One of God's children

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?' )

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

And to think Mitchell had planned on coming back to Fandom from an incredibly strained holiday week to find some peace. And to think. There had been very little peace in him since that morning, when Kate had called him sounding like a bloody wreck. He'd hurried down here as fast as he could, and...

... nothing, apparently.

"Are you sure no one's come in yet?" he asked of the staff for about the fifth time. By now, they were eyerolling, and had foregone any more attempts at calming him down.

He was not in the best of moods.

[[ for a kate. ]]

For about the hundredth time that week, Mitchell woke up in a bed. This time, though, it was the familiar, comfortable embrace of his own bed he was feeling, heavy blankets bunched up over his chest, and posters of old movie stars greeting him with their dazzling fake smiles. He blinked up at the ceiling, then relaxed.

There was still strength in his limbs. Which meant that Josie-- He aborted that thought. There were other things to focus on, other things swimming back into sharpness. Something-- someone-- someone was talking.

"...Annie, hand me the bandages."

George's face appeared briefly above his head. Mitchell blinked again, but he seemed to be firmly on this earth this time.

[[ for anyone still left in Bristol to say goodbye, and/or for myself. ]]

On Sunday morning, November 7th, George turns to Annie and says, "Have you seen Mitchell? I've barely seen him, have you?"

And Annie looks up, and frowns, and says, "Not since that night, when... well, since the accident."

They stare at each other, worried.

---

( And when I feel like giving up/Like my world is falling down/I show up at 3am/She's still up watching Vacation, and I/See her pretty face/It takes me away to a better place. )

What the fuck does Kate know, anyway.

[[ nfb, nfi, but ooc-okay! taken from Being Human 1x05, and a lot of playing catch-up. ]]

Everything that could possibly go wrong, Mitchell reflected, tended to happen whenever he went to get groceries. That was the only possible explanation for this.

"Mitchell!"

( In which Mitchell is not a nice man. )

[[ NFB, NFI, OOC-okay. Taken from Being Human 1x03, and contains mentions of non-con or at least very dubious consent, depending on your judgement of Lauren's motives. And I am off! ]]

It was probably a very bad idea, coming here. Mitchell had only spent the better part of the past year running to get away from this lot, get out of this world and rejoin the other one. But he'd heard whispers on the streets, and some part of him - be it the cautious part, or the other one, the one that curved in his stomach and reeled like an angry dog sometimes - pulled to it.

And now he was here. Dark, dank, totally cliche. A cave, just transformed: a pub now, with a back room.

And Herrick.

( You're late. )

[[ so when i said i was done with the pilot, i lied. truly done now! nfb, nfi, ooc-okay ]]