The swirling line of zoned out, under-caffeinated shoppers continued to slowly chug along as they were corraled like herds of aimless livestock through the queues. Briseis was among them, trying to tune out the crying babies and the constant blips of the scanner as cashiers took their sweet time ringing up customers. Briseis lifted her head to witness her frustration echoed on other nearby shopper's faces. It was midday for heaven's sake. Lunch time for workers. Where the hell did all these people come from? She guessed she should've been thankful that a small supermarket run turned into an epic two-hour excursion through hell. After all, the longer she was there, the less she had to deal with the six-foot, flaxen-haired reaper living in her quaint domicile. However, the gratitude was indeed short-lived, because her thoughts were consumed with the fact he was there right now.

In her home.

Where she sleeps.

There was no getting around it. The guy was there, and he wasn't leaving until the deal was done and their time was up. After she had shown him his room, she made herself scarce. A whole day nearly passed without saying to him. Though he was, of course, welcomed to come and go as he pleased, she was grateful he gave her some space. Bree sighed to herself. So what was the point in delaying the inevitable? She would have to talk to him eventually. After all, that's what she wanted. Explanation on what exactly was little old her breaking in the world of the hereafter. She couldn't even look ahead to when she starts her next shift in two more days. Was he really gonna tag along and watch her work? An invisible parole officer or inspector watching every move she made? She wished she could get it through his head that she just doesn't go around bringing people back to life with magic. She wouldn't bother doing it the old fashioned way if she did.

Finally, her line began to shift, and she groaned aloud. Just keep bringing me closer to Death, why don't you, mister cashier? Briseis' eyes glanced at the items in her cart and blew a sluggish raspberry. She tried not to re-examine the contents of her cart anymore because it took her long enough to settle on what she had. Those steaks alone had cost her ten minutes of deep internal dialogue, trying to decide if it was a suitable food item for an angel of death. At least the cereal didn't take that long. Maybe five minutes tops. Besides, the Devereaux household has always been Cinnamon Toast Crunch, hands down. If he can't handle that, then he can just drink the freaking milk and call it a day. If she understood him correctly, he doesn't need to eat or sleep now, but eventually, he will, which led her down the whole confusing road of figuring out what the hell to feed him. Perhaps she should've brought him along. What exactly the hell did they eat anyway?

Something told her the next two weeks would be the longest in her life.

"Yeah, I know how you feel."

Briseis turned to her left to follow the high registered voice speaking to her. It was coming from a lady in yoga pants appearing in her late twenties. She was hunched over the cart handle holding her cell in one hand, a handful of coupons in the other. Not sure if the woman was actually speaking to her, Briseis cautiously leaned into the woman's direction. "I'm sorry?"

The woman motioned towards the register, which seemed a mile away from either of them. "Sorry, I heard you make an annoying sound and I thought it was because of this long ass line." She followed up with a little chuckle.

Briseis smiled. "Ahh, I see. Yeah, uh no, I was just thinking about my unexpected guest at home and how I'm dreading to go home."

The woman looked around and shrugged. "Well, by the looks of things your guest might die of hunger waiting for you to return. This place is a circus."

Briseis nodded in agreement and turned her attention to the line that started to shift again. The faces of shoppers sharing the queue perked up, only to almost groan in unison when the cashier turned her aisle light off. Mixed clamoring and boos followed the poor young clerk as she put the 'Closed' sign on the conveyor belt. Before she could help herself, Briseis erupted with excitement.

"Wooo! Alright!"

Though the woman next to her laughed, Briseis felt the annoyed and pissed off eyes of other patrons who didn't share the same enthusiasm. Feeling a buzz from her phone, she picked it up to see a new message from Mark.

September 7, 2016, 2:33 PM

Hi, Bree. I haven't heard back from you. I'm worried that you totally hate me for the #epicfail of a date we had. I'd really like to make it up to you <3 I know you're a busy lady, so how about dinner at my place? I'll cook for you :) I make a mean fettuccine! Lemme know.

Briseis groaned. "Shit." Talk about bad timing. There's no way she was going to attempt a date with Mr. Death hanging around. She couldn't even think about a liberal lie to explain the presence of Micah in her life. Oh sure, Mark, I'd love to go on another date. In fact, let me introduce you to the guy that ruined the first date. Oh, and please don't slug him, cause you probably won't live to regret it.

