Chapter One

(Takes place before the Campania arc. Written for a challenge, so the story is a bit fast.)

"Wiiill! I am perfectly fine! Though, your concern for me is flattering," Grell exclaimed with a grin and batted his long, false eyelashes over chartreuse pupils. His flirting should distract William long enough for him to escape the droll paperwork at Shinigami Dispatch to get back to doing what he did best, reaping human souls. "One of these days, you'll admit that you really do love me!"

"You are not leaving this office until you at least promise to see a physician as soon as your mission is completed," William Spears insisted, glaring at the flamboyant redhead, his jaw clenched tightly in displeasure as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with the blade of his death scythe.

"Oh, fine," Grell huffed and pouted while crossing his fingers behind his back and leaning forward. "I promise. Happy now?"

William narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but nodded just the same. Considering Alan Humphries had been diagnosed with the Thorns of Death disease, he found it difficult to allow Grell out the door without a check-up, but Grell had been under punishment for months now and William was worried his associate would crack if not given some freedom. Not that the redhead wasn't already as cracked as they came.

"I must hurry then, my Cold Knight. My grand entrance awaits," Grell purred, slinking up next to the tall brunette and giving him a peck on the cheek. Grell Sutcliff pranced out the door, red hair a teasing wave behind his ass. "Toodles!"

William's eyes narrowed even further. He'd felt the unnatural heat in that kiss. Shinigami didn't often fall ill, and when they did, it was usually something serious. He was tempted to follow after Sutcliff, but if he did that, he'd have tons of overtime waiting for him when he returned. Surely, Grell could take care of himself for a few hours.

William sighed and leaned the pole of his personally styled death scythe next to his desk. He had carved a knot into the edge of the desk to hold his pruning shears conveniently at his side. He sat in his swivel chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. William had specifically chosen Grell's first job to keep Grell too busy to get into trouble, but now, with a fever, the job could get dangerous.

How was he supposed to concentrate on his paperwork?

Minutes later, Grell stood atop a building in the heavy manufacturing section of London, grateful for the cold wind that blew his hair away from his neck. Thankfully, the wind also carried away much of the disgusting smell from this part of the human city. A white, lacy, and quite damp handkerchief hung from his hand.

"At this rate, my makeup is going to run before the play begins," Grell complained as he dabbed perspiration from his forehead.

Impatiently tapping his foot, he pulled out his death scythe while staring at the dingy, two-story, brick building across the road. A loud boom sent a shockwave through the building and ground until Grell could feel it from where he stood. Flames burst from the windows.

"Ah! The curtain has risen on this passionate play," he said with a smirk. "Urk!"

Grell nearly bent double and pressed a hand to his swollen abdomen as it twinged. "Be good, you! Now is not the time!"

He straightened then vaulted to the top of the burning building, nothing but a blur of red hair and full-length red coat flaring out behind him. His scythe, fashioned similar to a chain saw, whirred to life as soon as he'd landed on his feet.

"Here I come, my sweeties!" Grell sing-songed and plunged into the depths of the building, slicing straight through the ceiling with his scythe.

This job turned out to be a messy one. Water, oil, broken pipes spewing who knew what was everywhere, but Grell was able to dance out of the way of most of it. Exhaustion eventually began creeping in as he hunted down those who'd had the nerve to hide themselves away from him. How could he ever paint them in passionate red if he couldn't find them?

Pain, fever and fatigue were causing Grell's vision waiver, or maybe it was the heat creating an illusion. He wasn't sure. He blinked several times at his death list until it came into focus. Just one more left. Where was she? Another explosion rocked the building and blew out any remaining windows. Grell wiped black ash from his cheek.

"Oh! What a disaster! How can I be the star when I'm such a mess!"

He angrily snapped the book shut and stomped off in search of the last soul that needed reaping, dancing around flames, leaping across puddles, and ducking broken pipes and timber. This was turning out to be quite a messy job! William had to have given him the assignment as punishment for something. Grell had no clue what that something was, but he would find out!

