Knight in Business Casual
by Jessie

Summary: Mason is scared of the dark (sort of). George isn't scared of anything (sort of). Mason/George friendship mostly, leading to more.
Spoilers: The whole damn thing, baby. Though very specifically for the last couple episodes of the second season.
Rating: R (language, kiddies)
Disclaimer: Dead Like Me and its characters are totally not mine. If they were, you can be sure I'd be whoring myself around to get it back on the air.

Authors Note: As always, feedback would rock my world. Also, I'm considering continuing this (though it's a complete story all on its own, so no worries), but suggestions and feedback to that end would be nice. If you'd like to archive this, please just ask first.

She slayed his demons for him.

Personally, he'd always fancied himself the knight in shining armor type, but if you caught him on a sober night he'd admit otherwise. Admit he'd always known that if there was going to be a hero he wasn't going to be it. Not for any one else, and certainly not for himself.

But still, it did do a number on his pride to admit that an eighteen-year-old undead girl was fighting (and winning) all his fights for him. Of course, that number wasn't big enough to make much of a fuss over. She was still saving his ass, after all. Getting rid of the monsters. Slaying the dragons.

It started with Ray.

He'd woken up from a fitful half-sleep on the couch just as that thing had turned to ash above him, and it took all he had to feign sleep while choking on a mouthful of postmortem asshole. But he did, and as he did, one eye peaked through partially closed lids and blurry sleep vision to gaze upon maybe the second best sight he'd ever seen. Georgia Lass, this little girl, standing up straight and tall and strong and determined, and looking like there wasn't a thing on God's green earth that could ever scare her. Fucking fearless, she was. Not a damn thing was getting by this kid. And not a damn thing was getting at him or the rest of his little 'family' as long she was there to look the sons of bitches in the eyes and laugh them out of the joint.

He'd never been so grateful for anything in his life.

After that, he'd taken to sleeping as close to George as he could finagle without getting into trouble. It wasn't that he was scared per se, just… Well it was like Kiffany had said, wasn't it? Every one needs a home. A place where they can feel safe. Mason had told her straight out that he didn't have a place like that, never had, didn't even know enough to recognize a place like that when he was sitting in it (and so had fucked up Der Waffle Haus, but thank god for Kiffany's forgiving nature).

But now he knew. Now he'd found that place. That safe place. It was wherever George was.

For a little while it wasn't even noticeable. They slept under the same roof, they ate at the same restaurant, they worked the same job. He didn't need to follow her around or anything 'cause she was almost always there anyway.

And when she wasn't, there was Roxie, who wasn't quite the same but did have a gun. Or else there was Rube, who definitely wasn't the same, but at least put him in his place, and being put in his place was about as close to feeling like 'home' as he usually got (if not exactly 'safe'). Or else there was Daisy, who... okay, so maybe there wasn't Daisy. Maybe when he was around Daisy he was the slayer of demons and of things that go bump in the night. Had to be. Only he'd never been any good at that, and the proof was all around them. The proof was buried in the backyard.

...Or else there was a bottle of something stiff and fiery.

After Ray, there was 'the kid.'

'The kid' was just that. Another poor, dumb kid- a child; a little boy- that this shitty, fucked up universe had decided to kill off before he'd had a right go at it. Mason had reaped, and then had watched as the boy drowned in a swimming pool while his mom browsed eBay in the house. It was... fucked.

But it was also just another death. Would have been just another death, anyway, if not for this fucking kid. If not for those sad as all fuck eyes and the way, even when the boy was dead, they'd just looked up at Mason like it was all his fault.

And then all 'the kid' had said was "I miss my dad," before he was gone. Poof. And who the hell knew what that meant or why the hell it meant anything at all to Mason, but there he'd stood in that backyard with the sun shining down and tears in his eyes and all he could think was "bloody hell cock sucker" and reach for that bottle.

'The kid' haunted him for the rest of the day. He couldn't figure why, but then, even he could concede that he wasn't really the brightest bulb in the box so he was probably missing something. He couldn't get 'the kid' out of his head, though, couldn't get his eyes to stop watering, or his hand to stop reaching for the bottle. Every few minutes he'd let out a mumbled "fuck all" and snap out of it for a second, run a hand through his hair and blink away the... whatever it was. Sadness? Something bloody painful, that was for damn sure. Painful and confusing and unnecessary.

That night he waited up for George, but then couldn't form the words- was too drunk to make them very good words anyway- and so had just watched her leave him for her own bedroom while he lay slumped on the couch. He turned the TV on and up to keep him company instead, for some reason unable to sleep. Not wanting to sleep. Afraid, maybe. But that didn't make any sense, did it? Afraid of what? So maybe it was something else.

