One of God's children

Mitchell had woken up with a crick in his neck, somewhere out on the deck of the dorms. He hadn't gone through anything like that since... oh, at least the eighties.

Horrible time.

He'd taken a deep, suddenly-instictive-again breath of air - two, in fact, and then three, until he realised that it gave him neither relief nor pain to do so. And that's when it all came flooding back.

In the early morn he'd dragged himself across the streets, through Fandom (stopping briefly to pick up some coffee at JGoB's) and to his house. He fumbled with the keys on the door; repression didn't fall well with what felt like a hangover and creaking joints. He flung open the door and made it inside, dragged a beer out of the fridge and fell down onto the couch.

He needed several hours of mindless television and moping wallowing to deal with this. Or preferably, not deal with it at all.

[[ open if you have reason to bug him at home, sure ]]

"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 ]]