Alone Among the Wreck, 4/5 (R)
Title: Alone Among the Wreck
Pairing(s): Mitchell/Annie
Rating: R / 15
Disclaimer: Not for profit, but for fun, these are not mine.
Warnings: Swearing, violence, and scenes of a sexual nature.
Summary: Mitchell loses control. Possibly the penultimate chapter.
Author's notes: AU Season 2 (canon to episode 2).
~~
Alone Among the Wreck
~~
Chapter Four
~~
There's a hole in my neighbourhood
down which of late I cannot help but fall
- Elbow, Grounds for Divorce.
~~
Saint Mary Redcliffe is golden in the early morning sunlight. He didn’t sleep at all last night and the wind coming chilled and sharp off the dock cuts at his skin.
George looks grey; his fingers thin as bones as he twists the police tape around them. The white tent flaps in the wind and divers splash about in the water.
He’s here because he doesn’t know what else to do. Lucy’s missing, Nina’s in a coma and George is terrifying to behold. Mitchell feels his skin crawl every time he looks into George’s eyes and sees nothing human left in them.
He tries to think about Annie, sitting like an angel in Nina’s room. But every time he tries, all he can see is her face before she vanished. He doesn’t know how to decode what he saw there; he doesn’t know what she was thinking.
On the walkway below Ivan is smiling, nodding at a policeman as they finish their conversation and then heading away from the tent back towards them. “A man called Lloyd.” He says as he reaches them. “Mauled to death. They’re thinking escaped big cat, but I can smell werewolf all over this one.”
“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” Mitchell spits at him. Ivan grins in response, little shark teeth shining.
“What next?” George demands. His voice is hollow and Mitchell can’t help but wince.
“I say we find out where he was killed,” Ivan suggests, “we can find out were he worked. See if that leads us to them.”
George flicks the tape with his fingers, once, twice. “Do it,” he says, “find out where they tortured her.”
~~
By twelve midday, he can’t take anymore. Mitchell leaves the darkness of B Edwards and heads home, a long walk in the cold, clean air. He needs to sleep, he needs to forget for a few hours or he’ll claw his own eyes out at the horror of it all; George, no longer George, but some animal, broken and furious, snapping at his new kingdom.
Daisy is drinking a cup of tea in his kitchen.
He can’t move for a few seconds with the shock of it. He leans against the front door, gawping at her. Finally he manages to ask, “How’d you get in?”
Daisy shrugs, fiddling with handle of the mug. “Annie invited me in.” She says.
Mitchell staggers over and sits down heavily at the kitchen table. His legs can’t seem to support him “Why?” he gasps.
Daisy smirks at him, “Desperation, I think.” He waits for her to expound, but she sits there, quietly.
He feels his hands begin to shake. Oh god, he thinks, what would leave Annie so desperate that she would invite a vampire into their home? “Where is she?” he demands and he can hear the desperation in his voice, feel fear cloying in his throat. “What's going on, have they got to Annie too? Where is she?”
Daisy frowns, looking at him intently, as if working through a puzzle. “You care about her don't you?” she asks, “as more than just a friend.” Yes, he thinks, yes. He knows he’s given himself away and that Daisy can see it, because she grins and everything in him tenses at the sight of her smile.
“I watched as they dragged the last soul I loved from the face of the earth.” She whispers, leaning close, watching Mitchell as if hungry for a reaction. “Now they're coming for her, maybe us too.”
Mitchell reels in horror; they are coming for Annie. “Who are they and what did they do to Nina? What do they want?” he whispers.
Daisy shakes her head, sitting up suddenly and frowning as if disappointed. “That wasn't them,” she sneers, “I don't know anything about Nina and her activities, that’s Ivan’s pet project.”
“What the hell?” Mitchell asks, “What the hell?” slightly louder this time, as he feels understanding slipping away from him. He wants to shake Daisy, rattle her until all her secrets spill out.
She shrugs, “Hell,” she states, supremely unconcerned, “Heaven, whatever.” She grins up at him again, “The doors want us, Mitchell” she explains, and her voice has taken on a musical, teasing quality. “Something greedy is coming for us with sticks and rope and feathers.”
There is a ringing in his ears, a thin high note that sounds like a distant scream. He has to stop this. He has to save her. “Where’s Annie?” he croaks, standing.
“She left,” Daisy explains, downing the last of her tea, “I told her to go, save herself.”
His mobile starts ringing. He jumps. Mitchell fumbles in his pocket for it as Daisy stands and shrugs on her jacket.
“We’re not done,” he hisses, “don’t go.”
She blows him a kiss on her way out the door. It slams behind her, and the sound echoes in Mitchell’s skull.
