DISCLAIMER: The Dead Like Me
characters are the property of MGM and John Masius Productions. The story
contents are the creation and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2007 by
Djinn. This story is Rated R.
Extended Absence
by Djinn
"How's tricks?" George
slid into the booth at Der Waffle Haus, grinning at the look Rube shot her. "What?
Only Roxy gets to be a smart ass?"
"Roxy's gone." Rube
went back to scribbling. "Paid up her soul quota and disappeared."
"Oh. I didn't
know." That was fast. Why did some reapers hang around forever and others
get to move on after only a few decades?
"Yeah, well, you've been
off working in a new city. You're all grown up now."
George knew she still looked
eighteen to other reapers. But she didn't carry herself like a teenager
anymore. She'd lived—or un-lived—ten long years.
Rube went on with his rant. "I
mean how would you know?" He seemed to be pressing down with unusual force
on the Post-it. "Hell, why would you care?"
"I guess you missed
me?"
"Don't recall those
words passing my lips. Miss you, Peanut? Sure, I missed you. Like I'd miss a
bad case of athlete's foot."
She couldn't help it. It was
such vintage Rube, she had to laugh.
His expression didn't change.
"Glad you're enjoying yourself."
"Well, I missed you."
"Uh huh." He
finished up his Post-its and shifted to sit the way he used to. Up against the
end of the booth, arm over the vinyl back. "What are you doing here,
George?"
"Guess you didn't get
the memo?"
He made the face that meant
he didn't know what she was talking about.
"I transferred
back."
"Since when?"
"Count the Post-its. You
were a little distracted."
He sorted through them. There
were five—one for him, one for each of the three reapers she knew was on his
crew, and one for her. "Damn," he muttered.
"Yeah, I'm glad to be
home, too, boss-man."
He counted again, then
checked his ledger. "Why didn't I notice this?"
"Because the powers that
be are scared shitless of you? Or maybe they just wanted to fuck with you and
let my arrival be a surprise." She held her hand out. "One of those
is mine, I believe."
He took a deep breath, passed
her the stack. "Take your pick." He wasn't looking at her and was
shaking his head in that way he had when he wasn't sure what to say, but if he
did think of something to let fly, it was going to be sharp and ugly.
"What's your
problem?" She dug through the stack and found one in a neighborhood she
liked. "I thought you'd be happy to have me back."
"I'm turning cartwheels,
Peanut. Can't you tell?" He took the stack back from her.
"Actually, no, I
can't." She sighed, then smiled at the waitress who came over. "I'll
have the Banana Bonanza."
The woman left, and George
watched her go. "I miss Kiffany."
"Kiffany's
still here. It's her day off."
"I wonder if she'll be
glad to see me." George knew that she would look older to a non-reaper. Or
at least wouldn't rouse any suspicion. She didn't understand how their gig
worked a lot of the time, but it seemed to function pretty well.
"She'll just shit,
George. It'll be like Elvis walked into the joint. Jesus, get over yourself
already." He got up. "I gotta make a sissy.
If the crew shows up, tell them to cool their jets till I'm done."
The crew. Like she wasn't
part of it again. "Is Mason still here?" At his glare, she said,
"I'm just curious."
She thought Rube was going to
ignore her, but then he turned back, leaned over her, hands splayed wide on the
table. "Ten years, Peanut. Ten years and no word. You don't get to be
curious. You don't get to be anything."
He straightened and walked to
the bathroom. A moment later she heard laughing voices coming from the main
door.
She looked over, saw three
strangers heading her way.
"You're in our
booth," an older Asian man said to her. "And are those Rube's
Post-its?"
She slid out of the booth. "Yeah.
He's in the can, said to cool your jets. You know how Rube is. I'm going to go
now." She clutched her Post-it note to her chest.
"Who the hell are
you?" This time it was a woman. Young—college-aged, George thought.
"I'm George Lass."
"You're George?" The
third reaper grabbed his Post-it and ran for the door.
"Don't mind, Pete. He's
just a chicken-shit." College girl sounded like Roxy when she said that.
George glanced over at the
bathroom. "So am I." And she fled before Rube could come out and
regale the others with stories about how badly she'd messed up when she was
new. The sad thing was, most of them would be true.
##
The water glinted off the bay,
and George was glad she'd worn her sunglasses. It was a warmish morning, warmer than the reception she'd get at Der Waffle
Haus. She leaned her head back on the bench and closed her eyes. Then she
sensed someone coming up. Heard the soft sound of sneakered feet. She smelled
Rube's unique mix of old-fashioned aftershave and the hand soap from Der Waffle
Haus. "How'd you find me?"
"I don't know." He
sat down, not close, she could tell that even with her eyes closed. "I
just did."
"Wow. New reaper
talent?" She smiled the way she knew made him crazy, like she had a secret—one
he didn't know.
"I'm pissed at you,
Peanut. Do you know why I'm pissed at you?"
"Because you're always
pissed."
"I'm not always pissed. I'm
just generally pissed around you."
"Oh. My mistake." She
opened her eyes and turned to study him. "So
enlighten me, oh great one."
"Don't take that tone
with me, Georgia. I can still make your life a living hell."
"You did that
already."
For some reason the joke fell
flat. His lips tightened, and his hands clenched, and he stared out at the bay
as if his salvation lay there.
"What? What did I
do?" She reached out, saw him flinch. "Rube?"
"I'm pissed at you
because I'm pissed at me because I actually care that it's been ten years, and
this is the first I've seen of you."
She wasn't sure what to say. But
he saved her, rising quickly, striding down the path and back to the main
street.
