Bristol, Mitchell's UK, Sunday

[chosehumanity]

"Oh, it's you. Twice in one week. Are we being stalked?"

Fleur was grinning at him from the other end of the street, Bernie tucked under her arm. Mitchell smiled back at her, and made it across the street with a few long strides.

"No," he said, and then added, teasingly, "Am I?"

"Not unless you're going to Tesco's," Fleur replied, still smiling. "I've got some people coming over for dinner tonight, and can I be bothered?"

"Then why did you invite them over?"

"I was drunk," Fleur admitted, shrugging casually, her voice full of somewhat put-on cheer.

Mitchell nodded, and slid his gaze down to Bernie. "You on trolley-pushing duty?" he asked, amused, trying to picture the surly-looking boy running amock in a Tesco's somewhere nearby.

"As if!" Bernie sounded downright offended. "I'm going into town. You wanna come?" There was hope in his eyes. Mitchell could remember being that age, and having no friends - even the thought of an adult friend would have been a big thing.

"Course he doesn't."

"I don't mind," Mitchell interjected, before the look in Bernie's eyes could dim any further. "I'm only mooching."

With a sigh and a snort, Fleur shook her head. "I forgot for a moment," she said, "All men are kids at heart. His father was much the same, you know." She spoke more, of Bernie's father, missing in action but still available over Skype, apparently.

"Do you mind me tagging along with him?" Mitchell asked, at last. "I mean, you barely know me."

Fleur just beamed at him again, and said, "I don't believe in wrapping kids in cotton wool. They have to make their own way in the end, right? You two have fun!"

---

What Bernie wanted was to window-shop and blow his pocket money on sodas and shakes, but Mitchell convinced him to go out bowling instead. It wasn't exactly an athletic sport, but it was a good, clean one, and one he had a feeling the kid would appreciate.

Perhaps he should do the same for Chloe, at some point: she could use some getting out more, some building of confidence. Fast Eddies' was a nice place too, wasn't it? Maybe all of his students could benefit.

He watched Bernie roll the latest ball down the lane, taking many of the pins with it. He grinned, and clapped as the lad came up to him afterwards.

"Mitchell," Bernie said, as he tentatively took a seat, "What did you want to be when you grew up?"

He had to blink. Hadn't seen that one coming. "Er," he said, thinking back to his childhood - both as a real young one and when that had happened in Fandom. "...Just happy, I suppose."

"That it?" Bernie sounded a little disappointed.

He sighed. "People didn't really have careers back then," he hedged. "Where I came from you either ended up in the church, or in the army, like me, or..."

That had been a mistake; Mitchell had to spend several minutes batting away questions about his time in the army, and how many people he had killed (ow), and what it was like. He remembered being Bernie's age, and idolizing the armed forces, but it was a long time ago now, and many wars laid between then and now. Some of which he had experienced in person.

"What I'm trying to say is," he said, finally, "it-it was different back then, it was-- there was less choice. So just 'happy'... would do."

Bernie looked up at him with big eyes, not comprehending what Mitchell was saying. Not really. "So are you?" he asked. "Happy?"

Mitchell shrugged a shoulder, and thought of Fandom, his kids, and Jack and Kate and Chloe who actually seemed to enjoy having him around, shooting the shit with Reno, and taking care of George and Annie back home, who loved him despite what he was. "I think I'm getting there," he said.

Even in the face of all the monsters.

Of course, that was when Lauren showed up.

---

"You're killing again."

"No."

"Oh, please. I can smell it on you. See it in you."

"God, it's always about the blood with you, isn't it? There's a whole dark and beautiful world, and you're obsessing about what we eat."

Last time he'd seen Lauren, she'd been shaking and crying on the steps of the Merriott. Now, she looked blood-bright and smiling, utterly composed, even mocking. "Can we just get to the bit where you make me feel guilty, and try to drag me back?" he snapped, lacking patience in the face of his failure.

"Not this time," she said, shaking her head. Smiling, even. It was disturbing. "No guilt trip, no appeal, no tricks, no tears."

He had a hard time believing that.

"Then what do you want?"

"I've come to say goodbye."

And that it was okay. That she didn't feel bitter about what he did. That she loved who she was, now.

He wasn't sure what to believe anymore.

But she left.

---

When Mitchell returned to the bowling alley proper, Bernie was lying on the ground in the bowling lane, bleeding from a wound on his forehead. Shit. If the boy had gotten hurt--

"You okay?" he asked, sliding down onto his knees next to him, reaching for his forehead. There was blood seeping out of it, but-- like when Warren's wounds had been slighter just last week-- nothing in him reacted. "You're bleeding..." he said, trailing off.

Bleeding. And Mitchell didn't care. ... Well, he cared. But there was no need, no wish to feed. All he cared about was staunching the flow.

His stomach did a happy sommersault without consulting him.

"You're not going to be sick, are you?" Bernie asked, dubiously, and Mitchell realised he'd been staring too long.

"What?" he said, snapping out of it.

"Mom always does," Bernie explained, sitting up. "I got a nosebleed in Morrison's once and she threw up in a freezer cabinet."

Patting the blood off of Bernie's forehead with a tissue he found, Mitchell smiled. "Well, what do you know," he said, "I seem to be fine."

[[ nfb, nfi, ooc-okay, taken from Being Human 1x04, and now I want a nap ]]