Title: Jinx
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Just language. And maybe light sexual references.
Show: Dead Like Me
Pairings: Mason/George
Summary: Her frog died, her oatmeal fell on the floor, her reap refused to go into the light... and on top of all that, she has confusing feelings to deal with. Well, no one ever said (after)life was easy.
Word Count: 2297

It hadn't been a good morning.

George knew it wouldn't be, and she also knew it wouldn't be a good day either. In fact, she wouldn't be surprised if the entire week or even month ended up sucking royally.

It all started at 7 am, when she was spying on her family -- or rather, the Lass family. Or what was left of it anyway. She was parked across the street in her red mustang, a little far back so as not to be too conspicuous. She watched the bus arrive, and Reggie come out of the house, appearing more morose than usual. Then Joy appeared on the front step and waved goodbye, holding a shoe box and a small hand shovel, the concern etched in her face. George didn't have to get a better look to know what was inside. With a sinking feeling, she realized it was the frog she had left for Reggie a little while back, after J.D. had died. And now Mr. Frog was going to join him in the makeshift pet cemetery in the yard.

Seeing that alone was enough to put George in a bad mood. But arriving at Der Waffle Haus afterwards, she concluded that the universe was out to get her. Rube only came in for enough time to distribute post-it's and tell Mason not to fuck it up, and Roxy left soon after to report to a crime scene. Daisy was being even more annoying than usual with her chipper attitude that was sugarcoating her condescension, and Mason was, well... being Mason.

It frustrated George at times to watch how pathetically devoted he was to Daisy, so eager to please... much like a lap dog. In fact, George wouldn't be surprised if at any second he attempted to crawl his six foot frame into her lap and lick her face. Hell, who was she kidding... he already does some form of that every day. Sometimes she found it amusing, with the knowledge that Daisy would never reciprocate his feelings, although it was obvious she loved the attention. But today something was off. There was something more in the way she was looking at Mason, the way she smiled in his direction over her cup of coffee. She didn't seem nearly as annoyed as she usually was with him, and that in turn made George annoyed.

But why, George wasn't sure. Why should she care if Mason and Daisy were uncharacteristically over-friendly? She should be happy for them. It wasn't like there were loads of people reapers could have friendships with, forget any romantic entanglements. Hell, it was frowned upon to even get too close to a fellow reaper. Everyone dies, and eventually the undead leave, which might as well just be dying again. Either way, the result was the same. So to find someone to make you forget that, even just for a little while... well, George should be happy for them.

But no matter how much she told herself that, she wasn't. They were making her sick to her stomach. They were ruining her fucking waffles!

Kiffany suddenly appeared and refilled her coffee. "Anything else I can get for you sweetie?"

"Yeah," George answered, still staring at Mason and Daisy, who were whispering like little schoolgirls. "Can I have some oatmeal instead?"

"Sure thing." Kiffany gave her a knowing and sympathetic look before disappearing into the direction of the kitchen.

Truth was, she was jealous. Why should they be happy and carefree while she was so miserable and alone? It wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair. Well, afterlife. No. Un-life?

That wasn't the only thing that was bothering her. No one even bothered to ask why she was in a bad mood today. Not that she usually was Little Miss Sunshine, but they should know her well enough by now to know when something was up. Or at least, Rube would, if he had bothered to stay longer than 2.5 seconds. She would tell him about her frog and he'd offer some pearls of wisdom that only he could. Right now she would settle for a Roxy tough-love reaction, or even a rare but sweet big-sister moment from Daisy. Hell, even Mason at times has surprised her. It was times like this she really wished Betty was still around.

A loud noise interrupted her thoughts, bringing her back to reality. Looking over in mild curiosity, she realized it was her food that had been dropped all over the linoleum. Great.

George glanced at her post it again, then checked her watch. She might as well go. Her reap was in twenty minutes, then it was off to another day at Happy Time. She realized she was going to be late again, and already began going through a mental file of excuses she could use. Doctor appointment? No, Delores would began to think she had some terminally ill disease. AA meeting? No, that one had been overused. She'll save that for next week. Family emergency? Could work, but then the questions would come. And although George could just easily weave a story about a fictional family with fictional problems, the truth was she hated lying to Delores. What the fuck do you think you do everyday? Your entire existence is a lie, 'Milly.'

Deciding on the classic excuse of unreliable transportation -- I'm so sorry Delores, I know I'm late, but my car refused to start! I had to wait for-fucking-ever for the AAA guys to come, and the whole time I kept thinking about how much you needed me filing! -- George forced herself to get a move on to the address written on the post-it. If she dealt her cards right, perhaps she could even get off early to go "pick up her car from the shop." Or maybe Delores would even give her a raise when she saw how much she needed it for "car repairs." Car repairs, hot leather boots, same thing.

As soon as she began walking outside into the dreary overcast Seattle downtown, she felt Mason following close behind her. In a few glides he caught up beside her, and casually placed his arm around her shoulders.

"And where are we off to on this lovely morning, Georgie?" she heard him inquire in that English accent which annoyed and warmed her both at the same time.

"A 'J. Howard' at '463 East Madison Street, Apt. 3B' is about to meet with death in oh, say... fifteen minutes?" she replied nonchalantly, unlocking her car and starting the engine.

"Bloody hell, that's all the way up town!" Mason hopped over the passenger side door and immediately began flipping through the radio stations at warp speed.

She was about to pull out of the parking space when something occurred to her.

"Wait a minute... aren't you supposed to be tagging along with Daisy on her reap?"