She sat and let him go,
trying to make sense of how it felt to be home, thinking about Reggie and her
mom and dad. She wondered how they were doing, and had to fight the urge to go
home.
She'd promised herself she
wouldn't do it. Not again.
Slowly she got up and followed
Rube, making her way eventually to Der Waffle Haus.
Kiffany—still with the same sweet smile—beamed when she saw
her. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"
"Hi, Kiffany."
George surprised herself and the waitress by pulling her in for a hug, nearly
getting burned by the pot of coffee the woman held. "Sorry."
"Oh, hon, it's okay. You
know what you want?"
George smiled. "Surprise
me." She saw Rube and his crew in the booth and walked over.
Pete got out and let her
slide in next to Rube.
"What the hell did you
do that for?" Rube didn't look up from his Post-its.
"I don't know. She
just...she's back and I thought..." Pete abandoned his breakfast and ran
for the bathroom.
"Like I said. Chicken
shit." College-girl grinned at George, and the Asian guy sort of smirked.
"Watch your fuckin'
mouth, Lindsay." Rube was in fine form.
Lindsay mouthed his words
back to him, and George had to stifle a laugh.
The Asian guy held out his
hand. "I'm Dan."
"Hey." She thought
he seemed the sweetest of the group. "You're new, aren't you?"
"How'd you know?"
"You've still got that
glow of innocence."
Dan smiled. "Thanks. I'm
trying not to get hard." He mouthed "Like Rube."
And, of course, Rube caught
him. "Yeah, how's that working out for you, Dan-oh?" Rube handed him
a Post-it. "Better get a move on. Time waits for no man, and neither will
this guy's soul."
Dan looked at the Post-it,
then grabbed a last piece of bacon and hightailed it out of there.
"Nice to see you're
still the same sensitive Rube." George winked at Lindsay.
"Get lost," Rube
told the younger woman, and handed her two Post-its. "And give that to
Captains Courageous, will ya?"
Once she was gone, Rube looked pointedly at George. "There's a whole booth
over there going a'wastin'. Why not move your
ass?"
With a dramatic roll of her
eyes, she slid out and took the other seat. She sat the way she used to, knees
up, back to the wall. Rube stared at her.
"No Post-it for
me?"
"One for you and me. Tandem
souls."
"Awww.
You want us to work together?"
"God, you're annoying.
I'd forgotten how annoying you are, but thank the Almighty, you are here to
remind me. Kiffany"—he looked up as the waitress
brought George's food—"is this girl not the most irritating thing you've
ever seen?"
"Not irritating. And not
a girl anymore." Kiffany winked at George, and
then left.
"She can't see the real
you."
"Neither can you, Rube. I'm
still that eighteen-year-old girl to you."
"Oh, and you're all
grown up now?"
She took a bite of her waffle
and sighed happily. Tiffany had chosen well. "You said I was
yesterday."
"That was before I
looked closer."
"Hmm." She decided
to ignore him and just enjoy her meal. When she finished, she pulled out a
twenty and left it on the table. "Let's go, then."
"You don't need any
change, Ms. Vanderbilt?"
She shook her head, pouting
her lips in the "so there" way she knew he hated.
"Came into some money,
did you?" He sounded like he was going to reprimand her the way he used to
Daisy.
"I did, as a matter of
fact. Nice stockbroker I reaped in Miami. Took a liking to me and turned me
onto some real cushy deals before he hit the cosmic light show. I made a
fortune." She leaned back. "I don't have to work for a living. Just
reap."
"How nice for you."
"I think so."
He leaned forward. "Peanut,
this isn't going to work. You need to work in someone else's town."
"Why?"
"Because I said so, and
I'm the boss."
She pretended to think about it.
"I like it here."
"Why? What the hell is
here for you? Mason's in London. Daisy's in Atlanta. Betty never did come back.
Are you here for your sister, George? Because you know I will lay a world of
hurt on you if that's why you're here."
"I haven't seen my
family."
"Keep it that way."
She reached over and gently
took one of the Post-it notes. "You're still here."
"I'm always here." He
sounded suddenly very old. Very tired.
"Aren't you even just a
little bit glad to see me?"
His face scrunched up in a
funny way.
"Just a teensy tiny
bit?" She laughed as she let her tone go to cajoling.
"Oh, knock it off."
"You're glad."
"Am not." He slid
out of the booth. "Come on. We've got work to do." His voice was
gruff, but he waited for her to slide out before heading for the exit.
"Are, too," she
said.
He shook his head, but she
could tell he was fighting a grin. She suddenly, finally, felt like she was
home.
##
George and Rube walked, two
reaped scientists trailing after them, arguing about who had been at fault in
the explosion that had torn their lab apart.
"So
you still living in the same place?" she asked Rube.
"Yep."
"Still covering your
furniture like a little old lady?"
"I hate dusting." Rube
turned to the spirits. "Look, you're both jackasses. Let's leave it at
that, all right? The young lady and I are trying to have a conversation."
"Wow, your people skills
may actually have improved."
He laughed, and she smiled,
not expecting that reaction.
"I have missed you,
Rube."
Any levity died. She wondered
where he went when he got that weird, cold expression. What had happened to him
to make him just turn off?
"Why was that the wrong
thing to say?"
"Wasn't."
"It must have been. Look
at you, all somber and shit."
He didn't answer.
One of the spirits caught up
with them, leaned in and whispered loudly enough for Rube to hear,
"Intimacy issues."
"I have no intimacy
issues, you yahoo."
"Afraid to love,"
the guy went on. "My wife's a psychiatrist. She always tells me I'm that
way, only I'm not, but this guy...? Oh, yeah. Classic case."
