Being Human Fic: This Could Be A Case for Mulder and Scully; 1/2
Title: This Could Be A Case For Mulder and Scully
Author: shootingstars88
Characters: Annie, Mitchell, bit of George
Rating: G
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I don't own Being Human, just playing with the shiny new fandom
~
Author's Note: Ok so I've never actually seen the original pilot of BH (and prefer to keep it that way, my brain can't take a different cast) so I don't know whether it covered how Mitchell and George actually met Annie when they moved in. Since the series itself never has, I got tempted to write my own version. I'm still getting a feel for the characters so it's not perfect, also I'm posting it a bit quick after I've written it because this fandom needs fic and I'm a bit impatient. Unbeta'd so mistakes are mine, apologies. Title is from the classic Catatonia tune 'Mulder and Scully'.
~
For a long time after glimpsing the two men moving into the house, her house, Annie finds she can’t quite move.
She stands stock still against the wall in the upstairs bedroom that was going to be a nursery one day, just listening to the strangers. They make three tips back to the car outside, depositing boxes and bags on the wooden floor downstairs and bantering amicably all the while about how to make an old converted pub feng shui.
They sound young and excited and completely, utterly normal. Maybe they are, maybe she’s finally just gone completely mad because a moment ago, she swears that one of them could actually see her.
She’s watched this street before, dozens of different faces going about their lives and not one of them has ever glanced up at the window like they could see her face there, even for a second. Until today.
So here she is, frozen against the wall with her heart pounding in her chest and tears streaming down her face, thinking how bloody inconvenient it is that ghosts can still have panic attacks when they don’t even need to breathe. She concentrates all her energy on calming down, just breathing in and out until the echo of her heartbeat, or whatever it is that’s hammering in her chest, finally slows down.
The two men are still downstairs, shifting boxes around and bickering now about the relative merits of Argos furniture versus Ikea. It’s been so long since anyone looked at her and saw something instead of nothing that part of her wants to go straight down, tell them that Ikea is a thousand times better and ask if they brought a TV because it must be about half five and she hasn’t seen Neighbours in ages.
Still, she doesn’t move. Something stronger than loneliness keeps her upstairs, vanishing and reappearing between rooms to avoid them because it’s as terrifying as it is wonderful that they might actually see her. And worst of all, the one thing that really keeps her away from them, that’s worse than looking them in the eyes, is the chance they might stare right through hers and see nothing.
A little later they seemingly tire of unpacking and head back downstairs to order a pizza. When they’re gone, Annie finds herself wandering upstairs, following their steps like she can see the trail of light and life they’ve blazed through the rooms. The house feels like fresh air and possibility and it’s absurd of course but she swears there are less shadows tonight.
Almost unconsciously she finds herself drifting towards the stairs, drawn to the warmth of their laughter. At the top of the stairs she listens to them talking and tries to pair the voices to the faces she glimpsed earlier. The one who saw her at the window has the voice that gets all high-pitched when he’s excited, a little trait that’s been making her giggle quietly to herself, something she’d half forgotten she could do. It’s also warm and kind and surprising gentle, something like she imagines his face might be. The other man, the tall one with the dark hair, has a gravelly voice with a Irish lilt that makes half of his words sound like a lullaby.
For a long time she just listens, laughing at their silly jokes and edging down a step at a time. When they head into the kitchen, their voices drop off abruptly. Though they’re only a few feet further away she can’t hear a thing, only a whisper on the air that might be the lilting Irish voice, testing her, drawing her down each step.
At the foot of the stairs the murmur of voices still isn’t clear enough and for a moment she forgets to be afraid and pokes her head around the partition wall, edging ever closer to the kitchen. The voices return to normal volume but somehow she still feels too far away from the laughter, the chill she’s felt since the day she died creeping over her, pushing her further towards them. Suddenly she’s at the kitchen door, peeking around through the bead curtain they hung earlier, watching them make more mess than sense out of the limited kitchen equipment.
She can see their profiles now as they gather around the work-top, poking through the cutlery provided in the lease, completely at ease together. On closer inspection they make a rather mismatched pair - the slightly awkward man, probably a geek since before it became cool and the unfailingly cheerful man, so effortlessly laid back.
Before she can ponder this further, one of them turns unexpectedly and in a microsecond, Annie is gone from the doorway and hiding on the staircase, breathing so loud she thinks they can probably hear her.