Mason briefly glanced up before returning his attention to the radio dial. "Nah, she's a big girl. She can handle it."

"So what...? Are you saying I can't?" she snapped, the result of the residue of her previous annoyance.

"No no, not at all," he denied carefully, his attention fully on her now. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

He stared at her for a few seconds before answering. "To be honest, I'd rather tag along with you... if that's all right?"

George instantly felt guilty, especially when she heard the sincerity in his voice. She felt like she just told a little kid there was no Santa Klaus.

"Yeah, it's cool." she turned her head slightly and smiled. "Sorry, just having a crap day already."

"It's fine love. I know exactly how you feel. This wanker's been harassing me all week."

"Gee, let me guess: you owe him money."

"Well, not exactly. I may have accidentally shagged his wife..." he replied casually. "And you know, ever since then he's been quite impolite in his voicemails."

"Mason!" George rolled her eyes. "Can you blame him? I think even Ghandi would end up wanting to beat the shit out of you if he had to spend a prolonged period of time in your company."

"OK, now you just sound like Rube," Mason scowled, mildly stung. "And that's not why he's pissed off."

George waited for him to elaborate, but he just continued flipping through the stations. She sighed.

"Why is he pissed off Mason?" she asked as if speaking to a five-year-old.

"Hmm? Oh, I stole a couple hundred using the checkbook I swiped from his wife's purse."

"Oh god, you deserve to be castrated."

"Now that's not very nice Georgie!" his voice already went up a few decimals at that unpleasant thought. "Do you realize how painful that would be?"

"Almost as painful as being rejected by Daisy over and over and ov--"

"I'll have you know, I've been making progress in that department," he smugly stated.

"Mason, I doubt you're even in the right store, let alone department." George muttered under her breath.

"Did you see the way she touched my arm today at breakfast?" A wistful expression appeared on his face as he looked off into the distance. Whether or not he heard her comment, she wasn't sure.

"Not too obvious in giving away her lust, but just enough to convey she wants to see my union jack briefs up close and personal..."

George gave him her trademark 'what the fuck' look and sarcastically smiled. "Oh god, spare me."

He game her a wink. "Well, Georgie girl, if you ever want a private demonstration..."

She shuddered dramatically, though the visual didn't actually disgust her. Far from it, in fact. Nevertheless, she felt obligated to retort with a witty comeback. After all, it would be expected.

"Please Mason, I just ate."

He smiled, looking out the window.

-----

Half an hour later, George found herself banging her head against the wall in the bathroom of the 'J. Howard' she had reaped. Turns out the 'J. Howard' -- or rather, Miss Jade, some crazy psychic lady with lipstick smears and miss-matched clothing -- refused to go into her lights. She instead kept insisting -- no, downright demanded -- that they leave her alone so she can continue to make predictions through her 'Magic Ball that Knows All.' (Catchy, Mason had remarked while George glared.)

Jade Howard was no psychic when she was alive (she had 'predicted' that George and Mason were newlyweds who would be winning the lottery in the unforeseen future, which made Mason quite happy until George had hit him upside the head.) So it was understandable that she would think she'd be able to capitalize on the whole 'death' thing. But even after they explained that she couldn't communicate with the living anymore, she refused to move from her séance table. It made George want to kill her herself, if she, you know... hadn't already been dead.

As she banged her head one more time, the mirror above the sink fell, crashing into a dozen pieces on the floor. Fuck. More bad luck.

A knock on the door interrupted her fantasy of replaying the gravelings moving one of the several candles burning throughout the apartment so that it burned a rope which held a very large (and sharp looking) crystal. And now George's work shirt was splashed in blood. There was no way anyone would believe it was a cherry slushy this time.

"What do you want Mason?" she yelled, not bothering to get up from sitting on the closed toilet.

"Just wanted to let you know she finally went," he answered after attempting to turn the door handle and discovering it was locked. "Are you alright in there love?"

George sighed, waiting a few more seconds before getting up and opening the door.

"Yeah, I'm fine I guess. This day just has been getting worse and worse."

"Maybe you're unlucky," he shrugged. "Maybe your unluckiness from when you were alive doesn't disappear just because you're dead."

George walked into her reap's bedroom and began rummaging through drawers, looking for a decent shirt that didn't look like it once belonged to Yoko Ono.

"Gee, thanks for the words of comfort. You really know how to cheer a girl up."

She distractedly unbuttoned her white blouse and began pulling a tight black v-neck shirt over her head.

"Words aren't how I cheer a girl up, darling. If you really want to feel better, I'll be more than happy to help you out."

As soon as she heard his reply, she became acutely aware that she was standing there in only a skirt and bra. She also became aware that he was standing awfully close, his lanky frame casually leaning against the door frame. She felt her skin flush as she quickly pulled down the new shirt.

"So does this mean that my lights will be a flaming toilet seat?" George changed the subject while glancing away, only half-joking.

Mason laughed good-naturedly. "Well, look on the bright side. At least that wouldn't be as bad as spending eternity with me."

George merely smiled as she walked out of the apartment with him, thinking how wrong he was.

-----

As they drove towards Happy Time in comfortable silence, Mason began messing with the radio again. He glanced over and gave her a wry smile as Blue Oyster Cult's "Don't Fear the Reaper" came on. The song ended soon after he found it, but then the riffs of The Who's "My Generation" came blaring through the speakers and he giddily raised the volume to maximum.

They sang off-key as they drove through the downtown streets, and shouted along with Roger Daltrey with the line of "I hope I die before I get old."

Eternity with Mason? Well, George could think of worse -- and unluckier -- things.

Fin.