Rube turned on him. "You
want the God's hard truth, my friend? Let me tell you that truth. People you
love leave. They go away. They never come back. Just like you're never going to
go back to your wife."
"Rube. Jeez,
chill." George pulled him bodily around. "Way to make the dead guy
feel bad."
"Sorry, Peanut." Rube
turned to the dead guy. "Sorry, sir."
The guy looked upset until
the light show started in front of him, then both souls laughed and ran for
what looked like a giant slip-and-slide next to a big rock-climbing wall. They
slid and climbed their way into oblivion.
"Ever figure out where
they go?" George watched until the last of the light faded away.
"Nope."
"I think about Betty
sometimes. How she jumped. How it looked like she became something else."
"Yeah, I think about
her, too."
George took his arm, earning
herself a glare. "It's a nice night. Let's walk a while."
"Why are we walking like
this?"
"You object to being
touched?"
"Maybe." He pulled
away.
"You do have intimacy
issues." She shook her head. "I'll see you tomorrow."
She'd taken two steps when
she heard him call her name.
"It is a nice
night," he said softly.
She shrugged.
He rolled his eyes and held
out his arm. "Don't think I don't know when I'm being manipulated."
Smiling, she took his arm. "I
just think it's good for you to actually connect with someone."
"You're the last one I
want to connect with."
She ignored the comment. He
turned for the park, toward the overlook on the bluff. There was a homeless guy
sleeping on the bench, so she pulled him toward the next bench a few yards away
and pushed him onto it. Then she sat down next to him. Very close next to him.
"Peanut, what the
hell?"
Reaching up, she pulled his
arm around her, holding tight until he relaxed and let it rest on her
shoulders. "You may not need to connect, but I do." She took a deep
breath, let it out slowly. "I asked for this transfer. I wanted to come
home."
"I know. I checked into
it this morning."
"I was lonely."
"Word is you had quite
the time in Miami. The old familiar is a tried-and-tested cure for
heartache."
"You heard about Jay?"
"Yep."
"I left him." She
looked over, saw him frown. "He tells everyone he broke up with me. And I
don't want to make him feel worse, so I let him. But I left him."
"Why?"
"He wasn't the right
guy." She exhaled loudly, leaned her head back on his arm. "He kind
of looked like you."
"I know him. He doesn't
look like me."
"Yeah, he does. Around
the eyes. They go dead like yours do."
"I am dead, so it
follows."
She felt his hand cup her
arm, rubbing gently. She wondered if he even knew he was doing it. "He's
not you, though."
"And you should thank
your lucky stars for that." He seemed to realize he was caressing her arm,
pulled his hand away quickly. "It's getting late."
"Yep." She got up,
not waiting for him.
He caught up with her in
three steps. "So where are you living?"
"Nice place. You wanna walk me home?"
"Don't try to seduce me,
Peanut." The Rube she knew was back. "You couldn't handle the
result."
"Wouldn't dream of
it." She took his arm again, channeling just a little of Daisy as she did
it. She thought Rube could tell what she was doing.
"Smart ass." But he
walked her all the way inside and to her door.
She didn't invite him in. He
didn't ask to come in. But they both stood, she in the doorway, he a few paces
back.
"This is stupid,
Rube."
He smiled at that. "It's
very screwball comedy. I like those. Do you like those?"
"They're all
right." She leaned her cheek against the doorframe.
"They're reassuring in
their predictability. The guy gets the girl. Goodness prevails. All is right
with the world."
She smiled, could feel it
turn bitter. "And we know that's not the case."
He looked down. "It
wouldn't have been my choice, George. To make you a reaper. I'd have let you go
on—if anyone had asked me."
"Thanks, Rube."
He stepped in and smoothed a
wayward lock of hair away from her face. "I'm glad no one asked me,
though. The selfish part of me is glad. Because I got to know you."
She didn't move, just waited
while his finger rested on her cheek. Then he pulled away and she smiled. "Good
night, Rube."
"Good night,
Peanut."
##
George checked the address,
making sure she was at the right place. For once the Post-it she held didn't
have Rube's writing on it. This was a favor from someone she'd worked with in
Miami. Interdepartmental rotation—for the day, anyway.
She knocked, smiled at the
woman who opened the door. "Hi. I called. I'm Millie."
"Come in. I'm Ann. From
Hospice."
"Hi."
"She's so excited that
you're in town." Ann moved aside to let her in.
George stepped inside, was immediately
hit by the combined smell of potpourri, cat litter, and death. She had a
feeling Ann was used to the death part of it. A little champagne cat with big
green eyes came up, standing up and patting at George's knee until she picked
it up.
"You used to work with
Delores, Millie?"
"She hired me. And she
recommended me for an opening in Miami. You could say she changed my life a
couple of times." Her unlife, but same thing.
"Millie?" A voice,
out of the bedroom in the back of the apartment. A voice that used to be big
and perky and full of the life George had spent eighteen years running away
from.
A voice that was thin now. Sick.
Dying.
"If you want to take a
break...?" George smiled at Ann.
"You're sure? I could
use one."
"I'll be here." George
waited till the woman had left and then swallowed hard and walked into the
bedroom. "Hey, Delores."
She blinked, trying not to
tear up at how frail—how nearly transparent—Delores looked. George was used to
death. Violent, sudden death. That was her department and, while the corpses
might look pretty horrible after they were dead, the people usually were hale
up to that point. She didn't work sickrooms. She didn't visit cancer wards.
And she'd never reaped
someone she loved.
"She likes you,"
Delores whispered.
George realized she was still
holding the cat. "Yeah, I guess she does."
