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On Wednesday, on his way to work, Mitchell had gotten a phone call. Annie, George said, had been assaulted, and she needed him around. If Mitchell were entirely honest, he'd been a little preoccupied recently - and feeling guilty over his first impulse ('I don't have time') had led him to grab a portal back to Bristol. Just until Friday. So he could keep an eye on her.

ExpandThen today happened. )

[[ nfb, and taken from both Being Human 2x02 and 2x03. open for phone calls ]]
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Mitchell had had better bar nights with George along, that was for sure. The guy had been off all night, almost angry, and the silences between their conversations stretched long and awkwardly.

Mitchell hadn't been able to get back to the island for about a week now, and it was starting to eat at him, though not as much as Nina's silences did. There was something up there, and he had an uncomfortable feeling that he knew exactly what the problem was. God, he hoped not.

And George was becoming Expandfucking impossible to live with. )

[[ nfb, nfi, ooc-okay; taken from Being Human S2E01. Time to get back to canon, Mitchell, you poor bastard. ]]
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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.

---

ExpandAnd 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. ]]
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Mitchell's Portalocity connection hadn't been until roughly the middle of the night. They had muttered something about making sure his connection was 'concurrent', whatever that meant, but it did mean that he had had to spend a lot of time waiting by the side of the causeway for his pickup to the terminal very, very early in the morning.

It didn't help that, the longer he waited, the more his baggage seemed to copy itself, somehow. When curiosity got a firm hold of him and he leaned over to inspect them, he almost immediately recoiled.

Lost friends in World War I, said an old, dusty one. Turned into a vampire, said another. And then there were the tiny, grey ones, the ones that came equipped only with dates and that made Mitchell want to run off into another direction while he remained rooted to the spot.

The last one, he picked up. Josie, it read, simply.

He stared at it for a long while.

---

ExpandUpon arrival in Bristol, Mitchell may have gone overboard to compensate for his newly rotten mood and invited the entire neighbourhood in. Again. )

[[ all taken from episode 1x02 of Being Human! NFB, NFI, OOC-okay. ]]
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"So, you've just arrived at Squidwarts, which house do they put you in?"

Apparently Mitchell thought this was a perfectly sane line of conversation after dragging George out of a filthy cellar covered in clawmarks after a full moon. And meeting his ex-girlfriend there. And finding out Annie was finally visible now, and able to get out of the house.

The thing was, he could get the details later.

Expand'I'd like to say the Gryffins, but they're supposed to be brave...' )

[[ nfb, nfi, ooc-okay, and the last full scene I'm taking from the Being Human pilot. Probably. *squishes the gang* ]]
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Mitchell woke up slowly, sluggishly even, in his bed. Sunlight filtered in through the curtains, subdued and pushed aside enough that it didn't sting his eyes. The blankets were heavy-- ...

Too heavy.

He turned his head. "Have you been sitting there long?"

Annie pasted a smile on her face, and fidgeted with the blankets. "Define long," she said. That nervous laugh tainted her voice. What was going on here?

"An hour," he said, groggily, and forced himself to sit up. Rubbed a hand over his eye, and looked at her questioningly.

"I've been here long," she admitted. "You know, it's five o' clock now. You've been asleep all day, you lazy twat." She pressed her hands between her legs and leaned over, grinning. "So, are you going to the island tonight?"

Mitchell blinked again. Much as he liked having her around the place, having a ghost pop up in your bedroom at all hours was still something you needed to get used to. "No, the Real Hustle's on. It's just repeats, but I haven't seen them yet," he replied, squinting. "...so, I'm going to get up now."

"Okay," Annie said, excitedly, and practically bounced in place. It seemed to take her a minute to catch on. "Oh! Right!" She veered up, smiling nervously, and padded back towards the door.

It was there that she spun around. "Last week, George asked me about death," she started, hesitantly. "He asked me what I saw, and I..." She sighed. "He's religious, right?"

"Yeah," Mitchell said, rolling over onto his side. "He's Jewish."

She shook her heaad, rubbed her fingers into her hair. "I told him it was a good place," she said, "I said it was like in films, I told him..." Her voice increasingly desperate, she dropped her hand back to her side. "You've seen it too, haven't you? Death." Her back hit the door. "You've seen the corridor, with men at the end with... with sticks and rope."

Ah. So that was the problem.

