The Assignment

Compatible-ish with canon. Also, in this particular fic, Grell is always going to be referred to as a boy. I've looked it up, and I've got differing answers. So...Yeah. Also I don't know who the Head of the DMD is, so I improvised.

XXXXXXXXXX

'Finally, a normal day' he speculated while traveling the customary circuit to his flat. Sutcliff had been suspended for today and wasn't around to pester him which added to the overall productive day. All of his employees had kept the foolishness to a minimum and their concentration at a helpful level. Not to say that his employees were always useless; they just weren't the most productive group in the building. He had finished all of his work before the appointed clock-out time, so, not one to break routine and leave early, he used the extra time to get ahead in his work. When one finally receives such a peaceful day, they should not waste it. This applies to the dark-haired Supervisor of the Dispatch Management Division, as well.

Although tomorrow, he had a special job, or... that's what his superior had blabbed... which, in reality, meant that he had extra, taxing work to do. So getting ahead would be more valuable than he had first assumed. His superior had divulged something about "making absolutely sure that he was extra careful" and that "he had better not screw it up". Although, it's rare that he ever screws anything up. It's Sutcliff that constantly messes up, anyway. However, he would follow his job without question and would take care to be extra meticulous, like the good, little worker bee he was. He just hoped that he wouldn't have to work overtime... again

He arrived at his home at the same time he did everyday that he labored regular hours. Reclining on the faded grey couch, he contemplated it all, and, at the end of his contemplation, he decided to eat dinner and go to bed. During said activities, a cliche, uncomfortable feeling weighed in his gut about the secretive way his superior had informed him of the assignment. 'Whatever it is,' he thought, 'it will be easier to accomplish with a good night's sleep.' So, with that intelligent thought, the dark-haired reaper fell into a restful sleep.

xxxxxx

Waking up, he subconsciously registered that he had woken up naturally, as it was exactly three minutes before his alarm would go off. He had slept well, as he had hoped. Sutcliff was back on the job today. Hopefully, the mischievous shinigami would behave today, but, in the most likely scenario, it would be destructive chaos at its finest... again.

Thoughtlessly, he had gone through his morning routine, which included watering a plant, without flaw. Locking his front door, he set off for the reaper's headquarters, as it was commonly referred to as.

xxxxxxxx.

Finally reaching the marble staircase, he ambled up to the intimidating, polished oak entrance. Hearing the tell-tale creaks of the aged door while opening it, he entered into the dispatch section of the building. Passing by some new recruits, he settled in his desk smoothly, the swiveling chair tilting with the familiar weight. Well, Sutcliff hadn't tried to molest him yet, nor had he observed any sign of the frequently late dispatch agent...Wait...He spoke too soon...

"Will!" He yelled as a greeting while rushing-more like skipping like a little, lovestruck teenage girl-towards the offended shinigami.

"Sutcliff, I highly recommend that you refrain from pestering me, as I am busy, and so are you. Also, do not refer to me as 'Will'. I am your superior." He commanded with an annoyed voice while fixing his glasses for the umpteenth time that day.

Latching onto the stoic reaper, "There's always time for you, my dear." He replied in a disgustingly sexual tone with an over pronounced wink.

Reluctantly un-latching himself from the stoic reaper,"Unfortunately, you have to see the Head of the Dispatch Management Division, but I'll talk with you later, Will." He added with a sigh, obvious disappointment clear from his voice.

With a nod of affirmation, he began marching in typical military fashion to his boss' office.

Naturally, the Head of the Dispatch Management Division, or DMD for short, received the largest office space. Freshly cleaned glass doors with gleaming steel handles glared at him. Within the workspace, there were two overly-comfortable leather guest chairs and an ornate, oak wood bookcase, filled with various texts, that framed the spacious room. A matching oak wood desk with no small amount of counter space had been placed in the dead center of the dust-free room, horrible pun intended. A couch that was more for decoration than anything else rested against the wall opposite the bookcase. The back wall was made of sparkling glass, allowing the inhabitant of the room to gaze upon the rest of the thriving city.

The custom-made chair nearest to the desk was currently occupied by the Head of the DMD, Maxwell Shipley. He was a large, intimidating man with short, slicked-back, salt and pepper hair, and his thick grey mustache moved every time he spoke.

"Spears, sit down." The older shinigami began sternly.

Following his order, William pulled out one of the seats and eased into the expensive leather with a straight, emotionless face.

"I'm sorry that it has to be this way." He said, looking down with genuine grief in his voice.

The younger reaper knew what was about to happen."Sir, with all do respect-!"

The Head of the DMD broke out into a hearty chuckle while clutching his own stomach for stability.

"William, my boy, calm down. I'm not going to fire you. I was just cracking a joke. You should loosen that tie of yours." Shipley reassured casually, his throaty voice still giving off little chuckles every few syllables.

William sat frigid in his seat, his normally straight face was broken by the light, annoyed glare in his eyes and frowning tilt of his lips.

"Now, let's get back to business." The older man's voice was more gruff when serious. "There is a special assignment that I need you to accomplish."

William leaned over slightly in curiosity. He had a feeling that it wasn't some everyday task if they had to call him to the Head of the DMD's office.

"I need you" he continued "to judge the soul of a fallen angel's offspring. Grace Simmons is her name. Her information is in this folder." He informed while handing William the organized file.

"I expect perfection. Is that clear?" He instructed after the younger reaper was finished with his quick inspection of the yellow folder.

William set the file down in his lap, and stared at his superior with self-assured eyes.

"Yes, Sir."