invisibilitea | IC CONTACT

No-- no, no--

[No medics, definitely no medics, and he's too fevered to get into the question of who shot him and why. There's no way he's together enough to make up a convincing enough story for what happened.

The press of her hand feels cool--and it stings, and he sucks in a breath through his teeth, slumping a little further down the wall--but the cool feels as good as it hurts.]

No medics. Don't-- I found him, but I lost him again. He's got to have gotten out by now. Everyone got out.

Mitchell, Mitchell, you're hurt, I can't just-

[She starts to breathe a little faster, but no, she's not going to cry.]

What should I do, how can I help?

I can't have a medic, I can't-- you know how that ends--

[Somewhat blindly, he grabs for her hand, and he knows, vaguely, that he's holding to her maybe a little too hard but he can't work out how to ease up.]

Stay here. Just stay here, please, Annie. George, when George comes back, we'll-- think of, of something.

But-

But what if you die?

[Because in a way, Annie is still so human. She holds onto his hand, tight, and doesn't let go, even if the grip is a little too tight.]

[It kind of hurts to laugh. It moves something in his throat that hurts, jostles his shoulder, but he huffs a laugh anyways that cuts off quick with a sharp intake of breath.]

Annie. I'm dead. Been dead for-- nearly a hundred years now. Even Herrick staking me didn't kill me, I'm still here.

[But he had blood that time, to recover. Josie. The thought of her hurts, but it's so secondary to the surge of hunger that he feels, and he clamps his jaw, shuts his eyes, tries to suppress it--]

Jesus--

But now you're here-

[She moves so he's leaning on her, so she can hold him. It looks like his blood is on her jumper but she knows once he moves away it'll disappear. She doesn't know how it works. It just does.]

I'm all right.

[It tingles, where he's slumped against her, but it's better than the heat of the pain and his hunger. Listless, weak against it, he unclenches his teeth and tries to suck in a real breath.]

I'm all right. I'll be all right. I just need-- [Blood, the word fills itself into the blank in his head, so pressing a need he nearly says it.] --time.

I won't leave, I'll-

I'll call someone. To find George. To bring him back.

[Aidan, maybe. Or Josh. Or someone who doesn't upset them so much. Annie has friends. Poppy. She'll call Poppy.]

I'll call Poppy, she's nice, she's on security, I'll tell her to find him, it's an emergency-

[George, yeah, he can get behind the idea of bringing George back, but then she brings up security and a jolt of panic twists in him. He tries to sit up, to push away from her so he can look at her--or get away, or something--]

No. No, Annie, no, not security--

I could...call Aidan....

[She's not sure which will be worse, really.]

No.

[AIDAN IS WAY WORSE ARE YOU KIDDING]

Not him. Don't-- talk to him, I don't want him anywhere near us. I need time, I just need time, I need--

[He cuts himself off, his resistance failing him as he grits his teeth against the fresh wave of pain. It bleeds some of his resolve from him, too, tell her what you need, if he had blood, he could recover from this right away--]

But someone needs to find George! Who else is there? Who isn't, you know...

...a werewolf.

[She whispers that last part, and holds his hand because she can see that he's in more pain.]

[He doesn't say anything for a long moment. He keeps breathing, raggedly, but he doesn't say anything, and he stays slumped where he is, his eyes shut tightly, his fingers curled in hers.

Because there's no one. Their options are slim. There's always been the three of them, just the three of them, and who the hell else can they trust?

And he doesn't have long, he can feel that. He won't die, but he'll slip into unconsciousness, and then what? Then he'll have to feed to get back at all. It ends in blood, no matter what he does.]

Go to the medbay. [His voice is weak; he swallows, and tries again--] The medbay. Just you. Leave me here.

I'm not going to leave you!

[Has he lost his mind? He's bleeding and George is missing and God, she wishes that she knew what to do that wouldn't upset everyone.

But she can't, she can't think of anything, she wants to call someone for help, someone she trusts (and that's the problem, isn't it, when she trusts people that Mitchell will never trust).]

[It really feels like maybe he is losing his mind, a little. He drags in another breath, labored, and brings his left hand up to press against the wound in his neck. Jesus. Jesus Christ, he's out of options.]

Listen. Listen to me, Annie. Rentaghost there. You'll be back in a second, just a second.

The last time I rentaghosted I ended up in Engineering and I couldn't get out!

[She breathes in, breathes out]

What am I supposed to do there?

[His fingers dig in to the ghostly impression of her hand. The cold spreads up his arm, but it doesn't do what it usually does to clear his head. And the pause before he answers feels like it goes on even longer this time, longer and heavier, and he nearly doesn't say it at all.

