Way Beyond the Pale (fic)
Title: Way Beyond the Pale
Fandom: Being Human
Rating: PG language
Word Count: 506
Characters/Pairings: Annie/Mitchell ... sort of
Disclaimer: Belonging to Toby Whithouse
Spoilers/Time Line: S2.E8
Summery: Mitchell reflects on what brought him to this place.
Author’s Notes: prompt #62 'Shadow' Being human table.
"Annie is gone. So now what?"
Mitchell sat hunched over at the kitchen table, hands weaved together under his forehead. He sat alone in the new place had no electricity, no heat and barely any running water. The condition hadn't been as uncomfortable for Mitchell as it had been for Nina and George, causing them to move a round abit more to stay warm. But Mitchell seemed to be stationed at the table. He hadn't moved from that spot for close to six hours.
That feeling in the pit of his stomach, he'd never forget it. The things he said to her, the last things ... He didn't know.
She was a ghost for fuck's sake and he didn't know. He just knew there'd be time ...
Everything's just ... falling apart
Things move and shift and settle again...
Nothing phases you does it? You just never get scared?
I wish that was true ...
Nina shuffled past the door and it made his hackles rise. He hunkered down further, closing his eyes against the wrongness of the sound in this new place. It wasn't right. Nothing was right, not the sound, not the place, not the fact that Nina was here and Annie was not.
His shoulders rose up by his ears and his hands clenched into fight fists, he took air into his useless lungs and held it there. It was useless, it didn't feel as urgent as it would have if he weren't the lone dead thing in this new shell of a place, this catacomb.
That's all everything was now that Annie ...
And the thing that did it to her, that monster, was still out there.
Of all the horrible things Mitchell had done in his unnatural lifetime, would one more have really mattered? And was the death of a righteous murderer so horrible?
Not in Annie's name ...
He put his head against the table and tried to shut out the sound of George's stifled sobs. He'd got the worse of it; watching it happen, hearing her cries for help.
She called for me, Mitchell and I couldn't ... I couldn't ...
At least he had been there for her. What had Mitchell done?
He'd scared her ... he'd almost ...
He said things to her ...
... I think about your skin ...
It hurt too much to think about now.
He'd messed up. He knew that now.
"... here ... come ... the ... sun ..."
Mitchell lifted his head to look at where the sound was coming from. The radio on the windowsill crackled, fizzling in and out weakly. He stood up and walked slowly towards the radio. He reached his hand out to touch it and felt a tingling cold run up his arm just. There was a tiny crackle of sound just before the radio fell silent.
"... Mitchell ..."
He felt himself crumple to the floor beneath him. He felt the tears first build and then fall from his eyes. He thought he felt her too, but he knew that was too much to hope for.