At any rate, George came down a couple hours later in her pajamas, complaining that if he was going to make this insomnia thing a habit he could at least do them all a courtesy and pick something other than Law and Order to wake them up with at two in the morning.

Mason grunted and looked up at her sleepily. George stared back for a moment, sizing him up. His drunkenness. His sadness. His unwashed and uncombed hair. Finally she sighed and sat down next to him. Pulled the covers up to his shoulders for him and gave him an encouraging sort of smile.

"Just go to sleep, Mason." She said. And he took in a deep shaky breath at this, smiled at her like he meant it (because he did), and nudged her affectionately in the ribs with one hand.

"Well, if you insist, Georgie."

He fell right to sleep. And didn't wake up 'till Der Waffle Haus time the next morning.

That night he dreamt that he was back at the swimming pool. And 'the kid' was drowning all over again, but there was nothing Mason could do about it. He was frozen to the spot, couldn't move a muscle and even struggled to take in a breath. He could only watch as the boy started to sink and gasp in the water.

But then suddenly there was little Georgie diving in and rescuing the boy, pulling him out of the water and making him cough up what he'd swallowed. Mason wanted to jump and shout in excitement, in grateful joy, but was still rooted in place. Still frozen in that spot, as George took the kid back inside to his mom and Mason could only stand there, left behind.

And then there'd been some weird thing with the swimming pool filling with Jell-O and Rube showing up with a talking sea turtle. He decided not to pay attention to that bit.

But it wasn't like he was being terribly obvious, was the point. None of this hanging around George was really causing any ripples.

Then he started showing up at Happy Time.

"What the hell are you doing here?" George's first reaction at finding Mason in her chair at the office was to glance around suspiciously as if he were a big neon sign advertising her undead status and any number of people could be noticing.

"Lunch." He said.

"I already had my lunch break. And you're not supposed to be here."

"Take another lunch break. I'm hungry."

"Well I'm not. Now leave, Mason."

"Now leave Mason." He mocked in a high pitched voice. She rolled her eyes.

"Seriously." She said, and that was her 'I mean it' voice. Though, come to think of it, every voice was her 'I mean it' voice.

When he didn't budge she let out a long suffering sigh, still glancing around for signs that her coworkers might be catching on. She looked at him. She sighed again. "Jesus. I get off in a couple more hours. If you can wait somewhere else until then I'll buy you waffles."

He stood up, satisfied. "I want French toast."

"Fine. Now get out."

That was noticeable. That caused ripples.

It was the next day that he felt those ripples.

"What are you doing visiting George at her place of business?" Rube pushed aside his finished coffee just as the others were off with their post-its to go about their days. Mason had been about to follow when a strong hand had pulled him back into his seat and forced him to face the 'paternal one.'

"Um… Huh?" He said, but it wasn't very convincing.

"Don't be cute with me. Are you trying to bring every one else down with you? Is that what you're trying to do? Because I've got to tell you, Mason, as much of a complete fuck up as you are, the least you can do is show your fellow Reapers the respect and courtesy they deserve by not pulling them down the fuck-up slide with you."

"Did George tell you I was there? Did she complain about me just because I wanted to have a bit of lunch? Because really, that is just highly uncalled for-"

"George didn't complain, Mason, because George doesn't have the sense to complain. George simply told me the events of her day yesterday after I politely inquired. And I don't care if you were there about lunch or if you were there about the apocalypse, you do not jeopardize other people's carefully constructed covers just because you can't afford to buy yourself a club sandwich like a normal, working human being."

Mason swallowed. "It was French toast actually."

Rube looked to the ceiling as if something up there might offer some help, then back to Mason, then slid out of the booth abruptly.

"I'm through with you right now."

"You're always through with me."

"Well right now I'm through with you more than usual. That girl screws up enough all on her own thank you. I do not need you finding new and unpleasant ways for her to continue the habit."

And with that, Rube left. Mason stared at the now empty booth across from him like a scolded child. "It was just lunch."

But it kind of wasn't. And he knew it.

He couldn't help thinking about it sometimes. When he was bored and not drunk enough. Or even when he was drunk enough, really. He thought about how in awe he was of those few people, dead or alive (or somewhere in between), who really weren't scared of anything.

He was scared of everything, honestly.

At home that night, he sat on the couch next to Daisy while she read her magazines and he watched Wheel of Fortune. It was obvious he wanted to say something to her, but couldn't get the words out and so the silence was just awkward.

