chosehumanity | The House, Bristol, Sunday Evening (Reply)

Mitchell	"Thank you," Mitchell started. "...Not for the tea." He glanced down at his cup, hot in his hands. Then up at George, standing a few paces away.
George	"Well, if I knew it was going to be so Andy McNab, I might not have bothered," George said, lightly. Smiling, even. Just a crack. "I'm sorry about Lauren."
Jack	"So am I," Jack said. He'd been staring at his tea but was nowhere near drinking it, and he couldn't really glance up yet when he spoke. Even before Lauren's breakdown, it had been sheer dumb luck they'd made it out; it would take him some time before he stopped going over the day's events in his head. "Is -- everything going to be all right, now? Did we change anything?"
Mitchell	"We got me out." Going by Mitchell's tone, the general answer was no. No, they hadn't.
Annie	Almost tentatively, Annie slipped back into the room, holding a phone to her body. "Guys," she started, clearing her throat. Trying to get their attention.
Jack	Jack glanced up at Annie curiously, almost grateful for the possibility of some distraction -- even if it was just a telemarketer for someone else. They hadn't done anything at all, to go by Mitchell's reaction. Well. Anything except kill Lauren for good, but Jack had a hard time feeling a sense of accomplishment around that. "Someone on the line?"
Mitchell & Annie	"No, I just thought, well." She squared her shoulders. "I've just outrun and outfought a whole funeral home full of vampires tonight. And, well, what better time is there? I've still got all this adrenaline, and..." Mitchell tilted his head up. "Yeah?" Excuse him for sounding a little down in the dumps. "I want to deal with Owen once and for all," she said, steeling herself further (though Annie setting her jaw wasn't nearly as impressive as it could have been). "And I need your help." Beat, and she turned to Jack. "Well, not yours, sorry, but, theirs, definitely."
Jack	"If you're sure there's nothing I can do," Jack said reluctantly. On the one hand, facing down a human murderer wasn't exactly the capper his day needed; on the other, he hated feeling helpless and unneeded. "I could stay, do some reading and be on call if something did come up."
Annie	"Well, good." Annie beamed - mostly to give herself courage - and nodded. "That's the plan, any questions?" Silence. "Right." She walked off with the phone, writing up a quick test.
Jack	Jack pitched his voice low. "You're both sure you're up for it?" he asked, knowing what the answer was. Annie wasn't the kind of person he could have said no to, if she'd asked him.
Mitchell	Mitchell threw him a vague, if genuine, smile. "Just go lock yourself up somewhere safe," he advised.
Jack	"Right," Jack said, and there was something in him that was injured and teenage and didn't like being left out, but a larger part of him was just going to be grateful. "May I borrow George's room?"
George	"Sure." That was George, this time, getting up. And pacing. A bit. "You know where it is, right?"
Annie	"...He's coming." And that was Annie, holding up the phone.
Jack	Jack felt a certain current of tension pass through the room -- or through him, at least. He stood, leaving his cooling mug of tea where it was. "I can find it," he said, and slipped on up the stairs. He might not be able to see everything, but he suspected he'd be able to listen.
Annie	"Right." Annie took a deep breath of air that she didn't need, then exhaled it, smiling. "I'm going to need you two to just... stand here and let me handle this, all right?"
Owen	It didn't take long. Not at all. Owen was there within five, maybe six minutes. He was cheerful, even, practically laughing as he came in through the front door. "Honey! I'm home!" he called, the grin still on his face. He was enjoying this. Knowing she was here. Knowing Annie was as useless as a ghost as she had ever been in life. "I got your message."
Annie, George and Mitchell	The three stone-faced figures meeting him? Did not respond. They waited.
Owen	"So..." Owen said, swaggering idly up towards them. "The gang's all here." He peered past her. "So what are they, your background singers?" He took a moment. Then he burst out laughing. "Fuck, they're not ghosts too, are they? I knew I should have gotten references." Strode past them, from one side of the room to the other, feeling powerful. Feeling like he was on top of the world, as a matter of fact. Look at what he'd done! "Can I ask you something?" Owen said, when he'd finally come to a stop. "Is the point of this to make me feel guilty? Is that what we're doing here?" He grinned again. Seriously, this was so much fun. "Because it won't work. "Because here's the thing they never tell you. You see to kill someone... and get away with it... you're bullet-proof. You're a god." He'd even done better than he'd thought. He'd made a ghost. A fucking ghost.
