The sky was darker than usual. For most it was a day lost, the drops of water falling from the sky chasing people away from the streets of London. Life seemed to cease if only for a couple of hours, the silence so deafening it threatened to drive a man insane.

The perfect day for a burial indeed. Undertaker didn't seem to notice his black cloak getting soaked, silver strands of hair dancing almost wildly when the wind whipped around him. Black boots covered in dirt and mud made his task a bit more complicated to finish, but the Shinigami didn't dare to use any other means to shovel the dirt and bury the coffin six feet under.

Dead people deserved to be honoured one last time, after all. It was something he had learned after leaving his old life behind. For entities who had taken their own lives while human, Shinigamis didn't seem to dwell too much on Death.

Ironic, truly.

"My my, it looks like it's almost time," he whispered to himself after placing the coffin into the earth, looking up at the sky as it rumbled in the distance. Finishing with a bit of haste he rolled his sleeves down and fixed his hat, dragging the filthy shovel behind him. A wide grin seemed to be carved onto his face, and while his bangs covered the upper half of his face it wasn't completely crazy to assume his eyes were twinkling as well. "I'd hate to keep my guests waiting for long, don't you agree my dears?" He mused out loud, his thumb caressing over the lockets around his hips.

As perfect as this day had been, he had many coffins with people yet to be treated.

Life, such a fragile thing.

But, if his experiments proved to be successful... he let out a silly giggle, already imagining the endless possibilities. Just a while longer, and maybe... maybe he'd be able to see them again.

With that thought in mind he opened the door to his small business, green-yellow eyes adjusting to the darkness rather quickly. His eyesight was not perfect by any means as he had given up his glasses upon deserting, so when he finally managed to stop the feminine silhouette right in the middle of the room his eyes widened just a bit.

A familiar frame, that one...

Thunder struck and the floor shook, the older Shinigami holding onto the doorframe tightly. Before him a pair of eyes identical to his own positively glowed in the dark, and Undertaker had to squint a bit while taking a slow step forward. Not that the other represented a threat to him, honestly— he was strong enough to get rid of him easily.

But something told him the situation was different.

It wasn't the Dispatch trying to take him away.

This Shinigami reeked of Death. Was he...

"So shameful... of a lady..." the other whispered and their knees collapsed beneath their weight, the loud clank of a Death Scythe hitting the floor, "to look like... like..."

Lightning illuminated the sky and Undertaker finally recognized who the Shinigami was.

"Grell?"

The redhead's face was covered with bruises and there was blood gushing from a cut along his-her face. There was a familiar stench, one that always lingered around his parlor whenever Earl Phantomhive stopped for information.

The smell of a demon. But this... it wasn't Sebastian.

It was someone, or something, downright insane.

"...Help..." Grell choked and fell to the floor, her red locks sprawled all over the cold surface. Undertaker rushed to her side after slamming the door shut— as urgent as it may possibly be, it was better to be away from prying eyes. Especially if a demon was on the loose. The silver-haired man scooped the other into his arms and realized to his vague horror the wound on her forehead was not the only one who needed urgent treatment. Her clothes were soaked in blood, and by the way her face seemed to pale he didn't have time to spare.

"My, just look at you... that demon should've known better than hurt a lady like you like that," Undertaker whispered to no one in particular since Grell was unconscious, walking to the back room and placing the Shinigami on the table he used to study his corpses. Being careful with her red coat— garment she seemed to value more than her own life— he quickly discarded her clothes and began to work after washing his hands thoroughly. He was genuinely worried. Grell was maybe the only one Undertaker liked aside from Sebastian because admittedly, the demon made him laugh like none other. Unlike William, Ronald, and the rest of the Shinigamis, Grell's playfulness and sass was endearing to the other.

Maybe that was the reason he refused to let her die. Of course, aside from the fact the parlour would be packed with units of Shinigamis as protocol indicated if she were to die.

Undertaker tried to not think about that for the time being.

"This will hurt a bit, I do apologize," he whispered to himself, all traces of madness gone. and bangs slicked back he began to work, making sure to clean every single wound adorning the fragile-looking body. Undertaker knew better than to mistake Grell for a defenseless maiden, though— despite being disliked by most reapers and not paying enough attention to her paperwork, Grell Sutcliff was a prodigy. It was almost as if she had been born to become a reaper.

As ironic as that was, of course. The thought made Undertaker smile wryly, careful to stitch a particularly nasty cut across her cherry lips.

Fucking demon. William would most likely give the entire Dispatch overtime until the demon was found and terminated. That is, assuming Ciel Phantomhive and his butler Sebastian didn't interfere in otherworldly matters. Upper Management would not be so forgiving.