Micah was charged to monitor her and make sure she didn't zap others to life on his watch without his supervision. But did that mean he would be stalker guy everywhere she went? She immediately rubbed her face in angst. Of course not, stupid, she thought to herself. It's the reason why he isn't here right now staring you down while you shop for cereal and marshmallows. She was thankful Micah didn't insist on following her once she explained where she was going. For most of the day, he was closed up in his room. As much as she hated to admit, it actually concerned her. Last time she talked to him, she was pretty hot and slammed the door on him because he just creeped her out. Briseis was more embarrassed than angry that day, and that night had felt a little guilty for flipping out on him. She was still right, though. He needed some boundaries, but when he said he wasn't inappropriate, she knew he was telling the truth. There was something righteous in his eyes. Something honest and appealing, and tempted to escalate Briseis' curiosity of the reaper in her home. How does one become an angel of death, anyway?

Briseis looked back at Mark's text and clicked it off as she shifted to the new line that started to move at a normal pace. Ugh, I can't deal with this now. Life has suddenly gotten more difficult and even further away from normal than before.

"Good luck with your unwanted guest!"

Briseis turned to see the woman she spoke to earlier finally getting her groceries checked out in the aisle on the other side of her. "Yeah, thanks."

Good luck indeed. I'm gonna need it.

Finally, after bringing in the groceries, Briseis looked around to find nothing out of place. Only the strange shuffling and noise coming from her guest room. What in the world was he doing in there?

Briseis began the pull out the chicken cutlets and andouille sausage for dinner. The weather outside held that tell-tale sign of a great autumn night. Not too chilly, but just enough to consider gumbo weather. She had been craving the dish for weeks, but just didn't feel right to make it until a good cold front came in. Making gumbo excavated fun memories of her mother in the kitchen. They always tackled dinner as a team and was partly why Briseis learned to cook at such a young age. She smiled to herself as one particular memory took over her thoughts.

"What's that smell? It's smells like something's burning." Briseis moved from the counter to peek over at the stove.

That ain't burning, chile. That's what you call browning your roux. Tara scooted over as Briseis stood next to her over the stove. "You see, you take your flour and a little oil and you stir it and stir it until it browns."

Briseis shrugged. "So this is how you make the base?"

"Yep," Tara handed her the spoon. "Now here you go. Stir it up."

Briseis took the spoon reluctantly and began the slowly stir the concoction in the skillet. "How long do we do this, Mama?"

Tara went to the counter and started chopping onions, bell peppers, and celery. "Yeah, funny thing about making a roux. It's a lot like life, Bree bird. You can be standing there, watching, being diligent for disaster, but life slows down. Nothing ever happens." She scraped the trinity of vegetables in a bowl and smiled. "But as soon as you turn your back and think everything's all good; that's when it burns."

"So basically, you're saying I'm gonna have to stir this forever, so it doesn't burn?" Briseis retorted. Her arm was already getting tired, and the concoction was only a light tan.

Tara laughed. "No silly girl. If you spend too much time on it, the rest of the gumbo won't get done. I'm saying that you gotta pick your battles. Sometimes things are gonna burn. Don't aim for it to happen, but sometimes it will. You just throw it all out and start over again. Life's too short to be crying over burnt roux."

Briseis rolled her eyes. Her mother was the strangest woman on the planet. "Are you talking about life or the gumbo?"

"Both. Now hurry up on that roux, girl. I'm hungry." Tara giggled and threw a celery stalk at Briseis playfully. "The rest you'll figure out when you're older."

"Good. Maybe you'll explain it better to me then."

She laughed to herself as she pulled out the flour and got started on making the roux. Briseis cut her eyes down the hall then sighed to herself. This was creepy, no doubt, but she couldn't blame the reaper for her mistakes. He didn't seem too thrilled to be in this situation either. She had a stranger in the house, and the only thing she could do was to try and make him a welcomed guest. Oh, Mama, you explained it perfectly. You gotta pick your battles. She just wished the battle was somewhere farther than her guest room. She blew a raspberry up at her ceiling before marching past the kitchen and down the hall. Besides, it was time to see what the hell he was doing in there.

The comforter for his room was dry and in a basket by his door, but it was still there untouched. The commotion from Micah's room finally piqued her interests and jumped up to march to his door. Bree knocked on the door with the mini laundry basket of bed linens riding on her hip. He better not is tearing up my room. "What in the blazes is going on--"

The door jerked open, and Briseis' voice trailed off. Her eyes that at one second was glaring at a door found themselves looking at a pair of blue eyes, then the lean muscular torso of her reaper guest without his shirt. Bree swallowed as her eyes followed down the length of him, admiring the warm tanned skin that held a sheen of sweat and the light brown trail of hair that started from his navel and down past the top of his slacks. Now, she knew it was rude to stare, but her inner conscious just wanted to look at the ripples a bit longer. Especially at the strange markings like a tattoo on each side of his toned obliques. Mercy, the powers that be had meticulous craftsmanship indeed. A wave of heat flooded her face as she realized the reaper under her roof reached a new level of hotness.

Micah stood staring at her concerned, trying to understand what she was staring at. "Is everything alright?"

