Disclaimer: Dead Like Me doesn't belong to me. R for language, but that should come as no surprise to anyone who has seen the show. Title and lyrics by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

Summary: If life is for living, then what is death for? Mason and George are both trying to find out after yet another member of the gang walks into the light.

Our Time

I may be dead honey
But I was left with my eyes
And my heart baby
Is cold and blue
We're two of a kind baby
Me and you.

1.

It had been five years ago today Daisy Adair had gotten the "ultimate promotion," if you will, and finally got the fuck out of this place. As much as she hated to admit it, George was kind of sad to see her go. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to that woman than blow jobs and upscale, postmortem thievery and she secretly hoped that Daisy would find whatever peace she so desperately needed in whatever place she was at now. But so it was. People came and went, and if George learned one thing early on from Betty's short, yet somehow profound, impact on her afterlife, it was not to get too attached to her fellow reapers. Existence is but ephemeral, and the biggest mistake reapers made was thinking they were alive and invincible, immortal even. They weren't a part of this world anymore, and it was only a matter of time before the next one was there to claim them. George wasn't generally one to listen to authority figures, but Rube was right; when you get too attached it just made all this shit so much harder. So indeed, people came and went, and George tried her best not to get too comfortable with anyone.

Mason, on the other hand, was a different story. He took Daisy's abrupt and unannounced leave as a personal offense. Sure, he'd never go so far as to concede that he was starting to fall for this woman – whether it was purely hormonal or somewhat emotional, he was unsure – but it was pretty self-evident when his booze binges and excessive drug use reached unprecedented proportions. Sure, things settled down after a while, but Daisy, Daisy Adair certainly left her mark, whether she knew it or not.

Shortly after her departure, Mason started to make more frequent visits to his former place of residence. It was generally at night, pretty late in fact. George would already be in her pajamas, watching some television before getting ready for bed. It had become a routine. At 10:52 exactly, the door bell would ring in the middle of whatever lame sitcom repeat Nick at Nite was airing, and George would drag herself up from her comfortable spot on the couch to open the door with a scowl. And there Mason would be with a sly smirk and hopeful eyes.

At first she was sure she had Daisy to thank for the visits. That maybe he wanted to be reminded of her, so he'd come to where she used to live and maybe that alone made him feel better. But she soon realized it wasn't just that. George could tell that there was something different about him. Something almost fearful. Mason didn't want to spend his nights alone; that's why he came. He didn't just want company, he desperately needed it. Despite all the ridiculous shit he did and got himself into, he was as harmless as a fly, and George felt bad just throwing him out on the curb. Then there was the fact that Mason – in all his fucked up glory – was slowly becoming the first real friend she'd ever had. The old George would have turned and run at the sheer thought, but the newly deceased George took a foreign comfort in his presence.

"Georgie! Did I wake you?" Mason burst through the front door enthusiastically with a big grin plastered across his face as a faint whiff of alcohol followed him in.

It was 2:30 AM and she had clearly been sleeping; her eyes were squinted, her hair a mess, and one pant leg pulled halfway up her shin.

"Yes, Mason, you did wake me." She croaked grumpily and moaned indecipherable obscenities as Mason plopped down on the couch and started flipping through channels.

"Well then, good thing you're awake now, yeah?"

George groaned again as she let herself fall over the arm of the couch and landed face down in Mason's lap, eliciting a loud, "bloody Hell!"

"Serves you fucking right." She mumbled, starting to drift back to sleep.

"Darling, it's Friday night and you're sitting here in your pajamas, half dead. No pun intended. If this isn't a sad scene, I don't know what is."

"Mason. It's 2:30 AM." She mumbled into his lap again.

"Yeah, and?" He shot back nonchalantly as he continued to channel surf.

"And for those of us who actually have jobs and don't spend our every waking hour getting completely and utterly wasted—oh fuck it. It's fucking late, Mason, and we all know how grumpy I get when my precious hours of sleep – which are few and far between considering how hard it is for me to even get there – are interrupted. What do you want?" George turned slightly so she was resting on her side, and pulled her legs up, curling into a ball on the couch.

"Ooh, feisty. That's what I've always loved about you, Georgie-girl." Mason laughed as he rested a hand on her head and began to stroke her hair. Immediately, she smacked his hand away, prompting him to raise his hands in mock surrender and laugh more. "I must say, your bedside manner is absolutely brutal. I really don't know how you expect to snag any fellas if you don't try to change your ways, darling."

"I don't want any 'fellas,' I just want my sleep." She was desperate as she sat up, a heavy frown weighing her down.

"Oh Georgie, come on now. Don't give me that face. You can give me the satanic death glare, but please not that bloody face."

She pouted her lips, desperately fighting off the urge to smack Mason upside the head and kick him out the front door. She rarely, if ever, resorted to pity tactics, but after dealing with Mason for this long, she knew full well it was the only thing he responded to.

He stared at her, grinning devilishly before reaching out and to hold her chin. "Slumber party, whaddya say?"

George reached out and shoved his arms back to himself. He laughed loudly before finally conceding.

"Okay, okay! You realize I just love seeing that burning hatred in your eyes, yeah?"

She shook her head, clearly not amused, and stared at him expectantly.

"Can I crash on your sofa?"

She looked back at him, uncertain, as if to say, 'you have your own place, Mason. Go there.' He scratched the back of his head and ruffled his hair nervously.

"I know, I know. It's just— you know, same old shit. Just…Please, Georgie."

"Georgie."
"Mason."
"Do you think about how—how tomorrow could be your very last day here? How after your next reap, you could never see this bloody world again, and you could just be—gone. Forever."
"Sometimes."
"It's fucking scary, man."
"Yeah, it is."
"Yeah, it's really fucking scary."

George shook her head sadly and looked back up at him.

"Yeah, of course. Fine. Whatever." She mumbled under her breath as she turned around to head back to bed. "But next time, just pick the lock. Seriously."

Mason instinctively reached out and grabbed her hand. George turned around slowly, clearly still unamused. "You realize an open invitation is a dangerous thing." He joked playfully. The smile on his face quickly dissipated when he realized she didn't see the humor. He coughed and nervously looked away, letting go of her wrist. "You'll stay here for a little bit, will you?"

George rolled her eyes at the words that were quickly becoming a recurring theme . She looked at his uneasy form, and cursed herself for not having the heart to just say no. She sighed heavily and hung her head as she plopped down on the couch once again.

"Sure."

TBC