"I got her after Murray
died. I called her Millie."
George put the cat down and
went to sit in the chair by Delores' bed. "That's sweet."
Her friend looked a little
embarrassed. "I really missed you after you went to Miami."
"I really missed you,
too." It wasn't a lie, and George was glad she'd grown up enough to
realize how important Delores Herbig had been to her.
She took Delores' hand, could
feel the weak thread of life left.
"I'm so tired,
Millie."
She ran her hand over their
linked ones, saw the familiar faint glow that meant she'd released the soul. "It's
okay to rest, Delores."
"But you just got
here." Delores seemed to be fighting sleep, then she gave up, closing her
eyes for the last time.
George let the tears that
welled up fall. Ten years had taught her to save them for times that mattered. This
was one of those times.
"It'll be all right,
sweetie."
She turned to see Delores. Not
the woman she'd known, not full of life, but more so than the woman in the bed
had been. "I know. I'm just sad."
"I'm not." She gave
her the luminous smile that George remembered. Then Delores looked down at the
little cat who had jumped on the bed and was nosing her dead body. "Would
you take her, Millie?"
George realized Delores was
still seeing the girl she'd known, not the real George. She felt something
inside her sort of catch, realized that her bosses knew she was doing this—and
they were giving her a gift to make it as sweet as possible.
Every now and then, they did
that.
George looked at the cat. The apartment she'd rented took cats. She'd made sure
of that. "I'll take good care of her."
And then the lightshow began.
It was set out like a scrapbook: the happy times of Delores's life.
"Well, will you look at
that?" With a giggle, Delores reached for the nearest light and was gently
sucked up into it until she disappeared.
George heard the door open,
sat down with the cat and waited for Ann to come in.
Ann took one look at the body
on the bed and said, "She's gone?" It was asked matter-of-factly, but
with compassion.
"She's gone." George
cuddled Millie. "She wanted me to take the cat."
"She told me she wanted
you to have her. She made me get the carrier down and make a package of her
food and toys and things." The woman shook her head. "I guess she
knew she was going to go today."
"I guess she did." George
leaned down, kissing Delores's cheek. She never touched bodies normally. But
this wasn't just a body: this was her friend.
She left Ann to her
post-death tasks and found the carrier, easing the little cat into it and
picking up the heavy bag of supplies. She managed to get the door open and got
down the stairs, but the bag was getting heavier by the minute.
"Need a hand with
that?"
She looked up, saw Rube
leaning against the side of the building. "Just to my car. It's on the
next block."
He took the bag from her,
peeked into the carrier. "Pretty cat."
"She named her after
me."
"That was nice of
her."
They walked slowly, the
little cat mewing at first, but then she seemed to settle down.
"You ever have a cat? You
have any idea what to do with one?" He checked the bag. "You're going
to need a litter box. There's litter in here, but no box. Stop on the way home
and get a box."
"Okay. Thanks."
He sighed. "I could read
you the riot act for doing what you did."
"Then read me the riot
act. You can't make me feel any worse."
"Then anything I do
would be superfluous."
She wasn't sure what to say,
so she opted for silence.
"I did it, too. For my
daughter."
"You did?"
He nodded. "She was my
Rosie. How could I not take care of her? One last time." He checked on the
cat. "Is Delores the reason you came back?"
George looked away.
"Because if she is,
that's fine. I know I've been a shit—not that I'm saying you don't deserve some
attitude—but I am happy to have you back. Whatever your reason for darkening my
door again is."
"I'm not sure why I came
back."
"That's all right. You're
home now."
He shifted the sack around,
and they walked awhile, the kitty making little cries every so often. She didn't
sound like about-to-go-nuts cat. She seemed to be taking things pretty well.
"You going to call her
Millie?"
"She's used to it. I
don't want to confuse her." She smiled up at him. "Remember when I
told you not to call me Peanut?"
"Yeah. I listened real well, as you can tell."
"You did. Back
then." She met his eyes. "I don't mind it if you call me that
anymore."
"Good. Because I wasn't
going to stop this time." He gave her a real smile. Gentle and sweet and
not one she'd seen very often. Then his face twisted just as she caught a whiff
of something foul.
"Your new cat just
unloaded on you. All barrels by the smell of it. I do not envy you the cleaning
you'll have to give that carrier." He moved away a little. "Where is
your car, Peanut—Tacoma?"
"This is me." She
stopped in front of a mustang. Like the one she'd had before, only blue this
time.
"Nice wheels," he
said, as he loaded the bag into the back seat.
"You want a ride?"
"With the
stink-o-cat?"
She laughed. "Rube, the
top's down. It won't smell."
"I'm good, Peanut. You
just get your cat home." With a gentle smile, he took the carrier from her
and settled it on the front seat, then shut the door and took a step back.
"Rube?"
He waited.
"Thanks."
He nodded, his eyes
extraordinarily gentle, then he walked away.
##
George stared up at the building
that housed Happy Times, remembering all the happy and not-so times she'd had
there.
"Contemplating becoming
a useful member of society again, Peanut?"
"Not really." She
snuck a glance at him; he was staring up at the building with a puzzled look,
as if trying to figure out what the hell had captured her attention. "What
are you doing here?"
"The question is what
are you doing here?" He showed her his Post-it. "I have business
here. Gimme a minute to finish up, and we can go grab
lunch."
"At Der Waffle
Haus?" She mentally scanned the menu.
"There are other restaurants."
"Well, I know that. But
you've never seemed to think there was anything better than our old
standby."
He shrugged. "Not
better. But... more private."
"Private?"
"For catching up without
the junior league hanging on our every biting word. Jesus Christ, Peanut. I'm
offering to take you to lunch. Why are you giving me a hard time?"
