Also sounds like Dawn's old student got hurt," George fished. She didn't know why she was bothering. It wasn't like she could tell Dawn anything and it wasn't like Dawn could do anything about it even if George could spill everything she knew.

"Um, yeah," Xander looked like he was trying to get his bearings. "She was with a friend patrolling. I mean, patrolling bars. Said friend was trying to get her out of the bars. They ran into a little bit of trouble. They'll be on their feet by tomorrow afternoon."

You mean Dawn's Slayer was drunk off her ass while on the job. While acting stupid, she got hurt and got another Slayer hurt, too.

Funny how the context becomes crystal clear when all the missing pieces fall into place.

"I'm glad they'll be okay," George said.

Xander shook himself, almost as if he were giving himself a mental slap. "I'll walk you to your car."

"Unh, what about the food?" George asked.

Xander hesitated. "The oven's not on and I really don't have time to—" He turned to George. "Unless you want it."

"Nah, it's okay," George said. "I was in it more for the company."

"That didn't turn out so well either," Xander said as he retreated to the bedroom and returned with a set of keys in hand. "I'm really sorry about this."

"Will you stop apologizing?" George reached out and grabbed him by the arm. "I'll be fine. Now go and save the world already."

Xander gave her the kind of look that asked, "What do you know? And when did you figure it out?"

George hoped her smile was innocent. "Okay, maybe not the world. But it sure sounds like someone needs saving."

Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Things didn't get worse.

People who say that phrase like it's something positive need to get repeatedly kicked in the head. If that's the best you can say about anything, then you've already hit rock bottom and it's only a matter of time before it all falls apart.

The only bright spot, if you can even call it that, was that on Dawn's all-supernatural reap evening she didn't end up reaping any Slayers, she didn't run into anyone she knew, and she didn't hear or see the face-ripping squid demon.

Hey, you gotta take your victories where you can find them, right?

As for Xander, it was pretty clear that I'd have to ditch him and fast. Because I, George Lass, am such a brave person I went with my default. Pretend he didn't exist. If I saw him first, I'd just pull the reaper disappearing act and run in the opposite direction. If he saw me first, or if he called, I'd just politely let him know that while it was fun, I just wasn't feeling the magic.

Oh, my God. Am I actually planning to say something that lame if I find myself backed in a corner?

Why, yes. Yes I am. It'll probably come out more like, "Duh. Hurr. Derr. Duh-hurr-derr" followed by the sound of my running feet, but I'm pretty sure I'll be able to get my message across.

Dawn was back on old-fashioned daytime reaps the day after my disastrous date, and once more I joined Mason and Daisy in the after-dark brigade. We kept holding steady at four reaps each, but that wasn't any help at all. We were all running on empty, and the workload didn't look like it was about to get any lighter.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Millie?"

"Hmmmm," George distractedly responded as she stared at her computer screen.

Someone spun her chair around so that she was facing away from her desk. A few blinks later to clear her vision, and she saw a concerned-looking Delores bending down over her.

"Unh, is something wrong?" George asked.

"Millie, you've been staring at that computer screen for the past half-hour like you haven't even seen it," Delores said. "It's not like you at all."

"Sorry, Delores," George said as she rubbed her forehead. "I, unh, I haven't been feeling well."

Delores put on her stern-mother face. "I think you need to take some time off."

"Delores, I'm fine. I just need more coffee," George protested.

This was what my life had come to. Delores tells me to take some time off and I tell her to just hook up the caffeine IV and leave me alone with my paper-pushing office work.

"While I appreciate your dedication to Happy Time and your job, coffee is no substitute for rest, missy," Delores clucked at her. "There's an awful stomach ailment going around. Sam has been out for 2 days with it."

"I think Sam actually has the beach flu," George pointed out.

"Oh, how awful," Delores put a hand over her heart. "He caught the flu at the beach?"

"Sure. Why not?" George asked with resignation.

Sometimes I really wonder about Delores. In so many ways, she's a really smart lady. Yet when it comes to certain things, she's absolutely clueless.

"But I'm pretty sure I don't have the flu, or some stomach ailment, or anything like that," George added. "I just haven't been getting a lot of sleep."

Delores tisked as she shook her head. "Hormones."

George did a double-take. "What?"

Delores looked around to make sure no one was listening before bending closer and saying in a whisper, "Are you due for your period?"

"Unh, I really don't want to talk about it," George said. "It'd be too…weird."

"Well, the ol' PMS train can certainly wreck havoc with your sleep patterns," Delores chuckled. "I remember there was a stretch when I'd be up all night with a hot water bottle on my stomach watching old movies."

"What? You didn't pull the ice cream out of the freezer while you were at it?" George asked.

"Oh, ice cream, potato chips, cookies, whatever I could get my hands on. You name it, I'd eat it right out of the container," Delores snorted as she lightly punched George in the shoulder. She immediately sobered. "It was around that time I gained about 150 pounds and had to be put on a strict all-liquid diet."

Gee, I wonder why.

"Delores, I'm fine. Really," George insisted.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Delores fixed her with a stern look. "Go home early today. I'll see you Monday."

"Unh, Delores?" George held up a finger. "It's Thursday."

"I'm telling you to take tomorrow off too, you silly goose. Now shoo," Delores waved go-away at her, "go home and get some sleep. I expect you to be here Monday bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."

"But—"

"No arguments," Delores insisted as she turned and walked away.

George slumped at her desk. Granted, she'd been kind of useless at her Happy Time job all week, but the thought of wandering the city streets until her first reap seemed like a fate worse than being chained to a desk for 8 hours. Maybe she should just follow Delores's pattern. Go home, get a hot water bottle for her stomach, and gorge on comfort food while watching trashy TV.

Actually, I'll ditch the hot water bottle. No period, no PMS, no worries. See? That's me being positive.

George began to collect her stuff when her cell phone twittered. She stupidly stared at it before reading the name of her incoming caller off the phone's screen.

"Fuck me. I'm not in the mood," George groaned.

The cell phone stopped its twittering ring and George relaxed.

"There. That's how you dump people. Ignore them," George proudly announced.

The cell phone began twittering again.

George's shoulders sagged. She might as well. Her day was already deep in the suck.

She hit the send button and asked, "Hello?"

"Millie!" Xander's voice was far too cheerful. "What are you doing this weekend?"

"Unh, this weekend?" George looked helplessly around the office, hoping that one of her nosy coworkers would come along and start asking annoying questions about the identity of her caller. Just her luck, everyone seemed to be actually working. Typical. And right when she needed them to act normally, too. "I…I'm…not going to be here. Business trip. In fact, you called me just as I was leaving for the airport. Won't be back until the middle of next week. Wednesday. No. I meant Thursday. Could be later than that, though. Depends on how things go."

"Good."

George blinked. "Hunh? Really?"

"I mean, bad. Very bad," Xander said. "Sorry. One of my students distracted me. I was saying 'good' to her when I meant to say 'bad' to you."

And that's when I knew.

George felt her knees give out and she plopped back into her chair. "Yeah, that happens to me all the time."

"So where you going?" Xander asked.

"Umm, San Diego. New Happy Time client. Their corporate headquarters are there. My boss, Delores, can't go so she asked me to do it," George cautiously said.

"Well, have fun," Xander said in a far less manic tone. "I've never been a huge fan of San Diego, but the sunshine's a nice contrast to the surprise storms we get around here."

"I'm looking forward to it," George numbly said.

Xander cleared his throat. "Look, I gotta go. We'll raincheck doing a fun weekend thing."

"Yeah, we'll do that." George blinked and gave her head a hard shake. "I really have to go."

"Millie…"

"Yeah?"

George heard Xander take a deep breath. "Take care of yourself. Airline travel can be a real horror show."

"You too," George softly said. She then cut the connection.

George sat staring at her desktop for a long time after that.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Do you want to know how an apocalyptic battle begins?

Do you really?

It doesn't begin when someone yells, "Charge!"

It doesn't begin when the bad guys attack.

It doesn't even begin when the fighting starts.

It begins much earlier than that.

It begins with an insistent knock on your door at 5:30 a.m. on a Sunday. You crack open your eyes, and check the clock and curse out everyone you ever knew. It can't be El Creepo dropping by with the reaps. One, it's an hour too early, and two, El Creepo never knocks.

You stumble out of bed, yelling at the door to hang on just one fucking minute. You stub your toe somewhere in the middle of your apartment, and you start swearing as you grab your foot and hop around.

That insistent knock keeps knocking.

You finally click on a lamp, limp your way to the door, and open it. You don't bother to look through the spyhole because, fuck it, you're a reaper. Nothing can hurt you, and if anyone or anything tries they're in for a painful time.

Things get strange after you open the door. All the lights in the hallway are out and it's dark. It's more than dark. It's black. It's cold.

Somewhere in the dark Something is watching you; Something is waiting.

You call out the usual. Hello? Is there anyone there? Who the fuck was knocking on my door at 5:30 in the Goddamn morning?

There's no answer, and you're getting cold. So you decide to go back into your apartment and shut the door. As you turn around, you step on something that feels like flat package wrapped in paper.

You have a really bad feeling about this.

So you bend down and pick it up. Thanks to the dim light from a lamp in your apartment, you can see it's one of the interoffice envelopes. You look around before you open it up. Then you pull out a packet of papers that have been paper-clipped together.

As you read down the list of names, you spot your first familiar name. You check to see who's been assigned and see that it's been left blank. Someone has decided to dump that decision in your lap. You don't know who you'll assign to this reap, but you do know who you won't.

Even though your hands are shaking, you keep reading down the list. You turn one page. Then you turn the next.

That's when you spot a second familiar name.

That's when you get pissed.

"Hey! What is this shit? Do you think this is funny?"

The lights snap on and suddenly you're no longer in a cold, dark place but a familiar, warm hallway.

"Get back here! You son of a bitch! Get back here!"

Whatever it is that was waiting, Whatever it is that was watching, has left with the dark. All you're doing is yelling at an empty hallway. You stand there for a few minutes as the shock of what you're looking at finally slams home. Then you turn and go back into your apartment, because you know that there's nothing you can do. You can't change fate, and you can't bargain with Death. It's not allowed.

So, this is how an apocalyptic battles ends.

It ends before someone yells, "Charge!"

It ends before the bad guys attack.

It ends long before the fighting even starts.

It ends at 5:40 a.m. when a reaper sits down at her desk and begins painstakingly writing out her post-its.

And for some people when the ending comes, the ending is forever.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mason looked up. "George?" his voice was almost a squeak.

George slowly, carefully slid into the booth with her head down.

"George?" Daisy faintly echoed next to her.

George looked up and right at Dawn who was sitting across from her.

"Today," George said. "It's happening today."

To Dawn's credit, she didn't say a single word. Instead she just watched and waited.

With a deep breath to steady her nerves, George slowly opened her Day Planner and revealed four neat stacks of post-its. Without looking down, she casually moved her hand to cover one of the post-it piles so it looked like her hand just happened to be resting in that particular spot.

"Bloody hell," Mason prayed.

"Oh, my God." Daisy sounded sick.

Dawn blinked at the Day Planner, clearly in shock.

"I've got instructions to get through, so before I start handing out—"

Dawn's hand snaked out and she snatched the post-it stack next to George's hand. "I'm taking this one."

"What?" George said as she quickly looked down.

Oh, fuck. I covered the wrong damn post-it pile.

"Dawn—" George began.

"I have to do this one. I need to do this one," Dawn insisted.

"Shit. Hold on a second guys," George said to Daisy and Mason as she got up and grabbed Dawn by the arm.

"You don't have to drag. I'm coming willingly," Dawn said as she got up before George could start pulling.

"Outside," George ordered.

Without a word, Dawn headed for the Pancake Stack door.

"What's going on?" Daisy asked.

"It's between me and Dawn," George said as she grabbed the post-it pile she had accidentally hidden with her hand and shoved it in her pocket. "Just hang tight."

When George hit the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, she half-expected that Dawn had taken off and even now was looking for a hiding place so that she wouldn't have any other choice but to let Dawn do the reap. So she was a little surprised to see that Dawn was waiting for her.

"Did you expect me to run?" Dawn asked in a low voice. "I know it won't do any good, so why waste the time, right?"

"I guess you've learned something in the century or so since you died," George mumbled.

Dawn shot George a look.

"Sorry," George immediately apologized. "I've dropped into that mode where sarcasm is the only thing keeping me sane."

"You've never been through this," Dawn said softly.

"I don't know of anyone who's been through an apocalyptic battle."

"Actually, you do."

"I do?" George asked.

Dawn took a deep and shuddering breath. "Me."

"Oh."

"Not this side of it though." Dawn hefted the stack of post-its. "I was always on the fighting side. The save-the-world side. I never saw this side of it. I never even thought about it. None of us did. Ever. Unless we lost someone we knew, and even then we only thought about the people we lost. We never thought about all those other people who died."

"Ummm, you're making it sound like you've been through this more than once."

"I've been through this nine times? Ten? I've lost count," Dawn simply said.

George's jaw dropped.

"But I never thought about the post-its. Never. There must've been post-its, right?" Dawn glanced at George before returning to her contemplation of the post-its in her hand. "There had to have been. All those names. All those pieces of paper. All those lives. What does it say about me that I never even thought about it?"

"Do you think any of us do?" George asked. "Hate to say it, but you're not the only competitor in the self-centered horse race, and you sure as hell aren't going to win, place, or show in that one."

"Why do you that?"

"Do what?"

"No matter what anyone says, you always boil it down to, 'Hey, you're not all that unique, you know'," Dawn said with irritation.

"And if you actually listened to me, you'd realize that I just said that you weren't the most self-centered person I know. I said you weren't even close." George threw up her hands. "Jesus. You just told me that you've fought in — not stood by and watched with a thumb up your ass, not ran the hell away like any sane person would do, not nearly get killed because you were too busy screaming for help — but fought — as in put your ass on the line — in so many of these that you've lost count, and you think I'm dissing you? I'm just saying that you're being too hard on yourself for not wanting to think about death and destruction because you were too busy keeping yourself and the people you knew in one piece. No one wants to think about death and destruction, and that's even if they sit on their asses all day and watch Barney the Purple Dinosaur."

Dawn was blinking very hard. "Oh."

"Look, I didn't come out here to hold your hand, and I sure as hell didn't drag you out here for you to hold mine," George said. "Give me the post-its, Dawn."

"I have to do this," Dawn quietly insisted.

George took a deep breath through her nose. "No, you really don't. Let Mason, Daisy, or me handle this. You don't need to take this hit, and you don't need to carry this. You've got people who'll do it for you. Hell, any one of us would be willing to pass on a message to your sister that you're okay if you want. But don't think you have to do this, because you really don't."

Dawn leaned against a parking meter. "So letting me reap Buffy isn't against the rules."

I could've put an end to it right there. I could've said that it was against all the rules. I could've said it was the biggest no-no in the reaper handbook.

I didn't.

Not because I didn't want to lie to Dawn. Not because if I lied Dawn could've easily found out after the fact by asking Bryan, who probably knew the rules better than I did.

I didn't lie to her because of Reggie. If I knew that my sister had a post-it, I'd want to get my hands on it, too. Not because I could save her, because that's impossible. I'd want to do it because if I was her reaper, I could make sure she'd reach her lights okay and I'd be able to say good-bye.

"Technically, no," George said. "It's just not something that's done."

Dawn ran a finger back and forth across the surface of the top post-it, as if she could erase all of the information that had been written on it. "So if I want to do it, I can. There's nothing stopping me from doing it, and there's nothing stopping you from letting me."

"You can't save her, Dawn," George said.

"I know." Dawn hung her head. "One way or the other, Buffy dies. Save her body from getting killed, her soul rots away and she turns into the Slayer equivalent of Charles Manson, or refuse to reap her and her soul's buried alive in a corpse."

"That's right," George emphasized.

"Buffy'd rather be dead." Dawn looked up. Her eyes were suspiciously bright, but dry. "I know that this time it's good-bye forever. No last-minute CPR, no resurrection spells, no coming back from the dead. This time it's permanent."

"Death's always permanent," George said.

Dawn's smile had a bitter edge. "Don't be too sure. Find yourself a powerful enough witch and black enough magic, and you'd be shocked what you can do."

George shivered.

Dawn sounded like she was talking from experience. Bryan had told me that Dawn's people were dangerous. I should've realized that Dawn was once one of the dangerous people, too. It made me wonder why Someone decided that Dawn was just the reaper I needed in my crew.

Dawn's face smoothed over into an expressionless mask. "You'd also be shocked at the consequences for doing that."

George forced herself back into her usual equilibrium. "Nasty blowback from fucking with death? Not really."

Dawn coughed something that sounded like it was halfway between a sob and a laugh. "I forgot who was I talking to."

"And my offer still stands." George knew Dawn wouldn't take her up on it, but she felt that she needed to give Dawn one more chance to back down. "Daisy, Mason, and I would be more than…well…not happy. But any one of us would be willing to do this for you."

Dawn shook her head as she held the post-its up. "You're going to let me do this?"

George swallowed and nodded. "Please don't make me regret it."

"I won't."

"Back inside," George said with a jerk of head. "And don't let on to Mason and Daisy that your sister is on your agenda. If they ask, just say you recognized a name and they won't push. Not today they won't. If you want to talk to anyone about it after the fact, fine. But not before."

"Trust me. I won't," Dawn said as she went through the door.

As I followed Dawn back to the booth, I wondered how she'd react to the news that she knew two people with post-its. I knew she wouldn't trade, but there was also a chance that she was still carrying some anger from her funeral.

