One of God&#39;s children

The silence was a little deafening, all in all, now that Mitchell was back and George was-- and everything.

"So," George said, at last, and glanced at Annie. "I'll-- meet you at the station. Later."

"Maybe," she said, obstinately, and leaned against the doorframe. "Or maybe I'll stay here and fight."

Mitchell exhaled. This wasn't easy, exactly.

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Kate stood a little further away, as if to not intrude much. Almost like this didn't concern her, though it did.

"Everyone here is completely insane," she muttered darkly, mostly to herself.

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"I think we have to include ourselves in that," Jack said, equally softly.

After all, he'd come back.

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"Hmph."

Well, Kate didn't quite agree, surprising no one. She thought she was being levelheaded, even if she knew there were bigger things going on here than she could really grasp. Stating she was the sane one was a good way of shielding herself from the big stuff.

But she wasn't going to start arguing about that. She just looked on.

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Mitchell's eyes had darted towards the two of them once or twice as they spoke, because he at least had been hearing it. He just wasn't in any mood to pass comment. Instead, he tousled his hair, and looked at the both of them more obviously this time, so they'd notice.

George took a second breath. "There will come a day where all of you will get why we're-- doing the things we're doing," he started.

"Oh, don't worry," Annie said, with a disgusted snort. "I get it."

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"I didn't say I saw another option," Jack offered. "Just that it's all mad, and sensible people would have stayed home with their tea and schoolbooks."

Luckily, Jack rarely worried overmuch about what, precisely, was sensible.

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Kate said nothing. She met Mitchell's gaze with a steady one of her own, but said nothing, and then let her attention slide towards George again.

It was safe to say she doubted his words.

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There were a lot of looks flitting about; George's to Jack lingered, before it moved back onto Mitchell.

"Can you remember when we met?" he said, with an unsteady laugh. "I was being attacked, but you saved me, and you told me I had to get away, and," George shut his eyes, and when he opened them, met Mitchell's. "... and then I said, 'And then what?'. I have this... thing hanging about me that I can't leave behind, so my life will always be, 'And then what?'"

Mitchell shifted in place. It wasn't just that. There had been the house. There had been the school, there was Kate, and Jack, and even Chloe-- "But there was this," Mitchell said, and he looked towards them again, those kids.

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Jack shrugged back at George, half apologetic. Then his eyes were on Kate, then Mitchell as he considered the moment.

"There's this," he said. "All of this. Good and bad."

More bad than good, lately, but he didn't believe that was forever. They just had to take care of Herrick, and then -- then things would be normal, or as close to it as they ever were.

The word flitting through his mind with unwanted sentiment was family.

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And that word wasn't far from Kate's mind, either, as much as she was ignoring it. Or at least trying to, since it just made all this that much worse.

She couldn't believe Jack sounded so calm when all she really wanted to do was scream and yell at every single one of them. And she couldn't even do that, because now she was suddenly feeling like she might cry soon, and that just made her look angrier.

She stayed quiet and glaring at the room at large.

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"He's right." Mitchell tried for a smile, and even managed it, much to his own surprise. "You thought there'd be nothing, but there was this. There was the house. You and me. Annie. Kate and Jack, and everyone else at the school."

George lost it, then, tears in his eyes. His voice reached squeaky heights. "It wasn't human, though, was it?"

"It was never going to be that." Mitchell's expression softened further. He extended his arms, just a little; a second later, George was hugging him, arms heavy, chin on his shoulder.

He hugged the vampire close, snuffling into the air just by his neck, and squeaked, "I didn't think so."

Edited Date: 2010-11-19 09:45 am (UTC)

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Jack sounded calm because the alternative was -- that. Sobbing like George. He liked his sense of control, thank you.

The moment seemed to be between vampire and werewolf, so he let it stay there. He briefly glanced over to Kate to ask with his eyebrow if she knew what to do.

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George hadn't managed to completely keep his expression straight during that conversation inside the house - that is, beyond the crying, which... yeah. Now that he was outside, though, he squared his shoulders.

He had a job to do. He had to talk to Herrick.

And so, he was pacing down the street with long, tensely confident strides.

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Jack slipped out a few moments after George. For one, it meant he could have a cigarette and not worry about the hugging and crying, or Kate's ongoing near silence.

