A House in Wales, Eaaarly Saturday Morning
It was the screaming that woke Mitchell up.
The screaming, and then George knocking on his door like a man possessed.
Nina.
They dashed down the halls at breakneck pace. Outside-- it had to be coming from the outside.
They got there so quickly that it took Mitchell a few seconds to realise that every muscle in his body was suddenly screaming with pain. A shout of pain wrenched itself from his throat and he nearly crashed to the ground--
Which is when he noticed Lucy's body, lying in a pool of blood on the floor.
He stumbled on his way to her, thinking only oh god oh god is she alive oh god-- through the haze of pain that still pulled at him.
No. Nonononononononono she smelled of death he couldn't hear her pulse fuck.
"Please," he heard George calling, "Please, don't hurt her."
And then a familiar voice. "The dog. It begs."
Was there still a pulse? He couldn't-- there was some... something. "We're going to get you to a hospital," Mitchell choked out. Lucy's head rolled to the side and her eyes opened. Oh god. Oh god, she could make it, she could--
"Mitchell, no," she croaked.
"Please," he begged, "You have to."
"I can't," Lucy breathed. "I want-- I want this." Her head nodded unsteadily, her breath coming out in pained huffs. So much blood. So much blood and it didn't even spell food to him right now, what was that... "Mitchell..."
One long drawn-out breath, and then nothing.
He stared at her, tears prickling in his eyes. Stared, and stared, and only then did he realise-- he looked up.
Kemp.
Holding a stake to Nina's throat.
"If you want to kill someone," George said, stepping towards Kemp, one careful move at a time. "Then you-- kill me."
"Oh, be assured," the old man said, "Tonight I will spill every drop of your black blood." In his grasp, Nina panted roughly, her eyes traveling towards the sky. What else could she do? "And I'll start," Kemp said, drawing a little V in red blood on Nina's throat, "With her."
George heaved a little choked up breath, tears audible but not visible... ...and then paused.
Mitchell paused with him, peering past Kemp and staring, uncomprehendingly, at the door that was suddenly there. That door hadn't been there before - they had never had a door leading from that part of the house to the outside. How could there be a door?
Apparently Kemp was surprised, too, because he half-turned to look at it-- and that was enough for Nina to wrench free of him, practically hurling herself at George for safety.
The door opened.
Wherever it led to, it was... black, pure as night, nothing to see there.
And then something flickered into being. Blue, flickering, almost like an image from a bad television broadcast...
Brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin in a white shirt overlaid with grey.
She took Kemp by the neck and yanked him back, into the doorway, at impossible speed. One moment they were there, the next a blur, the third...
The door was closing with a loud thud.
"Oh my god," George whispered. "That was Annie."
The loud noise of static suddenly pierced the air, and all three of them turned.
"What's that?"
Nina didn't even bother to answer the question. She practically ran back into the house.
Mitchell stared down at Lucy's body, blood all over his fingers, not yet comprehending everything that had happened in the past two minutes. Stared at the dead glaze in Lucy's eyes, the weight of her at his feet. Was this redemption? Was this the only way to earn your forgiven--
"Mitchell!"
He startled, got up. Ran for the inside. George and Nina were standing by the TV, and it was on, displaying nothing but static.
Wait.
There was something taking shape within. Something familiar. Dark eyes, dark hair, dark skin...
Mitchell fell to his knees in front of the television.
"Can you hear me?" Annie asked, her hands pressing against the TV screen from the inside.
"Yes!" Mitchell called. "Yes, we can hear you-- and see you--"
"Are you guys safe now?" she asked.
George was almost smiling, his eyes big. "Yeah, you saved us!"
Annie smiled, but the smile quickly twisted into something else, something desperate. She choked back what sounded like a whimper, or a sob, her fingers still pressed against the television screen.
Something was wrong. "Annie?" Mitchell asked. "Are you okay?"