Since telling her wouldn't do any good, and might even make things worse, I kept my stack of post-its in my pocket and my mouth shut.

George slid into the booth and distributed the remaining two post-it stacks to Mason and Daisy.

"There are a lot of post-its here," Mason said.

Daisy frowned. "Except for the top post-it, none of mine have times. Just a name and a location."

"Not true. The bottom and top post-its have times." George steeled herself as Dawn, Mason, and Daisy checked their stacks. "The first reaps of the day, and the last reaps of the day have to be done like you normally would. Find, reap, and show the soul to their lights."

"Bloody hell. It's a fire drill, innit?" Mason asked.

"Fire drill?" Dawn and Daisy chorused.

"You've never done one?" Mason asked Daisy with surprise.

Daisy looked frightened as she shook her head.

"Done a couple myself." Mason gave George a tight, apologetic smile. "George has done one."

Thank you Mason for not saying that George actually caused one.

"I…I've never heard the term fire drill, but I know what Mason means," George hesitantly began. "Basically, it's when a whole lot of people are going to die in a really tight time period. Essentially, we have to go out and find the people we're supposed to reap at the locations listed on the post-it. Usually they're already dead when you get to them, and we usually have an 8-hour window after they die to get to them."

Mason sat up. "Usually. Which means that's not true for this one."

George shook her head. "You can't start reaping the untimed reaps until you do the reap on the bottom post-it. And you have to be done with all reaps before you get to the top post-it. You also can't do the top post-it earlier in the day. You have to be there to do your last reap, and you have to take the soul to its lights. No exceptions."

"Blood hell," Mason mumbled as he checked his window of time. "I've got to do all this in 4-and-half hours."

Dawn silently checked her top and bottom post-its, but didn't say anything.

Daisy's hands were clenching and unclenching. "What about the reaps without a time? Does this mean they die alone?"

"I assure you, they won't be alone," said a male voice.

All four reapers looked sharply up at the intrusion.

"Bryan!" Dawn jumped out of her seat and hugged the book reaper.

"Bryan?" Mason asked.

"Dawn's boss from her bookstore job," George quickly explained.

Mason's expression darkened. "I know what he is, alright."

Daisy's hands relaxed. "So you're here to make sure no one dies alone," she said to Bryan.

Bryan slid into the booth, and Dawn followed.

"During a normal fire drill — an excellent way to describe it — the souls would be sent by you to a central location and George would be there to take care of them until they're able to move on," Bryan said. "However, George is urgently needed elsewhere, so I will be playing the role normally reserved for her."

"But these poor bastards are going to still be alive when we reap them." Mason waved the post-its at Bryan. "We can't go telling their souls to piss off to some holding pen while their bodies might be still breathing for hours after the fact."

"When you reap the soul, you will whisper a phrase in their ear," Bryan said. "This phrase will keep the soul in place until moments before they die. It will also tell them that when they die, they will be instantly transported to this location."

"We can do that?" George asked.

"Normally, no. Today, you can," Bryan said. "The phrase won't do you any good before you collect your first soul of the day, and it won't work after you collect your last. You might say you've been given special dispensation until the crisis ends one way or the other."

"This is how we're going to do it?" Daisy's hands again started clenching and unclenching. "We reap somebody and whisper in their ear that when they die they have to go to the Pancake Stack and wait?"

"Essentially, yes," Bryan said. "The Latin phrase that I'll teach you will actually say more than that, but that is the basic gist."

"I don't like this," Daisy muttered.

Dawn suddenly leaned forward. "Kiffany coming up behind you with coffee."

Everyone was doing a very poor job of looking like it was business as usual when Kiffany reached their table. "Anyone ordering today?" she asked.

"I'm…I'm…I'm going to get a large coffee to go," George said. "Anyone else?"

"Coke with chipped ice, also to go," Daisy mumbled.

"Nothin' for me, Kiffany darling," Mason said just a little too brightly.

"Just ice water in a to-go cop," Dawn said in a normal voice.

"I will most certainly peruse your menu very soon," Bryan said as he poured on the charm. "I'm rather tied up at the moment."

Kiffany raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Unh-hunh."

"So, Kiffany, do you have any big plans for the day?" Mason asked.

Daisy and Dawn nailed their horrified gazes on Mason. George just sighed.

"Was thinking about picking up the evening shift," Kiffany said. "I saw a blood moon last night. Seems to me that's exactly the time when you'd want to stay in a clean, well-lighted, safe place."

"I think it's an excellent idea," Bryan said as he doubled his charm level. "I fear that I will be trapped here this evening waiting on visitors, but I'm uncertain of their expected time of arrival. I'd be honored to have such charming company."

"Unh-hunh," Kiffany skeptically agreed. "These visitors. They're not paying customers, are they?"

"I assure you, they will not be a bother to your paying clientele," Bryan promised.

Kiffany fixed Bryan with a stern look. "Just so long as that's true. Blood moon or not, the waitresses here still need to earn a living." She turned to George and her stern countenance disappeared. "I'll get your order ready."

Kiffany was barely out of earshot when Dawn said to Mason, "Don't tell me you're reaping Kiffany."

"I'm not," Mason protested. "I was about to suggest that she leg it and to not stop until she hit Los Angeles."

"None of us have Kiffany's post-it, Dawn," George said. "I should know. I wrote them out."

"That doesn't mean someone else doesn't have it," Daisy said as she looked at Bryan.

Bryan held up his hands. "I am here strictly in a shepherding capacity. I won't be doing any reaps."

"What, no books are going to snuff it in the big battle?" Mason snidely asked.

"Mason," George warned with a shake of her head.

"I don't know if Kiffany is among those who'll be moving on." Bryan seemed unfazed. "However, if there is a post-it with her name on it, it hardly matters where she is. If there isn't, it would be much better for her to be in a place where you know she won't get hurt. This dining establishment is one of the few guaranteed safe places for her to be."

"That means there are other collection points," George said.

Dawn went white. "How many are there?"

"You don't want to know," Bryan said as he patted Dawn's hand. "Now, I do need to teach you that phrase. None of you are leaving until you can recite flawlessly on command."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And so began the most horrifying day of my life after death, and I'm including attending my own autopsy and funeral in that assessment.

My first reap, the reap that would set me loose on an unaware city population, turned out to be a Slayer. I don't have any idea who killed her, or even how she died. I pulled a I'm-a-clueless-tourist-and-I'm-lost scam to get her attention and get her close enough for me to touch her. While she gave me directions Fremont Library, I heard something that sounded like a zap and she burst into flame.

After I put out myself out by smothering the flames using the stop-drop-and-roll method, I guided M. Callahan to her lights. M. in this case stood for Michele, and not Marguerite. Still, as I saw her happily run toward the mountains that rose to insane heights in her lights, I couldn't help feeling grateful that if there was a post-it with Marguerite's name on it, it wasn't in my stack.

Once I made a pit stop to replace my burned clothes under the disapproving eye of the sales staff at Fashionable Threads, I was off and running.

That's when things got really weird.

All of my post-its sent me to bustling street corners, busy cafés, crowded sports bars, and shops doing a brisk business. Every place I went was the kind of place people go to enjoy a normal, sunny, early summer Sunday afternoon. As I lurked around the edges of the crowd looking for my reap, I felt like a serial killer stalking her prey.

Is it this one? Or that one? She doesn't look like she can run very fast in those shoes. He's drinking way too much beer for this time of the day. She looks distracted. He's oblivious. For everyone I looked at, I tried to find that one element about them that would make them a likely corpse.

The job would've been a lot easier if there were gravelings around. At least if they were sniffing around a person, I'd know that I'd hit my mark. But since these people were still alive and nowhere near their deaths, there were no gravelings to find. That scared me. That scared me a lot, and not just because I was afraid I'd reap the wrong person.

Just when I was about to give up, someone would call out a name that matched the first initial and the last name on one of my post-its, and it happened every single time. How often does it happen that you are going about your day, and someone out of the blue calls you by your first and last name? And yet it happened almost two dozen times for almost two dozen people.

As the sun began to set and my stack of post-its got thinner, I tried not to think about the name, location, and E.T.D. written on my last post-it.

A. Harris, the Georgia Lass Memorial, 9:57 p.m.

So much for that urban legend.

The kind of help I give is the kind no one wants or needs.

Chapter 11: Chapter 11

George sat stiffly on the park bench in the middle of the memorial — her memorial — and mentally ranted to herself about how Death had a sick sense of humor. While it was true she was here only because she assigned herself the post-it, the fact that someone she knew was going to die on the exact same spot she did was enough for her to reach that conclusion.

And why was she even here, anyway? This reap hadn't been assigned specifically to her. None of the reaps had an assignment attached to them. She could've just washed her hands of the Xander Harris mess once and for all and handed this off to Mason or Daisy. It wasn't like Xander even knew she was reaper, and it wasn't like he was going to give a shit one way or the other after he walked into his lights.

If she handed this off, no one would've been the wiser about just how close she came to screwing things up. It wasn't like Millie's name was going to the last name on Xander's lips when he died. Dawn or Buffy were far more likely candidates.

Although, now that George thought about it, if either Buffy's or Dawn's names were the last thing he said and Daisy or Mason heard him that would've opened a whole new can of worms.

Right. It had to be her. After Xander headed off to his lights, she'd turn around and tell Dawn that she reaped Xander. Then she'd move the timing of Xander's explanation about why he missed Dawn's funeral from the night of their one almost-date to sometime after Xander's death. George was pretty sure that Dawn would like to know that Xander had missed her funeral simply because he didn't know about it. She was also pretty sure that Dawn would like to know that Xander was off saving lives while she was being buried.

Mason and Daisy couldn't salvage anything good out of Xander dying, but she could. She could give Dawn just a little peace of mind. The importance of that couldn't be overstated, especially since Dawn would no doubt be reeling from her sister's death.

"George?" asked a familiar Lisa Simpsonesque voice.

"Penny?" George asked doubtfully as she looked up. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Penny held up a single post-it. "It's an all-hands kind of day."

"Shit. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Penny said in a dead voice. "You didn't cause an apocalypse."

Maybe not, but it's entirely possible that I had made things worse by stopping Dawn.

"Is your last reap here?" George asked. "Or are you going from Point A to Point B?"

"Post-it says my last reap is at the Georgia Lass Memorial," Penny said.

Shit! So much for making sure there were no witnesses.

"Pull up a slice of bench," George indicated a spot next to her with a jerk of her head. "The scene of my death can temporarily be the scene of yours."

Penny ghosted up the stairs and settled next to George. She sat ramrod straight as she stared out over the streetscape with wide eyes. "Last time I knew that so many people were going die within a matter of hours, I was on transatlantic cruise."

"You had to reap shipwreck?" George asked.

"It wasn't a shipwreck. The ship crashed into an iceberg, broke in half, and sank," Penny said.

"Sounds like Titanic," George said.

"It was the Titanic. And I wasn't reaping," Penny said.

"Oh." George joined Penny in staring out into the darkness. "I guess that's why you always order your drinks with no ice."

"Someone put ice in my lemonade two days ago. I freaked out when I heard the cubes moving around in my cup," Penny said.

"For me, it's anything that involves explosions. Or loud bangs," George sympathetically said.

"I don't blame you," Penny slightly nodded. She slowly looked around, as if she were just becoming aware of her surroundings. "This is nice. They did a good job on your memorial. I bet it gets lots of visitors."

"Yeah. It is nice," George quietly agreed. "I really like the sundial. It's kind of cool."

"Doesn't sitting here freak you out?" Penny asked.

George took a deep breath and thought about it. "No. Two or three weeks ago I would've been, but not right now, no," she finally said. "All of my circuits are overloaded. It's been a freaky kind of year for me."

The two reapers fell silent as they sat shoulder-to-shoulder.

"It's so quiet," Penny finally said. "Where is everyone? There aren't even any cars on the streets."

George shook her head. "With the exception of two people, they're all busy dying somewhere else, I guess."

"Where's your collection point?" Penny asked.

"Pancake Stack. Yours?"

"The Admiral Theater."

"Nice," George nodded.

"At least they'll be able to watch a movie while they wait for the plant reaper to guide them to their lights," Penny said.

"There are reapers for plants?" George asked.

"That was pretty much my reaction," Penny said. "If you think about it, though, plants are alive, and everything alive dies. So…"

"You don't even want to know what the guy babysitting our reaps does," George said.

"Definitely not," Penny fervently agreed. "I'm still getting my head wrapped around reapers for plants. Between that and this whole day, my head's ready to explode."

"We are getting quite the education, aren't we?" George asked with sarcasm.

"No joke."

In the haunting silence, the echoes of several voices speaking all at once reached their ears. George and Penny automatically checked their watches.

"Mine's at 9:57 p.m.," Penny said.

"Same here," George said as she showed Penny her post-it.

Penny made a 'hunh' face. "A two-fer? Usually they'd just have one reaper do it."

"Hey, maybe all the final reaps are being done with partners," George said. "You know, so we can offer each other a shoulder to cry on after the last reap of the day."

Penny gave her a look.

"Okay, probably not," George mumbled.

A group of seven young girls turned the corner and headed right for the memorial. They were carrying crossbows, swords, axes, and all manner of weapons. They were practically clanking as they walked.

"What the hell?" Penny asked.

"My money's on 'they're Slayers'," George deadpanned.

"What?"

"Vampire Slayers. Basically girls and women with superpowers," George explained.

"Oh, yeah." Penny winced. "I got one of them two nights ago. That squid monster killed her. It was a pretty awful way to die."

George regarded Penny with sympathy. "They really are stretching the definition of 'natural death', aren't they?"

"Stretched it, bent it, broke it," Penny grumbled.

One of the girls noticed Penny and George sitting in the memorial, and began whispering to her companions. The group stopped just short of the memorial steps.

"Aw, shit," George muttered. "They spotted us."

"Nice night," Penny called out.

Half the girls looked at Penny like she was nuts. The other half looked like they wanted to beat Penny to death.

"Whatever is going to happen, it's going to happen in three minutes," George said in a low voice.

"So whatchya doing?" Penny sounded slightly manic. "Is it some kind of sorority stunt?"

George decided that her best bet was to follow Penny's lead. "I'm telling you. It's not. They're doing one of those real-life adventure game things. My sister was totally into that when she was in college."

"Yeah, that's right," one of the girls brightly said. "You didn't happen to see any frat guys wandering around in monster costumes, did you?"

The Slayer's companions managed to avoid looking at her.

"Definitely not," Penny answered. She added under her breath, "Good one, George."

The girls huddled together and began quietly talking amongst themselves. Every once in a while one of the girls would glance in their direction before diving back into the huddle.

"Please tell me they aren't going to shoot us first and ask questions later," Penny mumbled to George.

"If I were them that's what I'd do," George said.

A man barreled around the same corner the girls had turned just a few moments before. "There you are," he shouted at them.

The girls broke their huddle. One of them stepped forward to meet him.

"That sure as hell doesn't look like Xander," one of the girls in the group said.

On the mention of Xander's name, George's ears perked up. He must be on his way.

"Why is Janine acting like she's in charge?" one of the other girls asked.

"Ummm, because she's the one with most experience?" another girl asked.

While Janine and the new arrival walked away a few steps and began a heated consultation, one of the girls looked over to George and Penny.

"Less than two minutes," George whispered.

"Janine could be mine, since the first initial I've got is J," Penny tightly whispered back. "Any one of those girls could be yours."

Sure. If Xander took up cross-dressing, and lost five inches to ten inches off his height.

"What's the last name on yours?" George whispered.

"Gryzbowski."

The Slayer that had been looking at them walked towards them. "Hey." She gave George and Penny a little wave with a nervous grin. "It looks like the referee's here, so that means we're about to start our D&D game for real."

"I hope you win," George sincerely said.

"Thanks." Her false grin got broader. "You might want to get out of the area, though, because the game's a little rough. I don't want to see you guys accidentally hurt because you got caught in the crossfire."

"Aren't those fake?" Penny asked, getting into the spirit of things.

"Oh, yeah! Definitely," the Slayer nodded. "But they're loaded with paintballs and those things hurt like whoa."

"Thanks for the warning," George said as she dragged Penny to her feet and started for the steps.

Penny made a stubborn noise in her throat, which was the only way she could ask George what the hell she thought she was doing.

George reached the bottom step and stopped short. She snapped her fingers. "Hey! I think I remember where I saw your team leader before."

The girl tensed. "Oh?"

"I've seen her at one of the cafés down the street. Oh, damn, I can't remember the place. It's around the corner from some creepy bookstore. The Lost Pages? The Loose Book? Something like that," George said.

The girl relaxed a little bit. "I know where you mean. The place with the awesome coffee, right?"

"No, the other place. The one with the great chocolate croissants," George said.

"Ooooh, that one," the girl nodded as she fully relaxed. "Janine is nuts for those."

"So that's her first name, hunh?" George nodded with a grin. "I guess it makes sense. Every time I see her there, it's 'Gryzbowski' this and 'Gryzbowski' that."

The girl actually laughed. "She hates it when people call her by her last name."

"Yeah, I could tell," George nodded. "That's why I remembered her."

Penny checked her watch. "Oh! Look at the time. I really have to be going. See you later, George."

"You're welcome," George sarcastically said as she began desperately looking around. She spotted a single puff of smoke near Penny's target. A single graveling emerged from it at a dead run.

The hell? Where's the second one?

The girl tensed. "What's wrong?"

