All Over Bristol, Tuesday

[chosehumanity]

To say that Mitchell was still a bit off after Kate had told him about his apparently impending demise was-- well, that was understating the matter severely. He was trying very hard to avoid broadcasting anything to anyone, but his mind had been racing, and he was planning to head back to Fandom to talk to Eric first thing Wednesday morning.

But tonight--

"I'm having dinner with Lucy tonight," he told George. "I think I might finally be getting somewhere. Good things come to those who wait."

George cast the butter down on the dinner table, and shot him an incredulous look. "Whereas Sam and I are 'rushing things', is that what you were saying?"

"...Actually, no, I wasn't," Mitchell said, turning 'round and leaning against the counter. Sam was George's rebound, but the problem was that George... didn't realise that yet. "But if you want to have that conversation, yeah, I think you need to slow down."

"Why? So I can miss out again?" George protested. "No, this may be my only opportunity for a normal, happy family life."

"George," he replied, feeling the urge to facepalm coming on. "There'll be other girls. Other Ninas, maybe." Nina had been good for him, at least right up until-- well. Everything.

"No, no, Nina wasn't the right kind of person for me--" George started.

"What," Mitchell said, and it was his turn to be incredulous this time, "You mean somebody you loved?"

"Who says I don't love Sam?" George said, defiantly. He stuck his chin up.

Yeaaaah. "So do you?"

George did his best fish impression for several seconds before settling on, "...I care a great deal for her!"

"...You care a great deal for her," Mitchell repeated, pushing away from the counter. "Wow, they should really put that on a Valentine's card. George," he continued, pulling open the fridge and grabbing the orange juice, "You might want a normal family life, but you're never going to be a normal family man. You need someone who gets you. The real you."

"Ooh, and Lucy gets you, does she?" George asked. "She accepts you for what you are?"

"Not yet, but maybe some day, I'll tell her the truth," Mitchell said, pouring a cup of orange juice. Really, that had been the problem with Lauren and all, right? He hadn't told them? So he'd do that now.

"Then you're an idiot," George said. "Relationships have secrets. No one can know every single inch of someone else's soul. But that doesn't mean they're doomed to fail."

"No, you're wrong," Mitchell shot back. "I had someone like that. Someone who knew every single thing about me."

"Yes," George pointed out, "but that was forty years ago."

Really, when had George become this jaded? Mitchell took a quick chug of his orange juice and tried not to scowl in his general direction.

---

It was nearly nightfall when Mitchell made it back to the funeral home for a last check-up before his date. In retrospect, he should have known something would fuck with his head before the day was well and done, but he clung to a certain naivete that made him hope not every day would end in total fucking disaster.

"Hope you don't mind I let myself in," the Chief Constable said, cheerfully. He'd poured himself a glass of water, too. "The other day I gave you the opportunity to do something good and just, but you refused. That hurt. But luckily I'm a benevolent and forgiving kind of guy, so I decided to give you a second chance."

Oh jesus fucking Christ. Not this again.

"Another go at your kiddie fiddler, is it?"

"Released on bail two hours ago. He should be home by now. Watching Tracy Beaker with a box of tissues." The Chief Constable put his glass of water down on the table and ferreted a piece of paper out of his pocket. "I thought you could pay him a visit," he said, and pushed the note across the table.

Mitchell walked towards the table, wondering vaguely if this was maybe the start of-- whatever Kate remembered. "Being your private lynch mob was never part of the deal," he said, and swiped the note off the table.

The Chief Constable smiled. "You know, I don't think you understand the nature of our relationship," he said. "When I say jump, you ask how high, because if you don't, you see, we'll step back. We'll let you kill, and we investigate. We round you all up, and burn every last one of you, and the whole world will know what you are, and that we stopped ya."

Tin-pot fucking dictators. Mitchell watched him as he paced around the table.

He had to do something.

---

'Something' amounted to turning up at the pedophile's house in the dead of the evening. He was a pitiful-looking man, slumped over his keyboard. Mitchell felt sorry for him, almost: such a sad sack.

The man looked up, and while he looked afraid, he did not look surprised.

"You someone's dad, then," he said.

Mitchell watched. He said nothing. Killing again-- falling off the wagon again. On orders. Could he?

"Afterwards," the man said, "Call me an ambulance? Put the door on the latch?" He trembled, a bit. "Every time I think I've beaten it-- it's just been sleeping, is all." His knees seemed to have weakened, and the fear suddenly shook through his body-- or maybe something else. "It doesn't die, it doesn't stop, it's in my bones. I am gonna get help, I've made up my mind."