"Oh, were you going to
pay? Sure, then. I'll just get a coffee and hang." She bought a latte and
took it over to a bench in the sun.
Rube strode off, toward a
young man getting ready to skateboard down the stairs. She could picture the
kid going right into traffic. Rube obviously thought so, too, because he
stopped to talk to the kid, pointing to the wheels and probably asking all
sorts of bizarre information-laden Rube-style questions. Like if the kid had
ever tried whatever the latest skateboard wheel material was. Rube knew the
weirdest stuff.
He patted the kid on the
shoulder and left him to make his final run on his board. "This is not
going to be pretty," Rube said as he took a drink from her coffee.
"Help yourself."
He seemed to realize what
he'd done and stared at the coffee. Then he scowled and took another sip. "It's
not like you're going to catch anything from me, dead girl."
She smiled. He hadn't called
her that in forever.
There was the screeching of brakes, a scream from a woman walking on the
sidewalk, then a loud crunch. George didn't look.
"Since when are you
afraid to look?"
"I just think it's a
nice day, and I'd rather not ruin it." Of course, she had to look at the
guy as he soul-walked his way over to them. If he'd survived, his bruises would
have had bruises.
"Nice effort,
Marcus." Rube nodded at George to get up. "Let's walk awhile."
"Is that me?" Marcus
looked over at his body. "Oh man. Ewww."
"Think of how we
feel," Rube said, smiling in his self-sacrificing "Reaper putting up
with gore for the mission" way.
"Man. Sorry. My total
bad." Suddenly the skateboarder perked up. "Now that's a ride!" And
then he ran off, leaping onto a skateboard made of light and disappearing into
the brightness.
"So, lunch?" Rube
took the coffee from her and finished it, then tossed it into a trash
receptacle. "There's a steakhouse down this way I've always wanted to try.
You think they're open?"
"How should I know? I
didn't exactly frequent steakhouses when I lived here."
"I bet they're
open." He looked over at her. "So how's the
puddy tat?"
"Millie's fine. Thanks
for asking." She grimaced. "And you weren't wrong about cleaning that
carrier."
"I'm never wrong,
Peanut. That's the beauty of being me." He was grinning as he said it, so
she resisted trying to come up with a reply. "How are you?"
"You mean about
Delores?"
He nodded.
"I'm okay. I did what I
needed to do. What she needed me to do. I'm good with it."
"That's great." He
didn't look at her as he said, "So, you said you hadn't gone home."
"I did say that."
"Was it a lie?"
"Nope." She moved
closer. "You told me to leave it alone. Isn't it just possible I'm finally
listening to you?"
"You'll forgive me if I
have trouble with that concept?"
"It's not that I don't
want to check on them. But...that's sort of why I transferred. And why you
encouraged me to transfer, remember? I was getting too caught up in them?"
"I remember." His
voice was hard. Gruff.
"What? I was only doing
what you told me to." She tried to read his expression. Failed. "I'm
sorry, okay. Whatever it is I did, I'm sorry."
"You didn't do anything,
Peanut. Forget about it." He stopped walking. "You know what. I'm not
even hungry. Let's just—"
She grabbed his arm as he
turned. "I want a steak and I want it now. We can work out your latent
angst over dead animal flesh, okay?"
He looked like he was going
to pull away. Then all the fight seemed to go out of him. "Fine."
She didn't let go of his arm
the rest of the walk; he didn't try to make her.
Fortunately, the steakhouse
Rube had in mind wasn't a fancy place, or she'd have probably been kicked out
for wearing jeans. Then again, they were very nice jeans. She was enjoying
being able to buy pretty things instead of pillaging her old closet or stealing
them from dead people.
Rube ordered for her, and she
remembered how old he really was. Back in the 20's, men did stuff like that. Presumptuous,
but also a little comforting. Especially since he managed to order just what
she liked even after ten years away. He also ordered a bottle of what she was
sure was a pretty expensive red wine. The waiter didn't ask her for I.D.—one of
the side bennies of being an agent of death was that she had too much of a world weary look in her eyes to be carded anymore.
She sipped at the wine, felt
it go to her head. Why were they made this way? They could be hurt, but they
healed and nothing killed them. They could feel pain, feel sadness, feel the
euphoria of uppers, the calming numbness of downers, and the mixed bag of
alcohol. They didn't age physically, but their spirits grew old on overtime. What
power had thought this was a good life? Especially when no one knew when they
were on their last reap. One of her last jobs in Miami had been with a guy
who'd only been reaping for twenty years. But he went to capture the soul on
his Post-it, and then boom, he was gone, and the soul was there for her to take
back to their boss Nannette for breaking in as a new reaper.
George had been exempted from
training him since she was leaving in a few days. But she remembered the
confusion on the young man's face when he found himself stuck in this godawful
life. She'd shoved a wad of cash into his hand, told him to spend it slowly. She
could have done more—hell, Nannette could have, too. But she supposed getting
used to being undead—and the struggle to make a new life—was all part of being
a reaper. A shitty, suckfest part, but still a part.
"What are you thinking
about?" Rube asked softly.
"A new reaper. How it
felt to watch him try to adjust." She met his eyes. "I was a lot
nicer to him than you were to me."
"Well, that's because
you're a lot nicer in general than I am." He played with his napkin,
finally folded it on his lap. "Although you know the others used to call
you 'Rube's pet,' right?"
"They did not."
"They most certainly
did. Not to my face—or yours apparently—but I heard them say it." He
sipped his wine, seemed content to lose himself to a happy assessment of the
bouquet and taste. "They weren't wrong, Peanut."