Mitchell closed his eyes, and sighed. "You did the right thing," he said, after a moment, and sought out her eyes. "He doesn't need to know that. None of them do." He found the strength in himself to flash her a quick smile.

None of them did.

Tentatively, she smiled back. For the first time, it was genuine again; it made her look, for lack of a better word, cute. "Okay," she said, and nodded once, a short, quick movement. "I'll just... leave you to it, then."

[[ NFB, NFI, OOC-oaky, and taken, tweaked, warped and timeline-deprived from the Being Human pilot. ]]
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"Aren't you supposed to be on a plane to this school of yours?"

Five seconds ago, Mitchell had been brooding in his room by himself, considering all the ways in which he couldn't possibly go back to Fandom or do anything like it ever again. Now, he was being spontaneously haunted by a cheerful ghost holding a cup of tea.

"It's... complicated," he muttered.

"Now I'll say that," Annie chirped, flopping down next to him. "Why's a bloke who teaches in America coming 'round to a flat in Bristol anyway? Are you working on your frequent flyer miles or something? The only place I've ever been to is Barcelona. Gorgeous, though. They have these little shops that carry all of this stuff, I thought I'd go mental!"

Mitchell chuckled despite himself. "Not complicated like that," he said, "Although that's a whole new realm of complicated. Something happened. That's all."

He didn't particularly want to talk about it.

"Like what?" she asked. "Did you insult the headmaster or something?"

"No," he said, shifting, "Nothing like that."

She offered him the tea. His phone rang.

---

George looked like a right mess all right, sitting on the curb of some random house in the middle of Henbury radiating forlorn. Mitchell shut the door of the taxi behind him, and wandered in his direction.

"Nice blouse," he opined.

George looked like he'd been dressed by a pirate. A gay pirate. Or possibly a little girl pirate; what did Mitchell know?

"Where did you leave your clothes?"

George shrugged, a little sliver of a motion, and said, "I don't know. I don't know where we are. I had to ask the operator where I was calling from."

With a sigh, Mitchell pulled his Star of David out of his pocket, holding the long chain over for George to take. "Thanks," George muttered, and glanced up to catch the expression on Mitchell's face. "You're still here," he observed. "Are you okay? You look weird."

"This from a man in culottes," Mitchell said, lightly. "You've got blood on your face."

"It's okay," George said, shrugging again. "It's only a deer's."

So he'd wound up out in the woods last night, and killed a deer. Mitchell supposed that was all right, then. No real emergency. "Come on, Lassie," he said, turning back towards the taxi. The driver was likely weirded out a bit. "Let's head back to the house, get you some clothes."

He paused, glanced over his shoulder. "Does it still hurt?"

George smiled ruefully. "Curses are supposed to hurt," he said, and hopped onto his feet.

"Yeah," Mitchell said, shook his head, and held the door open for him.

[[ nfb, nfi open to one, OOC-okay, and some dialogue taken from the Being Human pilot ]]
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Day three of house-hunting.

To Mitchell, they all seemed to blur together. During the day, he let George drag him off to whatever piece of estate he'd found this time; during the night, he retreated to his hotel room, staring at the cracks in the wall and drinking tiny bottles of vodka. Thinking. Beating himself up. Thinking some more.

Pointing out to himself all the ways he shouldn't be allowed out into the public.

ExpandIt was day three, though... )

[[ nfb, nfi, ooc-okay, and totally ripped off, tweaked some, and based on the Being Human pilot. Please don't mind me bouncing all the way around my canon ]]
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"...So it wasn't until six months ago that I stopped calling my ex every time I got drunk," Becka shared, grinning wildly. It was their first real date, and by the looks of it she was internally congratulating herself on managing one - even if that meant the rest of her brain had slipped out of her pocket and made her tell really horrible stories.

So Mitchell winced for her. "Ooooh," he said, squinting his eyes shut theatratically.

"...Oh, god," Becka exclaimed, clasping her hands over her mouth. "I... probably shouldn't have said that."

Mitchell chuckled, shaking his head. So far, the night had been excellent for finally getting his mind off things - and finally getting him back on track. "Oh, no, no," he said, "It's sweet. It's... tenacious." He held up his hands placatingly. The grin wasn't departing his face any time soon.

Becka just snorted. "Sweet?" she said, "Me with vomit in my hair, going Daviiid," she said, making sure to pitch that last part right. She looked absolutely adorable-- edible, even. A shake tore its way through Mitchell's hand as that thought wired itself straight into his senses - thunk, thunk - and he snagged his beer to mask it.

