sailor: kanye ❊ colony (dlm⇛ they whisper: 'all forgiven.')
[personal profile] sailor posting in [community profile] poetrusic
five times rube thought maybe mason wasn't such a fuck up after all.

Rube's temple is throbbing and his left eye is twitching. Mostly, it's annoyance coupled with that fucking accent, but it's also to keep himself from laughing. "I can reap fifteen fuckers at once," Mason says, leaning forward over the scrubbed wood table, getting syrup on his shirt. That's hardly an answer to why do you think you're qualified to join my group of highly trained reapers, but then again, Rube always thought that was a bullshit question.

"How do you manage that?" He's going to go with humoring the drunkard, right.

Mason's eyes shift around the restaurant before finally landing back on Rube's own, and he says in a conspiratorial whisper, "I have magic fingers."

That's it. Rube's gone. Head down in his arms, shaking with silent laughter. He can't not have this kid on their team. A little comic relief, even in the form of a supremely fucked Brit, is necessary.

"But I thought if you assigned yourself the post-it, Rubey—"

"It doesn't fucking matter," Rube hisses. "Switch. Now."

Mason stares for a few seconds before finally trading out their post-its. "Didn't think you'd want to piss off upper management." His words only slur together slightly as they make their way across the pier. It's too windy for anyone to be standing near the edge. It's too windy.

"Upper management can blow me." They both laugh a little at this, short and bitter. "Thanks," he tacks on, and Mason just grins down. "Now, go do your job."

They split off then; Rube toward the elderly man feeding seagulls, Mason toward the little girl standing near the edge.

What happened to her?

His post-it goes unanswered. They always do. Fucking upper management.

"I wouldn't do it, myself," Mason mumbles under his breath, fogging the window of Rube's truck.


"Yeah, it's not for me." He gives a huge yawn and lets his head loll against the window, bumping as Rube turns corners, craning his neck to check street signs. Mason should really get a fucking job. And his own fucking car. "I mean, no matter where I end up, I'm sure you'd be there to lecture me about leaving behind my responsibilities or whatever the fuck. And drag me back, cos that's what you do."

Rube just smiles a little at that. "Because that's what I do," he repeats, mostly for his own benefit.

"Right, well." When they reach a full stop, Mason pulls up his hood and jumps out of the car. "Right fucking pain in the arse, actually, but thanks for the ride." He slams the door shut and walks backward into the rain, and Rube swears he sees him mouth cheers, granddad.

He hates that in small ways, every now and then, they end up being a little bit alike.

"The stupid shit was going to hurt Daisy," George is saying over breakfast, stirring her oatmeal furiously. "Do you blame him?"

Rube hasn't been sure what to do with this new information. One, Mason created a graveling. Two, Georgia reaped a graveling. When the hell did this happen, and why did no one tell him? He feels almost betrayed, that something so pivotal conveniently flew over his head. "Was Ray really a threat," Rube muses idly, "Or was that Mason's excuse?"

He's become so used to her eye-rolling, it's imperceptible anymore. "A threat," George repeats. "A huge dickweed of a threat." There's silence for a while as they eat, but she just can't let the topic go, and looks up at Rube again. "I know we heal, but he was going to hurt her. Really hurt her. That's all I'm saying."

And that's all she has to say. This is something Rube understands. It's not the principle of the matter anymore (hell, at another time, in another place, he probably would have killed Ray Summers too) but the fact that Mason did something noble. Jesus fucking fuck.

Rube wakes up with rage welling in his throat and injustice ringing in his ears. Cordelia Chase did nothing to provoke a shooting. What if it had been Pandora, what if it had been Georgia. He blinks a few times and gives the ceiling a level stare, trying to work out if anything feels abnormal — but it doesn't. Gotta love that reaper regeneration.

"You all right?"

Mason has his feet up on the edge of the bed, leaning his plastic chair back on two legs.

"Yes," Rube replies, though his voice is a little hoarse. Too much yelling at Ludluck.

"Ace," Mason answers, letting the chair fall to the ground and jumping up onto his feet. "I'm going to go find your nurse, let her know you're up or some shit, ask her out for a round once she gets off. The usual, Rubey, you understand." He grins as he leaves, and Rube is alone. Naturally. He withholds the love and he isn't hurt. There's no reason for anyone to visit him, if anyone wanted to in the first place.

Mason waited. He was gone in a blink, but he waited.


everything will turn to be okay.

March 2011

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