Bristol, Monday Morning

[chosehumanity]

"Aren't you supposed to be on a plane to this school of yours?"

Five seconds ago, Mitchell had been brooding in his room by himself, considering all the ways in which he couldn't possibly go back to Fandom or do anything like it ever again. Now, he was being spontaneously haunted by a cheerful ghost holding a cup of tea.

"It's... complicated," he muttered.

"Now I'll say that," Annie chirped, flopping down next to him. "Why's a bloke who teaches in America coming 'round to a flat in Bristol anyway? Are you working on your frequent flyer miles or something? The only place I've ever been to is Barcelona. Gorgeous, though. They have these little shops that carry all of this stuff, I thought I'd go mental!"

Mitchell chuckled despite himself. "Not complicated like that," he said, "Although that's a whole new realm of complicated. Something happened. That's all."

He didn't particularly want to talk about it.

"Like what?" she asked. "Did you insult the headmaster or something?"

"No," he said, shifting, "Nothing like that."

She offered him the tea. His phone rang.

---

George looked like a right mess all right, sitting on the curb of some random house in the middle of Henbury radiating forlorn. Mitchell shut the door of the taxi behind him, and wandered in his direction.

"Nice blouse," he opined.

George looked like he'd been dressed by a pirate. A gay pirate. Or possibly a little girl pirate; what did Mitchell know?

"Where did you leave your clothes?"

George shrugged, a little sliver of a motion, and said, "I don't know. I don't know where we are. I had to ask the operator where I was calling from."

With a sigh, Mitchell pulled his Star of David out of his pocket, holding the long chain over for George to take. "Thanks," George muttered, and glanced up to catch the expression on Mitchell's face. "You're still here," he observed. "Are you okay? You look weird."

"This from a man in culottes," Mitchell said, lightly. "You've got blood on your face."

"It's okay," George said, shrugging again. "It's only a deer's."

So he'd wound up out in the woods last night, and killed a deer. Mitchell supposed that was all right, then. No real emergency. "Come on, Lassie," he said, turning back towards the taxi. The driver was likely weirded out a bit. "Let's head back to the house, get you some clothes."

He paused, glanced over his shoulder. "Does it still hurt?"

George smiled ruefully. "Curses are supposed to hurt," he said, and hopped onto his feet.

"Yeah," Mitchell said, shook his head, and held the door open for him.

[[ nfb, nfi open to one, OOC-okay, and some dialogue taken from the Being Human pilot ]]

Comments

[bitten_notshy]

Right, so Mitchell wasn't in class today. Which wouldn't be a problem for Jack -- he would be perfectly content to avoid personal conversation with the vampire forever -- except that it made him worry.

He was, at least, fairly certain George wouldn't laugh at him, so it was George's number he dialed as soon as class was over.

[chosehumanity]

Mitchell, seated in the back along with George, shot the werewolf a look as his phone went off and he started scrambling.

"Hello?" George asked, about three rings later, when he'd finally wrangled the thing out of his pocket.

"Some timing," Mitchell muttered, sinking back.

[bitten_notshy]

"Hello," Jack said, doing his best to sound offhand. "It's Jack. I feel silly" -- so very silly; he wasn't a nursemaid -- "but is Mitchell with you? His assistants ran class."

[chosehumanity]

"...But Mitchell's class is in the afternoon," said George, in the kind of stunning display of prioritization only he could pull off. "How can it be afternoon over there? It's not been his class yet, that would just be obscene."

Mitchell facepalmed. Perhaps they'd be best off if he took the phone.

[bitten_notshy]

"It's past two here," Jack announced helpfully, once he blinked at his watch to see if the hands were running backward. "I don't know why the timezones are so far from what they should be."

Though now the question would bother him ... though he did remember why he'd actually called. "Is he there, then?"

[chosehumanity]

"Yeah, he's here. We were just..." George racked his brain. "Running an errand, early in the morning. Can't be early enough for milk, or they'll run out!"

"You're getting deer blood on your phone," Mitchell deadpanned, from stage left.

[bitten_notshy]

"... right." Jack didn't exactly need to know domestic minutiae, though he supposed the fact George was in a position to share such stories was a good sign. "Well. That's good, then -"

And then he thought he dimly heard a voice.

"Did he say something about blood?"