Annie	But this time, Annie didn't cower, she didn't pull back, she didn't cry or slump to the ground. She had watched and let him talk, knowing, finally, how inconsequential he really was. She waited until he was done, and then it was her turn. "Here's a question you haven't asked yourself yet," she said. She sounded pleasant. Unmoved. "If I exist, what else does?" The confusion that slowly slipped into Owen's expression was, for lack of a better word, amazing. But it didn't stop her talking. "You think you're the big bad wolf, you should see George on a full moon." For all that he didn't move, George managed, for once in his life, to look menacing. Maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was something else; who knew. "You think you're a cold-blooded murderer... Mitchell was killing eighty years before you were even born." She felt, rather than saw, Mitchell's eyes go black. His fangs pop out. The eerie quietness, that sense of ravens in an empty graveyard that he sometimes exuded, when the mask went down. "Don't you get it yet? I'm just the tip of the iceberg. I'm Good Cop." She took a step forwards, her eyes trained on his face, ringed in a perfect, creepy blue. "Look at you," she murmured, almost close enough that he could feel her lack of breath on his face. "So pleased with your grubby little murder. The fact is, when it comes to pure, naked evil, you're an amateur." Another step closer. "I want you to know you've wandered off the path. This is where the wild things are, and we've got your scent now." Now she was so close that her chin dragged over his shoulder, utterly cold, and yet so solid, her words so loud, so close. "We can find you at the edge of the earth and create unimaginable tortures," she said, wrapping her mouth against every syllable. "And now I'm going to tell you the very worst thing in the world, something only the dead know..." She leaned in.
Owen	Seconds later, he wrenched back, feeling pure, cold terror seeping into every inch of him, wrapping around his heart and choking him. "That's not true," he whimpered, taking a step backwards.
Annie	"I saw it. My advice to you?" Annie stepped back in closer again, relishing every word she spoke. "Find a safe place with locks and bad dogs, and never ever turn out the light."
Owen	He pulled away as if she was made of fire. Everything bounced around his head uselessly, finding no purchase anywhere. No rational thought, no rational action except that one primal one, when you couldn't fight: run. Owen slammed the door shut behind him, and ran, running, running, except if what she said was right, then there was no escaping it, and he needed-- he needed protection, is what he needed. He didn't stop running.
Annie	Inside the house, Annie grinned and said, "Well, I think I'm going to go put the kettle on! Jack! You want something?"
Jack	No matter how Jack tried to cover it, he was stiffer and slightly different when he came back down the stairs. There was something about hearing Annie go utterly terrifying that made him very aware he could be dead or mad within seconds, if he got on the wrong side of any of the people he was with. Owen, though, had gotten what he deserved. "I'm fine," he said, some awkwardness in his voice. "It sounded as if that went ... well." More awkwardness. "Congratulations?"
Annie	"Thank you," Annie said, with a grin. Behind her, George was looking a little more perplexed. Mitchell's expression didn't betray a thing, but that was hardly news.
Jack	"What did you say, there at the end?" Jack asked, neutrally as he could manage as he returned the smile. "Seemed to do the trick..."
Annie	Annie paused. She looked up, but not at Jack-- past him, searching for Mitchell's eyes for a beat or two. She found her answer in the quiet, tiny shake of his head, and her mouth curled up into a secretive smile. "I told him a secret."
Jack	"Not one you're going to repeat," Jack said. His tone was light, even teasing, but his face was resigned.
Annie	"'Fraid not," she said, after her eyes had darted towards Mitchell again. Annie didn't make any movements towards the kitchen yet, though. Instead, her eyes kept where they were. "So what happens now? I thought there'd be fireworks. I thought...the clouds would part." Because if anyone in this room had any wisdom, any knowledge to be shared about the afterlife, it was Mitchell, who'd seen so much. She bit on her lips. "I thought there'd be Elvis."
George	When there seemed to be no answer incoming, George let his shoulders sag. "We just wait, I suppose," he said. Added, after a beat: "The Real Hustle's on at 5:30?" That was something, right? George dropped his arm (and the watch it was attached to). "I... Annie, I've never seen you like that. Those things you said to Owen..."
Annie	"It's a miracle what taking on an army of vampires can do for your confidence," she said, wryly. "I think--" That's when the Door caught her eye, and Annie fell silent, staring straight past them. The Door was unassuming wood, but it came with a pull, something that struck her in her midsection. She couldn't ignore it. "...Oh my god, it's here."