"You used to call your
daughter Peanut, Rube. I guess I reminded you of her? That's why I was your
pet."
"I guess it
follows."
"I always knew you were
fond of me. You mattered to me, too." Since he just grunted, she went for
the question she really wanted the answer to: "Were you...attracted to me
back then?"
"I never said I was
attracted to you now." He went back to his wine, then he looked up. "I
felt protective of you. You were still just a kid back then."
"I'm not anymore."
"So
I should probably stop calling you Peanut."
"Don't. I like it."
She stopped talking as the waiter came with the salads, and they ate in silence
for a while. But it was an easy silence. The salads were so good they didn't
demand conversation to make them better. The steak that showed up as soon as
they were done with the salads was even better. "Rube, can I ask you
something?"
"If I say no, will it
stop you from doing it?"
She laughed. "No."
"Then, yeah. Ask
away." He put a bite of steak in his mouth, seemed to go to an ecstatic
place as he chewed it. "My God, this is good."
"It really is. But
you're not going to distract me. How long has it been since you dated?"
"That, Peanut, is none
of your business."
"Is this a date?"
He didn't answer immediately.
"Because if it is,
that's okay."
"What if it's not?"
She really thought it sort of
was, but she knew he'd play it safe. "That'd be okay, too, I guess."
"You want this to be a
date, Peanut? You want to date a man old enough to be your grandfather?"
She shrugged. He could interpret that how he wanted.
"What the hell are you
doing, George? I'm not sure how to play this. And I always know how to play
things."
"For the record, you
don't look old enough to be my grandfather, just my father." She grinned
at his expression. "Rube, I don't know what I'm doing. I just know what I
feel, and when I was in Miami, I felt lonely."
"You had Jay." He
sounded very sour.
"You don't like
him?"
"I really don't,
Peanut."
"Yeah, well, that makes
two of us, then." She lifted her glass to him. "To...realizing what
and who is important."
He didn't clink her glass,
didn't even pick his up. Just stared at her as if he was trying to figure out
what the hell to do with her. Sort of the look he'd had the numerous times
she'd tried to outsmart the system and all hell had broken loose.
She put her glass down. "What?"
"You didn't just decide
I'm important to you."
"You've always been
important to me. Just because I never wrote or called or actually came back
doesn't mean that..." Man, she sounded lame. She really hadn't thought
about Rube that much in Miami. At first, she'd compared Nannette to him—mostly
because Nannette didn't swear as much. But then she'd let her old life fade
away like Rube had told her to. It had been when George had taken up with Jay
that she'd started to think about Rube again. Jay had been such an imperfect
copy.
Maybe that was when she'd
decided she wanted the original? Maybe she'd wanted that all along and just
hadn't realized it?
"Earth to dead
girl."
She smiled. "I missed
you. Trust me on that."
He stared at her, his eyes
holding a strange mix of resignation and tenderness. "Do you want some
dessert? They have creme brulee here, and I really
love that."
"Can we share it?"
He gave a longsuffering sigh.
"Fine." He ordered when the waiter came to clear their plates. They
took turns digging into it. He let her have the last, delicious bite. They sat
in a strange silence—not tense, exactly, but full of something. Expectation,
maybe?
"The talk's all been
about me, Rube. What do you feel? You said you were glad I'm back."
He didn't look at her as he
paid the bill. A nice fat wad of cash going down to cover the tip. He'd always
been a good tipper.
"What is it you're
feeling?" She leaned in. "I know you have feelings."
"I'm far too glad you're
back. Maybe you should consider relocating again. L.A. might be nice."
"Or maybe I should stay
right here in Seattle."
This time he shrugged, and
she decided it meant that he wanted her to stay in Seattle, but he'd never
admit it. She studied him as he sipped the last of his coffee. His eyes could
get so stormy, so dark. She loved that. It scared her a little. It made her
feel safe, too, in a weird way, because it was familiar. She saw how strong his
hands looked, wondered what his lips would feel like on hers. Was he good in
bed? She imagined he was. She imagined he'd be very focused on his partner.
"What are you
thinking?"
"You don't want to
know." She grinned at him, was relieved to see the dark look fade. His
smile wasn't a full one, but it was sweet.
"I have to get back to
work, Peanut."
She dug in her bag for her
Post-it. "And I have a job to do in West Seattle."
"Okay, then."
"Okay." She walked
with him to the door, squinted as the light hit her, and slipped her sunglasses
on. "So...until breakfast, then?"
He nodded, but he didn't make
any move to walk away.
"Okay." She stared
up at him.
"Okay." He still
didn't move. "I could make you dinner tonight?"
"At Chez Rube?"
He nodded slowly.
"I could go for
that."
"Be there at six."
"Okay." She knew
she should walk away, wondered why he didn't.
"Peanut, this may not be
the greatest idea."
"Rube, it's just dinner.
It'll be fi—"
He pulled her to him and
kissed her.
Holy shit, the man could
kiss.
When he finally let her go,
he looked pissed at her, at himself, at everything. But he touched her face,
and his fingers were gentle. "It's not just dinner, Peanut. You come over
and things are going to happen. Maybe we should just forget that we had lunch
today. Maybe we should forget that I just kissed you. Maybe—"
She kissed him. She knew she
was none too shabby in the lips-on-lips department. When she finally let him
go, she whispered, "I'll see you at six. Wear something sexy."
"I'll wear what I always
wear, you little pistol." But his look was lighter. He seemed...happy.
It was a good look on him.