[chosehumanity]

"No! No. It's nothing! Just a bit of a run-in with some livestock this morning, you know, one minute you're wal-- driving, the next you're splattered in entr-- blood. The whole car--"

"Honestly," Mitchell said, sinking back in his seat, "I really don't know why you haven't applied for MI6 yet."

"Mitchell!"

[bitten_notshy]

"That's unfortunate. And completely disgusting," Jack said, biting his inner lip so he wouldn't laugh. He found it hard to stay angry when George was flailing at him this way.

He thought about mentioning the full moon but decided that would just be cruel.

"Is the car all right?"

[chosehumanity]

"Yes, it's perfectly fine--"

There was a bit of rustling, and then it was Mitchell's voice on the other end of the line. "Don't mind him. It's just been his time of the month."

[bitten_notshy]

"He was fine." Jack's voice grew a touch frostier, though not to the point of rudeness. He'd called George's phone and not Mitchell's to avoid this, but he wouldn't admit that. "As was class, by the way. Alex and Chloe showed us a horrible movie. You couldn't have done worse."

[chosehumanity]

"Sounds like capable hands," Mitchell said, considering the front seat of the car. "We just bought a house here. No need to call in the cavalry."

"Oh god," George groaned, in the background, "If you keep phrasing it like that, everyone will think we're gay."

[bitten_notshy]

A house. Well, that would take more than a week, even if you rushed it. He nodded slowly, letting most of the worry recede.

"Are you planning on coming back?" he asked. "And" -- honestly, the tweaking was irresistible -- "tell George it's all right, I'm not in a position to judge."

[chosehumanity]

There was a long pause.

"Maybe."

That word held a great deal of the brooding and self-loathing and general fretting that had been going on in Mitchell's head for the past week.

"Oh, George? Jack says it's all right, he won't judge."

Jack got a strangled, flaily whimper from just off the phone for his troubles.

[bitten_notshy]

Another long pause. "It's up to you."

He was too tired to argue about it, and not sure he even wanted Mitchell to come back. If he decided to hole up in Bristol for a while, Jack was sure he'd be reasonably content watching bad movies for credit and letting George do the babysitting.

"Kate skipped class." Of course, she seemed to do that with some regularity anyhow, so Jack wasn't even sure of his own point.

[chosehumanity]

"Yeah," Mitchell said, after another beat, "It's up to me."

Too tired to argue about it, and not entirely sure he even should go back. Maybe he should just settle in and get his old porter job back.

Another silence drifted on past before he said, thickly, "Tell her I'm sorry she was dragged along with this. This isn't a world anyone should wind up in."

[bitten_notshy]

"It's the world I have." That was Jack swallowing his irritation he didn't warrant an apology, yes. "And I'll try. I'm not sure she wants to hear it from me."

Really, Jack had the impression Kate never wanted to talk about it again ever, at least not with him.

[chosehumanity]

Jack was already a part of it, one way or the other. It was... different. Mitchell did know about Tara Gregson, after all. "Thank you, Jack," he said, anyway.

In his estimation of the situation, that fit better than an apology.

[bitten_notshy]

Jack didn't know about Tara, so that was a wash.

"It's all right," he said. He wasn't sure he meant it, but he knew he was mollified by the gratitude. "Come back when you can."

That was a step up from where he'd been a few moments ago.

[chosehumanity]

For the first time in over a week, Mitchell felt... a little better.

He'd have time to pick through that later, though. "Try not to get into too much trouble," he said, after a moment of weighing the best thing to say. "...sorry, that was a very forty-year-old thing of me to say."

[bitten_notshy]

"Forgiven under the circumstances," Jack said airily, also feeling the slightest bit more normal. (Though he didn't take it seriously enough for it to make the slightest impact on his plans with Emma.)

"You -- and George -- do the same." It wasn't a rebuke, more ... a thing to say.

[chosehumanity]

"I'll try, but I can't promise you anything about George," said Mitchell, affecting an airily sardonic tone. "I'm still not sure whether he snacked on those deer intestines--"

"MITCHELL!"

Flailing, static, and finally the obvious noise of George breathing against the phone. "...sorry. About that."

[bitten_notshy]

Well, it got Jack to laugh, so that was something. Once he could speak again, he contributed, "It's fine, George. Go get your milk."

He couldn't resist. "It might help wash the taste of intestine out of your mouth."

[chosehumanity]

Another strangled, squeaky sound, and then, "I shall speak to you... some other time. Have a good day!"

And a click.