Jack	"That's a door." Thank you, Jack, for your keen observation. He bit his lip and tried to sound slightly less stupid. "It takes you -- somewhere else?" Damned if he knew where that somewhere else was, but he figured doors appearing out of thin air were likely important.
Annie	"But where?" Annie breathed. "Oh god, will I need to pack?"
George	"...Will it be something good, or something else?" George contributed. His hands had curled into fists, and his expression was-- something else, really.
Annie	"Probably something else," she whispered, stepping towards the door in question. She didn't know what to feel, exactly, beyond knowing she had to go.
George	"Then why are you going?!" George snapped, and he stepped forwards himself. "It doesn't make sense! Stay. Please. Just, just stay." He choked on his own words, tried to spit them out again, wound up with, "If you don't know what's there, why the hell are you going?"
Mitchell	Mitchell's voice didn't interrupt until then. He sounded maudlin, distant, with a strange brand of sympathy. He knew. "Because it's an end."
Jack	"Why does there have to be an end, then?" Jack asked. He sounded exactly as young as he was. "You seem happy here."
Mitchell	"Because the world doesn't go on being a place of surprises and opportunities forever," Mitchell said, and rubbed at his eyes. He didn't really want to explain it to a teenager right now - it was funny, how Jack's single statement had just made him feel all of his one-hundred and twenty.
Jack	It was rare for Mitchell to sound the way Sebastien did at his worst. Jack hated that weary note: It said, There are things you will never know, no matter how hard you try. "But Annie can't be more than five years older than George and me," he countered. "It's not ---" He broke off there, realizing he sounded like a child. "Never mind."
Annie	Annie smiled a little bit in his direction, though it didn't seem particularly happy. "I should say goodbye now, then," she said. Her hand gravitated towards the door, then dropped away from it again. "...Will you be all right?"
George & Mitchell	"Yeah, I'll look after him," was a phrase that managed to come forth from two throats all at once; Mitchell and George shared a significant Look that said... a lot. They were sticking by each other, more so now than ever. Fuck. Annie.
Jack	Now that had to warm even Jack's distracted heart. "And I'm always fine," he said. "It was a pleasure to know you, Annie."
Annie	"It was nice knowing you, too," Annie said. Her smile was a little more genuine right now. "Even if we did have to keep calling you in as cavalry." She laughed softly.
Jack	"I'd rather be cavalry than find out after the fact, if there was something I could have done," Jack said. "It doesn't matter, anyhow. We're all fine." Except Lauren. And Seth. And Owen. And -- Jack needed to stop thinking.
Annie	"We are, aren't we?" Another laugh, this one sounding sudden and surprised. She looked to George next. "You hated me."
George	"I didn't!" George argued.
Annie	"Yeah, you did," Annie said, fondly. Mitchell was the last one she looked to. "And you. Don't kill anyone."
Mitchell & George	"Good tip," Mitchell replied, wryly, but he too was smiling. It was an old smile, and a sentimental one all at once. He'd miss her. "Yeah," George said, his voice wavering, "Write that down."
Jack	"I have paper," Jack volunteered, feeling very much the interloper. "I'll call and check in, just in case."
Annie	"Thanks." Annie reached for the doorknob again, her hand shaking only a little bit. "So... I'll be off, then," she said, as her fingers nearly settled over the-- "Oh, this is ridiculous!" she exclaimed, flapping her arms.
Mitchell	"You're lucky," Mitchell said, but he was barely keeping his jaw stiff as it was, and his eyes told a different story. "Most people don't get a chance to say goodbye."
George & Annie	"I know!" she said, desperately, "But I just-- Fucking hell!" "You might want to have different last words," George interjected, fiddling with his own fingers.
Annie	Annie watched them helplessly for long, empty seconds, trying to calm the torrent of feelings in her own stomach. She didn't want to go, she didn't want to stay, she didn't know what she wanted, she-- The door pulled on her again. She turned towards it. "George," she said, softly but urgently, "Jack. Whatever you do, when I open it-- don't look inside." Mitchell already knew what was there.
Jack	But I want to know, Jack thought, and luckily it was several days after he'd been compelled to tell the truth so he kept that query to himself. But still, he wondered -- how bad could it be? "You have my word," he said, worry darkening his eyes.
Annie & George	She nodded. Then she finally reached for the knob, curling her fingers around it-- "..Oh, it's cold," Annie muttered. She started to give it a little tug, and-- Something banged on the door. Hard. George shrieked like a little girl.
