Birth of a Friendship [Yuletide Treat: Being Human - George/Mitchell]
Title: Birth of a Friendship
Summary: A chance meeting on the street.
Rating: G
Pairing: pre-George/Mitchell
Spoiler Warnings: None. Pre-series.
Disclaimer: Being Human = not mine.
Notes: For yuletide. Written as a Yuletide Treat for sparky77. Thought I'd try my hand at one of those 'How They Met' stories. I quite like this version. I also liked this version of George, I felt I got closer to his voice this time. Again, this has proven rather successful.
"You smell interesting," was the first thing Mitchell ever said the George. If George hadn't already dealt with his fair share of creepy it would have been the creepiest thing anyone had said to him.
"Didn't your mother tell you it's rude to, uh, smell," had been George's rather unwitty comeback. And so a friendship was born.
(Okay. Maybe there was a lot more to it than that.)
George had been fresh from full moon. He could hear the beat of every heart around him, smell everything, see everything. It was the best kind of rush and the most terrifying. And in that mess of smell and sound and image was Mitchell.
Mitchell: with no heartbeat and the wrong kind of smell and who stood out without meaning to. Mitchell who George could place instantly by the very absence of sound that he was. A gap in a crowd. A hole in the universe where something should be.
One moment George had been struggling through a crowd of morning shoppers, holding his breath as long as he could to avoid smelling them (the girl fresh from the night before, stinking of sex, the man with blood on his hands, the baby that had soiled itself), and the next they had parted like the Red Sea and there was Mitchell. Not that George knew it was Mitchell at the time.
Mitchell had looked at him with this expression, half-way between interest and disgust, and George had wanted to rip his head off. Mitchell had smelled of death and blood and lust (and sunscreen) and it had filled George's nose until his head was swimming with it.
They had met somewhere in the middle, Mitchell staring down at George, and George hadn't known why he didn't flee. Mitchell was wrong, every instinct in his body was telling him that, and George was just standing there.
Mitchell had leant down towards him, pushed his sunglasses up, and George could see every slight imperfection in his face. Mitchell sniffed lightly and his eyes flashed black for the barest hint of a second and George's breath caught in his throat.
(Which is where you came in.)
"You smell interesting," Mitchell said, tongue flicking across his lips.
"Didn't your mother tell you it's rude to, uh, smell?" George replied, misplaced anger snapping across the words until the end. Mitchell smiled.
"I recognise that smell," Mitchell said, letting his sunglasses fall down again. "Which means you need coffee and breakfast."
"Uh," George was surprised when Mitchell took hold of his arm and pulled him towards a café.
"I'm a little surprised that you look so -" Mitchell waved a hand through the air as he dragged George through the door. "Clean, I guess."
"I'm not sure who you think I am," George said, finally digging his heels in and putting up a fight. "But I'll have you know that I am always clean."
"That's a lie," Mitchell said without menace or anger. "You know it as well as I do, werewolf."
George knew his mouth was gaping open but he couldn't seem to close it.
"What?" George's voice was dangerously high-pitched. "I don't, I mean, please, I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes you do," Mitchell chuckled. "I can smell the great outdoors all over you. And wet dog. It's a little unpleasant, really."
"Well, excuse me," George said, lowering his voice as Mitchell approached the counter. "You try spending the whole night in the woods during autumn and not getting wet."
Mitchell laughed and flicked his sunglasses up before turning to order. George folded his arms across his chest, not entirely certain why he was going along with this, just knowing that there was something familiar about Mitchell. An otherness that he recognised.
"Mitchell," Mitchell said as they sat down. He held out a hand expectantly and George shook it with as much reluctance as he could manage.
"George," he muttered, dropping into the seat. Seated he could feel the weariness of the full moon night seeping into his bones. Mitchell's legs were long and rested either side of his, brushing against his legs whenever Mitchell shifted.
"Have you figured it out yet?" Mitchell asked, gesturing to himself. His smile was faintly unnerving. George hadn't, though he had a few ideas, none of them any fun, and he waited for Mitchell to elaborate.
"Let me guess what you've noticed," Mitchell said as a waitress set two huge cups of coffee on their table. "You've noticed that I don't have a heartbeat, that I smell all wrong and that people don't notice me but still move out of my way."
