|Georgia On My Mind
Author: Idunnowhy PM
Those post-its meant something. George is in charge. Rube comes back. And when things go straight to hell, they both realize that sometimes life after death is more than it's cracked up to be.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Drama - George L. & Rube S. - Chapters: 17 - Words: 21,183 - Reviews: 73 - Favs: 33 - Follows: 31 - Updated: 03-29-12 - Published: 02-13-11 - id: 6742642
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: All my fanfic before now has been for Twilight, so for those of you going, "Um, WTF?" sorry. I'm still working on Hell's Bells, I promise.
I'm a HUGE fan of Dead Like Me, which, in my opinion, was canceled way before it should have been. So I've spent ample amounts of time trolling the Internet for fanfic. Now, I'm not normally a George/Rube shipper. BUT I stumbled across a post one day that said that no one could ever write a fic where the two of them would realistically wind up together, and…well, that's just downright insulting!
So, here we are. Georgia On My Mind picks up right after the made for television movie I try to pretend doesn't exist and is written to show that even though Rube and George make an incredibly unlikely couple, even the most unlikely couples sometimes find their happily ever after in each other's arms.
Disclaimer: I don't own Dead Like Me or any of its characters. They're still waiting for gravelings to come loot MGM and get the show back on the air where it belongs.
Now, on with the show…
In the movies you always hear people talking about the dignity of death. No one ever bothers to tell you the truth-that one second you're there, just going about your normal life, and the next you're standing there watching your body kick what's left of you out in a giant pile of crap. You can almost hear it saying, "So long, sucka!"
There's nothing dignified about death. I should know. It's what I do.
My name is Georgia Lass. Five years ago I was your average, ordinary, underachieving teenager. College dropout, unemployed, blah blah blah. Then I was flash fried by a toilet from outer space, and in exchange for getting to skip the whole "lying in my own crap" thing I instead get to spend the rest of eternity working for Death. Literally. Murder. Suicide. Freak accidents. The weirder your death happens to be, the more likely I am to pop up a few minutes beforehand, swipe your soul, then sit back and enjoy the show.
When my mom told me I was going to end up in a dead-end job, I don't think this was what she had in mind. Being a reaper sucks. A lot.
It sucked less when Rube was in charge. Smirking at the bourbon Mason stole from his place, which was currently swirling happily in my glass, I wondered what he'd say if he could see us now. Daisy, who was turning out to be even more of a drunken fuck-up than Mason. Roxy and her hero complex. And me, sitting at my piece of shit table, clutching one of the Post-Its that had literally fallen out of the sky after we sent Cameron into orbit while I tried to forget the whole bizarre series of events that brought us here.
Poor Murray. I really hoped he wasn't stuck with Cameron on some celestial plane just because their ashes got mixed together. Nobody deserved that. And I had enough bad karma coming my way.
I don't know why I kept the stupid post-it. Well, okay, I did, but it was cheesy. Post-its meant Rube, who would have taken one look at Cameron and kicked his sneaky little ass. I'd spent five years giving Rube as much shit as humanly possible, and none of us realized until after he got his lights that the man actually knew what the heck he was talking about. So I was feeling a little guilty.
Part of me missed him. He could be a gigantic freaking prick when he wanted to be, but he always knew what to do when things were going down the toilet. If he was here…
Lifting the glass again, I pushed the thought out of my head. He wasn't here. He wasn't ever going to be here again. That's what getting your lights meant, that you actually got to get your happy ending. And if anyone deserved it, it was him. We were just going to have to deal.
A soft 'scritch' came from the far side of the room. Great. There were always mice running around. Next time I reaped someone with a cat it was coming home with me. With a sigh I reached down, pulled off my shoe and whipped it toward the door. Instead of a reassuring squeak, what I got was a soft thud. Looking over, I saw it had landed on a manila envelope.
Huh. That was unexpected.
Setting the glass down on the table I pushed back, the gorgeous brown swirly stuff making my knees wobble when I got to my feet. Another hour and I'd be too wasted to spend any more time thinking about my un-life. Good. This shit was really starting to get old.
Bending over and hopping a few times I pulled my shoe back on and picked up the envelope. It was completely blank. No name, no address. Maybe somebody stuck it in the wrong place? Yanking open the door, I poked my head out. All I saw was a shadow disappearing around the corner.
No one answered. I thought about chasing down whoever it was. Yeah. Knowing my luck it was the pizza delivery guy. He'd probably call the cops, and since I really didn't want to have to have Delores bail me out of jail again…hell no. If it was that important the idiot should have stuck it under the right door in the first place.
I tossed the envelope into the trash and went back to my drink, but I couldn't forget about it. What if it was important? What if it was, like, some top secret spy shit? The world as we know it could come to an end because some stupid delivery guy was too wasted to listen to directions. Wouldn't that be some kind of freaky poetic justice.
Shoving away from the table, I bent down and scooped the envelope out of the trash and stared at it. I'd take a quick peek inside. Then, if I couldn't figure out who it belonged to, I could drop it back in the can and completely forget about it.
Folding up the clasp, I lifted the top to the folder and pulled out the papers that were stashed inside.
Staring at the papers in my hands I tried to convince myself it was a mistake, but I knew. I'd known since I saw those post-its come tumbling out of the sky. Names. Addresses. Time of death. These were tomorrow's reaps. I was the only one in our group that hadn't completely fucked up this time, so upper management was giving me another chance.
"This isn't happening. This cannot possibly be happening."
Tossing the papers on the table, I backed away and shoved my hands in my hair. My knees were shaking so hard I could barely stand. I wasn't ready for this. I was barely holding my own shit together. How the hell did upper management expect me to handle anyone else's?
Oh crud. I was Mason's new boss.
My vision started to blur around the edges. Great. Nothing said, 'Hey, thanks for the new job!' like passing out in the middle of your kitchen floor. Bending over and sucking in air, I barely registered the knock at the door. Probably Mason wondering where Rube's bourbon went. Or Daisy wanting to talk about Cameron Kane. Or Roxy, trying to apologize. Again. I so wasn't in the mood to deal with them right now.
Whoever it was stopped for a second, then started knocking again, louder this time. Didn't people have any fucking consideration? It was my fucking house, and if I wanted to be alone in my fucking house than whoever was at the fucking door should go away and leave me the fuck alone. Storming over, I yanked open the door.
"Goddamn it, what the fuck is your fucking problem? I said…"
"Hello Peanut. Glad to see you finally learned how to clean up that filthy mouth."
The words died on my lips. The same gray bowler hat. The same leather jacket. The same worn, faded jeans. Rube. Lurching forward, I threw myself into his arms. Thank god. Maybe I wasn't going to have to do this after all.