“George? What’re you looking at?” The lilting voice asks, curious but unconcerned.
The other man, George, sounds closer when he responds, like he’s moved into the kitchen doorway. “Nothing,” he says slowly, though he doesn’t seem sure. “I just thought ... I saw ... something out of the corner of my eye.”
Annie edges ever closer to the end of the partition wall by the stairs, the thrill of the possibility overtaking the fear.
“Like what?” The other asks, his voice now as close as George’s.
“Oh probably nothing ... it’s just ... it’s more like that feeling, y’know like when you know there’s someone behind you ... it’s been happening all afternoon.” George’s voice sounds more muffled now and the sound of cutlery rattling tells her he’s back in the kitchen.
“Weird.”
“Yeah. You haven’t ... noticed anything then?” George asks, evidently trying to seem unconcerned.
Annie starts to wonder if he’ll scream when he finally sees her. He’s starting to seem like a screamer.
“Noticed what?” his friend asks, sounding amused now.
“Anything Mitchell,” George snaps, obviously embarrassed. “A presence ... a ... a ... feeling. Just anything odd?”
She holds her breath, waiting for the answer, the confirmation to the weird feeling she’s had all day that these two are different than everyone else. It all hinges on this - if Mitchell dismisses George’s feelings then she’s wrong, she really is nothing, they’ll look right through her like a piece of glass and she’ll carry on wandering around, leaving no footprints.
A long moment passes before he answers and Annie finds herself edging around the partition wall -
- and staring straight at Mitchell, who is peeking into the room through the little window in the kitchen wall.
She half expects to find herself back in an upstairs bedroom but she doesn’t move, just stays routed to the floor by the stairs staring at the stranger she’s been edging closer towards for hours.
He looks right at her, at her, not through her and smiles like he’s been waiting for this all night.
Between the terror and elation coursing through her in equal measure, all Annie finds herself thinking is that his eyes aren’t dark and brooding like she imagined. They are hazel, bright and sparkling with something like mischief and history and possibility. And what’s more, his gaze holds hers.
“It’s your imagination George,” Mitchell assures his friend. Before he disappears back into the kitchen he tips a wink to Annie.
~
So nothing much happened but I needed to lay the base for part two which should follow soon ish. Anything to avoid actually writing my dissertation!
Reviews are love :)
Author: shootingstars88
Characters: Annie, Mitchell, bit of George
Rating: G
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I don't own Being Human, just playing with the shiny new fandom
~
Author's Note: Ok so I've never actually seen the original pilot of BH (and prefer to keep it that way, my brain can't take a different cast) so I don't know whether it covered how Mitchell and George actually met Annie when they moved in. Since the series itself never has, I got tempted to write my own version. I'm still getting a feel for the characters so it's not perfect, also I'm posting it a bit quick after I've written it because this fandom needs fic and I'm a bit impatient. Unbeta'd so mistakes are mine, apologies. Title is from the classic Catatonia tune 'Mulder and Scully'.
~
For a long time after glimpsing the two men moving into the house, her house, Annie finds she can’t quite move.
She stands stock still against the wall in the upstairs bedroom that was going to be a nursery one day, just listening to the strangers. They make three tips back to the car outside, depositing boxes and bags on the wooden floor downstairs and bantering amicably all the while about how to make an old converted pub feng shui.
They sound young and excited and completely, utterly normal. Maybe they are, maybe she’s finally just gone completely mad because a moment ago, she swears that one of them could actually see her.
She’s watched this street before, dozens of different faces going about their lives and not one of them has ever glanced up at the window like they could see her face there, even for a second. Until today.
So here she is, frozen against the wall with her heart pounding in her chest and tears streaming down her face, thinking how bloody inconvenient it is that ghosts can still have panic attacks when they don’t even need to breathe. She concentrates all her energy on calming down, just breathing in and out until the echo of her heartbeat, or whatever it is that’s hammering in her chest, finally slows down.
The two men are still downstairs, shifting boxes around and bickering now about the relative merits of Argos furniture versus Ikea. It’s been so long since anyone looked at her and saw something instead of nothing that part of her wants to go straight down, tell them that Ikea is a thousand times better and ask if they brought a TV because it must be about half five and she hasn’t seen Neighbours in ages.
Still, she doesn’t move. Something stronger than loneliness keeps her upstairs, vanishing and reappearing between rooms to avoid them because it’s as terrifying as it is wonderful that they might actually see her. And worst of all, the one thing that really keeps her away from them, that’s worse than looking them in the eyes, is the chance they might stare right through hers and see nothing.