##
She didn't smell anything
cooking from outside his door. She'd interrupted him before in the middle of
cooking dinner, and she'd always been able to smell it from the door. Suddenly
a little nervous, she slid her hands down the teal velvet blouse she was
wearing, ironing out imaginary wrinkles. Her black pants fit her like a second
skin, and she resisted wiping hands gone suddenly damp on them.
She knocked instead.
He didn't open it right away,
and she wondered if he really was halfway across the room or just standing
still and counting to five so he wouldn't look like he'd been standing by the
door.
He opened the door, and she
thought that the black shirt he was wearing looked new—or newish. He'd dressed
up for her after all.
Moving aside to let her in,
he gave her a tight smile. "Peanut."
"Rube." She felt as
though they were diplomats, starting some big negotiation. Deciding to ignore
her butterflies, she wandered his room, peeking under the covered furniture. "Nice
to see you fixed the place up for me."
She heard him laugh softly, then the sound of wine being uncorked. Turning, she
saw that he did have the ingredients for something laid out on the little table
he had his hotplate on. "What's for dinner?"
"Italian. And this is a
very expensive Pinot Grigio. I splurged and I know not why." He poured her
a glass, and she walked over to take it.
"Salud,"
she said, holding it up.
This time he finished the toast. "Salud,
Peanut." He turned away from her, and she studied his back—it was a good
back, sturdy. She thought he was used to carrying the metaphysical weight of
the world on it.
He was moving things around
on the table, but he hadn't started the hotplate, hadn't poured the oil in it.
"So. You said things
were going to happen if I came over. What things?"
"Maybe I was just trying
to scare you. I should have known better." He abandoned the table, turned
to look at her, sipping at his wine as if it gave him courage. "I'm not a
spontaneous man, Peanut. Spontaneity leads to regret."
"You're a planner."
"I am. Without a doubt."
"Hmmm." She smiled,
then moved over to his bed. "Funny how this is such a prominent feature
here. Why don't you have a normal apartment with normal rooms? Like a bedroom
and a kitchen?"
"I've considered it. But
I like it here. I have a few decades before my persona becomes too old to keep
up." He moved closer, stood at the end of the bed, watching her. "I
should start dinner."
"You should."
He met her eyes.
"Or it could wait a
little bit." She smoothed down her top. "I bought this with you in
mind. I don't know why, but I thought you'd like velvet."
"You look lovely." He
took a step toward her, then another. A third got him to her side. He took her
wineglass and put it with his own on the bedside table.
"You look nice,
too." She ran her hand down the arm of his shirt. "Got all gussied up
for me?"
"It's possible." He
put his hand over hers, pressing hers into his arm. "I've missed
you." He moved slowly, as if he was afraid he'd
scare her. Pulling her close, he smiled as her arms twined around his neck. "What
now, Peanut?"
"Kiss me."
He didn't hesitate. And her memory
had not made his kissing ability better than reality. The man definitely knew
what he was doing. She felt him falling back onto the bed, went with him,
landing on top of him. They never stopped kissing.
He moaned, his hands
exploring under her shirt, warm against her skin. Then he rolled them so he was
on top, pulling away to look down at her. He smoothed her hair back, slowly
kissed her cheek, then her forehead, her nose, her chin, her ear. She giggled
as he nibbled softly, shivered as he blew on the wet spot.
"Rube."
He pulled back, sighing—but
it was a different sigh than his usual. This one was slow and sexy, and he was
staring down at her with such desire. "I want you, Peanut. I told you to
go away and you did, and the minute you were gone, I realized I missed
you."
"This way?" She
leaned up, kissing his cheek, working her way to his lips. "In a kissing
way?"
"No. I just missed you. But
then you came back and you weren't a kid anymore, George. And the love I felt
for you, it just sort of rolled over into this. And I wasn't sure what to make
of wanting you like this." He slowly began to unbutton her blouse. "It's
been a long time since I've felt this way."
She lay still, let him do
what he wanted, sensed he needed that from her. Her acceptance. Her willingness
to just let him do things. But once he had her blouse off, she grabbed his
shirt, tugged it off roughly.
Because he needed that, and she did, too. This couldn't be something he did to
her. It had to be something they did together.
"I love you,
George," he murmured as he undid her pants and pulled them off, then got
rid of her underthings.
She returned the favor,
leaving him as pleasantly nude as she was. He crawled up the bed, pulling her
with him, getting more comfortable, making sure she was, too, before he moved
over her. Staring up at him, she realized this was what she'd expected to see with Jay: Rube's face. Rube's hard
eyes that softened for her. Rube's fierceness tamed as he moved into her and
moaned.
"I love you, Rube."
She ran her nails down his back, urging him on.
He fooled her. He rolled off,
playing with her, making her plead for more of his touch and then easing away
to lie on his back with a mischievous expression. She had to crawl on top of
him before he started to touch her again, a satisfied expression on his face as
she claimed him, as she made him cry out and hold her tightly.
"Holy shit,
Peanut."
She lay next to him, smiling
in what she knew was sort of a drunken way. "Who knew we'd be this good
together?"
He caught her hand in his,
twined his fingers around hers. She cuddled in close, felt a strange sense of
serenity fill her. Something she hadn't felt in years—maybe ever. Being with
him felt so right.
Then her stomach growled.
Kissing her hair, he
whispered, "Are you hungry?"
She nodded, but held him
tighter. "I can wait, though."
"Good." He moved so
that he was holding her leg down with his. Then he started to touch her while
he kissed anywhere he could reach.
The man had a magician's
fingers. She was soon groaning and arching, and he was chuckling softly in a
way she never heard.
"You like that, do
you?" His voice was gruff, full of emotion he usually kept bottled up. But
also full of the surety he brought to everything. Rube: master of all.
