Fandom: Being Human
Pairing: Mitchell/Annie (with hints of Mitchell/Annie/George)
Warnings: Some language
Summary: No one likes losing Annie
A/N: A belated gift fic for djkiwi2576. Betaed by blackmamba_esq. Lingering mistakes are mine.
It’s one of those rare Sunday afternoons when they’re all together; when George isn’t off fighting with Nina (or making love, depending on which way that particular pendulum is swinging) and Annie’s not off working on whatever project she’d brainstormed a few days earlier. Mitchell’s usually out and about himself, what between his human job and his superhuman one (he used to say normal—the hospital was normality for him, but past experiences have illustrated quite clearly how ridiculous it is to even use the word in a sentence), but the stars have aligned and he’s at home, flipping through channels on the television, while his mates sit across from him and talk about nothing in particular.
He’s been watching some women’s drama for the past thirty minutes, one of those easy to fall into if you’re not alert enough to change the channel. It’s only when a commercial appears that he notices why George isn’t complaining about the choice. He’s not watching TV at all, but reading some book he checked out from the library. Mitchell hasn’t checked out a book in ages, maybe decades. He wonders if his card is still good.
“What’s that you’re reading George?”
George turns the page and says, “Horatio Hornblower,” which makes Annie shift her head a bit to the right and Mitchell’s eyes shift towards her. She’s half sitting/half lying on George’s chest. She’s been doing that a lot lately. Her eyes are closed.
Mitchell nods, and says “Ah,” but he’s already lost interest. George smirks and turns the page, obviously aware of that fact. This forces Mitchell to keep the conversation going of course.
“Any good?” He’s still watching Annie however, very much aware of why she seems so attached to George lately. He was wrong before, she does have a project. Or scheme, or whatever you want to call it.
“You really want to know?” George’s voice is taunting; it comes off slightly meaner than what’s normal for him (there’s that word again, he really must stop using it, especially when it comes to them), but Mitchell can’t be bothered to feel irritated in return. Obviously, George thinks he’s smarter and he’s right in some ways. But not so much in others—sometimes he can be oblivious to the most obvious things right in front of him.
Like Annie. Curled up against his chest, small, curvy in soft gray while he’s reading a fucking book for Christ’s sakes.
“Might want to pick it up in the future.” Mitchell lies, because he is irritated or jealous (he can at least be honest with himself), which has surely never happened before. George is his friend, the best one he’s had, but Mitchell’s never coveted a single thing he had until now. He knows why Annie’s on the other side of the room, why she’s been so attached to George since she’s been back. It’s not complicated, but as simple as a heartbeat, one their living, breathing companion takes for granted. But Mitchell knows as well as she does how precious that sound can be.
“I don’t think it’s your cup of tea.” George grins, and this just upsets Mitchell, as if his friend isn’t talking about the book at all, but Annie, that Annie isn’t his cup of tea, or more accurately he isn’t hers because his heart’s dried up, useless. Who’d want to snuggle against that hollow silence, that cold flesh? It would just bring back bad memories, ones she’d be better off forgetting—.
“You alright Mitchell?” Annie says. Her eyes are open now, watching him while he wasn’t looking. Mitchell can feel how tight his face has gotten, how stiff his fingers are against his leg and forces a smile, one he doubts she’ll believe, but it’s the best he can do at the moment.
“You don’t look fine.”
“He’s pretending that he’s more interested in my book than what’s on the tele,” George says, nodding toward the drama. Annie follows his eyes and her face lights up, “I remember this one! I watched it with my Mum all the time, you like this Mitchell?”
Mitchell’s body unclenches. Thank god he can’t blush anymore, “It’s not bad. I mean—Fiona’s pretty fit.”
“Nah, she’s a bitch, that one. But her clothes are brilliant.”
George shuts his book and gets up from his seat, “I suppose this is my cue to leave.”
“Don’t go George,” Mitchell and Annie say automatically, simultaneously.
“I’m not really—”
“Shhhhhhh.” Mitchell points to the screen, “It’s back on.”
Annie jumps up from the couch and crosses the room, squeezing herself into Mitchell’s chair, (which is really only meant for one person, but who is he to argue the point really?) and says, “Have you see Shelia yet? Oh you’ll love her.”
Mitchell glances up at George and catches a blink and you miss it moment of irritation, one he could easily deny if confronted by it. Mitchell gives him a commiserating grin because he knows the feeling.
“That’s the blond one, yeah? Never been a fan of blonds.”
No one likes losing Annie, even when she just hops across the room.