His hand came up placatingly, though whether he was trying to stave off Mitchell or something else, Mitchell really couldn't tell. The words rang uncomfortably familiar with him: I'm going to stop killing, I swear, this is the time, okay, after this one, I swear, it was just a hiccup--

"This is been like a sign," the man continued, "After all this time, I'm gonna get--"

"Shut up," Mitchell snarled. He stepped forward, feeling like a predator looking inwards for the first time. His tone slowed to a drawl as he thought aloud. "Time was, I would've killed someone like you in a heartbeat," he said, "But not anymore. I have to lead by example now."

"That's good," the man choked out, "Isn't it?"

"Tomorrow you're going to the police station and tell them everything. I don't care, make something up, because you need to go to prison," he said.

"I've been to prison--" the man started. "I can't--"

"You need to go to prison," Mitchell snapped. He was in the man's face now, close and dangerous, predator instincts rising. "You'll be safer in there with five-hundred murderers than with even one of me, do you understand?"

There was fear in the man's face. Fear, and understanding, and submission. The raging animal within Mitchell's chest wanted to strike out at it and rip his throat out, but Mitchell was stronger this time. He had to lead by example.

And so he pulled away and turned around, vanishing back into the night.

---

When he got back to the funeral home, Vicki was on her knees servicing the Chief Constable in the corner. Oh, for fuck's sake. Mitchell snarled at her to get up and leave. And again, harder, when the Chief Constable tried to raise a fucking protest. This was not a fucking game and he was fucking sick of it.

"The deal is off," he snapped, as the Chief Constable scrambled to get his trousers up.

"I decide when the deal is off! Not you!" The Chief Constable composed himself, doing up his belt and sending a decidedly pissy scowl off in Mitchell's direction. "So is he dead, Wakefield?"

That was fine. Mitchell could glare him one better. "I told you," he said, "I'm not a killer. None of us are killers now."

"Sure you are," the Chief Constable said, lightly, like Mitchell was just a dumb child. "You're just going through a rough patch, that's all. You'll come good again. I'll see to that." ...Actually, he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. "Look at you! You're like a dog that's been switched to a diet of dried food! You're losing all your shine. You see? There's a natural order to all things."

He stalked calmly across the room until he was practically in Mitchell's face, the arrogant little bastard. "And you're upsetting it. We've barely started-- I've got dozens in the engine, you've got dozens of soldiers, and eventually one of them will fall, and then another, and then another, and then we'll be back to our beautiful, bloody chaos. This abstinence, this-- sudden morality, it's not who you are."

Chaos. Herrick had said that, too. They were chaos, human potential unleashed, all of that bullshit. And this-- this human wanted to go back to it. To blood and death and destruction and everything that was the opposite of what Mitchell had been trying to build.

"All right," Mitchell said. It was a promise.

"Good lad," the Chief Constable said, sounding pleased with himself. "Now, go back, and put that animal to sleep."

Oh. He would.

Mitchell turned around and went for the door.

"We'll have a drink after," the Chief Constable said, turning to check his reflection in a plaque on one of the coffins. "You see? Partnerships. They all go through ups and downs. We'll laugh about this."

Mitchell picked up a shovel and pushed the wood through the handles on the door at the back, shutting it. Locking it. Locking them in.

Then he turned around and tore the Chief Constable's throat out.

---

He showed up at Lucy's doorstep covered in blood and crying.

She took him in and cleaned him off and he told her everything, every single bit. And then she talked, and he talked more, and then she was yelling, and it was just--

"I thought you were changing, I thought you were abstaining, I thought you were safe, but look at you, you're covered in someone else's blood!"

"There are people there who don't believe we can change. They want to make us savage again. They want the chaos, and the horror and and I can't allow that to happen and I have to protect all of us and all of you--"

"This is all just lies, Mitchell. You can't just justify--"

"No, you're right, everything you said, I think it's under control, but it's just sleeping, this rage, this hunger, it's in my bones and I want to stop--" Wakefield's words. "I've gone clean before, it's possible, if the conditions are right and everything is in its place and I can do it I know I can--"

"What conditions?!"

"Someone to help me! Someone to change my life for! That's what I've been missing all this time, just someone-- just someone like you. I can do this, just one more chance, I can do this but I can't do it alone, please, please, I'm begging you, save me--"

She kissed him.

[[ nfb, nfi and taken from Being Human 2x05. Warning: mentions of pedophilia, NPC character death. ]]

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[onlymistaken]

[DAMMIT LUCY!]