"I was supposed to meet someone here," George vaguely said while she watched the graveling trip Penny's reap as it ran by her.

The Slayer stumbled and bumped into Penny as the reaper walked by. The slight distortion that appeared where Penny's hands touched the girl to help steady her showed that the reap was complete. The graveling's sudden disappearance from the scene confirmed that Penny had gotten her girl.

George checked her watch. She had seconds to go.

Where the fuck is he? And where the hell is the second graveling?

That's when all hell broke loose.

Something zinged by her ear, and the girls let out a roar. The man began yelling, "It's coming from the north!"

Something sharp and moving fast hit George in the left shoulder. "Son of a bitch!" she yelled as her hand flew to the source of the pain. As she looked down to see a white dart sticking out of her shoulder, some of the Slayers started firing their crossbows at the source of the attack.

"Retreat! Retreat!" the man yelled.

The Slayers weren't having it. With a unified roar, the girls charged after the source of the darts.

As the man ran by George as he followed in the Slayers' wake, she heard him mutter, "Oh, hell. What part of 'deadly darts' don't they understand?"

George grabbed the visible portion of the white dart and yanked it out. It was followed by a gush of arterial blood. "Ow! Jesus! That fucking hurts!" She glowered at the white dart in her hand before tossing it as far away from her as she could. "I just bought these clothes!"

"Ooooh, look at you. Something bit you hard," Penny called out.

"That dart hurt like a bitch," George complained as she checked the wound. "I'm already mostly healed. Looks uglier than it is. Thank God for reaper healing."

"George, we've only got one dead here," Penny said.

George looked up and saw Penny heading toward her with a confused looking Janine in tow. Janine's body lay crumpled on the sidewalk in the background.

"What just happened?" Janine asked.

George scanned the streetscape with a sense of growing dread. "That's what I'd like to know."

There was the sound of yelling and fighting in the distance.

"I need to go," Janine said as she started to move.

"Not so fast," Penny said as she grabbed the Slayer by the arm and held fast. "You've got somewhere else you need to be."

"What I need is to go help them," Janine said.

"Unh, you may want to turn around," George said.

Janine glanced over her shoulder. Then she did a double-take. "Oh."

"Your war's officially over," Penny said kindly.

"Incala darts. Of all things, I get taken down by incala darts," Janine shook her head. "They're not even poisonous."

"Deadly if it goes through your eye, though," Penny said.

"It was a lucky shot," Janine pouted.

"C'mon honey, let's go," Penny said as she reached out a hand to Janine.

"Wait," George ordered.

"George?"

George desperately checked her post-it. "My reap didn't show."

Penny burst into a grin. "Whaddya know. And no unaccounted for body. I think we have a genuine missed appointment on our hands. I've only seen one of those. One of the reapers in my group had one back in May 1971. I think he framed the post-it."

"You. Slayer," George pointed a finger at Janine. "Where the hell is Xander Harris?"

"You know Xander?" Janine asked.

"George? You knew your reap?" Penny asked with horror.

"In passing," George lied. She glared at the Slayer. "Well? He was supposed to be here," she checked her watch, "almost two minutes ago. What the hell happened?"

"There was a last minute change in plans. We got Wet-Behind-the-Ears Boy instead." Janine snorted her disdain. "Can you believe he tried to order a retreat? Because the mage's minions were shooting at us with incala darts? They're not even—"

"Poisonous. Yeah, I got that part," George snapped. "Where the hell is he?"

"Willow got hit with some kind of brain fry, and she wasn't able to keep the N'goth locked down," Janine said. "I was told it was heading for the port, so Xander and Buffy are leading a last-ditch effort to lure it into the cargo stacks. I think the plan is to try and use the heavy machinery down there to crush it to death."

George forced her breathing to slow down. "Please don't tell me it's heading for Terminal 5."

"I don't know which terminal," Janine said. "I was just told 'the port'."

Penny shot George a confused look.

"Dawn's got a job at Terminal 5, loading dock 14," George explained.

"Then it's probably heading for Terminal 5," Penny said.

And while she's reaping her sister, there's a good chance she's going to see Xander. Or to put it another way, Dawn will have a dead big sister on her hands when she comes face to face with the guy who skipped her funeral. This could get very ugly, very fast.

"I have to go," George said.

"George, leave it alone," Penny said. "Your reap missed his appointment. That means he gets to die some other day. You're both free and clear."

"I'm not chasing a reap. I'm trying to stop a problem before it starts," George shouted as she raced down the block to her car.

As soon as she slid behind the steering wheel, George checked her watch. She had 30 minutes to make Terminal 5. There was no way she was going to make if drove like a sane person.

She might be able to make it if she drove like a reaper.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One of the handiest talents a reaper has is the ability to not be noticed.

Okay, high school wallflowers everywhere probably wouldn't see that as benefit, but when you're dripping with blood and standing the middle of four dead bodies with four matching freshly reaped souls and the cops are busting down the door you learn to be very, very grateful for it. Sure, it's a little creepy how people's eyes look right through you when you're covered with arterial spray, but you get used of it pretty quickly because it's a whole lot better than the alternative.

What I didn't know before Ms. Georgia Lass's Wild Ride to the Port of Seattle Terminal 5 was that it was possible for people to not notice a reaper covered in blood and driving a fire-engine red Mustang convertible the wrong way down a one-way street. Or blowing though stop signs and red lights. Or driving on the sidewalk.

Too bad I didn't really get to enjoy my Steve McQueen moment.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

George thanked God that someone had left one of the traffic gates up as she sped through the security booths marking the entrance to Terminal 5. She screeched to a stop next to a small shack of an office and jumped out of her car.

"Fuck me," she groaned as she looked wildly around. "This place is huge. How the hell am I going to find loading dock 14?"

Almost as if someone had heard her cry of despair, a girl covered in blood supporting another girl covered in blood limped around the corner.

George looked to the heavens and mouthed 'thank you' before she turned and jogged over to the girls. "Loading dock 14! Where is it?" she shouted.

The girl who was doing the supporting stopped and stupidly stared at her.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," George urged as she hopped from foot to foot. "I don't have all night. I need to find...I need to find…Buffy! That's right. Buffy! I have an urgent message from…from…the Council."

That girl who was being carried muttered something unintelligible.

"It's okay. She says she's from the center," the more with-it girl said to her more injured companion.

"Buh-ffy. I need Buh-ffy," George firmly and loudly repeated. "I was told to go to loading dock 14."

The girl doing the supporting jerked her head back the way she came. "Down there."

George pointed. "Straight down there, right? How far down?"

"Half-way," the girl vaguely said as her more injured companion began a muttered stream of complaints. "It should be safe now. It's quiet, which means the N'goth is dead or close to."

George checked her watch. She had less than two minutes. Although the directions weren't precise, it would have to do. "Thanks!" George shouted as she took off running.

As George barreled down the terminal runway, she realized that 'half-way down' was still a very long way to go. There was no way she was going to make it in time.

George stumbled to a stop. She bent over, braced her hands on her knees, and gulped in as much oxygen as her lungs could handle. If Mason ever managed to start that union, the first thing she was going to do was agitate for the ability to teleport to wherever she needed to go.

She checked her watch. Less than a minute to go. Time to throw in the towel.

"Shit," she swore at herself as she turned around and trudged back to her car.

I tried to convince myself that I was overreacting. Dawn knew that confronting a still-living Xander wouldn't do her any good, so she probably wouldn't bother. And even if anger overcame commonsense, the absolute worst that would happen was that Xander would see some bag lady-looking person screaming incoherent gibberish at him.

Plus, I really doubted that Buffy was going to go tripping into those lights without sparing time for a little heart-to-heart with her sister. Hell, she could outright refuse to go for hours. God knows I've seen my share of souls digging in and refusing to budge because they wanted their reaper to do them a favor.

So, really, the worst case scenario wasn't really all that bad. At worst, Buffy would refuse to leave, and at worst Dawn wouldn't be willing to do her job and convince Buffy that she really had to go into the light. In that case, I'd pull the big, bad boss routine and force the issue. What the hell, right? Buffy may have been a Slayer, but she was a dead Slayer. She wouldn't even be able to touch anyone living, and she sure as shit couldn't touch a reaper unless the reaper allowed it. So Buffy could bluster all she wanted, she wouldn't be able to hurt anyone, no matter how much she may want to, if she took exception to the idea that she needed to leave.

George reached her car and leaned against it with folded arms. Buffy was dead for sure by now. No doubt the two sisters were having a tearful reunion.

Just as George had convinced herself that everything was going to be okay, she heard the achingly familiar 'fwoom' and saw the flash of bright light. George looked up and to her left.

"The hell?" George asked as she stood up straight and stared transfixed as the lights resolved themselves into a bonfire with hundreds of girls and women singing and dancing wildly around it. Presiding over the whole celebration was wild-looking black woman with messy dreds wearing animal skins and sporting white war paint of some kind on her face.

George checked her watch as she took a step away from her car. She looked up at the lights and frowned. "Only 10 minutes after the E.T.D. That happened awful fast. Unless Dawn's not the only reaper working the terminal."

She looked over her shoulder.

I was wrong. This situation wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be.

It was worse.

Buffy was racing for her lights, and dragging Dawn behind her. Not that Dawn was fighting this state of affairs. It was more like Dawn was being dragged simply because she couldn't run as fast as her sister.

"No!" George shouted as she took off, running at an angle that would intercept the fleeing sisters.

Neither Dawn nor Buffy seemed to hear her.

"Stop! You've got to stop!" George desperately shouted.

They were heading right for the lights. This was bad, bad, bad, bad, bad…

George forced legs to run faster.

Buffy was right at the border where the lights met the living world when George leaped and tackled Dawn to the ground. As they landed on the unforgiving pavement, George heard the sharp snap of a bone breaking. Dawn let out a scream of pain.

"Dawn!" Buffy screamed as the sudden loss of Dawn's dragging weight sent her stumbling forward. In the end, it was sheer momentum that sent an unwilling Buffy into her lights.

"Stay down! You stay down!" George shouted in Dawn's ear.

"My ankle," Dawn said through clenched teeth

"No!" Buffy yelled as she turned around to face them.

George looked up and felt the energy from the light crackling across her skin. They were too close. They were far too close. "She can't go with you!" George shouted over the sound of hundreds of girls and women wildly singing. "She can't go where you're going!"

"I'm not leaving her!" Buffy yelled as she moved to step out of the light.

"No! Stay where you are!" George desperately shouted. "If you leave, you'll never get the light back. You'll be trapped here as a ghost!"

Buffy froze, one foot hovering uncertainly at the border between this world and the next.

"Is that true?" Dawn asked between hisses of pain through her teeth.

Fucked if I knew, but I wasn't willing to bet anyone's soul on it.

"Yes," George said.

"Give me my sister," Buffy raged.

"I can't, and you don't want me to." Since Dawn wouldn't be able to get to her feet and run into the light with any speed at all, George figured it was safe to stop holding her down. She stood up and forced herself to take two steps closer to Buffy's light. The pain was nearly intolerable as energy crackled across her skin and the heat blasted her eyes until they felt dry as bone.

"The hell I don't," Buffy said with hands on her hips while George braved those few steps closer to Buffy's light.

"If she enters the light with you, you'll destroy her." George didn't shout, but she spoke loud enough that Buffy could hear her.

"This will destroy her?" Buffy raised her arms above her head as if she were reaching for the sky. "I don't think so. There's nothing in here that'll hurt her. I'd feel it if there was any danger."

"That's because this," George waved at the scene behind Buffy, "belongs to you. It's there to keep you happy and safe. But trust me when I tell you, the danger's real to Dawn if she joins you in there."

"What kind of danger?" Dawn asked.

"Don't believe her Dawn. There's nothing dangerous in here with me," Buffy said. She dropped her arms and glared at George. "You can't keep her trapped like this. You can't make her be a grim reaper. I won't let you."

George glanced over her shoulder at Dawn. Dawn had managed to sit upright, although she still looked like she was in a lot of pain. The broken ankle may account for a large part of that pain, but George knew that the proximity to the lights couldn't be helping.

George looked back at Buffy. "I've seen it," she insisted. "I once saw a reaper jump into the light and the end result looked like a nuclear explosion. They were completely destroyed. There was nothing left of them. They were just gone. Do you understand? They just stopped existing."

Buffy dangerously narrowed her eyes. "You're lying."

George's shoulders slumped. "I wish I was."

Dawn gasped loud enough that George could hear her over the ambient noise.

Buffy took a step back from the edge, but didn't completely back down.

"I'm not doing anything to your sister and it's not me forcing her to do anything," George desperately said. "For whatever reason, Someone decided they needed a new grim reaper and Dawn got picked. No one asked her, true. But none of us were asked before we got handed the job. It's par for the course."

Buffy seemed to be fighting the urge to look over her shoulder at the wild celebration going on behind her. "You were chosen."

"You make it sound like Death even bothers with anything so mundane as an actual staffing plan." George winced. She really needed to watch the cynicism, because its use and abuse couldn't possibly help in this situation.

Buffy threw back her shoulders, like she had made up her mind. "I can't just leave her here alone."

"Oh, for Christ's sake." George threw up her hands. "She's not alone. She's got a job, she's got roommates, and she's surrounded by people who know her and what she is. Plus, I don't know if you noticed, but I'm standing right here, damn it. Me, the reaper who just stopped you from accidentally obliterating your sister from existence."

Once more the sounds of celebration momentarily distracted Buffy. George knew it would only take a tiny push to get her to leave. She just had no idea how to make that push.

George looked behind her and saw that Dawn was curling in on herself with a look of utter devastation on her face. It was obvious that Dawn thought she had found a way out, only to be told that she couldn't even hope to walk through the open door right in front of her. All the self-assurance was gone, all that intelligence had been overcome with emotion, and all that prideful stubbornness had shattered.

Not surprising, considering that her sister was about to disappear forever, leaving Dawn behind to an afterlife of…what exactly?

George felt the light bulb go off over her head. "Reggie," she said softly.

George turned slowly around and saw that Buffy was once more gearing up to take a step back into the world of the living.

"I have a little sister," George said.

Buffy paused and shot George a look that said, "So what?"

"Believe me, if I was in your position, I'd want to do the exact same thing that you want to do," George said with more certainty.

"But you're not in my position, are you?" Buffy combatively said.

"But I am in mine. I don't want to see Dawn hurt any more than I'd want to see Reggie hurt."

Once more Buffy was momentarily distracted, this time by a rousing chorus sent up by the soaring voices of the women and girls as they danced around the bonfire. The wild-looking black woman who was presiding over the celebration opened her arms in welcome, as if expecting Buffy to run into them for an all-encompassing hug.

George swallowed. "I'll take care of Dawn," she promised.

Buffy looked back at her with wide eyes, and then she looked at the incoherent mess that was Dawn.

"I promise. I'll take care of her," George repeated. "But you have to go."

Buffy's chin trembled and she looked like she was about to cry.

"She'll be fine. I'll make sure of that," George repeated her promise. "Who knows? She might find her way to you sooner than you think."

Buffy's attention was again captured by the dancing and singing. The wild-looking black woman was smiling at Buffy and was wordlessly encouraging her to step all the way into the light with her hands.

"Buffy, go!" Dawn yelled behind George. "Just go! I'll be okay!"

"It's okay," George encouraged softly. "Listen to your sister."

A peaceful look came over Buffy's expression. She leaned forward and said, "I love you Dawn. Don't ever forget that."

"I love you, too." Dawn's voice sounded strangled, as if she were fighting back the urge to sob.

Buffy fixed George with a fierce look that said, "If you break your promise, I'll find a way to come back and kick your ass."

George began to slowly back away. She was already too close. She didn't want to be practically standing on the border between life and light when that open door finally snapped shut.

Buffy spread her arms, looked up to the sky, and began to laugh. She spun around and raced toward the woman who was presiding over the singing and dancing with open arms. Just as the two of them began to embrace, the scene dissolved into a pillar of light with bright, white balls of energy playfully dancing around it.

Then, suddenly, the light was pulled up into the sky, throwing the whole of Terminal 5 back into the darkness.

George collapsed onto her hands and knees. A wave of sick relief caused her to begin trembling and she breathed hard. She did it. She didn't know how she did it, but she did it. She averted disaster.

The sound of Dawn's sobs finally broke through George's hearing. As George looked down, relief was quickly supplanted with unreasonable rage.

"Get up," George snapped

Dawn was so lost in her mourning that she didn't seem to hear George.

"I said," George grabbed Dawn's arm and pulled, "Get up."

Despite the fact that Dawn had almost 4 inches on her, George had enough leverage to yank Dawn to her feet and drag her back to the waiting red mustang. Dawn stumbled and cursed between sobs because George was dragging her along on an injured ankle that had either just healed or was in the middle of healing from being broken.

When they reached the car, George threw Dawn into the backseat before getting behind the wheel. "Don't even think about getting out," George snapped over her shoulder.

Dawn remained lying down across the backseat and didn't even acknowledge that George had spoken at all as her crying picked up in intensity.

George cranked the engine and slammed her foot on the gas. She left a long trail of rubber as she sped out of Terminal 5 and headed back into the city proper.
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From an external point of view, the drive away from the port was a much calmer affair. I followed all the traffic laws and didn't do anything that might make a cop's hair stand on end. Not that any the cop would even notice me. I was very much projecting, "These are not the reapers you are looking for. Please ignore this fire-engine red Mustang convertible and the driver who's covered in blood as it cruises by."