Speak Bree! Gees, it's a shirtless man! Get over it! she pleaded with herself before stuttering out a response. "Y-yeah. I was just checking on what was going on in here. You've been in here a good while and the racket made me curious is all." You're still staring, Bree. Stop. It. Listening to her inner conscious, Briseis quickly diverted her eyes to the laundry basket.

"Oh! and uh, your laundry." She all but pushed the little basket into Micah's hands. He grabbed it suddenly.

"Thank you." Micah cast his eyes behind him. "I'm sorry if I'm loud, I was just straightening things in here. You said it was okay to do with what I pleased."

Briseis stood quietly. Without the basket in her hands, she was forced to look at him. And that amazing, lean body of his.

"No, no problem. Just wanted to make sure you weren't breaking anything. Or yourself."

Why would you say that? What the hell is wrong with you!

Micah took a step back and realized that he needed a shirt. "Um, sorry. I didn't want to dirty my shirt while I worked." He set the basket on the bed. Backing up to the dresser, he grabbed his black tee and stretched it over him. Micah looked to find Briseis at the door looking around. "It's still your room. You can come in if you'd like."

Briseis quietly stepped in and looked around. Many of the boxes were broken down and piled in a corner. The walls had pictures up.

"I tried to put up what I could," Micah explained as he watched her examine the room. "I hope it's okay."

Her eyes lit up as she saw the old pictures of her mom and growing up. She stopped at one Micah hung up that was at a church picnic. Both she and her mother wore their Sunday best complete with fancy hats for Easter. Briseis laughed softly as she remembered her whining to her mother to get a hat too. She reached up and touched the photo. "I loved that hat. Did you know I made her take me to two different stores to finally find the one I wanted?"

Micah shook his head. "No, I didn't."

A tear broke free from her eyes. "Yeah. She didn't like to admit it, but she spoiled me. There I was eleven years old, walking around with a big, beautiful Sunday hat like I was a grown ass woman." She sniffled. "Making my friends jealous." Her childhood memories haunted her lately. They were so beautiful, but so emotionally draining. She'll never understand grief.

Micah heard the sorrow in her voice and an inner torment began to gnaw at him. Had he done something wrong? "Briseis, I didn't mean to make this uncomfortable for you."

Briseis turned to face him, letting him see her soft smile. "No, this is fine. I haven't seen these in so long; I forgot about them. She finally pulled back her hand and just looked across at the others. I know it doesn't seem like it, but I'm good. Besides, I'm sure being in your line of work; an emotional necromancer is nothing new for you."

"I wanted to apologize for the other day. I was freaked out and felt I was losing control. To a control freak like me, that never ends well. I know... that you're trying to do this fairly and as screwed up as it is, you're only doing your job, right?"

"Right."

Briseis sighed. "Right." She looked around and then frowned. "Do you have other clothes?"

Micah shook his head. "No, but I can easily wash these every day." And he would have to. Today, he re-discovered this dreaded thing called sweat brought on by the uncomfortable, sticky heat of the South. It's barely been three days, and his body was freefalling into humanity again. He wasn't tired yet, but he was already vividly recognized temperature changes. Between being able to bleed, sweat and taste, it was enough to keep him within the confines of the room until he was comfortable enough to deal with it. Apparently, it didn't seem to offend Briseis, whom barely said more than a couple sentences to him since she discovered he had intruded her private space. Micah smelled the air and grimaced. "Is something burning?"

Her eyes wide with shock, Briseis turned and ran out the door. "Shittt!" she exclaimed as she ran into the kitchen full of smoke. She had completely forgotten about the roux, which was nearly black soot in the skillet, spewing dark smoke into the area. The smoke alarm went off, and Briseis grabbed the oven mittens to grab the cast iron skillet and drag it to an empty burner. She grabbed the baking soda and sprinkled it into the skillet before slamming the top over it to smother the smoke. Coughing, she raised the window, fanning the smoke as Micah ran to her side.

"You should step away from the smoke, Briseis."

Coughing, she shook her head. She reached in the corner to grab the broom. "I need to shut the alarm off up there or a fire truck is gonna get here soon."

Micah looked up and saw the source of the blaring. He quickly looked at her and nodded. "I'll get it." Micah jumped on top of the marble island countertop. Reaching up, Micah felt around the device to reset it.

"If you fan around the alarm it should shut off," she advised between her coughs.

Micah quickly fanned the air around the device, but it didn't quell fast enough for him. The noise was annoying and the last thing they both needed was a fire engine at Briseis' doorstep. Suddenly, Micah put his hand on the alarm, and it completely shut down.

Briseis held a towel using it to fan the air out the kitchen window. "How did you do that?"

