invisibilitea | IC CONTACT

[He's laughing, it's lovely]

Of course it's going to work, who do you think I am?

[She presses just a little closer to him, too.]

And you don't think anyone's going t' wonder why their money gets snatched off of a stoop and whisked away into a house that's supposedly empty? Come on.

[If he could only forget where they are, this might be a more normal conversation. But the wrench of his arms behind his back puts a stop to that, the bite of the ropes--still, when he looks up at her, with her little smile--he can just see it, even though she's pressed quite closely indeed. That almost makes up for everything.]

Even you can't trick the entire service industry into not asking questions.

No, I'm much better than that. I made you and George think you had a burglar at least three times before you saw me.

[She also scared off a lot of people who wanted to live in her house. She moves back a little, so she can smile at him.]

Mitchell, what if I untied you, so you could hold me? Would you stay?

[Though Annie would stop him if he didn't.]

And what's the take-away guy meant to think you are? A burglar who's taken up residence? A hermit?

[The pattern of teasing is wonderfully familiar, comfortable in that way--but her question takes something of it out of him. Some of his good humour fades, paling his face a little. Yes, the answer jumps up in him straight away, yes, Jesus, but he swallows it--]

Annie. I don't-- [Yes, he nearly says it, again--] I don't know.

Oh, oh, a hermit, I rather like that one. Yes. A hermit.

Three hermits, really, well, four, if we count Nina. We can live off - I don't know. Why didn't you ever invest any money? We could be rich by now. Isn't that how all vampires work?

[The ones in the novels and on the telly, anyway.]

Would you run away?

[She doesn't ask him like she's disappointed that his answer wasn't yes, although she is a little. She knows that this isn't easy for him. That he's managing the best he can.]

[The reasons for not investing are probably not ones that would help his cause for being untied right now. The vampire network is extensive enough that everyone is cared for, so long as they're team players. Isolation means poverty, to a degree, and Mitchell had embraced it happily--but kept the car, kept some of the stuff he'd collected, stuff he'd bought with money given to him. Self-loathing twists in him; he tries to fight it down.]

I'd-- try not to.

[The answer comes out halting, but he does mean it.]

If I do, you have to stop me. [Please; it goes unsaid.]

[She takes a moment, and finally she nods, and moves a bit to untie him. Maybe it's dangerous, or maybe it's not something she's thought through, but she's doing it anyway.

After the ropes are untied, she moves again to sit on his lap. She doesn't weigh anything really, but she's cold, at least, and that's like weight, in away.]

Really, I think we should just-forget everything else.

[When she looses the ropes, it feels like blood rushes back into his arms and his fingers--but Mitchell knows that's not a real feeling, that he knows ought to feel it and so maybe makes up for that, in his head, another mental trick that comes with being dead. The rush, the pins-and-needles; he flexes his fingers as he lets his arms drop to his sides with a sigh.

Coiled in him is the instinct to get up, get the hell out while he can--but he stays where he is. In part this is for Annie, for his real desire to be clean, to get over this, to be done with it. But in part it's because he really is just tired. Even the seething vampire side of him is tired, right now. And the pressure of Annie--which is really just a little bit of cold--well, that helps, too, that's enough to get just the smallest of smiles out of him.]

Forget it all except for us, d'you mean? Lock ourselves up?

[She presses against him, for a moment, but then sits so he can see her face, and she can see his. In case she needs to stop him, if he looks distracted, like he might bolt and get up.]

Yes. Right here. In this room. I'll get a kettle and a pot of tea and we'll just watch bad space movies and, and, I don't know.

We'll do something. That makes us smile.

[Right here. His eyes stray toward the door, for a moment--a blink and then he looks back, trying to focus on her. Why the hell can't this be enough? The things that she's saying, tea and company and space movies, those things should be enough.

Strained, he smiles at her.]

And is it space Titanic again? Or are we going for Space Die Hard.

[Let it be enough, he orders himself, let her be enough, films and tea and everything, let it be enough. He can fucking do this.]

Space whatever you want to watch.

[She catches his attention, she sees where it went, and she takes his hand, holds it tightly.]

You said you would hold me, Mitchell.

[As a reminder.]

Yeah.

[He swallows, hard; shuts his eyes for a moment.]

Don't talk. Just for a second. Don't talk.

[Shut up are the words actually on his lips. They would come out a snarl. He bites down, on nothing, swallowing that urge, and shifts so he can get his arms around Annie, pull her close, fingers knitting in the insubstantial folds of her jumper and his head dropped to her shoulder again, pressing in.]