She worked herself free of
his leg and showed him that she wasn't unused to getting her own way, too. She
wouldn't have thought he could make the sounds he did as she got to know Rube
Junior on a very intimate level.
When he finally lay still, he
said, "I repeat, Peanut. Holy shit."
She laughed. "So what's the junior league going to make of us?"
"I don't care what they fucking think." He kissed her hard. "But
don't expect me to treat your any differently on a reap."
"Wouldn't dream of
thinking I'd get preferential treatment." She curled against him. "Any
more than I already do as your pet, I mean."
"Very funny, dead
girl." But he was holding her against him, and his hands were running over
her, and he seemed unable to get enough of kissing her.
She knew that she was going
to get preferential treatment, and that the others probably wouldn't expect
anything else. It didn't suck to be Rube's pet.
##
"Morning, Peanut,"
Rube said as she slid into the booth next to Dan. Rube sat across from her,
glaring at her as if he hadn't woken her himself in a very special way.
"Morning, Rube." She
tried to sound sleepy sulky but was afraid it came out sleepy sexy instead.
Rube glared harder at her,
and she knew she'd better tone it down. She saw a small smile playing at his
lips, and looked down before she broke out in a grin.
Damn, she felt good. Tired since they'd gotten very little sleep. And hungry 'cause he never had gotten around
to cooking whatever Italian thing he'd been planning on making. But other than that she felt fucking terrific.
Millie hadn't been so happy
when she'd rushed in to feed her on the way from Rube's to Der Waffle Haus. George
realized it was sort of funny that she'd managed to rent an apartment that was
so convenient to both places. It seemed her subconscious knew what—and who—she
wanted long before she did.
Lindsay was sitting next to
Rube and she stretched dramatically. "I had the most surreal
evening."
"Yeah, and we want to
hear all about it, because our lives are that dull." Rube handed her a
Post-it. "Just tell me you didn't do anything I'm going to have to deal
with later."
"You're too old to hear
all the things I did."
He pretended to clutch at his
heart. "Yeah, kid. I shock easy, so choose your words carefully." He
looked up as Pete walked over to the booth. "Where the hell have you been?
Your reap's in half an hour across town."
"You know you could have
given that to someone else," George said, not looking at him.
"Like you, Peanut? I'd
appreciate it if you could cut short your beauty sleep and make it here on time
in the future."
"Sorry." She
mumbled it and looked down, resisting the urge to look at him because she knew
she'd start laughing. "Asswipe."
Dan giggled, and then he
started to cough and had to drink his juice to stop.
Rube glared at her again. "What
was that, George? My hearing's going 'cause I'm so
damn old. Speak up."
"She called you an asswipe, Rube." Lindsay held out her hand for a
Post-it. "About time someone called you that." She glanced at the
note. "Fuckin' Tukwila again. You hate me, don't you?"
"You are not one of my
favorite people, Lindsay, that is true."
She got up and left.
"That just leaves you,
Ranger Rick." Rube handed Dan his Post-it.
Dan looked at it, then
stuffed it in his pocket. He looked over at George and smiled.
She wasn't sure what the
smile meant, but she returned it.
Dan smiled even more when
Rube ordered her breakfast without asking her what she wanted.
"What?" she asked.
Dan shrugged. "Just nice
to have you around. I know Rube thinks so too."
Rube made a sound that said the opposite.
"Yeah, Rube likes having
you around." And then Dan waggled his eyebrows. Fortunately, Rube missed
that.
She poured maple syrup onto
the pancakes Kiffany brought and tried not to laugh.
"Let me out. I'm on a
deadline." Dan slid out as soon as she was up, lifted a hand and said,
"See ya later," and then was gone.
"So. Alone at
last." She slid back into the booth, slipped out of her shoe, and ran her
foot under Rube's pant leg.
"Peanut..."
She took a bite of her
pancakes. "Man, I'm hungry. Why am I so hungry? Hmmm, maybe it's because
this wild guy I was with wouldn't feed me."
"I fed you a good lunch.
And I don't recall you complaining last night." His stern look shifted to
something sweeter and sexier and just a little bit dangerous. "I remember
you making a whole lot of other sounds, though."
"Right back at you, boss
man." She pulled her foot away.
"You can keep it there. I
don't mind."
"You'll tolerate
it?"
"I'll humor you if it
makes you feel good to do it." He was grinning. It was a damn cute look on
him.
"Always giving so others
might be happy. That's our Rube." She took a sip of her coffee. "No
Post-it for me?"
"Another tandem job. I
hope you don't mind I didn't pair you with one of them."
"I think I'll survive
the disappointment."
"I figured you
would." He motioned for more coffee from Kiffany.
"Was Millie mad at you when you got home?"
"Yep. Lonely, I
think." She studied him. "Maybe we could trade off locations?"
"What? You think that's
going to happen again?" He captured her foot between his legs, holding her
captive, as if to make sure she knew he was kidding.
"Oddly enough, I do
think it's going to happen again. You can't get enough of me." She felt
him ease his hold and slid her foot up and up and—
He grabbed her foot and
pushed it back down. "Behave yourself, Peanut, or I'll put you over my
knee."
"Promises,
promises." She went back to molesting his ankle. "So
where's our reap, today?"
"U District." He
pushed his now empty plate away. "There's a Japanese place I really like
up there. You're buying today."
"Okay." She reached
for the syrup, felt his hand cover hers and looked up. "Everything
okay?"
He squeezed her hand for a
moment, then he let her go, his face the one of the consummate middle-manager
of death. "Everything's fine, Peanut. Everything's just fine."
FIN