Summary: "Turns out I really, really, really hated that film tonight and I need a favor from you." Daisy, frightened from a horror film, sheepishly asks Mason to stay in her room for protection. Unable to fall asleep, they play a game. A game to leads to talking, and talking leads to … well, just more talking. But about serious, possible DM stuff!

A/N: This takes place sometime around the episode "Haunted," but since I have not actually seen that episode, I may not have the facts straight. If any plotlines are messed up, please kindly let me know. Also, I'm new to DLM (as you can tell I haven't seen all the episodes) so I would greatly appreciate it if readers were to give me reviews, giving me any kinds of positive comments or even constructive criticism about characterization, etc. Thanks!

Mindlessly setting the keys to house on the table, Daisy turns to Mason, and with her hand on her hip says, "I can't believe you brought me to see that film!"

"Too scary for ya?" Mason asks, smilingly, before he brings his attention to the bottle of beer hiding in the back of the refrigerator. "It's Halloween, what do you expect?"

"Something gruesome, something with psychopathic killers that slaughter random people – any of that, I could have dealt with," Daisy exclaims, sitting down on her couch.

"What have ya got to be 'fraid of anyway? You're a bloody grim reaper; psychotic killers couldn't hurt you if they tried," explains Mason, making his way around the couch in order to face Daisy.

"Except that wasn't about psychotic killers, now was it, Mason?" she says, giving a mock smile that could be easily be recognized as one of true contempt.

Facing a grinning Mason, Daisy continues with aversion, "Body-switching. It had to be about body-switching. The one thing I hate …"

Still smiling, he brings his beer to his mouth, relishing in Daisy's disgust with the film, prompting her to announce, "It's not funny, Mason! Can you imagine somebody else using my body! It's horrible. What if they didn't use conditioner when washing my hair? Or moisturize? My goodness, what if they didn't rejuvenate my skin. My skin, my beautiful smooth skin turned to prunes. God, I'd look like the reap I had yesterday … this horrid old shrew of woman with wrinkles everywhere. There's a reason I died young … so I wouldn't have to face all that when I aged ..." For a second Daisy pauses, but only resumes with a sudden gasp, "What if they don't shower? What if my body will start to stink – like yours!"

"Oi! I don't sm-," Mason starts, then thinking it over, realizes the awful truth, and moves onto another sentence. "What makes you think they'd take your body anyway? What if the body-swapper-person is a man?"

"Sweetheart," she remarks, condescendingly, "Look at me. What living or dead thing wouldn't want to be inside this," she inserts, flaunting herself off.

And the immediate aroused and incredulous look on Mason's visage, forced her to add, "I didn't mean sexually, you silly goose!"

"Geese are gettin' more action than me, anyway," he mutters, again sipping from his beer to hide his response.

"What's that?"

"Nothin'. I said I'm pretty knackered, so … if you don't mind," he motions for Daisy to remove herself from the couch, his current sleeping accommodation in Daisy's and George's home.

"First off, how long are you going to keep pulling this crap? You've been here weeks already. Can't you find a new place? And this is my home, you cannot possibly think I will take orders from you," Daisy says, crossing her arms over her chest.

Mason laughs, "Technically, darling, it's mine. My reaps, remember? Besides the movie was on me, the least you can do is let me stay here tonight."

"You didn't pay for the film; we had to sneak in through the back doors which led me to step in some disgusting gum and ruin my new heels. But fine," she sighs, "Take the couch, I'm going to bed."

"Nighty-night. Don't let the body-swappers bite!" he calls to her, sitting up to see her reaction.

All he can see is Daisy continuing to walk up the stairs, with her left hand's middle finger firmly held up high.


"Mason," Daisy whispers. "Mason," she says, again, a little louder, and shaking him by the shoulders. As another attempt, she starts flashing the lights, "Mason!"

"Fuck," his eyes snap open, and he immediately brings his hand up to them, hoping to shun the bright light from his sensitive eyes. "Daisy? Wha … what the fuckin' hell is goin' on? Jesus, thought I was having a bloody seizure."

"C'mon," she urges, pulling the thin blankets off his legs. "Let's go."

"Go where?" he questions, while dragging his feet to whichever direction she was tugging his arm.

"Mind the stairs, now. I don't want to go back for you if you trip and fall down them," is the only answer Daisy provides.

"This your bedroom?" Mason inquires, as Daisy carefully closes the door.