Inside, however, I was raging. I could understand the burning need to escape. I could understand not wanting to be a reaper. I could understand how dealing with death day in and day out could get to someone. I'd been there, done that, and created the t-shirt.

What I didn't understand was why a reaper — any reaper — would jump through that open door. I had always stayed a safe distance away as the souls I had reaped ran into their lights. Before today, I had never gotten close enough to know that standing so close would hurt so much. The pain was a 2-by-4 of a reminder that we didn't belong there, and it wasn't for us. It wasn't just a warning; it was a very painful clue that hitching a ride wouldn't end well for any reaper who tried.

How could she do it? How could she stand on the edge of those white cliffs rising out of the light and wave at me? How could she smile like there was nothing wrong at all? Why didn't Betty back away from the edge instead of jumping?

Why didn't she choose to stay when she had to know that trying to hitch a ride with a soul would end up destroying her?

Why?
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George glided the car to a stop in front of the house Dawn shared with Daisy and Mason. She looked up at the windows and saw that none of the lights were on.

"Can you walk?" George asked in a tight voice.

Although Dawn had calmed down into an eerie silence during the ride from the port, her voice sounded raw and hurt. "My ankle's healed. I can walk."

"Good. Get out," George said flatly.

"George…"

George shot Dawn a glare.

Dawn hunched her shoulders in response and got out of the car without saying another word.

George watched Dawn stumble up the walk and the front-porch steps. Dawn paused as she urgently began to pat herself down as if she were desperately looking for something, but within a few moments she relaxed and pulled something out of a pocket.

George looked away and clutched the steering wheel. She really should just drive away. She could deal with Dawn tomorrow. George looked back at the house and saw that Dawn was opening the door.

"Fuck it," George spit as she threw open her door and chased after Dawn.

Dawn was in the middle of closing the front door when she looked up and saw George bearing down on her like the wrath of God. Her eyes got wide as she said, "George, I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"What did I say? What did I tell you?" George raged as she pushed by Dawn and entered that achingly familiar living room with Daisy's painting over the fireplace and one of Mason's ratty t-shirts thrown over the back of a chair.

"You told me that the light wasn't for us," Dawn said. "But Buffy said she felt—"

"Your sister is not a fucking reaper!" George hollered at Dawn. "She doesn't know shit about it. All she knows is that her little sister is one of the unwilling undead, and she thinks she's got the fucking answer. Except that answer will make you disappear in a nuclear fucking explosion. Jesus! What were you thinking?"

"I…I…wasn't," Dawn admitted as her eyes got wide and she began to slowly back away. "George, I think that—"

"What?" George stamped her foot. "That you think I'm an asshole?"

"N-n-no," Dawn stuttered.

"Really? You could've fooled me. Because you act like I'm some asshole on the street who doesn't know what the fuck she's talking about." George gestured broadly. "Do you think I hammer the rules into your head because I like to hear myself talk? Is that it? Do you think I kick your ass for shits and giggles? Don't you think I'd rather not be kicking your ass? Hunh? Did that ever occur to you? And then you do this. I trusted you, and you nearly shit all over yourself."

Dawn again began slowly backing away toward the kitchen. "George—"

"No! I'm not done with you yet," George advanced on her. "Do you have any idea what almost happened tonight? Do you? You were nearly destroyed. That's right. Destroyed. As in gone for good. As in the only thing left of you would be a corpse and a headstone. Do you know what happens when a reaper takes a running start and jumps into that light?"

"You said—"

George got right in her face and screamed, "BOOM!"

Dawn stumbled back a few steps. "George I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Upset? Upset? Do I look upset?" George raved. "What clued you in? Was it the yelling? The jumping up and down? The way I'm waving my arms?"

"Because you're crying," Dawn answered in a small voice.

George froze. Then she brought a trembling hand up to her face. Her fingers came away wet.

"George—" Dawn began.

Without a word, George turned and fled from the house.

Chapter 12: Chapter 12

I spent the rest of the night huddled on the couch watching and waiting. I didn't do anything more than that. I didn't watch TV, I didn't read, and I didn't try to sleep.

You ever notice how you never get answers to any question that start with 'why'?

Why did I let Dawn reap her sister? I knew in my gut it wouldn't turn out well, but I let her do it without putting up much of a fight.

Why did Roxy have to leave? We were already short one reaper after we reduced Cameron to ash and shot what was left of him into space. We could've kept Roxy, couldn't we?

Why did I get promoted to The Boss? I hated being the boss. I hated being in charge. I hated responsibility of any kind. I hated kicking people's asses and making them follow the rules. I hated the rules. It was like some twisted joke that I was in this position.

Why did Roxy go off the rails when Cameron was in charge? Daisy and Mason weren't a surprise, but Roxy was. She said it was because deep down inside she always wanted to be the rebel reaper, but sometimes I wonder if it was more than that.

Why did Rube leave us without a word? How long did he know that he was going to get promoted? Why didn't he say anything? Was he even given a chance to say good-bye? One day he was there, and the next day Der Waffle Haus was a smoking ruin and Rube was gone.

Why did Betty jump? When did she decide to do it? Why did she do it right in front of me? I thought I was over it, but it turns out that I really wasn't. Why does Betty's leap into the light still bother me after all this time?

Why did my family fall apart after I died? Why did I die? Why am I reaper?

Why I am still here?

Why, why, why, why?

As I sat on my couch and stared at my four walls looking for answers, the room began to take on grey-ish cast as morning approached. Soon, the grey had a slight tinge of red.

Whatever else had happened last night down at Terminal 5, the world didn't end.

Reality snapped back into place when the interoffice envelope slid under my door with barely a rustle, but I still didn't move. It was like I was waiting for a sign that it was okay for me to get off the couch.

My radio alarm went off and the DJ's voice filled my apartment with news that a freak earthquake hit Seattle, leaving almost 875 people dead and hundreds more reporting hallucinations due to the geothermic gases escaping into the atmosphere. Scientists from the federal government were en route to investigate.

Hearing that amount of concentrated bullshit was what snapped me out of my funk. I got to my feet with a stretch. I went to window, lifted the shades, and threw open the curtains.

Outside the sun was shining. People were on the sidewalks, and cars were on the street. Both the pedestrian and car traffic were on the light side for a Monday morning, but nothing was otherwise out of place. Who knew what it would really be like once I left my cocoon and inserted myself into the lives of the living.

Last night, the world almost ended. Last night, the world did end for a lot of people.

And yet, despite everything, the world was still here.
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George pulled up in front of house shared by Dawn, Mason, and Daisy. She nervously cast a glance at the house, took a deep breath, grabbed her Day Planner, and got out of the car.

The walk to the front door felt like it took forever.

Just as George reached the top step, Daisy opened the front door, and put a finger to her lips. Her face was denuded makeup and she looked wan, pale, and exhausted. George suspected that Daisy hadn't slept a wink all night, either.

"Everyone's still sleeping, hunh?" George asked.

Daisy softly closed the door behind her and joined George on the porch. "Dawn finally collapsed into bed a little over an hour ago. After the night she's had, I'm afraid of waking her."

"You heard," George said as she leaned against the porch railing.

Daisy nodded. "Both me and Mason got the whole story."

"Go on. Say it. I shouldn't have let her reap her sister," George said in a defeated tone.

"Georgia," Daisy sighed as she crossed her arms and shook her head.

"Yeah, I know," George agreed.

"Though I can't imagine you ripped into her nearly as badly as Mason did," Daisy said.

George startled. "Wait. What?"

Daisy nodded. "As soon as she told us about how she almost entered the light, Mason just exploded. It was awful. He wouldn't stop yelling at her."

"Mason? Our Mason?" George asked.

Daisy hugged herself and hunched her shoulders. She looked like a fragile China doll trying to hold herself together. "Mason ran off when he was done yelling. I don't know where he is."

George rubbed her forehead as she thought. "He's probably passed out in a booth at the Pancake Stack. I'll swing by on my way to work."

"I hope you're right." Daisy uncomfortably shuffled. "I didn't know about Betty."

George did a double-take. "You didn't?"

"No one ever said what happened to her," Daisy said. "All I knew was that I was transferred from SoHo to replace a reaper in your group. The only reason I knew her name was because I overheard you and Rube talking about how she was gone and neither one of you knew where she went."

George looked down as she fiddled with her Day Planner.

"Betty leaving the way she did sounds pretty awful," Daisy lamely added.

"I was there and saw her do it. Mason wasn't," George said.

"I guess he saw the flash of light, and heard the sonic boom. He said the ground shook." Daisy shrank in on herself. "I always wondered what would happen if a reaper hitched a ride. Now I wish I didn't."

"So do I," George quietly agreed. She uncomfortably scratched her head, and flipped open her Day Planner.

Daisy grimaced. "You'd think they'd give us a day off. Declare a reaper holiday or something."

"You remember what happens when death takes a holiday," George pulled two post-its out of her Day Planner. "Paperwork."

Daisy reluctantly took one of them, "A choice between reaping, and typing everyone's dying thoughts into a database. Well, I think I know which one I prefer."

"Take this one for Dawn," George said. "I came by here just to drop these off. I don't think I can deal with your roomie on an extended basis just yet. I'm afraid I might start strangling her in front of witnesses."

Daisy came dangerously close to a smile. "Just one post-it each."

George nodded. "We're back to our normal level of death."

"Thank God." As Daisy reached out for Dawn's post-it, she asked, "Is there anything you want me to tell Dawn when she wakes up?"

"No. I need a little time to step back and get perspective," George admitted. "I've already handled this whole thing very badly. The last thing I want to do is make it worse."

"Why Georgia," Daisy's eyelashes fluttered as she placed a hand over her heart, "are you actually thinking before acting? Wonders never cease."

"Don't push it, Daisy," George half-heartedly growled.

Daisy just shook her head with a smile as she went back into the house.

George sighed as she turned to go back to her car.

After talking to Daisy, I felt better. Even though she knew I had screwed up as a boss, she hadn't held it against me. It was the last thing I expected from her, and it felt good to realize that I could rely on her in some way.

Who'd have thunk it? Daisy had my back.

George was reaching for the door handle of her car when a sudden movement on the backseat startled her. She jumped and exclaimed, "Jesus!"

"So I've been called by many a lady when they've experience my magic touch." Mason peered up at her. "Hope you don't mind, but I was larking about when I saw your car."

"Larking about, hunh?" George archly asked as she opened her car door and slid behind the wheel. "Does 'larking about' mean 'taking a long walk to cool off'?"

"In this case, yeah."

George tapped the wheel. "Where do you need to go? I can drop you off on the way to work."

"I just want to make myself scarce for a bit. Clear my head," Mason answered.

"If you don't mind getting dumped off in the Happy Time parking lot, I think I can manage that," George said as she started the engine.

"Don't tell me you're actually going to your straight job. On a day like this?"

"It's either that," George put the car into gear, "or go crazy."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mason was mostly quiet on the drive to Happy Time. Like me, he was probably looking for evidence that the city had only last night been a battleground where the fate of the world was at stake. I had to give the Slayers a lot of credit. Some buildings looked like they had been damaged, but not nearly as many as I thought there should have been. You had to get a pretty close-up view to realize that something wasn't quite right in the city.

Despite the news all over the radio and on the front page of the newspaper, people were still going to work like nothing had happened. Maybe they were curious to find out who survived and who didn't, and going to work was the only way to know for sure. Maybe like me they needed to pretend that everything was normal; that their corner of the world had remained untouched by what had happened.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Olly, olly oxen free," George said as she pulled into a parking spot.

Mason leaned forward from the back seat, wrapped his arms around the passenger seat's headrest, and laid his head down so that he was facing George. "Thanks," he said softly.

George reached out and patted Mason's head. "Heard you went off like a Roman candle on Dawn after I left."

Mason uncomfortably shrugged. "Not sure what got into me there."

"Betty did," George said with certainty. "Got to admit, I'm kinda surprised. You were on the other side of town taking ownership of the house when Betty jumped."

"Oi. I didn't steal it. That ancient and strange ol' bird handed me the keys and the deed. Her final wish was to screw her weasel of a son out of an inheritance, and I was more than happy to oblige," Mason half-heartedly protested.

George's hand dropped. "I'm just surprised that Betty leaving affected you so badly."

"Saw the light, heard the boom. The whole bloody ground shook. I don't think there was a reaper in the city that didn't know something had gone pear-shaped," Mason admitted.

"Break the number one rule, pay the number one price," George softly said.

"Thought Cameron paid the ultimate price, actually," Mason countered.

"Probably because he went for quantity, instead of quality."

"Typical stockbroker, I suppose," Mason said. "Always wanting more."

George tapped the surface of her Day Planner. "Mason, why did you completely lose it with Dawn?"

"I told you, I don't—"

"Yes you do know," George quietly interrupted.

Mason sighed and fell silent.

"Mason," George encouraged.

"D'you know that you're my oldest friend?"

"Hunh? That can't be right," George said. "You've been dead for—"

"Decades. Yeah. Don't remind me," Mason interrupted. "I tell you Georgie, there are some days I feel like the last man standing."

"Because everyone you've known for longer than six years is gone," George said with realization.

"Yeah." Mason began counting the names off on his fingers, "Rube, Roxy, Betty, me, and Jackson."

"Who's Jackson?"

"Bloke who reaped you," Mason said.

"Hunh." George made a thoughtful face. "I never knew his name."

"He was a bit of alright, y'know." Mason waggled a hand. "Used to get up in Rube's grill quite a lot. I suspect Rube was glad to see the back of him."

"Rube did call him a pain in the ass," George said.

"When Jackson left and you came along, that was all right. The old gang was mostly intact, but you got to shake things up a bit. All in all, nothing horrible about it," Mason said. "Then a few months after you show, Betty does what she did."

"And we got Daisy," George nodded.

"And just this year, we lose Rube and Roxy," Mason said. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever going to bleeding move on, or if I'll be stuck decade in and decade out watching reapers come and go around me."

It was funny to realize that I wasn't the only one who dreaded the kind of change that Roxy's loss and Dawn's addition brought. It was funny to realize that I wasn't the only one who saw routine as something comfortable and comforting.

I would've never pegged Mason to be that someone, though. Chaotic, crazy Mason with all his schemes and dreams, who seemed to go out of his way to make his own life difficult every chance he got. Even Mason needed to know that some things would never change, and that he'd always have family there for him.

Okay, an undead, fucked-up family, but we were family in our own strange way.

George again reached out to pat Mason's head. "I'll make you a deal. I won't go anywhere until you do."

Mason smiled, grabbed her hand, and kissed it. "You can't promise anything of the sort Georgie Girl, but thanks for saying so anyway."

George smiled at him. "You're welcome."

Mason let go of her hand and sat up. "I best push off and let you get to your straight job."

"Before you go," George flipped open her Day Planner, "I've got a little pick-me-up for you."

Mason took the single post it and, as was his habit, scanned it before shoving it in his pocket. "Just the one?"

"I hope that means we're back to normal," George said. "I think you'll like this one. Electrocution. Garage band playing in an actual garage equals one toasty lead guitarist."

Mason's eyes had a far away look. "And where there's a band, at minimum there are birds and booze." There was a gleam in Mason's eye as he grinned at her. "Cheers, Georgie."

"You're welcome," George said with a grin as she dug around in her book bag. "But I need you to do me a favor."

"Should've known there was no free ride."

George pulled $40 out of her wallet. "Your reap's not until late this afternoon, so take Dawn out to a nice lunch on me. Make it up to her. And make it look like it was your idea and that this is your money, okay?"

Mason looked confused as he took the bills. "Why not take her yourself?"

"One, I've got to do my reap on my lunch, so no time. And two, it's one thing if I'm mad at her, but it's something else entirely if you're pissed at her," George explained. "I'm the boss, remember? I'm supposed to be constantly pissed off about something."

Mason suppressed a smile as he shoved the money in his pocket. "Right you are, boss."

George couldn't resist grinning as Mason got out of her car with a bounce in his step.
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Once Mason was gone, I had to actually pay attention to my surroundings. The Happy Time parking lot, which we shared with other companies in the building, was at least half-empty. The walk to the building was a lot less crowded, and I actually had the elevator all to myself.

I wondered if all those missing people were dead, or if maybe they were home mourning the dead. Although I wasn't responsible for any of those deaths, although I hadn't decided who would die, I couldn't help but feel just a little bit guilty.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Even though she was only 15 minutes late, George still tried to make herself look small as she tiptoed out of the elevator and began heading for her desk. Just as she was about to enter the cubical farm she called home for eight hours a day, it dawned on her that the office was unnaturally quiet. There were no ringing phones, no unnecessary chit-chit, and no ambient noise signaling that her co-workers were settling down for a long day doing everything they could to avoid actual work.

It wasn't much of a mystery why the hustle and bustle of Happy Time was notoriously absent. Most of the desks were empty.

George turned around to see if Crystal was there. George was relieved to see that she was in her customary place, peering suspiciously at the world over the top of her receptionist desk with her blue-eyed unblinking stare.

"Did they decide to shut down the company for the day and someone forget to tell me?" George asked.

The top of Crystal's head made a 'no' motion.

"Then where is everyone?" George asked.

Crystal's head dipped slightly to one side, a sign that the invisible portion of her body from the bridge of her nose down was engaged in something that resembled a shrug.

"Is…is Delores in?" George asked.

"Unh-hunh," Crystal answered.

"Know where she is?" George asked.

Crystal's head movement indicated that she was shrugging again.

That's what I loved about Crystal. Getting her to share information usually required a game of 20 questions. While I've had cause to be grateful for her don't-ask-don't-tell-about-the-weird-employees policy, there are times when it crossed the line into overboard.