Jack	Jack ... shrieked as well. And jumped back toward the stairs. And instantly looked ashamed. But it had been a long day. He had a feeling that whatever came out of that door, he did not want to meet it.
George	"There's someone at the door! There's someone at the door!" George shouted, terrified beyond measure.
Mitchell	Mitchell's eyes darted to Annie's door in fear and then-- his better sense of hearing took hold. He burst out into completely inappropriate laughter, running his hand through his hair. "It's all right," he called. "It's all right, it's the other door!"
Jack	The other door. Which meant it could be something innocuous, as Mitchell seemed to think. Or it could be Owen or Owen's crueler friends or vampires in league with Herrick or -- well, whatever it was, at least it would be more or less from this world. And that alone was a relief. "Then get it," he called, not quite relaxed enough to chance it himself. He was hoping his shriek would be forgotten.
George	Don't worry, Jack. George had that one covered. "Oh, my bloody God!" he shrieked again, then peered down at his trousers, pouting. "...I actually let out a little bit of wee there..."
Mitchell	"I'll get it," Mitchell promised, letting out one more relieved little giggle. Then he went for the door. The mood in the room had momentarily deflated.
Jack	Jack flexed his hands a bit, letting the tension out of his muscles. "Anything else you feel like sharing?" he asked George. "Or do you need to go change trousers?" The teasing made him feel like something might be normal.
Mitchell	"Guys, guys," Mitchell called. "Behave. We can't do this with someone at the door, okay?" He rubbed at his forehead, and brushed the hair out of his face. Let's just handle this quickly. He grabbed the doorknob and yanked the door open firmly, the "Yeah?" already on his lips. It never came out. Instead, he staggered back, the stake sticking from his chest and blood literally gushing out.
George	"Mitchell!" George shrieked, and whatever trouser-pee situation had kept him locked to the floor seemed to vanish as he dashed for the door. Herrick. Herrick behind it. Fuck.
Jack	And this was why Jack should always follow his paranoia. He was at Mitchell's side a bare instant after George. "Right," he said breathlessly, once he noticed Mitchell wasn't disintegrating the way Lauren had. That meant there might be hope. Maybe. "We need to get rid of him" -- that would be Herrick -- "and either he drinks from one of us or we find -- something." A prostitute. A clinic. Some other option. Were there other options?
George	George shut the door in Herrick's face, despite the man's cries to invite him in. As if. He put a few bolts on the door to make sure, then ran for Mitchell like hell was on his heels. "I can't," he ground out. "Werewolf." He fell to his knees at Mitchell's sides, pressing his hands uselessly to his chest. "What do I do, Mitchell? Do I take the stake out?" he said; he sounded terrified, a deep kind of fear that-- no. No no no.
Annie	"Oh god," Annie choked. She was frozen by her door, her hands at her face. "George, George, he's dying."
Jack	Calculations ran through Jack's head: How much Sebastien had taken Wednesday, how much Mitchell was likely to need, how much he could give without ruining his own health, how likely it was that Mitchell would have any kind of precise control. He came up at offering a vein being a deeply dangerous idea. "And I can't," he admitted quietly. Resigned, he stood and ran a hand through his hair. "Christ. Can we call anyone? Could he hang on for a bit?"
George	"An ambulance," George choked out. He was finally saying fuck it and reaching for the stake. "Call an ambulance. Now. Annie-- Annie," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "Annie, you need to go now, you'll never get the chance, maybe!"
Jack	Jack had almost forgotten the other door was still there. "He's right," he said with a shuddering glance to it. "Go." And then he was off in the other room, fumbling with his phone to ring 999 and try to describe the precise nature of Mitchell's injury. He assumed the words "vampire" and "stake" were not wise ideas.
Annie	"But he's dying!" Annie cried. She didn't know-- she didn't-- Mitchell was dying, she couldn't just leave him--
George	"Annie!" George pulled the stake out with every inch of power in his body, practically sobbing in relief as Mitchell's eyes stopped flickering black and went clear again. Oh christ. "Annie, we've got this, just go!"
Annie	Annie's decision was so easy, though. At the end of it all, for all the strain on her, there was really only one option. She rode in the ambulance when it arrived, clinging to George's hand; she dashed after the ambulance crew as they rushed Mitchell into the hospital, pumping liters of blood into him that didn't wind up helping much at all. She didn't think about the door at all.

[[ and done. for today. NFI, NFB, OOC-okay, taken from Being Human 1x05. Warning: references to previous spousal abuse and violence. Preplayed with the amazering