For another, he was curious what exactly George thought he was doing. (He liked George, but he was a bit prone to what Jack saw as sudden, hysteric action.) He followed along quietly -- close enough that he could have played dumb if George sniffed him out at first, but dropping further and further back and fading into the sidewalk as best as he could as they went on.

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George wasn't trying to sniff anyone out. In fact, while his sense of smell had been significantly heightened due to the time of the month, his attention was so focused on what he was about to do that he didn't even think of smelling anything.

He just kept on walking, steeling himself a little more with every step until he found himself at the funeral parlor. He went in, stepping through the empty lobby and taking a corner until he found himself in a room with Herrick, and an old woman.

"I thought the undertaker thing was just a front," he said.

"Oh," said Herrick, turning towards him. "That's Nanna. She's one of us. She sits there... reads the brochures. Good for appearances."

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Between George's refusal to turn around and the empty lobby, Jack was starting to get the sense of unease that told him things were a bit too easy. He fingered the star of David he'd jammed into his pocket and took a couple more steps down a hall.

If he was grabbed, his plan was to fake interest in being turned until he got a chance to run like hell. If he was grabbed and recognized and George couldn't help ... at worst, it would make for an interesting death.

He wasn't surprised to hear Herrick's voice. He was, however, surprised to realize George had sought the vampire out. The hallway was not precisely awash in nooks, but he managed to lean almost casually against a wall, out of the line of sight but not out of earshot.

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If Herrick realised there was a human hiding in the building at all, he certainly didn't make a point of it. He simply leaned over the desk and smiled at the older woman. "You all right, Nanna?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, nodding happily.

"Had an affair with Hitler, didn't you?"

"Yes!" She seemed fairly pleased about the whole thing, actually.

Herrick leaned on back, and threw George - appalled expression and all - a lazy smile. "I know she's not the perfect example of a fit vampire, but you know what it's like. You're out and about, you get the munchies, you'll eat anything."

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George swallowed visibly, but he wasn't about to let this shake his resolve. "I have a message from Mitchell, about when and where you're going to meet," he said, steadily. "In the hospital cellar, at eight."

No, that wasn't actually what Mitchell had said. But if they were all going to do as Mitchell had said, Mitchell would be dead.

He swallowed again, then plowed on. "I don't know... how things have got this far, but this is our last chance. Please..." George's voice shook a little. "He's one man, why is he so important?"

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"Mitchell is a profoundly dangerous man," said Herrick. He pushed at some papers on the desk, in front of Nanna. "More so than he realises."

He glanced up. "You know, he had the blackest heart of us all, yet he found something else and he repented. Now, it is all about symbolism." Herrick licked at his lips. "I need to eradicate a thousand years of fear and shame in our community. But Mitchell's scepticism suggests a kind of alternative, and before we know it, he becomes a rallying point for every vampire who isn't fully committed."

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"We can run away," George said, quickly. "Run away to Fandom, and stay there, and never come back. You don't actually have to kill him; you can just say you did."

He didn't care much for grand utopias or principles or standing up for his rights anymore; ever since he'd become a werewolf, his priorities had gotten smaller, somehow.

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"I'll know!" Herrick snapped, looking up sharply.

He rubbed at his forehead briefly, then continued. "I'll know I let mercy and nostalgia deter me. Symbolism is important to me. If I can't defeat him, then I don't deserve this world and none of us do."

When that didn't invite a response from George, he continued. "It was very brave, you coming here, but I'm afraid everything is set on stone from here on in. The cellar, you said...?"

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"Yeah," George muttered, "Let me just write that down..."

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Jack almost said something then; the urge to march in grab George by the elbow and ask him what exactly he thought he was doing was surprisingly strong.

He made himself slow his shallow breathing and think this through. He saw what George was trying (unless Mitchell had changed the plan and told George and not him, which was a distressing possibility). If he understood it right -- if George was trying to get Herrick on his own -- it seemed surprisingly noble, for George. Jack had underestimated him.

Deciding he'd stretched his luck as far as he cared to just then, he walked briskly out of the mortuary and stood at the exit waiting for George.

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And Kate... had no idea what to do. She just kept frowning even as she glanced over at Jack, also feeling as if she'd be intruding if she looked at Mitchell and George.

And that she'd end up crying too. No, thank you.

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