"Something like that, yeah," George admitted, sipping cautiously from his coffee. The flavours exploded across his tongue and, yeah, this was maybe the one thing he liked about the full moon.
"Put it all together and what do you get?" Mitchell asked, raising an eyebrow. He wasn't drinking his coffee, which was weird, or, at least, weird for a human.
"Oh no," George said, meeting Mitchell's eyes. "No, no, no, no. Werewolves was bad enough."
"I think you have it," Mitchell said brightly, pushing George's cup aside for the fully laden plate the waitress had brought.
"Vampire," George said, shaking his head. "How is it that just when I think my life can't get any more ridiculous it suddenly does?"
Mitchell laughed. The scent of the breakfast in front of George stole his thought process away and for a good fifteen minutes all he could do was eat, Mitchell watching like some kind of proud father.
"You've moved around a lot," Mitchell said when George paused to breathe. George nodded slowly.
"It's hard to find a place," Mitchell added and George had a feeling that Mitchell knew that even better than he did. "Do you even have a job?"
"Hard to keep one when you have to ask for three days off every month," George said with a shrug. He wondered if his words sounded as bitter to Mitchell as they did to him.
"I think I can help you," Mitchell said, leaning forward. His eyes were very serious, George thought, serious and dark.
"Why would you do that?" George asked, sceptical.
"Because you're an outcast," Mitchell said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And outcasts should stick together."
There was a whole world of information behind that statement that George wasn't getting and he found his interest piqued. It had nothing to do with Mitchell's enigmatic smile or his weird scent or the way his legs were pressed against George's. Honestly.
"You really think you can help?" George asked, less sceptical.
"I won't know if I don't try," Mitchell said and there again was something in his eyes that George didn't understand. "Have we got a deal?"
George held Mitchell's eyes for as long as he could, apparently it was stupid to get into a staring contest with a vampire, before ducking his head to look at his plate. He speared the last bit of sausage and chewed it slowly before looking up again.
"Yeah," George said with a shrug that he didn't feel. "What have I got to lose?"
Mitchell smiled then, a bright, sunny smile and George's heart skipped a beat and he thought: what have I got myself into? And does it really matter anyway?
And that was how a friendship was born.
Summary: A chance meeting on the street.
Rating: G
Pairing: pre-George/Mitchell
Spoiler Warnings: None. Pre-series.
Disclaimer: Being Human = not mine.
Notes: For yuletide. Written as a Yuletide Treat for sparky77. Thought I'd try my hand at one of those 'How They Met' stories. I quite like this version. I also liked this version of George, I felt I got closer to his voice this time. Again, this has proven rather successful.
"You smell interesting," was the first thing Mitchell ever said the George. If George hadn't already dealt with his fair share of creepy it would have been the creepiest thing anyone had said to him.
"Didn't your mother tell you it's rude to, uh, smell," had been George's rather unwitty comeback. And so a friendship was born.
(Okay. Maybe there was a lot more to it than that.)
George had been fresh from full moon. He could hear the beat of every heart around him, smell everything, see everything. It was the best kind of rush and the most terrifying. And in that mess of smell and sound and image was Mitchell.
Mitchell: with no heartbeat and the wrong kind of smell and who stood out without meaning to. Mitchell who George could place instantly by the very absence of sound that he was. A gap in a crowd. A hole in the universe where something should be.
One moment George had been struggling through a crowd of morning shoppers, holding his breath as long as he could to avoid smelling them (the girl fresh from the night before, stinking of sex, the man with blood on his hands, the baby that had soiled itself), and the next they had parted like the Red Sea and there was Mitchell. Not that George knew it was Mitchell at the time.
Mitchell had looked at him with this expression, half-way between interest and disgust, and George had wanted to rip his head off. Mitchell had smelled of death and blood and lust (and sunscreen) and it had filled George's nose until his head was swimming with it.
They had met somewhere in the middle, Mitchell staring down at George, and George hadn't known why he didn't flee. Mitchell was wrong, every instinct in his body was telling him that, and George was just standing there.
Mitchell had leant down towards him, pushed his sunglasses up, and George could see every slight imperfection in his face. Mitchell sniffed lightly and his eyes flashed black for the barest hint of a second and George's breath caught in his throat.
(Which is where you came in.)