“Mitchell!” George snaps at him from the phone, “We’ve got them.”
~~
“Fuck!” George howls and grabs the bookcase, splintering the wood as he wrenches it over. Books and paper splatter all over the cream carpet, rustling over towards Mitchell’s feet like waves; the sound of tearing sheets drowning out the rest of George’s expletives.
The office is deserted, nobody home, and there is no blood, no holding cage, no secret passages, and no lab equipment. Wherever they hurt Nina, it was not here.
“It was supposed to be here!” George snarls, stalking across the paper and wood towards Ivan, “You told me this is where he worked -”
“It is.” Ivan states, calmly. He towers above George and Mitchell knows Ivan could tear out George’s throat if he wanted to.
“George-” Mitchell tries, hoping he can distract him, “George, this isn’t working. We need to rethink,” George isn’t looking at him, “Annie needs us right now-”
Ivan darts Mitchell a quick glance, one that seems filled with annoyance at the interruption. Mitchell presses on.
“George, please, we can’t help anyone like this.”
George makes eye contact with him, finally, turning away from Ivan. He looks slightly dazed, like a somnambulist just waking up. Thank God, Mitchell thinks, thank God. He can do this, he can save George, and he can save Annie.
George starts to walk towards him, nodding, picking his way through the strewn papers and splintered wood.
“T. Lloyd, Glenside Hospital, Blackberry Hill, Bristol,” Ivan calls; he is crouched over the office paperwork like a siren on the rocks, “delivery of Acepromazine.” He is waving a delivery note and George is turning back towards him. “Now I’ve been out of the clubbing scene for a while, but that sounds like animal tranquilizers to me.”
George grabs the note, studying it intently. Mitchell reels, dizzy with the ache in his chest. He is lost, Mitchell thinks, Fuck.
Ivan just grins at Mitchell from across the debris.
~~
His shoes squeak slightly on the floor. The corridors smell of bleach and are dark and quiet. Glenside hospital is closed for the night, the students all out drinking. The computers hum quietly in locked rooms.
Above them, at least three floors, Mitchell would guess, is a room soaked in blood. He can smell it.
It calls to him and to Ivan and George.
At least it is only them here, he thinks, stalking through the dark; any more and this would turn into a bloodbath. With only Ivan and George, at least he stands a chance of being able to stop them harming someone. He can fight off two. He can get in the way.
The old wards are haunted. Every now and then something dark will move in his peripheral vision, the faint shadows of ghosts, hiding in their old rooms, grinning at him through thin panes of glass in the doors. At the end of the main corridor, at the bottom of the spiral staircase, frowning up into the gloom is a woman. Her feet are bare. She does not look at them as they begin to climb.
The wooden handrail feels warm under his palm, the carvings tickle his fingertips. When he turns to glance at George and Ivan, climbing behind him, their eyes glow like wolves’; red and green, glinting in the dark.
“Mitchell?” someone calls, softly in the dark, from above. He glances up; Lucy is standing on the landing of the third floor, looking down at them.
Behind her, someone creeps out of the darkness; a tall man, thin, with wrinkled skin, silver hair and the stench of Nina’s blood on his hands. He is holding a gun.
“Look out!” he shouts, instinctively rushing towards Lucy.
The gun is fired and behind Mitchell Ivan lets out a grunt as something hits him with a soft whump. George’s footsteps echo staccato, as he launches himself up the stairs. Mitchell turns to look behind him at Ivan, who is clutching at a tranquiliser dart embedded in his chest. Turning back again to look up, Mitchell sees George, snarling, frozen, as one step above him the thin man presses the barrel of the gun to George’s chest.
Mitchell can hear Ivan’s palms squeak against the painted walls as he slides down to slump on the stairs, paralysed by what Mitchell would guess is Acepromazine.
“We didn’t think you’d come voluntarily.” The thin man is saying, in a voice as dry as bones, entirely focussed on George.
Mitchell sees Lucy pressed into the wall, wide eyed, staring at him. “It’s alright,” he states, in as steady a voice as possible, no sudden movements, hands held out placatingly. It’s addressed as much to Lucy as it is to the thin man. “We’re getting out of here; we’re going.”
The thin man glances at him, and then turns to frown at Lucy, never once easing his grip on the gun pointing at George. “What are you waiting for?” the thin man asks her. In the dark, Lucy looks at him. Mitchell cannot read her expression.
Eventually, she steps towards Mitchell, her hand pulling something from her pocket; she points it at him, and with a click Mitchell feels every muscle in his body ignite in white-hot pain. He shakes uncontrollably and his vision blurs. He can’t scream, he can’t move. He falls.
The last thing he sees is Lucy’s face, looming above him as the world turns black.