George cleared her throat and went to lean on the receptionist desk. "Soooooo, you do anything interesting this weekend?"

This time George had a clear enough view over the top of Crystal's desk to actually see her shrug.

"Yeaaaaah. I had that kind of weekend too…" George's voice trailed off. She pursed her lips and helplessly looked around. "Nope. I didn't have much going on, either."

"Spent last night in my underground bunker," Crystal suddenly volunteered.

George startled at the unexpected show of conversational involvement from Crystal. "Ah, you, um…did? And…wait." She focused her attention on the other woman. "You have an underground bunker?"

Crystal shrugged as if to say, "Shouldn't everyone have underground bunker?"

Much as George really hated spewing the bullshit she heard on the radio, she couldn't resist. "Isn't an underground bunker kind of useless in an earthquake?"

Crystal swung her blue-eyed unblinking stare towards George as if to ask, "Just how stupid do you think I am?"

"Right," George nodded. "I'm just going to head for my desk."

"Millie!"

Next thing George knew, her face was smushed into the ample bosom of one Delores Herbig.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're okay," Delores said as she hugged George tight. "I can't tell you how relieved I am to see you."

"Can't. Breathe." George's voice was muffled.

Delores didn't let go. "When I heard on the radio that people were killed, I just thought…well, I don't know what I thought. I was blank. Completely blank."

George patted Delores on the shoulder as she extricated herself. "Yeeeaaaah. The earthquake."

Crystal coughed something that sounded suspiciously like, "Bull."

"I have to tell you, I most certainly saw some very strange things last night." Delores shook her head and looked like she was about to cry.

"What kind of things?" George hesitantly asked.

"I saw a giant squid walking on land," Delores began.

"A giant squid!" George yelped. "It wasn't wearing a belt made of faces, was it?"

Delores gasped. "You saw it, too?"

George startled. "Me? No. No I didn't see anything. I was home all night. There was this horror movie thing on. From the '70s I think. You could tell because the colors were all washed out and all the collars on the men's jackets were about as big as hand gliders. The monster was a…a…giant squid. Or like a squid. I fell asleep in the middle and started dreaming about a giant squid attacking my building."

"How odd," Delores said.

"Yeah. Coincidence, I guess," George said as she shot Crystal a warning glare to refrain from doing anything Crystal-like.

Delores smiled a watery smile. "Oh, I know what I saw was impossible. Giant squids walking on dry land. Preposterous. Ha! I bet I saw the same movie at some point and for whatever reason, I hallucinated that the monster was real." The smile suddenly disappeared as Delores realized something. "Although it was heading for the port, which I suppose makes sense if you're a giant squid walking on land."

"It does?" George asked.

"Because it's closer to the water, silly." Delores seemed relieved that she had discovered some logic behind her hallucination, even if it only made sense to her.

"Riiiiight. You do know they're saying that all those gases in the ground were vented into the atmosphere during the earthquake and caused all kinds of hallucinations, right?" George said.

Even though Crystal was behind her, George could practically feel her rolling her eyes.

"Well, it wasn't much of a hallucination," Delores confided.

"Delores, you saw a giant squid," George deadpanned.

"When I was on the," here Delores looked around as if she was expecting ninja eavesdroppers to come out of nowhere and dropped her voice to a whisper, "cocaine," she straightened up and continued in a normal vice, "I saw much worse. I once hallucinated that I engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a vampire clown in a port-a-potty located just outside a Barnum & Bailey circus tent. Who knows what that was about?"

George desperately dove for a change in subject. "So where is everyone?"

Delores deflated. "We're still trying to find out. Only a handful of people showed up for work. Not that I blame anyone who wanted to take a sick day at all."

"So, I guess you're working call lists to find out who's okay?" George asked. She didn't add, And find out who's dead?

Delores nodded. "There's one for Happy Time employees, one for our temps, and one for our clients."

George sighed. "I'll check in with the temps."

"Good. We're still going through the employee list, and I'd feel better if we got to the temps sooner rather than later." Delores paused and rested a hand on George's shoulders. "I can't tell you how glad I am to see that you're all right."

George felt herself smile. "I'm glad you're okay too."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rube always said, "Don't get too close to the living."

Keep your distance, stick to the shadows, don't get noticed.

Don't be loved by them. Don't even try to be liked.

We're grim reapers. We're undead. We're not alive. Our place is on the outside looking in.

It's sound advice. Good advice, even.

Until you stop and think about it.

The deck is stacked against any reaper who tries to completely isolate themselves from interacting the living, or who tries not to affect them. There's something inherently screwy about any system that tells you to keep your distance, yet by its very structure forces you to rub elbows with the living every day.

You have to get close. You can't keep your distance. Stick to the shadows, and someone will shine a spotlight right on you. And just try not being noticed. It's like hanging a sign around your neck saying, "Please notice me."

It doesn't matter that a grim reaper is as close as you can get to being immortal, and that by definition you're going to outlive everything and everyone you ever cared about. It doesn't matter that you see so much death that you can't help but notice that everything is alive. And yes, maybe that includes books, too.

At the end of the day, reapers suck at keeping their distance from the living. We suck at not affecting people we deal with, whether it's just in the day-to-day or at the one time in your life when you don't want to see us.

Reapers leave footprints, no matter what we do. We leave footprints because of what we've done, and we leave footprints because of what we didn't do. All of that has consequences. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad, but the consequences are never what you'd expect.

It's really not all that different from being plain ol' alive, if you think about it.

Besides, who wants to deal with a reaper who doesn't give a shit? I sure as hell don't, because any reaper who doesn't give a shit on some level is a reaper that deserves to be chopped up, burned in a fireplace, and have their ashes shot into space.

Like Cameron, for example.

I guess what I'm saying is that Rube was talking out of his ass.

But you know what? I think that at the end of the day, Rube knew he was talking out of his ass, too.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

George checked her watch as she hurried to her car. Even though it was only 7:30 pm, it felt a lot later. Making the calls was tough, because there was no way to know what she'd get. Most people were fine, if a little shaken. A smaller group had lost someone the night before.

Some never picked up the phone, never returned messages, and remained mysteriously silent.

Final tally: three Happy Time employees were still among the missing, with one confirmed dead; and 6 temps missing, none confirmed dead. George had no idea what the tally was among clients, but given the look on Delores's face around 6 o'clock, she really didn't want to know.

George stuck her key into the lock when she heard a hoarse, rough voice behind her. "Don't even think about getting in that car."

George momentarily froze.

She felt something sharp poke her in the back.

George's shoulders slumped. "Are you shitting me? I'm being mugged? After the day I just had?"

"Not a mugging," the sharp point poked her again, "unless you count wringing answers out of you as mugging."

"What the f—" George began as she turned around.

Whoever was holding the pointed thing moved at the same time George did. The brief, no-contact scuffle, left a scratch on her hand from the sharp object and George trapped against her car.

"Who the hell do you think—" George began, but stopped when she realized she was looking at the business end of a crossbow held by, "Xander?"

"Hello, Millie," Xander said with a tight smile. He looked like hell. It was clear that he hadn't slept or shaved for several days. His clothes were disheveled and torn, and there was a vivid cut on his cheek under the eye patch. His visible eye was twitching, and the gleam in it was definitely threatening.

Even though I knew Xander couldn't kill me, that crossbow looked like it would really hurt. It might hurt enough that I'd pass out. With the way Xander was looking at me, I didn't want to find out what I'd wake up to if that happened.

I had to keep him talking until I could escape.

"What the hell happened to you?" George asked.

Xander tilted his head. His smile took on a nasty edge, and the crossbow didn't waver one bit. "I think you already know."

"I really don't," George insisted.

A half-crazed chuckle escaped Xander's lips. "For someone who's out of town until Wednesday, or was it Thursday? What I'm saying is, for someone who's out of town, it sure looks like you're very much here."

"Are you stalking me?" George said as she surreptitiously looked for an escape route.

As I desperately looked around, I realized that running may not do me any good. Now that I thought about it, Xander always seemed to notice me even when I didn't want to be noticed. It was like my reaper ability to disappear while still in plain sight didn't work on him.

"What were you doing down at Terminal 5?" Xander asked.

"Terminal…5?" George asked with what she hoped sounded like confusion. "What's Terminal 5?"

"Don't play games with me, Millie," Xander threatened.

"I don't know what you're talking about," George stubbornly insisted.

"Are we really going to play this game, Millie?" Xander's voice was dripping with condescension.

"You expect me to play games while you've got that thing pointed at me?" George asked.

"Fine," Xander spit at her. "A friend of yours crossed paths with a friend of mine down at Terminal 5. This friend of yours wandered up to this friend of mine and touched her. When the touching happened I thought, but I wasn't sure, that I saw a slight distortion. Afterwards, my friend was kind of distracted, and not at all herself. Less than 10 minutes later, she was dead."

Shit! He saw Dawn reap Buffy!

Wait. He actually saw the reap?

When Bryan warned that Dawn's people were dangerous because they noticed things, I didn't realize that might include them noticing the actual act of reaping.

"Now this friend of yours was an older woman who looked like she was just crawling her way up from some very homeless-looking hard times," Xander continued. "Ring any bells?"

"I…I…don't know any homeless people," George stuttered.

"Oh, I think you do," Xander sarcastically said. "Because shortly after my friend got killed by the reflex action of an already-dead N'goth demon—"

"Demon?" George interrupted. "Xander, have you been drinking?"

Xander jerked up the crossbow so that the pointed end of the bolt was aimed right at her chin.

Well, that wasn't the smartest thing I've said all day, was it?

"Don't," Xander quietly warned. "You know damn well what a N'goth demon is."

"Sure. Why not?" George emphatically nodded. She hoped she looked like a scared woman who was just playing along.

"As I was saying," Xander brought the crossbow down to that it was pointed at her heart, "shortly after my friend was killed, I saw this friend of yours running like a bat out of hell away from the scene of the crime. I don't have to tell you that I chased her."

George desperately searched her memory. She was very sure that she didn't see Xander chasing Buffy and Dawn, and she couldn't imagine Xander not trying to interfere if he saw Dawn on the ground with her broken ankle while she yelled at what had to look nothing.

"I lost her for a little bit in the cargo stacks," Xander said.

George relaxed. He didn't see shit. "So why are you coming after me?"

"Because when I caught up with her, what did my lonely little eye see? You throwing my suspect in the back of your car. Then I saw you lay down rubber to get the hell away from the port," Xander said in a hard voice.

You have got to be kidding me!

"That wasn't even me!" George protested. "You're confusing me with someone else!"

"You have a very distinctive car, Millie. And you? Are a very distinctive person." Xander grinned. "Besides, I managed to get close enough to get a partial of your plate. A quick check with the DMV confirmed what I already knew."

I knew I shouldn't have legally registered the car! I knew it!

There's nothing for it. When all else fails, cause a scene. Okay, I've got the last car in the parking lot so my odds of a potential witness just stumbling across this are pretty slim, but Xander obviously knows I can be dangerous. Maybe if I'm dangerous in living girl kind of way he'll see he's wrong and will back down.

"This is bullshit," George evenly said. "You're not going to kill me. If you really believe that your friend was murdered by someone I know, you've got to believe that I'm the only lead you've got."

Xander made a 'hunh' face. "Good logic."

"Thank you," George sniffed. "You're still totally wrong."

Xander's nasty smile returned. "You're right. I can't kill you, but I can definitely use this crossbow to incapacitate you."

"If you really believe I'm guilty, then you better just shoot me," George dared him. "But make sure you kill me when you're done, because you can bet that as soon as I get away from you I'll be calling the police."

Xander grinned at her like he was genuinely amused. "Then call the police. Nothing stopping you from doing it right now."

"I would think honking big crossbow is stopping me from doing it now," George stiffly replied.

"No! Go right ahead! I'm not going to stop you," Xander promised. "I'll even aim the crossbow at your foot to show that I won't shoot if you whip out your cell phone right now and dial 9-1-1."

"I'll do it," George said as she reached for her pocket.

"No you won't. Because then you'll have to explain why you suddenly blipped into existence a little over 6 years ago," Xander said.

George's jaw dropped. "What?"

Xander shrugged. "Do you really think I didn't arm myself to the teeth with information before I wandered into your parking lot?"

George just stared at him dumfounded.

"Whoever created your fake ID was good. Really good. But the Council hackers are better," Xander said. "Call the police, and they may arrest me but they'll definitely want to talk to you after I show them all the paperwork detailing how Millie Hagen didn't exist before 2003."

"Look, you can't…what I mean is…you don't know what happened," George said as she desperately tried to regain her equilibrium. "I was…I was…an informant for the FBI. Drug case. Big drug case. And—"

"The Council hackers would've spotted law enforcement fingerprints on your fake ID if that was true," Xander calmly interrupted.

"Look, I'm sorry your friend died last night, but you have got to believe that I'm not involved with her death," George desperately said.

Xander went very still. "I never said when my friend died."

Shit! Time to run for it!

George charged at Xander and hoped like hell that it would throw him off balance enough that she'd be able to get by him.

What happened next was a bit of a blur. There was the sound of a twang, and the sudden blossoming of pain that sent her to the edge of blacking out. George felt herself falling forward, only to be captured by a pair of strong arms.

George's vision swam as she looked up into Xander's shocked face. She then looked down and saw the crossbow bolt sticking out of her chest.

"You son of a bitch. You shot me," George gritted through her teeth. She looked up at him. "I can't believe you really shot me!"

"But…how—" Xander began.

Out of sheer instinct, George thrust her hands into Xander's chest and yanked his soul up and out.

"I can't believe you did that!" George said as she lifted his nearly-weightless soul off the ground and began to shake it back and forth. "Do you know how much that fucking hurts? I should kick your ass for that!"

Xander's mouth, or rather his soul's mouth, flopped open and closed, but no sound came out.

George froze as she realized that her hands were still inside Xander's chest and that she was practically lifting him over her head. She cautiously followed Xander's horrified gaze and saw his body standing next to her. The body's mouth was open and drooling, the eye was glassy, and it was wobbling back and forth on its legs.

George looked up at Xander's soul and let out a horrified, "Shit!"

The expression on soul-Xander's face was nothing less than unadulterated fear as he looked down at her.

George closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and steeled herself. "Right," she said as she opened her eyes. She glared up at Xander's soul, and gave it another little shake. "You and me are going to have a little talk."

Chapter 13: Chapter 13

When I was a young and innocent reaper just getting my start in the afterlife, I was privileged to witness Roxy accidentally start a new religion. Well, I didn't actually witness it, but I heard all about it after the fact.

Roxy, who was still working as a meter maid at the time, got into a slight altercation with a man she described as an unrelenting asshole. He kept parking his trashy camper in a no-parking zone, and she kept giving him tickets. Eventually they had words. Words moved on to threats. Threats moved on to shoving.

And Roxy, whose normal mode of being was, "I'll kick your ass" proceeded to yank the unrelenting asshole's soul out of his body and threaten him with an existence that, in her words, would take a turn for the strange and painful.

Then she put his soul back in his body and left.

He responded by getting religion, namely, a religion where the messenger from God was a perpetually pissed-off meter maid. He became a pacifist. He painted murals of the moment when Roxy temporarily de-souled him under the approving light of heaven. He created bobble-headed Roxy dolls as religious icons. He attracted a convert who had to prove his worthiness by carrying around a parking meter. He created whole new words to describe the whole new concepts, most of which could be boiled down to, "God will kick your ass."

Rube went ape. He started ranting about Joseph Smith and Mormons and how they now had a monopoly on the hotel industry.

Apparently, this wasn't the first time a reaper lost their temper and accidentally started a religion.

He ordered Roxy to go forth, and make the problem go away.

After the judicial application of violence — namely Roxy grabbing the guy by the balls and giving them a sharp twist — the Religion of Roxy died before it ever really got off the ground. Presumably he returned to his life as an unrelenting asshole, only now he had a special hatred for meter maids.

I doubted very much that Xander would do something as innocuous as start a new religion as a result of what I did. And I doubted very much that if I just put his soul back in his body and walked away that he'd let the whole thing go.

The most likely outcome would be that he'd go back to his Council; round up a posse of Watchers, Slayers, and God knows what else; and then come after my reaper ass.

There was only one way to stop that from happening.

I had to tell him the truth.

All things considering, I think he took it pretty well.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Xander and George were silent as they leaned against the trunk of her car with their arms barely touching.

Xander opened his mouth like he was about to say something, looked at her, shook his head, and then looked back out over the empty parking lot.

George played with the gore-covered crossbow bolt that Xander had thoughtfully pulled out of her chest after she put his soul back into his body.

Xander finally cleared his throat. "You know, I expected a black hooded robe. A scythe. A voice that speaks in all capital letters. That kind of thing."

"I don't know anyone who owns a scythe," George said. "They're kind of awkward to carry around, not to mention noticeable."

"Good point," Xander said. He looked at her again. "You don't look like a goth chick with an oversized ankh pendant, either."

"Here's a tip. If someone looks like a goth chick, they're probably just a goth chick," George said.

"Not down with the Pratchett or the Gaiman, hunh?" Xander asked.

"The what or who, now?" George asked.

"Never mind." Xander was back to staring at the empty parking lot. "I can't believe I had sex with death. Even for me, that's one for the record books."

"For the last time, I'm not Death," George said with frustration.

"Sorry. Grim reaper." Xander shook his head and asked, "How is that not death again?"

"Grim reapers work for Death," George answered.