But that was him, wasn't it? Awkward. Luckily George got back just then and plopped herself down right between them, eyes on the TV, work clothes stiff on her slouched form and blood stain bright across her blouse. "I hate my job." She said.

"Which one?" Mason asked, relieved that the awkward was disappearing.

George shrugged in her usual George way, not looking up from the TV. "Take your pick."

At night, he tried to settle himself in on the couch. Tried to get some shut eye. But his head wouldn't let him. His thoughts kept turning to his conversation with Rube that morning, and he didn't know what the hell about it there was to be scared of, but he was. Scared, that is. Finally he decided that what it was- no matter how ridiculous it sounded- was that he'd been told not to have lunch with George anymore, and so he was scared that tomorrow he'd be eating alone.

He was such a wanker.

"Georgie?" He whispered into the dark of her bedroom as he entered it.

There was a rustle from beneath the covers on the bed and then a faint, groggy, and annoyed: "What?"

Mason took a couple of hesitant steps forward, clutching the blanket he'd brought with him from the couch to his chest. "Um, hey Georgie." He continued to whisper. "I was just wondering if maybe, that is if maybe you'd like to watch a little 'Law and Order' with me."

Still groggy, still annoyed, and muffled through the pillows and comforter: "Sleeping. Go away."

"Right. Sorry. It's just… it's just I thought maybe you'd want to maybe keep me company a bit?"

Nearly inaudible through all the sleep came a sarcastic: "I'm kind of in the middle of something, Mason."

"Right. Sorry." He nodded his head several times nervously, not quite certain if he was more scared of staying in the bedroom any longer, or of leaving it for the empty living room. "I'll just- good night, then George."

"Just go to sleep, Mason."

"Right. Will do." He reached for the door handle, but before he could turn it there was a long, frustrated sigh from behind him. And when he turned back around an arm was half-hazardly throwing down the covers of one side of the bed.

Like an eight year old who'd just been given a puppy, or maybe a bike, or maybe it was Christmas morning or some rot and this was presents under the tree, Mason dove into the turned down side of the bed, eliciting an annoyed grunt from George.

She rolled over and glared at him, but he just grinned back. "Thanks, Georgie."

"No problem-o." She said in that sarcastic tone she often took when she didn't want to deal with him. And then she rolled over and threw her head back down on the pillow and ignored him to the best of her abilities.

Mason snuggled in under the covers happily, relieved not to be alone in the house anymore, relieved to have his knight in shining armor (sort of) right there next to him to skewer the evil doers if any chose to pop by. And in an act born of sheer gratefulness and relief, he threw an arm around George from behind and drew her into him in a tight hug. George only grunted, nearly asleep, but didn't squirm away like he'd half-expected her to, and so they stayed like that for a while.

In the morning, there were more ripples.

He woke up about thirty seconds after George did, and there they lay, a good few inches apart at least, but facing each other. And it was strange to wake up to those big round eyes staring into his as George did that introspective 'talking to herself' thing she always did, but this time while staring at him.

They stayed like that for a few more seconds until Mason smiled awkwardly, trying to break the spell of tension and weirdness. "Mornin' Georgie."

Startled out of her thoughts, George started, then quickly reverted back to her normal 'not a morning person' self, groaned and rolled over. "You snore." She said.

It seemed like a little thing, but he was feeling those ripples for the rest of the day. Because for some reason that he couldn't figure- but had to assume stemmed from this little scene- George made sure not to sit next to him at Der Waffle Haus. And then, when Rube had suggested that she take Mason along on her reap "so as to blend in more" at some disreputable joint downtown, she'd quickly babbled some excuse about not needing him and being able to take care of herself and "blend in just fine, thank you very much."

Rube gave her a long, hard look. George gulped. Hell, Mason even gulped and he was across the table from them. Then Rube turned and started back in on his eggs and told her it wasn't a request.

And then he'd gone and given Mason a glare of his own, to which his only response was a mouthed "What'd I do?"

So they went to the reap together, and it went fine and according to schedule and all that, except that George said maybe two words to him the whole time which was disconcerting to say the least.

Later that night, back at home, the fear started to set in again. And the bottle wasn't any help.

It was the fear that maybe he'd done what he usually did, and that was fuck things up, and so lost himself the 'safe place' he'd only just found. The idea worried him to no end. What if he had? Oh God, what if he really had fucked this up and there was nothing he could do, and that great caped crusader but without the cape called George was no longer willing the crusade on his side. Oh fuck.