Not that the lot of them mattered. None of them truly cared about Grell, and he was pretty sure some of them would be relieved to have the redhead gone. The mere thought made him grind his teeth in anger.

Being a Legendary Reaper that had been forced to fight during the War, Undertaker valued the lives of his kind. The younger ones didn't know what it was like to lose hundreds and not even being able to bury them and pay their respects.

"My my, I'm losing my train of thought here," the Shinigami shook his head and took a step back once he was finished to admire his work, thinking rather absently that it could very well be his best to date. But this time his pride was overshadowed by the overwhelming worry in his chest. It didn't look for Grell, at all... wounds produced by demons that far gone were the slowest to heal and the most painful to treat. The redhead was in for a long recovery. And by the state of her arms and hands, working was simply out of the question.

Losing himself in his troubled thoughts, Undertaker stood right there for the rest of the night as if completely oblivious to the fact the sky outside was turning a light shade of gray. He was fully aware of the stench clinging to his clothes and he decided to take a bath before checking the state of Grell's wounds. Making sure to not take more time than necessary, the silver-haired man returned to the back room dresses in garments identical to the ones he had worn the day before, black leather boots going all the way up to his knees. Messy bangs clipped back, he decided to leave his gray scarf in his room, knowing there were no funerals for that day. This time he grabbed a very old chair and seated himself right next to the hospital-like bed, one leg crossed over the other while he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

It seemed than after an eternity of waiting, Grell stirred in her sleep and slowly opened her bright eyes, mouth parting to let a pitiful whimper. Undertaker stood up in no time and gently hushed the other, gently placing his hand on her bare shoulder and pursing his lips tightly when she flinched and tried to move away. She looked terrified, as if in a trance. Obviously disoriented, Grell tried to escape, ignoring the tug at her stitches.

"M'dear," he said ever so softly, not daring to let go of her shoulder in fear she might hurt herself. "You're safe now, right in my parlour. Appeared right out of nowhere all covered in blood, my lady." Grell seemed to slowly come to her senses after recognizing the presence next to her was no threat and finally dared to look up at Undertaker.

Only then he realized her glasses were cracked.

"Under—" Grell's hand shot up to cling onto his shirt and not in a flirty way— she doubled over and gasped in pain, the action only producing more pain. Her body felt like it was on fire, torturing her in the worst way imaginable. "Aah...!"

"Do try to take it easy darlin', your body is in bad shape at the time being. M'afraid I can't do anything to ease the pain," he said almost sadly, letting the other hold onto him for dear life. After a bit he tried to make her lay down, grabbing a blanket and covering her body with it. "I do apologize for touchin' a maiden's body in such an unbecoming manner but I couldn't... shall we say, ask you at the time bein'." Undertaker tried to offer a smile, and Grell actually managed to smirk a bit despite the pain.

"Are you sure this is not your fault after a long night of passio— oh, bollocks..." she ended up gasping, tears forming in the corner of her eyes when the pain returned full force. While her pain resistance was higher than most, that blasted demon had played with her like a rabid dog attacking a rag doll.

Grell felt completely ruined and it killed her.

Undertaker's smile faded a bit and he slowly scooped her in his arms, just like the night before— and exactly like last night, there was not a sassy comment about his actions as Grell was too lost in her pain to even register what was happening. "Perhaps we should let you rest in a more comfortable bed, m'lady..." He gently kicked the door to his own room with the tip of his boot and walked to the surprisingly big bed, laying her down and fussing over her for a bit, making sure no stitches were making her bleed. The bandages could hold up for a while longer so he decided to let her get comfortable. Grell's breathing was shallow and tears were now running down her makeup-free cheeks, but she didn't give a damn at the moment.

"Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop..! Please!" She begged, barely biting back sobs. Her eyes followed Undertaker as he knelt next to her and traced a finger down her tear-stained cheek, not daring to touch anywhere else after carrying her to his room. Her body was suffering already, after all. Looking positively heartbroken, the older Shinigami sighed and shook his head.

"I'm sorry... I've done everything I can, Grell," he said softly, not looking at her in the eye as self-hatred settled in the pit of his stomach. "I'm sorr—"

Grell closed her eyes and let out a heart-wrenching sob, not wanting to look at her body. After calming down to think coherently, she looked at Undertaker from the corner of her eye, not wanting to abuse the stitching on her neck that was healing slowly. The pain... it didn't seem to fade in the slightest.

"... Stay," she mumbled, eyes half-lidded as the crying had left her exhausted. He looked into those eyes exactly like his own and nodded, not saying another word.

He'd stay there for as long as she wanted. That was the only thing he could do.

Hey guys, hope you liked the first chapter! Please let me know if you did, and I'll be posting whwenever I possibly can! Hopefully I'll get some reviews by then.