"You smell interesting," Mitchell said, tongue flicking across his lips.
"Didn't your mother tell you it's rude to, uh, smell?" George replied, misplaced anger snapping across the words until the end. Mitchell smiled.
"I recognise that smell," Mitchell said, letting his sunglasses fall down again. "Which means you need coffee and breakfast."
"Uh," George was surprised when Mitchell took hold of his arm and pulled him towards a café.
"I'm a little surprised that you look so -" Mitchell waved a hand through the air as he dragged George through the door. "Clean, I guess."
"I'm not sure who you think I am," George said, finally digging his heels in and putting up a fight. "But I'll have you know that I am always clean."
"That's a lie," Mitchell said without menace or anger. "You know it as well as I do, werewolf."
George knew his mouth was gaping open but he couldn't seem to close it.
"What?" George's voice was dangerously high-pitched. "I don't, I mean, please, I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes you do," Mitchell chuckled. "I can smell the great outdoors all over you. And wet dog. It's a little unpleasant, really."
"Well, excuse me," George said, lowering his voice as Mitchell approached the counter. "You try spending the whole night in the woods during autumn and not getting wet."
Mitchell laughed and flicked his sunglasses up before turning to order. George folded his arms across his chest, not entirely certain why he was going along with this, just knowing that there was something familiar about Mitchell. An otherness that he recognised.
"Mitchell," Mitchell said as they sat down. He held out a hand expectantly and George shook it with as much reluctance as he could manage.
"George," he muttered, dropping into the seat. Seated he could feel the weariness of the full moon night seeping into his bones. Mitchell's legs were long and rested either side of his, brushing against his legs whenever Mitchell shifted.
"Have you figured it out yet?" Mitchell asked, gesturing to himself. His smile was faintly unnerving. George hadn't, though he had a few ideas, none of them any fun, and he waited for Mitchell to elaborate.
"Let me guess what you've noticed," Mitchell said as a waitress set two huge cups of coffee on their table. "You've noticed that I don't have a heartbeat, that I smell all wrong and that people don't notice me but still move out of my way."
"Something like that, yeah," George admitted, sipping cautiously from his coffee. The flavours exploded across his tongue and, yeah, this was maybe the one thing he liked about the full moon.
"Put it all together and what do you get?" Mitchell asked, raising an eyebrow. He wasn't drinking his coffee, which was weird, or, at least, weird for a human.
"Oh no," George said, meeting Mitchell's eyes. "No, no, no, no. Werewolves was bad enough."
"I think you have it," Mitchell said brightly, pushing George's cup aside for the fully laden plate the waitress had brought.
"Vampire," George said, shaking his head. "How is it that just when I think my life can't get any more ridiculous it suddenly does?"
Mitchell laughed. The scent of the breakfast in front of George stole his thought process away and for a good fifteen minutes all he could do was eat, Mitchell watching like some kind of proud father.
"You've moved around a lot," Mitchell said when George paused to breathe. George nodded slowly.
"It's hard to find a place," Mitchell added and George had a feeling that Mitchell knew that even better than he did. "Do you even have a job?"
"Hard to keep one when you have to ask for three days off every month," George said with a shrug. He wondered if his words sounded as bitter to Mitchell as they did to him.
"I think I can help you," Mitchell said, leaning forward. His eyes were very serious, George thought, serious and dark.
"Why would you do that?" George asked, sceptical.
"Because you're an outcast," Mitchell said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And outcasts should stick together."
There was a whole world of information behind that statement that George wasn't getting and he found his interest piqued. It had nothing to do with Mitchell's enigmatic smile or his weird scent or the way his legs were pressed against George's. Honestly.
"You really think you can help?" George asked, less sceptical.
"I won't know if I don't try," Mitchell said and there again was something in his eyes that George didn't understand. "Have we got a deal?"
George held Mitchell's eyes for as long as he could, apparently it was stupid to get into a staring contest with a vampire, before ducking his head to look at his plate. He speared the last bit of sausage and chewed it slowly before looking up again.
"Yeah," George said with a shrug that he didn't feel. "What have I got to lose?"
Mitchell smiled then, a bright, sunny smile and George's heart skipped a beat and he thought: what have I got myself into? And does it really matter anyway?
And that was how a friendship was born.