But he has to. If he wants to recover from this, he has to. He can't ask it of Annie. He can't bring her into this, this dark ugly thing, this fact of his undead life. She will refuse, and she'll think him something he isn't, and he can't lose what he is, to her. He can't. He's done so much to stop her from seeing him as anything but good, someone to love, to forgive--everything he's done, and she forgave him for it--]

I only need a little.

[He does't even realise he's said it aloud until he's said it.]

[The look on Annie's face says more than it doesn't.

She looks more than disappointed. She looks...almost like she expected this. Like this was inevitable. There is no shock. It's simply her accepting it.

And maybe that's worse.]

Is there...do I speak to someone, or do I just...take some?

[Because the fact is that she'll do anything for Mitchell, even this.]

[He doesn't look at her. But he can feel it, he can feel the pressure of that gaze and he knows what she's thinking--and God, it's worse. It's so much worse than anger or shock or betrayal.

It means she was waiting for this. They were all waiting for this, because he was never going to be anything but a fucking monster. It was a matter of time, just a matter of time.

And it's even worse that she agrees. The shame burns almost hotter than anything else, eclipsing even his hunger--but only momentarily.]

Take it. [He answers, numbly.] Take it and come back. Don't let anyone see you.

[Because they'll put him on their list. Because it will be a habit, then, it will be a habit and he doesn't need it, he only needs a little so he can get over these injuries, so he doesn't slip into something worse. Or is that just what he's telling himself?]

Annie.

[Quietly, miserably. The sorry is implied. God, he can't even say it.]

[She nods and squeezes his hand.]

I love you.

[Because sometimes people need reminding. She doesn't think of him as a monster because he drinks blood. She loves him.]

[He shakes his head, and doesn't say anything--but he holds tightly back to her hand in return, gripping at it like she's the last thing left in the world. It can't have come to this, to where he's sending her off to fetch him blood. His skin crawls, even under the shivers of pain and hunger--there's a grimy, dirty feeling to this, and there's the sudden urge to be sick, and he holds his jaw shut tight, his eyes open but staring fixedly at the floor as he sucks in an uneven breath.]

[She vanishes then, and comes back five minutes later, with a bag of blood in her hands. It's cold, because she's cold, and she presses it into his hand before she sits next to him.

She's not going to watch this. She ducks her head, looks away. If he doesn't want her to see, she won't.]

[Five minutes stretches on, without her there helping him to keep track of the time. He won't do it, he decides, with her gone. He won't feed. When she pops back, that strengthens his resolve--but the blood bag in his hand changes everything. It's right there. It will taste disgusting--cold and stale, too long dead. But he tightens his fingers around it, as he stares fixedly down at the matte plastic of the bag, and the ache in his teeth and in his chest are almost enough to make him tear into it right now.

But Annie is still there. The chill of her makes the hair on his arm stand on end a little, even under his shirtsleeves.]

Go in the room.

[He forces the words out. His voice sounds rough, even to his ears.]

Go and wait. Five-- [No, it won't take that long, he'll have the bag drained in a minute--] --three minutes.

[She just.

Does as she's told.

Five minutes later, really, because it's better to be safe than sorry, she appears again, her arms around her knees as she's curled up in the space next to him. She doesn't touch him. She just sits there, quietly, her mouth a line, not sure what to say.

She wants him to tell her it's all right. That he forgives her for expecting this to happen one day. To forgive her for bringing him the blood.]

Do you want some tea?

[That's the best she can do. Fight for normalcy.]

[Five minutes is better.

The minute she's gone, he tears into the bag, too savage for his weakened state, but his hunger urges him on. Blood slops into his mouth, smears on his chin, and he sucks at the bag, draining every last drop, slurping greedily--ever since the girl in the hallway, white-faced under him, he's wanted this, needed this. It tastes like shit. It tastes like shit, and he licks his fingers to get more, pries open the holes in the bag to get at more, whatever is in there--

One minute, maybe a minute and a half. And then the bag is crumpled and empty, and Mitchell slumps back against the wall, panting, the heady feeling of recent feeding fading in and out with the sick pitch of his guilt. Months, without it. And now all at once, and what's worse is he's already feeling better.

This is how it starts. It's both better and worse, when Annie pops back next to him. Mitchell stays where he is, head lolled back, staring at the ceiling. Thank God he had the good sense to clean off his face a little (but that wasn't sense, that was greed). He can't think of any fucking thing to say to her. He wants to ask her to forgive him. He wants to apologise. He wants to say nothing at all, to pretend this didn't happen--and his smile is sad, when it crosses his face at her question.]

Yeah. [No. But he has to say yeah. He doesn't reach for his hand, though he is itching to.] I do.

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