Nevermind, I'll Find Someone Like You
Title: Nevermind, I'll Find Someone Like You
Author: PiellaGibson
Rating: K+
Characters/Pairings: Annie/Mitchell
Spoilers: Series Three
Disclaimer: Property of BBC Three Being Human. Not trying to make money or anything else!
Summary: How Annie feels at the loss of the one she loves
Authors notes: This is just a little something that I wrote after the finale of series three. It's only short and nothing special.
Annie couldn’t mope around the house like she had just lost the person closest and dearest to her heart. She couldn’t curl up on her patterned chair, shedding tears into the soft velvet pillow as she clung to the memories of when times were good. As much as she had her weaknesses, she had her strengths also. The strength to stay strong for George and Nina. The strength to hide her true emotions in front of her companions when she thought of the one she loved, lost and somewhere out of reach from the tips of her fingers.
At night, his room was a comfort. His bed was a memory, shadowed with an empty space where he would once lie and tell her she was beautiful, his world, everything he had ever been looking for. Now she was left with a hazy figure, a distant voice, murmuring in the back of her mind, slowly fading into something unrecognisable, depending on how long she was here for. If it were a matter of weeks, months, Annie was sure she would remember every little detail about the way he looked, sounded and even smelt. Her fear was she would live forever. Become as old as he, and slowly begin to forget the unruly hair atop his head, the sound of his calming Irish accent, the smile that would melt her heart, make her stomach fill with lively colourful butterflies.
Annie felt almost selfish, for being so at anguish, considering George had in a way, suffered a greater loss than her own. He would shuffle into the kitchen every morning, gratefully taking a cup of tea from her, smiling before sitting to read the wordless newspaper. She knew he read it to keep his mind off things, off him. To keep his eyes invisible from the sadness that lurked within them. Though, she knew George escaping his companion was harder than he let on. It was everywhere. The news, the papers, inside their constant thoughts of knowing the truth but never being able to tell. Instead, they had to painfully stitch their mouths to keep from telling the world what really happened, that fateful night when twenty other living beings had part of their souls ripped from them.
Of all the torment Annie had suffered with throughout her life, none had been as lonely and as claustrophobic as this. The Old Ones were on their tail, watching their every move and working out which way was best to bring them down, further than they already were. In times of fear, Annie would sit on his bed, act as if he was actually there and talk to him as if he would respond and comfort her. He never came. Never told her things would get better or hold her until the worries faded from her head. He was gone. Never to return to her chilled arms and still heart.
As much as she loved life, George, Nina and the unborn baby, she secretly begged her door would come, the varnished wooden entrance to somewhere unknown. She closed her eyes whilst clutching one of his pillows, imagining over and over that she was stepping through the blinding light and on the other side, he would be there. He would smile, tell her this was forever and they could be whoever they wanted to be. She would grasp him close, feel the warmth of his skin, the beating of his heart. He would be alive and living. She would be the same, able to feel, touch and be touched without it being a distant tingle.
Author: PiellaGibson
Rating: K+
Characters/Pairings: Annie/Mitchell
Spoilers: Series Three
Disclaimer: Property of BBC Three Being Human. Not trying to make money or anything else!
Summary: How Annie feels at the loss of the one she loves
Authors notes: This is just a little something that I wrote after the finale of series three. It's only short and nothing special.
Annie couldn’t mope around the house like she had just lost the person closest and dearest to her heart. She couldn’t curl up on her patterned chair, shedding tears into the soft velvet pillow as she clung to the memories of when times were good. As much as she had her weaknesses, she had her strengths also. The strength to stay strong for George and Nina. The strength to hide her true emotions in front of her companions when she thought of the one she loved, lost and somewhere out of reach from the tips of her fingers.
At night, his room was a comfort. His bed was a memory, shadowed with an empty space where he would once lie and tell her she was beautiful, his world, everything he had ever been looking for. Now she was left with a hazy figure, a distant voice, murmuring in the back of her mind, slowly fading into something unrecognisable, depending on how long she was here for. If it were a matter of weeks, months, Annie was sure she would remember every little detail about the way he looked, sounded and even smelt. Her fear was she would live forever. Become as old as he, and slowly begin to forget the unruly hair atop his head, the sound of his calming Irish accent, the smile that would melt her heart, make her stomach fill with lively colourful butterflies.
Annie felt almost selfish, for being so at anguish, considering George had in a way, suffered a greater loss than her own. He would shuffle into the kitchen every morning, gratefully taking a cup of tea from her, smiling before sitting to read the wordless newspaper. She knew he read it to keep his mind off things, off him. To keep his eyes invisible from the sadness that lurked within them. Though, she knew George escaping his companion was harder than he let on. It was everywhere. The news, the papers, inside their constant thoughts of knowing the truth but never being able to tell. Instead, they had to painfully stitch their mouths to keep from telling the world what really happened, that fateful night when twenty other living beings had part of their souls ripped from them.
Of all the torment Annie had suffered with throughout her life, none had been as lonely and as claustrophobic as this. The Old Ones were on their tail, watching their every move and working out which way was best to bring them down, further than they already were. In times of fear, Annie would sit on his bed, act as if he was actually there and talk to him as if he would respond and comfort her. He never came. Never told her things would get better or hold her until the worries faded from her head. He was gone. Never to return to her chilled arms and still heart.
As much as she loved life, George, Nina and the unborn baby, she secretly begged her door would come, the varnished wooden entrance to somewhere unknown. She closed her eyes whilst clutching one of his pillows, imagining over and over that she was stepping through the blinding light and on the other side, he would be there. He would smile, tell her this was forever and they could be whoever they wanted to be. She would grasp him close, feel the warmth of his skin, the beating of his heart. He would be alive and living. She would be the same, able to feel, touch and be touched without it being a distant tingle.