[She opens her mouth, but then closes it again, doesn't say anything, and nods before she settles, moves her hands away, so she's not holding him really. So she's just curled up in his lap, quietly, tucked against him.

It's almost like they're not here because Mitchell is in trouble, although he is. It's almost like a secret. Annie wants so badly to just keep him close, safe, but she knows she can't even keep him warm.]

[The chill of her narrows his focus down to just that, just her--abrupt enough that it keeps his attention fixed for a moment, enough time for him to suck in another breath and let it out, however unsteadily.

But always beneath that chill, beneath everything, there is the sense of being surrounded, of the hundreds of pulses that he can't ignore but dares not to acknowledge, either--the dull and steady thud, the syncopated rhythms of concentrated human existence. His fingers grip to her jumper without realising it; his grip constricts again.]

I can't do this.

[He spits out the words from between gritted teeth, but he doesn't let Annie go, either, doesn't go for the door like he wants to, like he's dying to do.]

[There is a part of her that is bitterly disappointed, a part of her that just wants to disappear.

But she doesn't. She closes her eyes for a moment, and then looks at him]

Should I tie you up?

[Maybe this was all a terrible idea.]

No.

[But as soon as he's said it, he breathes out, harshly, from between his teeth, his hands clenched tightly around whatever grip he can get on her jumper--and it feels like something is moving under his skin, like something is struggling to tear its way out of him, and he slumps forward, his forehead pressed to her shoulder--]

Yes. Yes, for now, please--just for now, I'll-- I'm sorry, Annie, I'm so sorry--

[She smiles, or at least, it's like a smile, small and tiny, and struggling, but at least she's trying, as best she can.]

No, it's all right, here-

[She gets off him, and moves fast enough, to tie him back up.]

It's all right.

[It's not altogether all right.]

[His breath comes harsh from between his teeth--he probably doesn't need to breathe at all, but the cessation of such normal and simple functions just seems unnecessary, even after everything else.

But he doesn't move, even when she does. He drops his head, staring fixedly at nothing, as she replaces the ropes. It's not all right, but he can't even think beyond the pounding need in him to frame that thought, to speak those words. Christ, he could tear down the walls right now, and the hunger settles over every bit of him, twisting deep in his chest.

It's nearly twenty minutes before it passes, before Mitchell leans back, with a gasp, like he's just surfaced from the water. He stares up at the ceiling; he does not look at Annie.]

You should leave.

[She doesn't talk while he's breathing, she just sits and watches him. This suddenly feels so big, too big maybe, but Annie has never let anything-

No, she has. She has fallen into depression and she recognizes the danger right now. It's utterly possible that she might just-

She watches him.

And then when he speaks, she sits up.]

Is that what you want?

[Or what you think would be best for her?]

No.

[He wants to lie. He wants so badly to lie. If she leaves, it will be better for her. If he dies, it will be better for everyone. But he can't say those words. His cowardice lingers in him. He will never say the words.]

No. I love you. But I can't-- I can't kill you. And this will kill you, Annie, it will kill you all over again. I can't.

Mitchell-

[She touches his face, gently, her thumbs against his cheeks, and she presses her forehead against his.]

Please-

[She doesn't even know what she's asking for.]

[He shuts his eyes a moment, his teeth set together, hard--as if he can work through this, as if this moment, too, will pass. But there's something in her voice that digs in to him, under his skin, somewhere deep. What has he done to them?]

I never wanted it to be this way. Annie, I never-- I didn't want this. But I can't stop myself. It has to end. I keep waiting, for it to end, and it never does, and I think I've got it done, and sorted--I did it, for so long. I was better than any of them.

I'm sorry, Annie. I'm sorry to you, and to George.

Oh, Mitchell-

Mitchell-

[She presses her hands in his hair, and runs them through]

You are better, please, please, you are better.

[He nods, wordlessly, his breath hissing from between his teeth, his fingers grasped on nothing and his arms straining in his bonds--but he tries to hold still, he tries to keep steady, to let her grip and her belief both be enough.

Jesus.]

I want to be. [He swallows; he struggles to form the words, to make them make sense--] I want to be better, I do.

But if I can't.

I'll still support you, you know that, right? I'll always support you.

[She says that with a level of dedication almost rarely ever seen in people, even in Annie. She'll stay with him. His addiction, it's not Mitchell, it's the beast inside of Mitchell, and she'll stay, of course she'll stay.]

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