She swallowed. "Yeah, yeah," she said, rubbing at her nose. "It's-- it's just a bit complicated." She nodded, and nodded again, and nodded. "I... I miss you."
"We miss you too," Mitchell whispered. So long, it had been-- too long. He'd never really gotten over her loss-- she'd been supposed to be around forever... "Annie..."
"What's it like there?" George asked.
"We wait," Annie said. "We wait, we each have a number, and... we wait for someone... to call our number... And... we move to another room and then we wait there. But then--" She stopped talking for a moment, casting a fearful look over her shoulder. "... one of us disappears, and we're told that we're not allowed to talk about them, and there were bells, and there were buzzers, and whistles--"
She started to weep openly, her hand pressing against her mouth. "And we have to fill in this form, and the people--" she threw another look over her shoulder, "They whisper, and I-- I don't know what we're waiting for to happen, but, but, I wish it would just happen, I'm really afraid of what it might be--"
Again, she looked over her shoulder. Her image seemed to fade. "...They're really angry with me," she whispered. "Because of Kemp. They say they don't... have a form for that... Um--" She swallowed. "... I have to go..."
She was fading again.
Mitchell pressed his bloody hand against hers, or rather, against the screen where hers was, unable to find words. George's hand joined his a second later.
"Please," she whispered. "Don't forget me, will you."
Mitchell shook his head, and only now did he realise he was crying. "No," he said. No. Never.
And then he had to watch as she stepped away from them, back into the static, body shifting away like nothing had ever been there. Annie. Annie, fuck.
"What now, Mitchell?" George whispered. "What do we do?"
Mitchell looked at him, fighting the churning in his gut. Feeling... after all these months... finally some sense of purpose, something other than the mindless getting-on-with-it of Fandom, the pretending like everything was all right. "We're going to get her back," he said, when words finally came to him.
And then left him bereft again, left him staring at the static with no idea what to do besides that one, so-clear purpose.
[[ and thus ends a very merry Being Human Christmas Eve. Warning: violence and character death. NFB, NFI and OOC-okay; taken from Being Human 2x8. ]]
The screaming, and then George knocking on his door like a man possessed.
Nina.
They dashed down the halls at breakneck pace. Outside-- it had to be coming from the outside.
They got there so quickly that it took Mitchell a few seconds to realise that every muscle in his body was suddenly screaming with pain. A shout of pain wrenched itself from his throat and he nearly crashed to the ground--
Which is when he noticed Lucy's body, lying in a pool of blood on the floor.
He stumbled on his way to her, thinking only oh god oh god is she alive oh god-- through the haze of pain that still pulled at him.
No. Nonononononononono she smelled of death he couldn't hear her pulse fuck.
"Please," he heard George calling, "Please, don't hurt her."
And then a familiar voice. "The dog. It begs."
Was there still a pulse? He couldn't-- there was some... something. "We're going to get you to a hospital," Mitchell choked out. Lucy's head rolled to the side and her eyes opened. Oh god. Oh god, she could make it, she could--
"Mitchell, no," she croaked.
"Please," he begged, "You have to."
"I can't," Lucy breathed. "I want-- I want this." Her head nodded unsteadily, her breath coming out in pained huffs. So much blood. So much blood and it didn't even spell food to him right now, what was that... "Mitchell..."
One long drawn-out breath, and then nothing.
He stared at her, tears prickling in his eyes. Stared, and stared, and only then did he realise-- he looked up.
Kemp.
Holding a stake to Nina's throat.
"If you want to kill someone," George said, stepping towards Kemp, one careful move at a time. "Then you-- kill me."
"Oh, be assured," the old man said, "Tonight I will spill every drop of your black blood." In his grasp, Nina panted roughly, her eyes traveling towards the sky. What else could she do? "And I'll start," Kemp said, drawing a little V in red blood on Nina's throat, "With her."
George heaved a little choked up breath, tears audible but not visible... ...and then paused.
