Title: The Ugly Truth
Summary: Mason reaps someone close to George... and has to pay the consequences for it. Vaguely GeorgeMason.
A/N: Yeah, I know I'm behind on discovering this show (why do I always find out about this stuff after it gets cancelled?). Just so everyone knows, I love GeorgeMason and DaisyMason equally, both are totally awesome. That's why there's a tiny bit of DaisyMason hidden in the end. Warnings... language, obviously, 'cause it's Dead Like Me, and I guess drug stuff, 'cause it's Mason and he's deliciously self-destructive.
Also, I wrote this at three in the morning. So if it sucks, I blame lack of sleep.
Disclaimer: I don't own Dead Like Me.
Mason drinks because he likes it. His addictions have always been simple—pills for that coveted floating sensation, the harder stuff when he's chasing girls equally as fucked-up, insert drill into head to achieve the ultimate high. There has never been any higher thought process. He's just Mason, he's undead, and he sure as hell doesn't get shit-faced drunk to drown out his failures in reaping or his sad, sad childhood.
Or, at least, that is what he is accustomed to telling himself.
But tonight is different, because this morning Death was in a particularly sadistic mood, and Rube had handed him a post-it with a name he actually recognized. Tonight is different because Mason really is trying to drown something out, trying to push fate and destiny and the randomness of death beneath the water where it can never rear its ugly head again. Because it really is fucked-up, really, royally fucked-up that he of all people would have to pop the soul of Clancy Lass.
He kept the post-it (all crumpled and torn from when George smashed it into a ball and hurled it at his face), like some twisted memento, a reminder that the life and afterlife of a grim reaper usually consists of one heaping pile of shit served to you on a plate. Ding! Order up, here's what you amount to! Have Kiffany bring it over to the table.
Mason gulps down the last of his third beer. At least it was quick and clean—C. Lass, E.T.D. 8:09 P.M., en route to the supermarket to pick up Chunky Monkey to share with his daughter, crashes into a tree not even a block from the house after swerving to avoid a squirrel. At least he didn't feel anything. Mason's bullshit lie about being lost and his fateful handshake took care of that.
But this is all cold, cold comfort when he watches George see her father into the lights (because how could he not let her come?), and she's almost unable to let him go. It feels like ice in the pit of his stomach when Reggie approaches the scene, and as he kneels down in front of her because he can't help himself, the look on her face says that somehow she knew this was coming.
A neighbor pulls Reggie away before she can ask how he knows her name and suddenly George is in his face, her eyes accusing, full of chilling hate.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" She hisses through her tears. "Stay the hell away from my family."
Mason doesn't even open his mouth. There are no words.
"Stay the hell away from me." George turns and walks away.
Mason doesn't really remember the bartender asking him if he'd like something stronger. It was a seedy place, after all, so he shouldn't have been surprised. He hadn't done anything this hard in years, and he could barely remember what it felt like. Now he can't remember a thing. He even forgets that George might be at the house as he stumbles up the front steps.
Because if Mason was truly being honest with himself (truly, not some half-assed drunken haze of bullshit), he might realize that every time he's throwing back a shot of something cheap and mind-numbing, it's not as simple as just the buzz. Yes, Mason likes to drink. Yes, he finds it exhilarating that now that he's dead, there are no consequences.
Yes, Mason has come to the conclusion that he's ruined his life. Yes, Mason knew what he was doing when he stuck that needle in his arm, but no, he didn't care, because he didn't think it could hurt any more than pushing away the one person who meant more to him than anyone in the past sixty years of his life (or un-life).
Mason collapses into Daisy's arms in the hallway and he's crying. She thinks it's because he's coming down, she tells him so, but she holds him anyway. Mason wants to tell her the truth.
The truth is, he's already hit the bottom.