Be Still My Heart [Part One: Don't Hold Your Breath]
Title: Don't Hold Your Breath.
Fandom: Dead Like Me.
Characters: George-centric. Other reapers make an appearance. More characters later on.
Rating: R for language.
Word Count: 736.
Spoilers: None. It's in the future some time.
Summary: "You know what happens if we don't take souls, or if we interfere with the appointments, Peanut... The choice is yours, but you'd better make the right one."
Author's Note/Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nadda. Zip, zero. Goose egg. It's got a lot of the "f-bomb" in it and it's not a happy story. This is (more than likely) going to end up a two or three part story. Therefore, it's not finished just yet.
Second part: Reunion
Third part: In Memoriam
"No fucking way," George said as she looked at the sticky note. "This isn't fucking fair! I can't do this," she practically screamed, throwing the sticky note back at Rube. It didn't go far and she watched, wide-eyed, as it fluttered back down to the table. It seemed to sit there, mocking her, as if it were a living thing. She repressed the urge to crumple it up, to burn it, to throw it away. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she leaned back in the booth, fighting the tears that so badly wanted to fall.
Rube barely moved. The only change in his appearance was a slight height difference in his eyebrows. "Death is death, Peanut," he said softly. "We don't get to choose who dies." He pushed the sticky note towards her, watching as she turned her head like a stubborn child.
"No," she said, feeling the tears getting closer to the surface. "I can't. Not this one. Give me any other sticky note. Give me the Pope for all I fucking care, just not this one." She looked away, would've completely turned away if she wasn't stuck in the booth next to Daisy.
Mason leaned across the table and tilted his head somewhat, trying to read the name on the note. His view was obstructed by Roxie's hand slamming down on top of it; she'd been playing Rube's Right-Hand-Man more than normal lately and it was driving him crazy. "It's none of your business," she said, answering the question written across his face. He too pouted and leaned back against the back of the booth.
"Peanut," Rube said, his voice growing softer and somehow sterner. "I wouldn't give this to you if I thought you couldn't handle it."
She glared up at him through her tears, letting them fall down her cheeks silently now. "Fuck. You." The threat, despite the raw sound to her voice, was thick and angry and hurt. "I can't do this."
The other reapers were silent, as they had been through most of it, but Daisy finally spoke up; "Rube, maybe she's not ready for this. Maybe I should do it for her," she said, reaching for the sticky note. Her hand instantly dropped to the table when Rube looked up at her, and then it recoiled back into her lap. She looked down at her untouched dinner, pretending that nothing had happened.
"You know what happens if we don't take souls, or if we interfere with the appointments, Peanut," he said. He got up and pulled his jacket on, tossing some money onto the table from his wallet. "The choice is yours, but you'd better make the right one."
George watched him walk away, wishing she could burn holes in the back of his jacket. After a bit, when Mason wouldn't stop bouncing, she stood up and grabbed her jacket, shoving it on roughly. "Georgie?" Mason asked, sounding all too like a small, excited puppy. "Want me to go with you?" She shook her head, not trusting her voice enough to actually speak, and grabbed the sticky note.
As she walked out of Der Waffle Haus, she re-read the name, her blood boiling just as hot as when she first read it. She couldn't do this. What the fuck made Rube decide to make her do something this screwed up? She slammed the door to her convertible, expecting the skies to open up and rain all over her. That's what would happen in the movies; the rain would come and she'd drive off, soaked to the bone as she cried her eyes out.
But this wasn't a movie. This was her life, or after life, whatever the hell they called it, and she had a job to do. As George pulled out of the parking lot and started driving towards the house she grew up in, she focused on detaching herself emotionally, ignoring the fact that it wasn't working. If only she could somehow warn them what was coming, give them some sign. But that was interference, and even though she loved her family more than she ever thought possible, she couldn't mess with fate like that. So she'd go to her old house, take the soul and leave.
Hopefully she could give the soul some sense of peace, and they'd know that George was okay now, that there was nothing to worry about anymore.