~~
TBC.
Pairing(s): Mitchell/Annie
Rating: R / 15
Disclaimer: Not for profit, but for fun, these are not mine.
Warnings: Swearing, violence, and scenes of a sexual nature.
Summary: Mitchell loses control. Possibly the penultimate chapter.
Author's notes: AU Season 2 (canon to episode 2).
~~
Alone Among the Wreck
~~
Chapter Four
~~
There's a hole in my neighbourhood
down which of late I cannot help but fall
- Elbow, Grounds for Divorce.
~~
Saint Mary Redcliffe is golden in the early morning sunlight. He didn’t sleep at all last night and the wind coming chilled and sharp off the dock cuts at his skin.
George looks grey; his fingers thin as bones as he twists the police tape around them. The white tent flaps in the wind and divers splash about in the water.
He’s here because he doesn’t know what else to do. Lucy’s missing, Nina’s in a coma and George is terrifying to behold. Mitchell feels his skin crawl every time he looks into George’s eyes and sees nothing human left in them.
He tries to think about Annie, sitting like an angel in Nina’s room. But every time he tries, all he can see is her face before she vanished. He doesn’t know how to decode what he saw there; he doesn’t know what she was thinking.
On the walkway below Ivan is smiling, nodding at a policeman as they finish their conversation and then heading away from the tent back towards them. “A man called Lloyd.” He says as he reaches them. “Mauled to death. They’re thinking escaped big cat, but I can smell werewolf all over this one.”
“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” Mitchell spits at him. Ivan grins in response, little shark teeth shining.
“What next?” George demands. His voice is hollow and Mitchell can’t help but wince.
“I say we find out where he was killed,” Ivan suggests, “we can find out were he worked. See if that leads us to them.”
George flicks the tape with his fingers, once, twice. “Do it,” he says, “find out where they tortured her.”
~~
By twelve midday, he can’t take anymore. Mitchell leaves the darkness of B Edwards and heads home, a long walk in the cold, clean air. He needs to sleep, he needs to forget for a few hours or he’ll claw his own eyes out at the horror of it all; George, no longer George, but some animal, broken and furious, snapping at his new kingdom.
Daisy is drinking a cup of tea in his kitchen.
He can’t move for a few seconds with the shock of it. He leans against the front door, gawping at her. Finally he manages to ask, “How’d you get in?”
Daisy shrugs, fiddling with handle of the mug. “Annie invited me in.” She says.
Mitchell staggers over and sits down heavily at the kitchen table. His legs can’t seem to support him “Why?” he gasps.
Daisy smirks at him, “Desperation, I think.” He waits for her to expound, but she sits there, quietly.
He feels his hands begin to shake. Oh god, he thinks, what would leave Annie so desperate that she would invite a vampire into their home? “Where is she?” he demands and he can hear the desperation in his voice, feel fear cloying in his throat. “What's going on, have they got to Annie too? Where is she?”
Daisy frowns, looking at him intently, as if working through a puzzle. “You care about her don't you?” she asks, “as more than just a friend.” Yes, he thinks, yes. He knows he’s given himself away and that Daisy can see it, because she grins and everything in him tenses at the sight of her smile.
“I watched as they dragged the last soul I loved from the face of the earth.” She whispers, leaning close, watching Mitchell as if hungry for a reaction. “Now they're coming for her, maybe us too.”
Mitchell reels in horror; they are coming for Annie. “Who are they and what did they do to Nina? What do they want?” he whispers.
Daisy shakes her head, sitting up suddenly and frowning as if disappointed. “That wasn't them,” she sneers, “I don't know anything about Nina and her activities, that’s Ivan’s pet project.”
“What the hell?” Mitchell asks, “What the hell?” slightly louder this time, as he feels understanding slipping away from him. He wants to shake Daisy, rattle her until all her secrets spill out.
She shrugs, “Hell,” she states, supremely unconcerned, “Heaven, whatever.” She grins up at him again, “The doors want us, Mitchell” she explains, and her voice has taken on a musical, teasing quality. “Something greedy is coming for us with sticks and rope and feathers.”
There is a ringing in his ears, a thin high note that sounds like a distant scream. He has to stop this. He has to save her. “Where’s Annie?” he croaks, standing.
“She left,” Daisy explains, downing the last of her tea, “I told her to go, save herself.”
His mobile starts ringing. He jumps. Mitchell fumbles in his pocket for it as Daisy stands and shrugs on her jacket.
“We’re not done,” he hisses, “don’t go.”
She blows him a kiss on her way out the door. It slams behind her, and the sound echoes in Mitchell’s skull.
“Mitchell!” George snaps at him from the phone, “We’ve got them.”