"You're death's employees," Xander deadpanned.

"Yeah, but the pay and benefits suck. Do you think I work for a temp agency for shits and giggles?"

Xander looked over his shoulder at the office building behind him. "I'm guessing not."

"Damn straight."

Xander blinked at the crossbow bolt in George's hand. "But I'm not so sure there aren't any benefits at all." He looked at her again. "How's the…ahhh…" he rubbed his chest.

George looked down at her blood-caked shirt to check. "All healed."

Xander winced. "Can't say the same for your clothes. You look like an axe-murderer."

"I've been doing this long enough that I know to keep a change of clothes in the trunk of my car," George said. "One stop in a gas station restroom, and no one will know that I was shot in the chest."

"Right," Xander whispered as he went back to staring at the parking lot. "And you're telling me that the older woman who talked to Buffy and touched her before she died was really Dawn, who's now a grim reaper just like you."

"Right."

Xander looked like he was trying to get hamster wheel in his brain to stop squeaking. "How did Dawn become a reaper again?"

"The flying fickle finger of fate fucked her," George said. "Or to put in a concept you understand, she was chosen."

Xander made a 'hunh' face. "You'd be shocked how often it's the same thing."

"I'm the opposite of shocked."

"And Buffy's dead because she had a," Xander looked at her like he couldn't quite believe he was about to say this, "post-it."

"Exactly."

And she had a post-it because…" Xander's voice trailed off.

"It was her time," George softly said.

"And Buffy's gone into the light where she's safe, right?" Xander asked.

"Yeah. She had a wild party waiting for her," George said. "There was singing, and dancing, and feasting. Oh, and watching over the whole thing was this wild-looking black woman with her face painted white."

Xander actually chuckled at that. "I'm surprised Buffy didn't march right up to her and kick her ass."

"Nah. They hugged like they were best buddies," George assured him. "Once Dawn told her it was okay to move on, Buffy seemed like she was getting ready to put on her dancing shoes and enjoy her welcome home party."

"Good," he softly said with a smile. His smile soon faded. "And Dawn. Is she okay?"

"She's been better," George answered.

"Yeah, well. She and Buffy were close so, I'd be more shocked if you said she was perfectly fine," Xander said. "I meant in general."

"She's actually doing okay. Y'know? All things considering," George said with a shrug. "She's got a job working in a bookstore, and she's living in a house with two other reapers. She's not alone, if that's what you're worried about."

"Good," Xander said quietly. He winced. "Dawn was, ummm, chosen right? For the grim reaper gig."

"I…guess. If you want to put it that way, sure," George cautiously said.

"So, how does she get out of it?" Xander asked.

George tensed. "She can't."

"No, no, no. I don't mean how does she get unchosen even as we speak. I know that's probably impossible due to some kind of mystical rule," Xander quickly said. "What I mean is how does the assignment end? For Slayers it's a lifetime thing, but Dawn's already dead. So, is there some kind of term limit thing? Like, 'For X-number of years you're a reaper and then you can go into the light?' Or is there some kind task she has to complete? How does it work? Because I'm pretty sure it can't be 'become a reaper, stay a reaper for eternity'."

George almost smiled as she slit her eyes toward him. "Figured that out for yourself, hunh?"

"Well it makes sense, doesn't it?" Xander winced. "Or as much sense as any of this makes, which means it makes no sense at all unless you hang upside down and let all the blood rush to your head. Besides, there are rules, aren't there? Nothing's forever. At some point, the term of service has to end."

"Everything dies," George quietly said.

"Exactly."

George looked up at him and saw that he was coming from a place where he long ago accepted that everything died.

George took a deep breath. "I was told that every reaper has a set number of souls they've got to reap before they can move on. No one knows what that number is, and the number is different for everyone. It's just one day you're out there doing your job, and the next you get your last post-it."

Xander studied her before saying with a little wonder, "You don't believe that, do you?"

That was the question, wasn't it?

"I…I don't know," George hedged.

"You don't." Xander sounded certain. "I can see you don't."

"No. I don't." It felt good to admit it, even if it was to someone who wasn't a reaper. "I think we're here because we're holding on to something. Or looking for something. Or maybe we want to figure out the answer to some kind of question. Or maybe we need to learn some kind of lesson. I don't know. All I know is that whatever it is, it's different for everyone. I don't think racking up an impressive post-it collection is the answer."

Xander shook his head as he stared out over the parking lot. "That kind of uncertainty doesn't sound like Dawn. Well, I mean post-18 year-old Dawn. If she were younger I could see it, but once she headed off to college she was the definition of certainty about everything. I don't think she had an uncertain moment in her life after we left California. She knew what she wanted, and went for it no matter what the consequences."

"Maybe you saw only what you wanted to see," George pointed out. "Or maybe you only saw what you were supposed to see."

"Or maybe I only saw that side of her because she long ago stopped seeing me as her goofy big brother." Xander's voice sounded heavy with guilt.

"That regret you're feeling? That's why I think you need to leave Seattle. The sooner, the better," George said.

Xander's head whipped around to look at her. "Why?"

If you stay in town, she'll eventually see you because that's just the way our luck runs. You'll be a distraction, maybe even a temptation for her to break the rules for one reason or another. I don't want her to get hurt, I don't want my club of reapers to get hurt, and I sure as shit don't want to see innocent people get hurt because I didn't have the balls to tell you to go away.

Somehow, with all that guilt you're carrying about Dawn, I don't think you'll see it that way, so I'm going to make you feel even more guilty if I have to.

George took a deep breath, and brought all of her Happy Time-honed skills to bear. In short she punted, with a side of dancing on the head of a pin.

"Whatever Dawn needs, whatever it is that she's got to figure out, she can't do that looking over her shoulder and worrying about all the shit she lost when she died," George said as she mentally crossed her fingers and hoped like hell Xander believed her. "If you want to help her actually move on and get her lights, you can't be here. If she sees you wandering around the city there's a chance she'll get sucked into constantly chewing over the past, and that's not going to help her in the long run."

Xander crossed his arms and suspiciously regarded her. "Are you talking about Dawn? Or you?"

"I'd be lying if I didn't say I've got some personal experience," George admitted. "But ask any reaper. They'll tell you the same thing I just did."

Xander huffed a breath. "I'll think about it."

"Xander—" George began.

"I said, I'll think about it." Xander was firm. "I can see what you're saying. I can. But I've also got responsibilities here. I can't just walk away from my commitments without an explanation, and everyone will want an explanation if I do."

Bullshit. You don't want to leave because you can't get over your damn guilt.

George and Xander once more fell into an uncomfortable silence as they both stewed over the argument about Dawn.

"Glamour," Xander suddenly said.

"Excuse me?" George asked.

Xander was once again studying her in that penetrating way he had. "Reapers have glamour."

"Glamour. That's where the living don't see what we really look like, right?"

Xander nodded.

"Yeah," George said. "I have no idea why Dawn pulled the short straw. If it's any consolation, when she started out she looked like an actual bag lady. Her looks have improved."

Xander tilted his head. "So, you don't look like you."

"Um, no. Underneath this 20-something exterior is an 18 year-old dead girl."

"Eighteen?" Xander yelped.

"Calm down," George said with amusement. "I've been dead for 6 years, so I guess that actually makes me 24."

Xander blinked. "Oh. I don't know why that makes me feel better, but it kind of does."

"Not into younger women, hunh?"

"Most of the Slayers I work with are younger women," Xander pointed out. "Eighteen is pretty much the average age of the group I tend to work with."

George bit back a laugh. "Guess you and my dad won't make friends any time soon."

"So what's your real name?" Xander asked.

"Ummm, George?"

"Are you asking me, or telling me?" Xander asked.

"Telling. It's George." Off Xander's doubtful look, she added, "Really."

"Strange name for a girl," Xander remarked.

"Xander's a strange name for a guy who had a friend with the equally strange name of Buffy. There. We're even," George huffed.

"George," Xander repeated. A sudden look of realization crossed his face. "Wait. George isn't actually a nickname for Georgia is it?"

"Why?" George suspiciously asked.

Xander began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" George demanded.

Xander bent over as he howled.

George waved the crossbow bolt at him in a threatening manner. "Hey, there's nothing wrong with my name."

Xander just barely managed to bring himself under control. "Georgia. As in Georgia Lass."

"Oh, now wait a minute!" George said as she backed up a step. "You've got the wrong person. I'm not—"

"Georgia Lass who was horrified to find out that her memorial is the subject of an urban legend." Xander looked like he was barely keeping his laughter in check. "Don't deny it. That was why you kept asking 'what' like you couldn't believe your ears and were totally horrified by what you did hear. It all makes sense of a kind that it didn't before."

Busted.

"Did anyone ever tell you that your grammar sucks?" George grumped. "And I hope you can see why that urban legend is total bullshit." She glared at the crossbow bolt and angrily grumbled, "Like I've got the time to grant wishes."

Xander suddenly sobered and thoughtfully studied her. "Maybe."

She knew what he was going to ask. "Wait. No. Bad idea. Very bad idea. It's against all the rules. You have no idea what kind of trouble we're already in because you know as much as you do. I have no idea how badly this is going to blow up as it is. Neither one of us need to make it worse. And remember what I said about Dawn needing to look forward instead of stewing over the past? Letting you talk to her even once could set her back by a lot."

"I'm not asking for wishes, Georgia," Xander quietly begged. "I'm asking for help."

George mentally threw up her hands. "Even if we go by the rules of that stupid urban legend, which I repeat, is not true, you know damn well it's the kind of help you want. It's not the kind of help that either you or Dawn needs."

"Are you really sure about that?" Xander quietly asked. "Closure's important. You of all people have to know that it's important."

"Closure for her? Or for you?" George angrily asked.

When Xander guiltily looked away, George knew that he didn't have an answer to that.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Do you want to know when you really become a grim reaper?

It's not when you die. It's not when you attend your own autopsy followed by your funeral. It's not when you suddenly become solid and you're told the awful truth.

It's not even when you reap your first soul.

It happens sometime after that, at a time that's different for everybody.

I remember when I became a reaper, I mean really became a reaper.

I had found out that Rube had a post-it with my parents' address written on it. The death was supposed to happen early in the morning. When I found out, I raged at Rube as if I could change his mind or make the writing on the post-it go away.

When Rube basically told me to sit down, shut up, and stay out of it, I stormed out of Der Waffle Haus and headed straight to my old home.

I must've sat on that front stoop all night, watching and waiting. Every time a light went on, I'd quietly urge my parents and my sister to go back to bed. I urged them to stay in the house and to stay safe.

I imagined them waking up first thing in the morning, getting dressed, and heading out the door. I imagined them meeting Rube as he stood in their driveway, and how he'd lure them into standing closer so he could reach out and touch them. I imagined them standing there, wondering what had just happened as Rube turned and walked away. I couldn't imagine anything beyond that. I didn't want to picture either one of my parents or Reggie literally dying in the driveway.

When Rube showed up just before sunrise, he had two cups of coffee like he knew that I'd be watching and waiting.

"If the name on the post-it is someone you know, would you stop me?" he asked.

I said that I didn't know. Maybe I would.

And then he asked me again, "If the name on the post-it is someone you know, would you stop me?"

That's when I said, "No."

As soon as I said it, I realized I meant it. That was a very hard thing for me to realize.

As it turned out, Rube was there to reap the milkman, but the point is if Rube was there to reap my parents or even Reggie I would have let him do it.

And that was how I really became a grim reaper.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

George stared into her cup of coffee and wondered what the hell she was doing sitting at the counter of the Pancake Stack at 1:30 in the morning.

What she should be doing is taking the blood-covered clothes in the trunk of her car to a place where she could discreetly dump them, or sitting in her own apartment watching late night TV and wondering when she'd finally be tired enough to get her usual 3 hours of sleep.

"More coffee?" a waitress offered as she swung by.

George merely shook her head, and the waitress moved on.

I knew that I had to turn down Xander's request. I knew I had to do it. The rules were very clear. No contact with your old life. Hell, I'd screwed over Dawn and made her lose a memory that was important to her because I enforced that rule.

But some part of me wanted to be bad. Some part of me was sick and tired of enforcing the rules all the damn time. Some part of me wanted to say 'yes', even if it was asking for disaster.

As a reaper, I had to deal with a lot of requests from the freshly dead over the years. There were some I did provided it wouldn't get anyone hurt. Most of the time I didn't because it involved messing around with the living.

I should be used to saying 'no' to requests, and saying 'no' shouldn't have bothered me all that much. Yet, for some reason, I was having a hard time with this 'no'.

Maybe it was because Xander was asking me, Georgia Lass, to do him this favor. He wasn't asking Millie, and he sure as hell wasn't asking me because he was already dead and needed a reaper to do one final job for him. He was asking me personally. It shouldn't have made a difference, but yet it did.

"Hey," said a soft voice behind George.

George looked up and saw Dawn uncertainly watching her. "Hey, yourself. Can't sleep?"

Dawn shook her head.

"Pull up some counter space." George indicated the chair next to her.

"Thanks."

As Dawn settled into the chair, George said, "I'm sorry about your sister."

"Me, too." Dawn looked like she wanted to cry, but was sucking it up. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that wherever she is she's safe and happy. And I'm glad that she doesn't have to fight anymore and can finally rest. I've wanted that for her for so long. Longer than you can imagine. I'm just sorry that she never really had it while she was alive, but mostly I'm sorry that she's not still here."

"You loved her a lot," George said, even though she felt stupid for stating the obvious.

"Yeah," Dawn quietly said. "Enough to know that I'm being totally selfish, especially after I saw how happy and at peace she was when she finally embraced the light."

"Not selfish. Just human." George went back to studying her coffee. "Seems like she loved you a lot, too."

"She did. Too much sometimes," Dawn said.

George slit her eyes at Dawn.

"My sister wasn't just stupidly heroic, she was also annoyingly overprotective," Dawn said as she pulled a napkin out of the napkin holder and began tearing at it. "She'd try to wrap me in cotton and protect me from bads both big and little, mystical and not. I'd be yelling at her that she couldn't do that forever because my big sister was a Slayer, not an IRS accountant. Wrapping me in cotton wasn't going to help."

"Guess it was tough being a Slayer's little sister, hunh?"

"It could be," Dawn softly admitted. "Buffy only wanted what was best for me. Problem was, she didn't always ask me what I thought was best for me."

"I'm sorry I put you in that position," George softly said.

Dawn looked at her surprise.

"I shouldn't have let you reap your sister," George admitted. "I knew you'd probably get caught up in the emotion of the moment. Hell, if I had Reggie's post-it in my hand, the same thing would happen to me. It'd happen to any reaper."

"Reggie. She's your little sister," Dawn said.

George nodded.

Dawn suddenly chuckled. "You're a lot like her."

"Who? Reggie?" George asked with confusion.

"Buffy," Dawn said with a sad smile. "You're every bit as stupidly heroic and annoyingly overprotective as she is." Dawn's smile dimmed. "I mean was."

George held up her hands. "Nooooo. I think you've got the wrong girl."

"Says the same George who stopped me from doing something stupid and stood her ground against my sister and won, all while getting pounded by mystical energy," Dawn countered.

"I think you telling Buffy it was okay for her to move on is actually what saved the day," George said.

"But you held her off long enough for me to realize that telling her that it was okay to leave was the right thing to do," Dawn said.

George clutched her coffee cup in both hands. "That was necessity, Dawn. No heroism involved. Stop making it more than it is."

"Fine." Dawn sounded amused. "But you are overprotective. And not just with me. I watched you through this whole thing with the N'goth. The way you'd worry about all three of us, and how you almost seemed apologetic that you couldn't do anything to make life easier for us because your hands were tied because of one thing or another."

Really?

"I'm not like that at all," George insisted. "I think you're projecting."

"And I think you're in denial," Dawn said. "Think about this. Every time you go on and on about the rules, it's not because they're the rules and you have to follow them just because that's what you do, no questions asked. It's because you're afraid someone will get hurt if the rules get broken."

"That's not true." George made a face. "Wait. Is it?"

Dawn nodded. "I think that's why you keep bringing out the bratty little sister in me."

"Bratty little sister, hunh?" George asked with amusement.

"For serious," Dawn said. "Before I died, I was totally Miss Self-Assured and Miss Level-Headed. I knew how to pick my battles and I knew how to logically make my point without raising my voice. My teenage emo drama queen days were long behind me." Dawn looked around the nearly empty Pancake Stack. "Until I got here. Then they came roaring back with a vengeance."

"Yeah, well, dying brings out the drama queen in everyone," George said.

"And for once, your 'it happens like that for everyone' is actually comforting," Dawn said.

"I aim to be a broken record," George said as she sipped her coffee.

"I'm sorry about Betty," Dawn suddenly said.

"Betty happened 6 years ago," George tightly said.

"But you still miss her." Dawn tapped her fingers on the counter. "What was she like?"

"Mysterious and reassuring," George said. "She had this way of making you feel comfortable, and then…boom…she'd pull the rug out from underneath you. Not in a bad way. Just in a way that made you wonder what happened."

"Sounds like she was a little weird," Dawn said.

"A little," George agreed. She began to chuckle. "She used to haul around this old Polaroid. And before she'd reap someone, she'd ask to take their picture and tell them to think happy thoughts. Then she'd file away the picture." George made a shape of a bag with her hands. "She had these categories for people and she'd file the picture by category. She'd stare at the picture and make up little stories about them and that's how she'd choose the category. This one was always latching on to other people's identities because they never discovered who they really were. This one always pretended to be happy, even though they were always crying inside. This one really wanted to be an artist, but decided to take a 9-to-5 job because they were afraid they weren't good enough. Things like that."