Hopefully.
Fandom: Dead Like Me.
Characters: George-centric. Other reapers make an appearance. More characters later on.
Rating: R for language.
Word Count: 736.
Spoilers: None. It's in the future some time.
Summary: "You know what happens if we don't take souls, or if we interfere with the appointments, Peanut... The choice is yours, but you'd better make the right one."
Author's Note/Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nadda. Zip, zero. Goose egg. It's got a lot of the "f-bomb" in it and it's not a happy story. This is (more than likely) going to end up a two or three part story. Therefore, it's not finished just yet.
Second part: Reunion
Third part: In Memoriam
"No fucking way," George said as she looked at the sticky note. "This isn't fucking fair! I can't do this," she practically screamed, throwing the sticky note back at Rube. It didn't go far and she watched, wide-eyed, as it fluttered back down to the table. It seemed to sit there, mocking her, as if it were a living thing. She repressed the urge to crumple it up, to burn it, to throw it away. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she leaned back in the booth, fighting the tears that so badly wanted to fall.
Rube barely moved. The only change in his appearance was a slight height difference in his eyebrows. "Death is death, Peanut," he said softly. "We don't get to choose who dies." He pushed the sticky note towards her, watching as she turned her head like a stubborn child.
"No," she said, feeling the tears getting closer to the surface. "I can't. Not this one. Give me any other sticky note. Give me the Pope for all I fucking care, just not this one." She looked away, would've completely turned away if she wasn't stuck in the booth next to Daisy.
Mason leaned across the table and tilted his head somewhat, trying to read the name on the note. His view was obstructed by Roxie's hand slamming down on top of it; she'd been playing Rube's Right-Hand-Man more than normal lately and it was driving him crazy. "It's none of your business," she said, answering the question written across his face. He too pouted and leaned back against the back of the booth.
"Peanut," Rube said, his voice growing softer and somehow sterner. "I wouldn't give this to you if I thought you couldn't handle it."
She glared up at him through her tears, letting them fall down her cheeks silently now. "Fuck. You." The threat, despite the raw sound to her voice, was thick and angry and hurt. "I can't do this."
The other reapers were silent, as they had been through most of it, but Daisy finally spoke up; "Rube, maybe she's not ready for this. Maybe I should do it for her," she said, reaching for the sticky note. Her hand instantly dropped to the table when Rube looked up at her, and then it recoiled back into her lap. She looked down at her untouched dinner, pretending that nothing had happened.
"You know what happens if we don't take souls, or if we interfere with the appointments, Peanut," he said. He got up and pulled his jacket on, tossing some money onto the table from his wallet. "The choice is yours, but you'd better make the right one."
George watched him walk away, wishing she could burn holes in the back of his jacket. After a bit, when Mason wouldn't stop bouncing, she stood up and grabbed her jacket, shoving it on roughly. "Georgie?" Mason asked, sounding all too like a small, excited puppy. "Want me to go with you?" She shook her head, not trusting her voice enough to actually speak, and grabbed the sticky note.
As she walked out of Der Waffle Haus, she re-read the name, her blood boiling just as hot as when she first read it. She couldn't do this. What the fuck made Rube decide to make her do something this screwed up? She slammed the door to her convertible, expecting the skies to open up and rain all over her. That's what would happen in the movies; the rain would come and she'd drive off, soaked to the bone as she cried her eyes out.
But this wasn't a movie. This was her life, or after life, whatever the hell they called it, and she had a job to do. As George pulled out of the parking lot and started driving towards the house she grew up in, she focused on detaching herself emotionally, ignoring the fact that it wasn't working. If only she could somehow warn them what was coming, give them some sign. But that was interference, and even though she loved her family more than she ever thought possible, she couldn't mess with fate like that. So she'd go to her old house, take the soul and leave.
Hopefully she could give the soul some sense of peace, and they'd know that George was okay now, that there was nothing to worry about anymore.
Hopefully.