~~
“Fuck!” George howls and grabs the bookcase, splintering the wood as he wrenches it over. Books and paper splatter all over the cream carpet, rustling over towards Mitchell’s feet like waves; the sound of tearing sheets drowning out the rest of George’s expletives.
The office is deserted, nobody home, and there is no blood, no holding cage, no secret passages, and no lab equipment. Wherever they hurt Nina, it was not here.
“It was supposed to be here!” George snarls, stalking across the paper and wood towards Ivan, “You told me this is where he worked -”
“It is.” Ivan states, calmly. He towers above George and Mitchell knows Ivan could tear out George’s throat if he wanted to.
“George-” Mitchell tries, hoping he can distract him, “George, this isn’t working. We need to rethink,” George isn’t looking at him, “Annie needs us right now-”
Ivan darts Mitchell a quick glance, one that seems filled with annoyance at the interruption. Mitchell presses on.
“George, please, we can’t help anyone like this.”
George makes eye contact with him, finally, turning away from Ivan. He looks slightly dazed, like a somnambulist just waking up. Thank God, Mitchell thinks, thank God. He can do this, he can save George, and he can save Annie.
George starts to walk towards him, nodding, picking his way through the strewn papers and splintered wood.
“T. Lloyd, Glenside Hospital, Blackberry Hill, Bristol,” Ivan calls; he is crouched over the office paperwork like a siren on the rocks, “delivery of Acepromazine.” He is waving a delivery note and George is turning back towards him. “Now I’ve been out of the clubbing scene for a while, but that sounds like animal tranquilizers to me.”
George grabs the note, studying it intently. Mitchell reels, dizzy with the ache in his chest. He is lost, Mitchell thinks, Fuck.
Ivan just grins at Mitchell from across the debris.
~~
His shoes squeak slightly on the floor. The corridors smell of bleach and are dark and quiet. Glenside hospital is closed for the night, the students all out drinking. The computers hum quietly in locked rooms.
Above them, at least three floors, Mitchell would guess, is a room soaked in blood. He can smell it.
It calls to him and to Ivan and George.
At least it is only them here, he thinks, stalking through the dark; any more and this would turn into a bloodbath. With only Ivan and George, at least he stands a chance of being able to stop them harming someone. He can fight off two. He can get in the way.
The old wards are haunted. Every now and then something dark will move in his peripheral vision, the faint shadows of ghosts, hiding in their old rooms, grinning at him through thin panes of glass in the doors. At the end of the main corridor, at the bottom of the spiral staircase, frowning up into the gloom is a woman. Her feet are bare. She does not look at them as they begin to climb.
The wooden handrail feels warm under his palm, the carvings tickle his fingertips. When he turns to glance at George and Ivan, climbing behind him, their eyes glow like wolves’; red and green, glinting in the dark.
“Mitchell?” someone calls, softly in the dark, from above. He glances up; Lucy is standing on the landing of the third floor, looking down at them.
Behind her, someone creeps out of the darkness; a tall man, thin, with wrinkled skin, silver hair and the stench of Nina’s blood on his hands. He is holding a gun.
“Look out!” he shouts, instinctively rushing towards Lucy.
The gun is fired and behind Mitchell Ivan lets out a grunt as something hits him with a soft whump. George’s footsteps echo staccato, as he launches himself up the stairs. Mitchell turns to look behind him at Ivan, who is clutching at a tranquiliser dart embedded in his chest. Turning back again to look up, Mitchell sees George, snarling, frozen, as one step above him the thin man presses the barrel of the gun to George’s chest.
Mitchell can hear Ivan’s palms squeak against the painted walls as he slides down to slump on the stairs, paralysed by what Mitchell would guess is Acepromazine.
“We didn’t think you’d come voluntarily.” The thin man is saying, in a voice as dry as bones, entirely focussed on George.
Mitchell sees Lucy pressed into the wall, wide eyed, staring at him. “It’s alright,” he states, in as steady a voice as possible, no sudden movements, hands held out placatingly. It’s addressed as much to Lucy as it is to the thin man. “We’re getting out of here; we’re going.”
The thin man glances at him, and then turns to frown at Lucy, never once easing his grip on the gun pointing at George. “What are you waiting for?” the thin man asks her. In the dark, Lucy looks at him. Mitchell cannot read her expression.
Eventually, she steps towards Mitchell, her hand pulling something from her pocket; she points it at him, and with a click Mitchell feels every muscle in his body ignite in white-hot pain. He shakes uncontrollably and his vision blurs. He can’t scream, he can’t move. He falls.
The last thing he sees is Lucy’s face, looming above him as the world turns black.
~~
TBC.