A little later they seemingly tire of unpacking and head back downstairs to order a pizza. When they’re gone, Annie finds herself wandering upstairs, following their steps like she can see the trail of light and life they’ve blazed through the rooms. The house feels like fresh air and possibility and it’s absurd of course but she swears there are less shadows tonight.
Almost unconsciously she finds herself drifting towards the stairs, drawn to the warmth of their laughter. At the top of the stairs she listens to them talking and tries to pair the voices to the faces she glimpsed earlier. The one who saw her at the window has the voice that gets all high-pitched when he’s excited, a little trait that’s been making her giggle quietly to herself, something she’d half forgotten she could do. It’s also warm and kind and surprising gentle, something like she imagines his face might be. The other man, the tall one with the dark hair, has a gravelly voice with a Irish lilt that makes half of his words sound like a lullaby.
For a long time she just listens, laughing at their silly jokes and edging down a step at a time. When they head into the kitchen, their voices drop off abruptly. Though they’re only a few feet further away she can’t hear a thing, only a whisper on the air that might be the lilting Irish voice, testing her, drawing her down each step.
At the foot of the stairs the murmur of voices still isn’t clear enough and for a moment she forgets to be afraid and pokes her head around the partition wall, edging ever closer to the kitchen. The voices return to normal volume but somehow she still feels too far away from the laughter, the chill she’s felt since the day she died creeping over her, pushing her further towards them. Suddenly she’s at the kitchen door, peeking around through the bead curtain they hung earlier, watching them make more mess than sense out of the limited kitchen equipment.
She can see their profiles now as they gather around the work-top, poking through the cutlery provided in the lease, completely at ease together. On closer inspection they make a rather mismatched pair - the slightly awkward man, probably a geek since before it became cool and the unfailingly cheerful man, so effortlessly laid back.
Before she can ponder this further, one of them turns unexpectedly and in a microsecond, Annie is gone from the doorway and hiding on the staircase, breathing so loud she thinks they can probably hear her.
“George? What’re you looking at?” The lilting voice asks, curious but unconcerned.
The other man, George, sounds closer when he responds, like he’s moved into the kitchen doorway. “Nothing,” he says slowly, though he doesn’t seem sure. “I just thought ... I saw ... something out of the corner of my eye.”
Annie edges ever closer to the end of the partition wall by the stairs, the thrill of the possibility overtaking the fear.
“Like what?” The other asks, his voice now as close as George’s.
“Oh probably nothing ... it’s just ... it’s more like that feeling, y’know like when you know there’s someone behind you ... it’s been happening all afternoon.” George’s voice sounds more muffled now and the sound of cutlery rattling tells her he’s back in the kitchen.
“Weird.”
“Yeah. You haven’t ... noticed anything then?” George asks, evidently trying to seem unconcerned.
Annie starts to wonder if he’ll scream when he finally sees her. He’s starting to seem like a screamer.
“Noticed what?” his friend asks, sounding amused now.
“Anything Mitchell,” George snaps, obviously embarrassed. “A presence ... a ... a ... feeling. Just anything odd?”
She holds her breath, waiting for the answer, the confirmation to the weird feeling she’s had all day that these two are different than everyone else. It all hinges on this - if Mitchell dismisses George’s feelings then she’s wrong, she really is nothing, they’ll look right through her like a piece of glass and she’ll carry on wandering around, leaving no footprints.
A long moment passes before he answers and Annie finds herself edging around the partition wall -
- and staring straight at Mitchell, who is peeking into the room through the little window in the kitchen wall.
She half expects to find herself back in an upstairs bedroom but she doesn’t move, just stays routed to the floor by the stairs staring at the stranger she’s been edging closer towards for hours.
He looks right at her, at her, not through her and smiles like he’s been waiting for this all night.
Between the terror and elation coursing through her in equal measure, all Annie finds herself thinking is that his eyes aren’t dark and brooding like she imagined. They are hazel, bright and sparkling with something like mischief and history and possibility. And what’s more, his gaze holds hers.
“It’s your imagination George,” Mitchell assures his friend. Before he disappears back into the kitchen he tips a wink to Annie.
~
So nothing much happened but I needed to lay the base for part two which should follow soon ish. Anything to avoid actually writing my dissertation!
Reviews are love :)