"Oh, I meant to ask you," she continued, "How's the quitting smoking going?" So she had caught it after all.

Oh well.

Thunkthunk.

"Not great," he said, casually, setting his beer glass back down. His shoulder managed all of a quarter of a shrug, and his smile dimmed. "But I'm thinking--" Thunk thunk, thunkthunk, "--once a smoker, always a smoker." His shoulder came back down. "Where's the point in fighting it?"

thunkthunk thunkthunk thunkthunk thunkthunk thunkthunk.



She took a sip of her own drink. "So," she hazarded, switching up her smile a few notches, "Would you like to come back to my place? My roommate's out to see her parents, so..." She fidgeted with her fingers.

thunkthunk thunkthunk thunkthunk thunkthunk thunkthunk thunkthunk thunkth--.



"...Um, is that a friend of yours?"

ExpandEnter an unexpected guest. )

[[ NFB, NFI, ooc-okay! Taken and slightly tweaked from Being Human episode 1x01. mmm, vampires. concurrent with/shortly after this ]]
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Unaware of anything being amiss elsewhere, Mitchell was looking towards another day of paperwork and maybe the odd student to keep himself from getting bored. Or the telly.

Poking around the local channels, skipping past all the horrible American TV shows. "What has the world come to," Mitchell mused, sinking back into his chair with the remote.

ExpandPreparations )

Mitchell rubbed his forehead as Jack left. A few minutes later, he was placing a call to Max - if he wanted to get out and go out tonight - and sank back in his seat.

Fuck.

[[ details of the conversation nfb, please. with great thanks to the awesome [livejournal.com profile] bitten_notshy for coding and appearing in this plot. some dialogue taken from Being Human 1x01. open after this! ]]
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It'd been some kind of long-term long-distance whim in going to Lauren's funeral this week. There was a reason why George had shown up, of course. You honoured the people you lost, and she'd been...

Okay, she'd just been. But now he was home. Very, very late at night, possibly the next morning, but he was home.

That there, though, was a tangle of thoughts that had led George to ponder and muse and drive himself insane ever since he'd left Lauren's memorial for the airport. He sighed, and strode the way down the hallway of the communal area (serious to god, Mitchell was a hundred years old, you'd think he'd be able to afford a washroom that wasn't parked outside the actual apartments) to wash his face in the sink. Nevermind it all; he was likely just being a bit of an idiot.

ExpandAnd then someone tapped him on the shoulder. )

[[ nfi, nfb, ooc-okay, and taken from Being Human 1x01. Trouble this way comes! posted early because I don't know the state of my connection tonight ]]
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"I don't know why you keep paying rent on your flat, considering how you keep co-opting my sofa," George bitched. Mitchell supposed he was flailing on about another two or three points, but he wasn't in the mood to comment on it. He preferred being here right now. Far from Fandom. Far from anyone he'd eat. "And for another thing oh my god."

This was hardly an unusual conversational occurance with George. "What is it now," Mitchell asked, counting cracks on the ceiling.

"Lauren died," George said, frowning. "You remember her, she was-- she used to work at your hospital, right?"

"If you say so."

He looked up from the notice, frowning at Mitchell across the room. Mitchell could feel it pricking into the back of his neck. "I thought the two of you were friends," he ventured. "You know, there's going to be a memorial service. Back home. In a little while."

"I don't have the time," Mitchell replied, shifting into the upright position. Mostly so he could see the TV.

"I have a lot of time what with the... online courses and all," George started.

"I don't have the time to go," Mitchell repeated, "But you should. Bid her a good farewell for me." A beat. "Besides, I only knew her a little. Towards the end."

"Right..."

Mitchell got one more nonplussed glance. Then George shrugged it off, tacked the notice on to the board, and went about making travel arrangements.

[[ nfb, nfi, ooc-okay, and the plot rolls slowly along ]]
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While everyone else was braving the blizzard back in Fandom, Mitchell was utterly ignorant of the situation. George had been complaining a great deal about missing home; in the end, Mitchell had caved and dragged him off to Bristol for the weekend.

ExpandA Vampire in Bristol. )

[[ nfb, nfi, OOC-okay, and taken (if mostly just in spirit) from the Being Human pilot. slightly nws, to finish up the acronyms ]]

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