Almost worse then all of this, though, was that he had no idea what he'd done. Really. At least with Der Waffle Haus he'd known right fucking away what he'd done and why it was wrong. Kiffany and Roxy had both made sure of that.

Mason sat down on the couch beside Daisy, who was ignoring him as per usual nowadays by reading yet another beauty magazine. "Did I do something wrong?" He asked.

Daisy glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow.

He conceded her point. "Okay. Stupid question." He thought on it a second more, then turned to face her. "Is George upset with me do you think?"

Daisy didn't bother putting down the magazine or looking up. "Not to my knowledge."

"So she hasn't said anything to you?"

"Nope."

He sighed, lost (though it's not like that was out of the ordinary). "Well fuck all."

"Language, Mason."

He ignored her. "That girl is mad at me for something."

"Maybe she's just tired of being your mother."

Mason looked up sharply. "What are you talking about?"

Daisy shrugged noncommittally. "She's an eighteen year old girl, Mason. She probably just doesn't want to have to take care of you anymore. Well, no one particularly does, if you want to get right down to it. But you keep on needing to be taken care of, and George is the only one left who even halfway puts up with it, so... I suspect she's tired of it."

Daisy got up then and headed for the kitchen, and the conversation was over. And Mason felt like he'd just been punched in the stomach. By the Hulk.

When George finally got home from work late that night, he'd already hit the bottle more than a few times. And so it was a bit easier to stumble to her bedroom doorway before she could close the door after herself, duck his head and give her a hurt look.

George gave him her patented 'what the fuck?' look back.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked.

"Why would I be mad at you?"

"I don't know."

"Well there you go."

She went about the room settling herself in after an obviously long day. A few moments passed.

Mason sighed audibly. "You don't have to take care of me anymore, Georgie."

He was drunk.

George looked up suddenly, still very much 'what the fuck?' but now maybe a little more so. "What are you talking about, Mason?"

Mason stumbled forward and looked around the room, took a drink from the bottle inside his coat, and then looked back at George. "I'll-" he sounded very small suddenly. "I'll be alright on my own. I don't want you doing the work for me anymore. It's not fair."

George stared at him for a very long time trying to sort it all out: him and what he'd just said. It was late, and she was tired, and Mason was making more sense then she suspected he should have, so that couldn't be good.

He cleared his throat. "I'll just be- I'll just be on the couch. Watching the telly." He started to turn toward the door. But then-

"Mason?"

Mason stopped and turned back to face her. She was staring at him, her head ducked, her eyes hooded and her expression unreadable. Finally she made a face and took a few steps forward so she was right in front of him. "It's okay, Mason." She said, and her voice sounded like she was consciously trying to be comforting, but it wasn't exactly something that came easily to her. "I don't mind."

...And he could breathe again. He didn't think he'd ever heard anything more beautiful in his life and he very nearly cried.

A laugh escaped him. "Of course you don't mind!" He said, bursting with relief and with alcohol. George's eyes widened, startled as he embraced her quickly and strongly. "Oh, Georgie, of course you don't mind. It's why I love you, you know? Oh Lord. You slay the dragons, Love. You do."

"The dragons?" She laughed at him.

He kept smiling as he pulled away. Looked at her, full of wonder. "You really aren't afraid of anything, are you?"

She blushed a little, taking it as the compliment that it was. She stood there stiffly under his adoring gaze for a couple of moments, then not knowing what else to do, awkwardly moved away toward the bed.

Mason didn't bother waiting for an invitation. He dove into the bed as well.

He settled himself eagerly under the covers and then turned to face her. She turned to face him as well. "What?" her face seemed to say. But there was no 'what.' There was just him feeling okay suddenly. And maybe a little awkward. The only thing that set the scene apart from the morning was the darkness, which he suddenly wasn't all that afraid of. Not here. Not at home.

"Can we have lunch tomorrow?" He asked, sounding like he was eight years old.

There was bemusement in her voice. "Yes."

"Will you buy?"

"Yes." She groaned.

He grinned and closed his eyes, knowing sleep would come easily for once.

"Mason?"

"Hmm?" He said tiredly, not bothering to open his eyes as exhaustion and alcohol began to overtake him. He felt George's warm breath as she leaned forward toward him across the pillow, so far forward that their faces nearly touched.

"I'm not afraid." She whispered. "So don't worry. I won't let the 'dragons' get you."

Mason didn't bother to respond. He had a feeling she was making fun of him, but didn't care. He filled his lungs with air, wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into him. He put his head into the crook of her neck and let sleep take hold.

He believed her despite her mocking. And he wasn't scared either suddenly.

The end.