"Yup. Turns out I really, really, really hated that film tonight and I need a favor from you. Watch out for them."


"Watch out for the body-switching things."

"You're – you're shittin' me, right? 'S some kind of stupid joke, that what it is? Everybody, come yank Mason's chain at any cost now…" he complains.

"No. I'm …"

"You're …?"

"It's a flaw, and I hate it. But, but I often get afraid of this kind of stuff. I always have been. When I was a little girl, I couldn't even listen to ghost stories."

"Well, it's a good thing you're not a lit'girl anymore," he slurs, "'cause I want to get some sleep and I'm not stayin'."

"Come on, Mason," she asks, with a hint of a plea in a voice. "Please. You can sleep all you want here; I just want someone in the room with me."

Running his fingers over his temple, Mason states, "Only if I sleep in the bed … I am not being demoted from couch to floor. There is just no fucking way…"

"Okay, okay," Daisy breathes, "Agreed. I get the left side, though."

Making his way to the bed first, Mason slides down the covers and gets beneath them. More cautiously, Daisy does the same. They each remain cornered at the edges of the bed, lying on their sides, until Mason turns his head, and says, "You know, I don't know why you want me here. In all honesty, I'm not a very good protector. Skinny as a twig … know what you ought to get, one of those body-builders."

Rotating her body, Daisy exhales, and demands, "I thought you were sleepy. Now sleep."

"Well, now I can't. You disrupted my sleeping pattern when you woke me up."

"Hmm, what we need, then, is something to pass the time. We can play a game," she suggests.

"Yeah, what kinda game? Fun one? Is sex involved?" Mason says, with a smile on his lips.

"Will you get your mind out of the gutter, for goodness's sake?" she slaps his shoulder.

"Okay," he agrees, quieting down, until his hopefulness returns, and though half asleep, eagerly says, "Is drinkin' involved?"

"No, the game is simple. We ask each other questions."

"What, like – like Truth or Dare without the Dares. Sounds like a bloody rip-off to me."

Giving Mason a glare, Daisy remarks, "Fine, I'll go first. Why," she stops a second, noticing that Mason was actually giving her his full attention, "Why are you constantly drinking and, you know, the other thing?"

Chuckling, he shrugs his shoulders, "What else is there to do?"

"You can't answer a question with another question. It completely defeats the purpose of the game."

"What game? It isn't real!"

"Nevertheless …" she feels her anger rising, and suppresses it with a calmer tone, "Nevertheless, it's part of the rules. So … a reply to my question, please?"

"They … make me … feel better, I guess. Unless you shove 'em up your arse, then no, that doesn't help things."

"What?" she asks, repulsed.

"No, it isn't important," he smirks, "my turn, yeah? Okay. Why, uh, do you always mask your feelings with a fake smile?"

She responds after a minute's pause, "Makes life easier,"

"Repressing things makes it easier to live your life? What kind of logic is that? I mean, wouldn't it be harder – dealing with the shit you keep bottled up inside?"

"You already asked your question. You can't ask more," Daisy replies, defiantly, and is nearly one step away from sticking her tongue out to express her glee.

"Right," Mason rolls his eyes, "Shoot."

"Why did you really give Georgia and me this house?"

"I told you that before. I gave it away because you two deserved more room."

"Please! The truth, Mason?"

Mason groans, "Commute was a real bitch. I mean, three hour ride, for fuck's sake…"

"And a ferry!" Daisy says, merrily.

"And-and a ferry," he repeats, pointing his index finger at her, "Very funny."

"I knew that whole sweetness thing wasn't the entire truth."

"Yeah, you're a genius," he lets her comment slide off, "Right, so why do you really let me live in this house with you."

"That was Georgia's idea. You know that perfectly well."

"Yeah…" Mason mumbles, and continues to stare at Daisy.

"Yeah, what?"

"Just that … not in Georgie-girl's bed now, am I? I'm in yours."

She smiles, "That's due to circumstantial situations. The movie … which, which – was that a date?"

He blinks, once, and simply answers, "Should be asking yourself that question, darlin', not me."

Protesting, Daisy starts, "But the game –"

"That's the answer I gave you. It goes by the rules. Now, my go," he props his head up on the pillow, but holds his gaze on the woman across him. "Do you think that …" he stops, abruptly.

"Out with it already, will ya!"

"Well," he stumbles, breathes, and says what he needs to with perfect clarity and with certain celerity, as if he wanted to get it over with, regardless of what the answer would be.