Micah jumped down. "It doesn't matter. It won't come on again." He reached for the other towel near her and paused as Briseis noticeably flinched at his action. He was hoping she would be more comfortable with him by now, or at least realize he wasn't going to hurt her. Micah sighed. "Reapers have energy inside them to do such things, your scientists I believe, have called it EMP."

Briseis stopped fanning and stared at him with an odd frown. "Electromagnetic pulse?"

Micah nodded. "Yes, comes in handy."

Briseis looked at his hands then back into his soft blues. "When you need to take a soul?"

He was hoping she wouldn't bother putting it together because it wasn't going to help ease her worry over him. Nonetheless, being here was about the deal, and the deal required truth. "Yes. Not only can it shut down portals and your many, many electronic devices. It can shut down a human being, so to speak."

She scooted back from those hands of his and on impulse, Micah reached out and put his hand over hers, stopping her.

"Briseis. I know this is all strange to you. You barely know me, and I'm in your living space. We have an awkward agreement that could damn us both if we screw it up. And I'm an eons old reaper in your kitchen forcing you to give up a piece of your life. With all of this, I need you to understand that if I wanted or needed to do you harm, I would've done it already."

His hand intensely warm over hers, Briseis slipped her hand away and eyed him. "You have already, remember? The garage?" Just as she said it, the old thoughts and visions of what she saw shook her. The darkness about him that night. More than human and hauntingly jarring, the vision of his skeletal face and black wings made her want to run for the hills. What made it even more difficult was that standing before her was one of the most handsome men she's ever seen. He radiated a sense of beauty and grace she didn't think was possible for someone so masculine. The basic woman in her desired to touch him, to feel how real he felt. To let her fingertips move over that bare, tanned skin that he exhibited earlier. The duality of him drove her crazy and wondered if she was slowly turning into the kinda broken women on the news that marry serial killers and torturers because they are thrilled by the danger of it. As gentle as he appeared now, she'd seen the air of danger and darkness he possessed. A force she wanted to run from and drown in at the same time.

Micah's silence grew tight with tension. Never had he felt guilty for delivering The Horror to someone. It was completely by the book, but that didn't really matter. What she needed was some reassurance. Her rare turquoise eyes searched him as if she was begging for a reason to trust him. Couldn't his word just be enough?

"Briseis. Even then, I didn't seek to hurt you. At least physically. I made sure you were brought home safely. Please trust me that I want this situation to go smoothly, so I'll give you the space you need. But just know that the last thing I want is for something to happen to you."

As soon as the words slipped from his mouth, he regretted revealing such honesty. Did he really just say that? Micah pulled his hand away and cleared his throat. "I'll, uh open the back door to let some fresh air in. You shouldn't be inhaling this." Not giving Briseis time to reply, Micah moved away, heading down the hall to the patio. He quickly opened the door to the patio but didn't pay attention to the fact it had a lock and snapped it. The door flung open allowing fresh air into the house and also to clear Micah's senses. The relief was short lived as he heard Briseis footsteps coming closer. For Heaven's sake why can't he get himself together when she's around?

Briseis stopped at the door looking around before meeting his eyes. "What was that noise?" Before Micah could answer, she glanced down to see the knob and deadbolt cracked.

He sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm not a fan of locks. I keep forgetting them."

Briseis chortled. "Obviously." Her snickering slowly grew into a laugh, which confused Micah. "I guess now I know what happened to my car doors, don't I?" Briseis continued to chuckle, the heartiness of it faded the scowl on his face.

He had remembered her laughter at the restaurant and had enjoyed seeing the spark of playfulness in her eyes then. It was just as admired now, despite the fact she was laughing at him.

She sobered just enough to wipe her eyes. In truth, she followed him because she felt his sincerity in his words and like a switch, seemed to calm her nerves about him. She may have concluded as much but the idea that he brought her home after the garage incident, hit a note with her. She was carried by his sexy guy and wasn't even awake when it happened? Life sucked. But it also meant he was honest. She needed to trust he was there in her best interests.

"I'm sorry for laughing. Look, I'll be honest. I have no idea how to deal with people on a social basis. I've spent most of my life just keeping the living, well living. I have a few friends, and I date from time to time, but I'm crude, manic and strange. I'll also be honest that you scare me, regardless that currently, you've done nothing to warrant that. Let's just play this thing by ear and try not to creep the other out. Whaddya say?" Briseis extended her hand for a shake and looked at Micah intently.

With a light smile, Micah grasped the softness of her hand and shook it. "Agreed."

She slowly released his hand, pushed her fluttering hair back and smiled. "Well, dinner's ruined and apparently I need to call a locksmith. Guess we're ordering pizza tonight."

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How did you like this chapter? Tension still heavy, but hey at least they are trying to make peace. The attraction is there, but the trust has to get up to speed. What about that text from Mark? Should she answer him back?