"I bet she knew all their names, too," Dawn said as she rested her chin on her fist.

George made a face. "Probably. She definitely knew when, where, and under what circumstances she reaped all of them."

"What happened to her collection?" Dawn asked.

"She gave it to me the week before she died," George said. "I put it in storage. I don't know why I kept it. I didn't feel right throwing it out, I guess."

"She give you anything else?" Dawn asked.

George held up her hand. "This ring. She gave it to me right before she jumped."

"It's beautiful."

"Yeah." George looked at it. "I think it was a gift from a boyfriend from before she died."

"Her jumping into the light," Dawn carefully said. "She'd been planning it for awhile."

"I don't know," George said softly as she shook her head. "I always thought it was a spur of the moment decision, but I really don't know for sure. It seems like she always enjoyed being a reaper. She always seemed so cheerful. But looking back I wonder if I saw only what I wanted to see."

"Not to turn this back on you, but I think everyone does that," Dawn said. "I know I did, and it maybe cost me a friend because of it."

"Dawn, we're okay you and me," George reassured her. "All this shit between us can be boiled down to reaper growing pains. I'm all for a fresh start if you are."

"Thanks, that means a lot," Dawn said with a smile. "But I'm not talking about you. I'm talking about Xander-shaped people."

George stiffened. "Ummmmm…"

"Xander was one of my sister's best friends." Dawn obviously misread George's reaction. "He used to be one of mine, in a goofy big brother kind of way." Her shoulders slumped. "He was the guy who didn't show for my funeral."

"Oh." George's voice sounded too high to her own ears and she coughed. "So, ummmm, what brought this on?"

"I saw him last night down at Terminal 5," Dawn said. "I should've known he'd be there. Xander's the kind of person that shows up wherever there's trouble to help lead the charge, or at least take the position of MVP in an apocalypse."

George busily sipped her coffee as she tried to compose her expression.

"Talk about double-whammy," Dawn said.

"Double-whammy?" George asked.

"Regret on top of everything else that was going on." Dawn stared unseeingly at the kitchen's pick-up window as she slightly shook her head. "When we all left California, I had made up my mind that I was going to contribute, I mean really contribute, to fighting the forces of darkness. Being a non-Slayer person, that meant becoming a Watcher."

"You wish you weren't a Watcher?" George nervously asked.

"No. I'm definitely glad I was a Watcher," Dawn emphatically shook her head. "I just wish I took more time to get there. Stop and smell a few roses along the way. Definitely make more time for family, instead of putting things off until it was too late. But I was all about the rush-rush-rush. Pile on the classes and go to school year-round so I'd get my undergrad degree in two-and-half years. Then work 24/7 on the PhD so I'd get that in less than three years. Why? Because I had to get out there. I had to contribute. I had to fight."

Don't do this. You don't want to hear any of this. Back slowly away from this conversation and change the subject.

"So…you were dedicated," George said. "And, um, I really can't blame you. At all. So why don't you put that particular regret right out of your head because, really, there's nothing to regret there."

"Except for the way I alienated people. Xander wasn't the only one I did that to. He was just the most important," Dawn said in a downcast tone.

"You're being too hard on yourself," George said. "Look, do you want something to eat? Or drink? It's on me."

"George, stop trying to protect me from myself," Dawn said.

"I'm not. Really," George protested.

"Bribing me with food?" Dawn asked with amusement.

George gave in to the inevitable. "It was worth the shot."

Dawn went back to tearing at her napkin. "After we left California, Xander would make the time to come see me. Or call. Or email. He'd make the time, even though he was mostly working in Africa and probably was busier than I was. He was busy saving lives instead of worrying about term papers and exams, like I was."

"And you didn't return the favor," George carefully said.

"Whenever Xander reached out to me, I always put him off. He never made the top of my to-do list," Dawn admitted. "It was always, 'Xander, it's great you came for a visit, but I can't take an hour off for you to buy me lunch.' Or, 'Xander, it's great you called, but I can't talk now. I've got to get to class.' Or, 'Xander, it's great to get your email, but I've got this exam I need to pass. I'll write back when I have the time.'"

It was the same old story. When people die, they never think about the good things they did, or the great things they accomplished. It's always what they didn't do, and what they didn't say. It's always regret for the thing left undone or the person left behind.

George once more stared into her cup of coffee. "Eventually he stopped reaching out to you, didn't he?"

"Yes and no."

George looked up at Dawn.

Dawn sighed. "We'd still see each other. Major holidays. Important anniversaries. The occasional reunion of the old gang. But it was always with the whole group, never one-on-one. We still talked, and we'd still try to crack each other up with bad jokes, but it wasn't like what it was. It was different. It felt different. Like how when I was a kid he'd always say hello to me first and give me a big hug. By the time I was writing my dissertation, I had to make the first move if I wanted a hug. It was like he wasn't sure if it was okay for him to hug me just because he was glad to see me. As for those times in between the family get-togethers, I didn't really hear much from him at all."

George tapped the countertop as the wheels turned in her head. "Did you try to fix it?"

"That's just it," Dawn said as she shook her head, "I didn't even notice. It's hard to believe, but it's true. I never really noticed that Xander had slipped out of my life while I wasn't paying attention. It wasn't until my after my funeral and I was busy tallying up all those things that I missed the most that I realized that maybe Xander didn't come to my funeral because he stopped really caring about me a long time ago."

George uncomfortably cleared her throat. "I thought he was still friends with your sister. He would've come to your funeral if only to support her, don't you think?"

Dawn's forehead scrunched in thought.

"I'm just saying that it's entirely possible he didn't come because he couldn't," George said. "Or maybe they couldn't reach him because he was away doing…stuff. Like, saving lives in Africa. Or something."

Dawn's forehead scrunched harder as if the idea had never occurred to her. After a few tense moments, her shoulders relaxed. "Maybe you're right." She shook her head. "I don't know. It's possible, I guess."

"I'm sure that's what happened," George firmly said.

Dawn sighed. "There's no one left to ask. Well, actually, there are people I can ask, I just can't ask them because all they'll hear is a stuttering, drooling moron who can't get a coherent word out of her mouth."

George thoughtfully tapped the countertop. "Dawn, go home."

Dawn startled. "What?"

George plastered a smile on her face. "It's late. You've had a long couple of days. You should get some rest, instead of sitting here beating yourself up for no reason. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Dawn rolled her eyes. "I don't think you noticed, but it is tomorrow."

"Then in a few hours." George jerked her head to the door. "Go on. Get lost."

Dawn actually chuckled at that as she got up.

"Dawn?" George asked.

Dawn paused. "Yeah?"

George took a deep breath. "I'm sorry you can't help save the world anymore."

"Yeah. Me, too." Dawn smiled a crooked smile. "But then again, if it wasn't for people like us, there wouldn't be a world save, would there?"

"There is that," George agreed.

Chapter 14: Chapter 14

For every rule, there are exceptions. Or rather, exceptions can be made.

It's like that rule that says, "No making contact with anyone who knew you when you were alive."

But if Someone or Something has bigger plans, you're given that one shot to break the rules without any consequences. Like telling your little sister that she and mom should leave town and go forge a new life, and the second their car pulls away from the curb you're showered in blank post-its and have been anointed from above to be The Boss of your merry band of reapers.

The problem is that you don't always know when you set out to break the rules whether they've been suspended just this once. Hence the institution of rule-bending as a medal event in the Reaper What-Can-I-Get-Away-With-Today Olympics.

In this case, it means that you find a way to make the rules work in your favor, rather than trying to gently push the boundaries just one more inch in front of where you're standing.

Make the plans, make the bargain, and spit-shake on it if you have to.

And when it's all over but the shouting, hope like hell no one calls your bluff.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

George tried not to look over her shoulder as she approached her group's regular booth in the Pancake Stack.

Mason, who was facing in the right direction, looked up from whatever it was he was saying to Dawn, and started with surprise. "What's this, then?"

Dawn and Daisy turned around. As expected Dawn's eyes went wide, her face went pale, and her mouth dropped open.

"Don't say anything," George warned her. "At least not until I tell you it's okay."

"Why Georgia, who is that man?" Daisy flirted. "Please tell me he's a new reaper come to join us in our hour need."

From behind her, Xander made a strangled sound in his throat.

"I think our hour of need was a few days ago," Mason complained. "They've left it a bit on the late side, haven't they."

"He's not a reaper." Dawn sounded numb. "Or at least I hope he isn't."

"Dawn," George warned. She fixed her gaze on Mason and Daisy. "And no. He's not a reaper. He's here to see Dawn."

Mason and Daisy exchanged worried looks.

"George, do you think that's wise?" Mason uncertainly asked.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Georgia," Daisy worriedly said.

"Nope. Not a clue. But since when has that stopped me?" George jerked her head toward the door. "Mason, Daisy. Take a walk. The further away from this you are, the better off you'll be if I get stomped."

Mason paused and nervously looked Xander up and down. "Georgie, be careful. He looks to be a handful." He looked down at Dawn and pointed at her. "That goes double for you, understand?"

Dawn just nodded.

Daisy and Mason made a quick exit, leaving Dawn alone in the booth.

George stopped Xander from taking a seat, and fixed her gaze on Dawn. "Now listen to me very carefully. This is a one-time deal. After this conversation is over, no more contact. Ever. As for you specifically, you know the rules. Don't say your name. Don't talk about anything from before your death, not even in answer to a direct question. He can take any trip down memory lane he wants, but you can't. You know what'll happen if you try. You can talk about anything that happened after your death. That's fair game. Also talk as little as possible, just to be on the safe side. I'm going to sit in on the conversation, and if you start straying into dangerous territory I'm going to interrupt you. Understand?"

"Yes," Dawn quickly agreed.

"All right." George snapped a nod as she slid into the empty side of the booth.

Xander slid in next to her. He was staring at Dawn as if he were trying to see the girl he knew underneath her unfamiliar appearance. "Hello Dawn."

"Hey, Xander." Dawn hopefully smiled. "You look good. Nasty cut on your cheek, though."

"It's been a rough couple of days." Xander leaned forward, his one eye studying her face. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. Mostly," Dawn said as she blinked back tears. She acknowledged George with a nod, "George is a good boss, even though I've raised my share of holy hell. And Mason and Daisy, my roommates, they're…" Dawn paused as if she was trying to find the right words to describe them, "…very Mason and very Daisy."

"Yeah," Xander smiled. "I've had a few friends like that, too."

"Yeah," Dawn began to laugh. "I remember—"

"Dawn," George sharply interrupted.

Dawn winced. "Right. I forgot."

"It's okay." Xander kept his gaze fixed on Dawn. "George explained the rules to me."

"Was there a sledgehammer involved? I bet there was a sledgehammer involved," Dawn grinned.

Xander shot a grin at George. "In a manner of speaking."

"I don't want to be involved this conversation," George said.

Xander looked away and concentrated on Dawn. "If you're wondering how I found George, I saw you — or I mean glamoured you — talking to Buffy 10 minutes before she…" his voice trailed off and he swallowed hard.

"I…I didn't realize anyone even saw me," Dawn said.

"I'm the only one who did, actually," Xander said. "So no masses of pissed off Slayers on the hunt for your scalp."

Dawn let out a breath. "You know, I didn't even consider that possibility."

"Neither did I," George admitted.

"Anyway, I tried to follow you, but you were running so fast that I kind of lost you for a bit," Xander said, repeating the cover story George made him practice. "I caught up with you just in time to see George throwing you in the backseat of her car. I managed to get her license plate number while she was making the getaway. From there, it was a matter of tracking her down through DMV records."

"Cue big confrontation." Dawn slit her eyes at George. "When did this happen?"

"Last night," Xander answered.

Dawn kept her eyes on George as she slowly nodded. "And not, say, early this morning."

George hoped she looked innocent as Xander shook his head.

Dawn suppressed a smile as she looked down.

"I'm…I'm sorry about Buffy," Xander haltingly said.

"Me, too," Dawn said quietly. "I mean, I'm sorry she's dead, but I'm also glad I got to say good-bye and see her move on to something better."

Xander's jaw worked as he looked down at the table.

"Xander, trust me. When she went into those lights, it was like she was going back to where she truly belonged," Dawn said. "They had a big party for her and everything. Wherever she is, she's happy and she's safe. I'm glad I got to see that, and I'm sorry she had to die to get it."

"Me, too," Xander said quietly.

Dawn reached out to place a hand over Xander's folded ones. She paused before making contact and looked at George. When George didn't say or do anything to stop her, she finished her move.

Xander sniffed hard as he startled. "Your hands are warm."

"Yeah, that surprised me too," Dawn said.

Xander took a deep breath and swallowed. "I'm sorry I didn't make your funeral. See, I didn't know you were dead until a week after you were buried."

"What happened?" Dawn asked.

"Vampire cult in Namibia, complete with getting the unwilling population to join in the chanty-chanty fun by turning everyone they could get their fangs on," Xander said as he lowered his head again to look at Dawn's hand covering his. "Their big goal was to take over the country and create a Slayer-free sanctuary."

Dawn sucked in her breath through her teeth.

"We didn't know what resources they had, so I put everyone in my hastily assembled army under a no-tracking silence spell just in case they had a few magic users in their pocket," Xander said. "No one could even find me, let alone get a message to me. If they had, I would've come."

"I hope not!" Dawn exclaimed.

Xander's head shot up as he regarded her with surprise.

"I would hope that living people in danger would be higher on the list than attending my funeral," Dawn emphatically said. "I don't care what the danger is or where it comes from. The living get priority. They should get priority."

"Oh," Xander said in a small voice.

"Listen, 99% of the time a dead person isn't going to know that you never showed up for their funeral. They're usually long gone before the coroner gets called. They don't care," Dawn said.

"You just happen to be in that 1%," Xander dryly said.

Dawn hunched her shoulders. "I admit I was hurt you didn't come. If I knew I would've understood. I just didn't have any way of knowing. Not without asking—"

"Dawn." George shook her head. She looked at Xander. "But I'll finish the sentence for her anyway. She couldn't ask anyone because it's not allowed. If she tried, she wouldn't have even been able to get the words out."

"What she said," Dawn said.

"Do you want to know what's sad?" Xander said as he patted Dawn's hand. "I was in a place where I thought you'd be mad at me for missing your funeral no matter what the reason was, and you were in place where you'd thought I'd skip your funeral without a good reason. What happened to us?"

Dawn desperately looked at George.

"She can't answer that," George said. She kept her eyes fixed on Dawn, "But that's okay. I told him everything you told me before we came over here this morning."

"Thanks," Dawn said quietly.

"I want you to know that I'm sorry, too," Xander said. "At one time, I wouldn't have given up so easily on us. I would've been more understanding, or I would've tried to find a way to work around your schedule, or…God…I would've tried something. But I wouldn't have given up."

Dawn closed her eyes and looked like she wanted to cry. George knew that she probably wanted to say a million things, none of which she could ever say directly to Xander.

"I guess I just got tired of fighting for everything," Xander said. "I was fighting to find Slayers, fighting for resources from the Council, fighting demons, fighting to train people to fight demons, fighting people in the market stalls for the best provisions for the school. You name it, I was fighting it. It seems like everything that happened in my life after we left California involved some kind of fight. It just never seemed to stop." Xander took a deep breath. "Problem is when you're fighting all the time like that, you lose perspective. You start battling it out in fights that ultimately aren't all that important, and you give up on the fights that are worth having."

"Yeah, I think I know what's that like," Dawn quietly said.

Xander slid his hands away from Dawn's and sat up straight. "I'm sorry I let you slip out of my life. I'm sorry that I didn't make more of an effort. I'm just sorry for all of it." He slumped in his seat. "I just hope you realize that I never stopped caring about you."

Dawn shook as she wiped the tears from her face. "Thank you."

"It needed to be said," Xander uncomfortably replied.

Dawn sniffed deeply and cleared her throat. "Are you staying?"

George tensed as Xander shook his head.

"Emergency recall back to London," Xander said. "The Council's in a panic because of Buffy. Giles is rounding up the usual suspects to make like the Superfriends and ride to the reassuring rescue. Willow's already there, recovering. She got hit with a mystical backlash Sunday night."

Dawn looked panicked as she opened her mouth.

"She'll be fine," Xander quickly interrupted. "We immediately sent her back via emergency teleport when it happened. She's got a migraine that refuses to leave, but she'll be back on her feet in a week or two."

George's head snapped up. "You can teleport?"

Dawn and Xander looked at her like she was nuts.

"Me, personally? No," Xander finally said. "Some witches can do it, but you have to be pretty powerful to pull it off."

George smiled hopefully at Dawn.

"Not a witch," Dawn said. "Hate teleporting anyway. It makes me barf."

"Damn," George said as she slumped in her seat.

Dawn took a deep breath and asked, "Where are they going to bury Buffy?"

"Council cemetery in London." Xander frowned. "I was going to say, 'Next to you.' Except you're not really there."

"Buffy's not there, either," Dawn said.

"Good point," Xander said softly.

"So I guess you're pretty much leaving right away." Dawn sounded disappointed.

"By tonight, I'll be on a plane back to London," Xander said. "And I'm taking Marguerite with me."

"Marguerite?" Dawn asked as she sat up. "You're not her Watcher, are you?"

"No. God, no," The way Xander said it made it clear he was very happy that wasn't the case.