"Do you love me, Daisy?" he inquires of her, suddenly. "Even just a tiny bit?" he pleas, gesturing with his thumb and index finger.

With sincerity in her eyes, and a quiver in her voice, she answers, shaking her head all the while, "I don't know…"

His frown turns into a sad smile. "Right," he says.

"That's it? What-what are you really thinking about now?"

"Nothin'. Absolutely nothing."

"Yes, you are most definitely thinking about something. You do it so rarely it's easy to tell when you are," Daisy tells him.

"Was wonderin'," begins Mason, "how good of an actress you are."

"Mason, I really don't know the answer to your question. You can't expect me, with everything that's happened, to just come to a decision like-"

"It's not about decisions, it's about what you fuckin' feel!" he shouts, then lowers his voice, "But you wouldn't know anything 'bout that … you oppress 'em, yeah? You're right; it does make your life easier."

Giving a small grimace, Daisy replies with an entirely different statement. "I have one last question for you."

To this, all Mason can do is raise his eyebrow.

"From the game," she elucidates. "Why do you love me?"

"Why?" reiterates Mason. "This is a ridiculous game," and with that, starts to sit up, ready to climb out of the bed.

"Just answer it, okay?" implores Daisy.

Sighing, he starts, "You're bloody beautiful. You're sweet … when you wanna be."

"I'm anything but," Daisy interrupts. "You know damn well I can be so nasty and crude, that you want to kill me all over again."

"Well, yeah, there's that," he smiles, "The thing is, though, the nice part sneaks up on you when you're not payin' attention. Like last week when I started panickin' with anxiety abo-about the graveling and Ray," Mason swallows, his throat already dry from mention of what had happened with Ray. "Daisy, the things you told me, the way you stroked my arm 'til I calmed down …" he brings his hand up to her cheek, and continues, "So soft, and so warm. Worked like magic.

"And there're other things, you know. Sometimes you're such a damn good compulsive liar that half the time I want to believe the things you say 'cause they're so interestin'. And the other half of the time I want to tell you to stop telling 'em because you don't need to impress anybody. I love that you're a mystery. Like this whole thing is a movie and you're still playing that actress role so wonderfully marvelous and I can try to guess why you are the way you are, but I know that I won't 'til the very end of it.

"I love that you're broken. 'Cause I'm broken too, and I think that's bloody brilliant. Means I'm not the only one needin' fixin' in this world. It's good to have company … makes the world look not so empty anymore. Not so lonely."

Sniffling, she replies, "You're thinking like a poet," she says, and gently rubs her eye, bitter from tears threatening to spill, "and not a realist. This is the real world. It's not a place for idealists."

"I can't think like a poet, darling. Too much of a fuck-up to do that," he smirks, chuckling.

"The point is that broken things can't fix each other. They don't know how it's done. That's why they haven't been able to help themselves all these years," Daisy points out.

"You don't know that. Maybe they've just been waitin' around for the right reason to help themselves," replies Mason, placing a strand of Daisy's hair behind her ear. "Ever think of that?"

Wanting to reply, Daisy already had her mouth open, but was stopped by Mason. "I'll leave you to it, then. I think the body-swappers have left, so I'll be on my way," he says, pulling the covers off himself.

"No. Please just spend the night here."

"What, still afraid? C'mon, nothing there."

"I just, uh, feel bad for letting you sleep on that crummy couch," she lies, pathetically.

"And what did you feel for the past two weeks, then?"

"Come on, Mason. Stay here. I promise to think about what you said if you do. That whole fixing thing, you know?"

With both legs dangling over the bed, Mason turns his head back and questions, "That right? I thought you said broken things can't fix other broken things?"

"Well," Daisy says, pulling on his hand, "sometimes it just takes time. Like at a repair shop, you know. And I'm an impatient and demanding gal, so I thought I couldn't go through with it. But I'm willing to give it a shot. I mean," she halts briefly, wiping tears from her cheeks, "time is the one thing I can give. Got lots and lots of it."

"See, Daisy," replies Mason, smugly, with a grin, entering the bed, once more, "we've already got somethin' in common."

"So, tell me something about yourself. What else have we got in common?"

"Well, for starters," he exhales, "I think most horror films are ridiculously retarded. Except for tonight's. Christ, if I had I known you'd react this way to it, I'd have taken you to see it weeks ago…"