Mitchell paused with him, peering past Kemp and staring, uncomprehendingly, at the door that was suddenly there. That door hadn't been there before - they had never had a door leading from that part of the house to the outside. How could there be a door?
Apparently Kemp was surprised, too, because he half-turned to look at it-- and that was enough for Nina to wrench free of him, practically hurling herself at George for safety.
The door opened.
Wherever it led to, it was... black, pure as night, nothing to see there.
And then something flickered into being. Blue, flickering, almost like an image from a bad television broadcast...
Brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin in a white shirt overlaid with grey.
She took Kemp by the neck and yanked him back, into the doorway, at impossible speed. One moment they were there, the next a blur, the third...
The door was closing with a loud thud.
"Oh my god," George whispered. "That was Annie."
The loud noise of static suddenly pierced the air, and all three of them turned.
"What's that?"
Nina didn't even bother to answer the question. She practically ran back into the house.
Mitchell stared down at Lucy's body, blood all over his fingers, not yet comprehending everything that had happened in the past two minutes. Stared at the dead glaze in Lucy's eyes, the weight of her at his feet. Was this redemption? Was this the only way to earn your forgiven--
"Mitchell!"
He startled, got up. Ran for the inside. George and Nina were standing by the TV, and it was on, displaying nothing but static.
Wait.
There was something taking shape within. Something familiar. Dark eyes, dark hair, dark skin...
Mitchell fell to his knees in front of the television.
"Can you hear me?" Annie asked, her hands pressing against the TV screen from the inside.
"Yes!" Mitchell called. "Yes, we can hear you-- and see you--"
"Are you guys safe now?" she asked.
George was almost smiling, his eyes big. "Yeah, you saved us!"
Annie smiled, but the smile quickly twisted into something else, something desperate. She choked back what sounded like a whimper, or a sob, her fingers still pressed against the television screen.
Something was wrong. "Annie?" Mitchell asked. "Are you okay?"
She swallowed. "Yeah, yeah," she said, rubbing at her nose. "It's-- it's just a bit complicated." She nodded, and nodded again, and nodded. "I... I miss you."
"We miss you too," Mitchell whispered. So long, it had been-- too long. He'd never really gotten over her loss-- she'd been supposed to be around forever... "Annie..."
"What's it like there?" George asked.
"We wait," Annie said. "We wait, we each have a number, and... we wait for someone... to call our number... And... we move to another room and then we wait there. But then--" She stopped talking for a moment, casting a fearful look over her shoulder. "... one of us disappears, and we're told that we're not allowed to talk about them, and there were bells, and there were buzzers, and whistles--"
She started to weep openly, her hand pressing against her mouth. "And we have to fill in this form, and the people--" she threw another look over her shoulder, "They whisper, and I-- I don't know what we're waiting for to happen, but, but, I wish it would just happen, I'm really afraid of what it might be--"
Again, she looked over her shoulder. Her image seemed to fade. "...They're really angry with me," she whispered. "Because of Kemp. They say they don't... have a form for that... Um--" She swallowed. "... I have to go..."
She was fading again.
Mitchell pressed his bloody hand against hers, or rather, against the screen where hers was, unable to find words. George's hand joined his a second later.
"Please," she whispered. "Don't forget me, will you."
Mitchell shook his head, and only now did he realise he was crying. "No," he said. No. Never.
And then he had to watch as she stepped away from them, back into the static, body shifting away like nothing had ever been there. Annie. Annie, fuck.
"What now, Mitchell?" George whispered. "What do we do?"
Mitchell looked at him, fighting the churning in his gut. Feeling... after all these months... finally some sense of purpose, something other than the mindless getting-on-with-it of Fandom, the pretending like everything was all right. "We're going to get her back," he said, when words finally came to him.
And then left him bereft again, left him staring at the static with no idea what to do besides that one, so-clear purpose.
[[ and thus ends a very merry Being Human Christmas Eve. Warning: violence and character death. NFB, NFI and OOC-okay; taken from Being Human 2x8. ]]