Dawn actually giggled as she leaned back. "I couldn't imagine that. You two—"

"Dawn," George warned.

"Right." Dawn grinned. "I don't have to say anything. The memories are so memorable."

"Dawn, please," George sighed.

"Marguerite didn't take your death at all well," Xander uncomfortably shifted. "She slid back into some old bad habits."

"Damn," Dawn sighed. "I was hoping her show at my funeral was a one-off."

"She's an alcoholic, Dawn," Xander said. "I know from alcoholics. It would've been a one-off if someone intervened right away, instead of letting it slide due to extenuating circumstances."

Dawn put her head in her hands. "Don't tell me. They let her slide."

"Until I put my foot down," Xander said. "You remember how much we mixed like oil and water back in the good ol' days? Now it's more like oil and flamethrower."

"Oh, Xander. I'm sorry you got caught up in that mess," Dawn said.

"Not your fault. Me and Marguerite were never compatible personality-wise," Xander said with a shrug. "She thought I was an idiot, I kept getting the dry drunk vibe from her. Between me not showing up for your funeral, and me pulling her off the active roster, her opinion of me has most definitely not improved."

"Yet she's going to London with you?" Dawn asked doubtfully.

"More like I'm making sure she actually gets to London sober," Xander said. "She finally owned up that she needed help, and it's not like she can walk into any old AA meeting. London's got the counselors, the support groups, and the medical personnel that can actually help her get better."

"Thank you for looking out for her," Dawn said.

"Least I could do," Xander said softly.

George checked her watch. "I hate to interrupt, but time's running out." She looked up at Xander and Dawn. "Did you say everything you needed to say?"

"Needed, not wanted," Xander said.

"Same here," Dawn said. "Not that I could say too much, anyway."

"It's more than what most people get," George said not unkindly.

"I know," Dawn agreed.

Xander's jaw clenched and his eye closed. He merely nodded.

"We best get going," George said.

"Wait. Before you go," Dawn said. "Can I give Xander a hug?"

George nodded.

Xander got out of the booth and held his arms open. Dawn was out of her seat like a shot. They hugged for a long time as they murmured apologies to one another and wished each other well.

George let them linger like that as long as she dared. Thankfully they let each other go before she said something. Xander looked like he wanted to cry. Dawn actually was crying.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" Xander said.

"You, too," Dawn said in a broken voice.

Xander bent down, kissed Dawn on her forehead, and quickly left. Probably because he didn't want Dawn to see him break down.

George slid out of the booth. "I'm going to escort Xander out of the danger zone." She placed a hand on Dawn's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"No." Dawn shook her head as she wiped way her tears. "But I will be."

"Good for you," George quietly encouraged her before she followed Xander out the door.

Mason and Daisy were waiting outside and speculatively studying Xander. Xander was returning the favor.

"Break it up, people," George ordered. "Mason, Daisy. Dawn could use some friends right now."

Mason immediately grabbed George up in a hug. "You're a good girl, Georgie."

"Mason!" George exclaimed as she squirmed out of his embrace.

"That was quite a risk you took, Georgia," Daisy said with amusement.

"Don't congratulate me yet," George said. "Wait until I find out if I got away with it."

"Haven't been hit by lightening yet." Mason squinted at the sky. "Must be safe."

"Go. Shoo," George waved them into the restaurant.

Mason laughed and Daisy giggled as they went back inside.

"They like you," Xander remarked.

George gave him a long-suffering look. "Stick around and watch how that changes when I tell them to do something."

"Slackers." He shrugged. "As a reformed one, I can tell you that there's nothing wrong with them that some strategically placed explosives can't cure."

"You mean shove some TNT up their asses?" George brightly asked.

"Pretty much, yeah."

George laughed as she held out her hand. "It's time to go."

Xander took it, and let her lead him away.

"Thank you," George said.

"I think that's my line," Xander answered.

"I mean thank you for not telling Dawn that you're leaving because of our deal," George said.

"Actually, I was telling the truth," Xander said.

George stopped short. "Hunh?"

Xander regarded her with amusement. "Shortly before I left my apartment to meet you here, I got a call from Giles. The executive committee in London is in a panic over the fact that the Summers sisters died within months of each other. The paranoid half is convinced there's some kind of conspiracy and that Dawn and Buffy are opening shots made by some unknown enemy who's declared open season on the Council's best and brightest. The worrywart half is convinced that Dawn and Buffy dying is going to have a bad impact on morale the world over. Either way, Giles wants me in London for the foreseeable future. I think if he could build a time machine and get me on a plane yesterday, he'd do it."

"Sounds like another big fight," George remarked.

"Just what I need," Xander said with a sigh as he took George's hand again.

"Could be worse. You could be trying to explain to everyone in Seattle why you were suddenly leaving town now that your demon is dead," George said as she again began leading him further away from the Pancake Stack. "After all their suspicions about you? That would've been like proving they were right."

"Hate to tell you this, but they're already muttering about how they were right all along and how I lied to their faces," Xander said with a resigned air. "I've come to accept that this isn't a fight I'll ever win, no matter how hard reality stares them in the face."

"Sorry to hear that."

"It's not your fault. Besides, I agreed to the price even before Giles called and gave me a legitimate reason to leave. I already knew that I'd have to deal with some kind of accusation that I was planted in the Seattle center for nefarious purposes." Xander gave her hand a friendly shake before sincerely adding, "George, thank you for this. I have no idea how many lines you crossed to make this happen, but thank you."

"You're welcome." George suddenly stopped.

"What is it?" Xander asked.

George reached into her pocket. "I shouldn't be showing you this."

"Showing me what?"

She pulled out a post-it and handed it to him.

Xander read it aloud. "A. Harris, the Georgia Lass Memorial, 9:57 p.m." He looked up at her with alarm. "This can't be right. I'm going to be at Sea-Tac by then."

"It's not for tonight," George said. "It was for Sunday night."

"Sunday?" Xander said with shock.

"You missed your appointment," George said. "That means you get to live. It's very rare. I only know about one case that happened back in 1971, and that's only second-hand information. But it does happen."

"So why show me this?" Xander asked.

"I'm curious," George said. "I want to know what happened to make you miss your appointment, that's all."

Xander shook his head as his eye was drawn back to the post-it. "It was a rendezvous point for clean-up."

"Clean-up?" George asked.

"Yeah. The mage had minions," Xander said. "The plan was to take out the mage. Once we did that, Willow and Buffy would be able to kill the N'goth, and I'd meet up with a team of Slayers in the city proper and sweep the streets for any minions that might want to put up a fight."

"And something went wrong," George deadpanned.

"Yeah. We thought Willow took out the mage, but he was playing possum. The second her guard was down he did the magical equivalent of stabbing her in the back," Xander said. "He knew the minute he did that, his life could be counted in seconds. I guess he figured he'd take her out with him."

"But you told Dawn that she was okay," George said.

"Now," Xander answered. "It was touch and go there for a day or so. That's why the emergency teleport."

"Okay, your friend getting injured aside, mission still accomplished," George said. "So what changed?"

"Willow was our big gun," Xander said. "When we lost her, we had to come up with a new plan on the fly. We decided to lure the N'goth to the port and use the cargo containers and construction equipment to physically trap it so the Slayers could gang up and kill it. I was the only one who knew how to operate construction equipment, so…"

"You had to go there instead," George finished for him.

Xander suddenly looked stricken. "Did Buffy…" He swallowed. "Did Buffy die in my place?"

George shook her head. "You both had a post-it. What happened to her has nothing to do with what didn't happen to you."

Xander bit his lip as he looked at her.

"It's the truth," George assured him.

"Okay," Xander meekly agreed. He held the post-it out to her.

"Keep it." George waved it away. "Frame it or something."

"Or hide it in a deep, dark place," Xander said as he stuffed it in his pocket. "Like the bottom of a well."

"Well, this is where I've got to leave you," George said. "Remember our deal. Once you're out of the city, that's it for contact with Dawn. We've pushed our luck as it is. Push it more, you, me, and Dawn could wind up so deep in a hole we'll never get out. Also, you can't tell anyone about anything. You can't tell them about Dawn, and you can't tell them about reapers."

"I'll stay away and I won't tell anyone," Xander fervently said. "The Council would go ape if they found out about reapers. They're in a full-blown panic now over Buffy and Dawn. Can you imagine what they'd do if they found out they could reach out and touch death's own employees just by finding out where they lived? The result would be positively biblical."

George relaxed. "Glad you understand the problem."

"Yeah, well, when I was younger and much dumber I helped in a resurrection spell," Xander said. "None of us ever really got over the backlash, Buffy especially."

"Dawn hinted something about that," George said. "I called her on it, but she said, 'Find yourself a powerful enough witch and black enough magic, and you'd be shocked what you can do.'"

"Yup. That sounds like something Dawn would say," Xander said. "Trust me when I tell you, I've got no interest in getting anywhere near that line again. I don't even want to hint to anyone else that it's possible to get near that line. And God knows I don't want to accidentally leave a breadcrumb trail to it, which would happen if I tried to keep in touch with Dawn. Believe me, I know it's safer for all of us all around if I just stay away."

"That backlash must've been something," George said.

"Let me put it to you this way," Xander said. "If I knew what you were the first night we met, I wouldn't have just run screaming from the bar as fast as my drunk legs could carry me. I would've run all the way to Africa without the benefit of hopping on a plane or a boat. My legs would've been moving so fast, I would've been hydroplaning across entire oceans."

George was impressed. It appeared that breaking the rules could bite the living as hard as the dead.

"Look, before I go," Xander patted down his pockets. "I've got something for you."

"That's…really not necessary," George said. "Actually, it might be a bad idea."

"Actually, it's a really good idea." Xander withdrew a business card and handed it to her. "We hand out these cards to any Slayers we find."

"I'm not a Slayer," George said as she stared at the card.

"I know. But these cards have a memory charm on them," Xander said. "Just look at the card for a minute, and then if you ever find yourself in trouble that I can help you with, you'll instantly recall the number."

George suspiciously looked at him. "What kind of trouble?"

"There's more us around then there used to be," Xander said. "A lot more Slayers, a lot more Watchers, a lot more magic users, and just a lot more people who know about the wacky and weird. Sooner or later, someone is going to find out about grim reapers whether I say anything or not."

George doubtfully looked down at the card.

"George, I got the drop on you just by tracking your license plate number," Xander said.

George peered up at him. "I kicked your ass."

"Yes, you did," Xander easily agreed. "But I also had no idea what I was dealing with, either. That might not be true of the next person who goes after you or some other reaper. They'll know exactly what they're chasing and they'll prepare for that. They may not be able to kill a reaper, but they might be able to catch one. And from there, God knows what happens."

And there it was. The real reason why Xander missed his appointment, and the real reason why I got away with everything that I did.

Maybe that was why I had Dawn in my crew. Maybe that was why Xander and I kept crossing paths at seemingly random intervals. Maybe that was why Dawn landed a job in a book store whose owner also happened to be a reaper in the supernatural division.

Not every death has a reason, but Death never does anything without one. I should've realized that there was pattern before this 'Ah-hah!' moment.

Chances were that Xander's worst-case scenario was never going to happen, but it sure doesn't hurt to have an ace-in-the-hole just in case.

George looked down at the card. "How long will this memory thing of yours work?"

"Six years and still counting," Xander said.

George looked questioningly at him.

He shrugged. "We've only been passing them out for that long. I have no idea what the expiration date is, or even if there is one."

"And the phone number?" George asked.

"Will never be disconnected. That I can tell you for sure," Xander said.

"So, if I get into trouble with your Council, or someone I know does, I call you," George said.

"Yes," Xander promised. "Assuming I'm still alive, I'll do everything I can to help."

I suspected that that Xander was going to live a very, very long time. By the time he came across another reaper holding a post-it with his name on it, he was going to be very old and very grey.

I'm not saying that I can see the future, because I can't. It was more like a gut feeling. A reaper feeling.

George stuck the card in her pocket. "I'll hold on to it, and make sure I give it a look every once in awhile."

"Good."

George looked up at him. "You really better go."

Xander nodded as he began to turn. Suddenly he stopped, turned back, and lunged toward her.

"What the fu—" George began. "Mmmph!"

She had to admit. It was a hell of a kiss.

When Xander finally broke away, he was almost out of breath. "You hold your breath for a long time."

"Reaper," she grinned up at him.

"George, thank you for everything," Xander said as he brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I can't even begin to tell you how much you've helped me. And not just with Dawn, even though Dawn was the most important thing on the list of things I needed help with."

George raised an eyebrow. "That urban legend is still bullshit, Xander."

Xander stepped back with a grin. "Oh, I don't know about that."

"Go. Away."

Xander burst out laughing as he turned and finally left.

As I watched Xander disappear into the workday pedestrian crowd, I realized that it was possible to say good-bye and not feel bad about it.

What we had was…

Okay it was weird. But it definitely wasn't boring.

While I was kind of sorry it was over, I was still glad I had it, whatever it was. But I wasn't angry and I wasn't upset. It was just one of those things that I knew I could look back on with a smile on my face.

There's something to be said for that.

Once George was sure that Xander was gone, she turned went back to the Pancake Stack.

By the time she arrived, Mason and Daisy were engaged in one of their regular arguments about whose turn it was to clean the bathroom.

They kept trying to get Dawn involved, like they used to do with me. Their goal was to get her so frustrated that she'd agree to do it just to get them to stop arguing, also like they used to do me.

"I've got an idea," Dawn said. "How about I borrow my boss's computer and we'll put together a spreadsheet that spells out the cleaning schedule for the whole house?"

Daisy and Mason stared at her with horror.

Dawn grinned.

As it turns out, Dawn's a lot smarter than me.

"Okay, break it up," George said as she marched over to the booth. "Argue about the roommate rights, privileges, and obligations on your own time."

Dawn looked up at her. Her face was shinning and she seemed more centered than George had ever seen her. As George slid into the booth, Dawn mouthed, 'Thank you.'

"So," Mason clapped his hands, "anything good on tap for today?"

George flipped open her Day Planner. "You get a five-star motel," she said as she slapped a post-it in front of Mason.

"Not fair," Daisy pouted.

"And you get the Admiral Theater," George said as she slapped a post-it in front of Daisy.

"Well, they are showing a retrospective of movies from the '30s," Daisy lightly said as she picked the post-it up. "It'll be nice to see the stars who were big before the screens got so small."

"Thank you Norma Desmond," Dawn said.

"And you," George slapped two post-its in front of Dawn, "get a street corner."

"How come I have two?" Dawn protested.

"Could be because you have a boss who's an actual reaper, and therefore is understanding of your predicament?" Mason asked.

"You're not even employed," Dawn said.

"And I work very hard at it too," Mason said.

"Dawn, look at the post-its," George sighed. "They're happening on the same street corner at the exact same time."

Dawn peered down at them. "Oh. Yeah."

"Get run over by a car, you think?" Mason said.

"I like 'fighting over a woman' myself," Daisy said as she primped her hair.

"Guys," Dawn sighed.

"Just let them have their fun, Dawn," George said.

"Oh, I know." Mason held up his hands as if he were framing a picture. "One guy falls off a building and lands on the other guy."

"Why not go for synchronous heart attacks?" Dawn asked.

"We don't reap heart attacks," Daisy said. "That's natural causes."

"Fine. They both ate at the same restaurant and have food poisoning," Dawn said.

"Who has food poisoning?" Kiffany asked as she appeared at their table with the coffee pot.

"No one," George said. "Can I have a coffee? Oh, and oatmeal with raisons, please."

"Make mine a blueberry muffin," Dawn said.

"I'll go for the breakfast fruit salad," Daisy said.

"Eggs with the works," Mason said.

As soon as Kiffany moved away, Mason and Daisy began bickering about something else, with Dawn occasionally chiming in with a sharp comment of her own.

George just put her elbow on the table, rested her chin in the palm of her hand, and smiled.

She knew that today Mason would do something completely boneheaded at the motel, and then turn it into a funny story. Daisy would go to the Admiral Theater, get lost in those old movies, and then reminisce about her days in the sun after she got home and gang-pressed Mason or Dawn into becoming her audience.

And Dawn at some point today would track her down and bug her to spill everything that happened between her and Xander. She wouldn't give up until she got all the answers, or at least thought she got all the answers.

George was already mentally editing the story she'd tell.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is how it goes.

One day you're floating through the days thinking that you've got a system, and that you've got a routine that'll never change. You wrap yourself up in it like it's a comfy blanket, because you trust that the people you know will always be there and the things you've got will never be broken.

Then there's an explosion. Everything that you've got, and everything that you've built, turns into rubble or disappears in a cloud of dust. Worse, you lose some people, and the people you gain don't make up for the loss.

For awhile, everything is crazy. Everyone who's been affected by the blast is running around trying to figure out what they still have, and what's gone forever.

Eventually the running stops and everyone starts paying attention to what's right in front of them.

Then they start to rebuild.

If you're really lucky, you walk away with something. Maybe it's the realization that you're not alone in the world. Maybe it's a new roommate. Maybe it's closure with someone that you never thought you'd get. Maybe it's a second chance.

Or maybe it's a promise that's as solid and as real as a business card in your pocket.

But the important part is this:

When it's over, when the last echoes of the explosion fade away and you're done cleaning up the mess, you're left with something new. Life will never be what it was, but there's nothing wrong with what it is.

One thing you can count on, though. When you start to get too comfortable, another explosion will happen and everything will change again.

But you'll survive, and you'll rebuild, and then you'll get something completely different.

It's not a bad thing to know, even when you're dead like me.