"There you are!" Grell exclaimed as he swept into a room lit only by a gray, wintry sky. Grell shivered when a chill wind blew through the shattered windows and broken frames.

"Shame on you for hiding from me like that," he reprimanded the body.

Grell approached the deceased young female. She'd almost made it to the windows, but it looked as though an explosion had blown a metal pole straight through her heart, pinning her to a wall. It had been a quick and clean kill. At least her face had been partially painted a delightful red.

Grell grinned at the beauty of it all. "All right, sleeping beauty, let's see your cinematic records!"

Grell swung his scythe diagonally across the woman and her records leapt out of her lifeless shell. Unfortunately, a fit of dizziness hit Grell and he dropped his scythe at the end of the swing. It spun across the floor, hitting a nearby wall. It could wait to retrieve it, he decided, and opened his book while her records played.

"My, my, you've been a very busy girl!" Grell's eyes lit up as he witnessed one very handsome butler giving the woman bedroom eyes. "Sebas-chan, you cheated on me! How could you?"

In a fit of fevered pique, Grell lashed out to slap his fantasy love, Ciel Phantomhive's demon butler, Sebastian. It was a mistake even novice's shouldn't make. Grell should have known better, did know better. Anger, pain, and fever clouded his judgement, his sense of reality. Sebastian should be taking care of him instead of seducing another woman!

As soon as his hand touched the frame holding that seductive face, Grell's mind fell into the memory. He was her, and she was with his Sebas-chan, his occasional crush. Sensation consumed him; sight, scent, touch, taste, and desire. To finally have his fantasies fulfilled was well beyond any of Grell's previous expectations.

"Oh, Sebby! You devil!" Grell giggled as the demon butler began teasingly peeling away layers of clothing.

Across the street, in almost the same spot that Grell had stood, a tall, lone figure in black mourning robes gazed at the scene. Cinematic records, extensive loops of film, enveloped the red shinigami. A dangerous situation to be sure. The woman's soul would fight and attempt to devour the reaper. Such a shame.

When the explosion had occurred, curiosity had gotten the better of the mortician and he'd come to see what all the racket was about. He'd been surprised to see a familiar figure. Excessively long, silver hair billowed over the edge of the building as he squatted and squinted his two-toned, yellow and chartreuse eyes for a better view.

"Tsk, tsk. I thought I recognized you, Little Red," Undertaker mumbled. He grinned and chuckled. "Ah, should I interfere? Or should I let you go. Decisions, decisions."

Upon their first meeting, the red reaper had been such a delight that Undertaker had allowed Grell to bury him in a barrel of salt. Humans had brought Grell to the mortician believing the fellow was dead. It seemed this particular reaper didn't care for breathing while he slept. Of course, Undertaker had insulted Grell, claiming that he didn't make a very good corpse. It was true, Grell hadn't been dead at all. Too bad Undertaker's mouth had riled the redhead's vicious temper.

Undertaker reached up under his large, black hat and scratched his head.

"Ah well. You are too cute and too entertaining for your own good. Such a talented little actress. I suppose I'll be your knight for today. Best hurry before the humans start crawling everywhere like ants," Undertaker mumbled to himself then rose to stand at the very edge of the ledge he was perched upon.

Cackling madly, he soared from the roof in a streak of silver and black. Undertaker sailed through the broken window closest to Grell and materialized his scythe, easily slicing through the cinematic records that had tightly bound the other reaper. He managed to catch Grell before the unconscious shinigami could hit the floor. While holding Grell close with his left arm, he took care of the rest of the cinematic records then collected Grell's death scythe.

"Time to wake up, Princess," Undertaker said with a grin that promptly faded. Little Red wasn't waking up.

Quickly banishing his scythe, Undertaker pressed the back of his fingers against Grell's forehead and frowned. A sick shinigami? Practically unheard of.

Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji or its characters.