Fic: This Could Be A Case For Mulder and Scully; 2/3
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.
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Author's Note: Ok so I totally lied about this being two parts because it seems to have taken on a mind of its own and now it's a three parter (honestly, it was initially going to be a oneshot). Again, it's unbetaed and admittedly a little rushed, but I'm hoping you'll overlook any mistakes since I just wanted to get this out before the finale. Hopefully I'll have the third and final part up tomorrow evening. Enjoy :)
Part One
Part Two:
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He looks right at her, at her, not through her and smiles like he’s been waiting for this all night.
“It’s your imagination George,” Mitchell assures his friend. Before he disappears back into the kitchen he tips a wink to Annie.
In the blink of an eye, Annie finds herself back upstairs and judging from the noise in the hall, there’s a fairly good chance she just screamed.
She edges out onto the upstairs landing as quietly as possible, which isn’t easy considering she feels giddy and terrified and elated and actually a little bit sick. She stumbles over her own feet and giggles every couple of steps because she’s fairly sure she just haunted someone for the first time ever.
The Irish voice practically bounces up the stairs to her, every word shaking with suppressed laughter. “George, calm down, it’s nothing.”
Annie actually has to cover her mouth with her hand because hysterical giggles are shaking her entire body and more accidental haunting really isn’t going to help the poor man downstairs.
“It’s not nothing!” George replies in something close to a squeal. “I heard a scream Mitchell ... a ... a ... scream, a women’s scream. In. this. house.”
Mitchell, on the other hand, sounds completely calm. Actually he sounds like he’s having the time of his life. “George, it was probably just some kids, out in the street or something.”
“It was too loud for that,” George shoots back and Annie actually has to bite down on her knuckles to suppress more giggles at the way his voice keeps getting higher and higher.
She knows she should probably feel a bit guilty for scaring him but really the whole thing is just so absurd that all she wants to do is laugh, really laugh for the first time in such a very long time.
“The window’s open George,” Mitchell tells him, sounding as close to laughter as Annie is. A thrill runs through her at the sound because right now, this is their little joke, something shared.
“Look it’s been a long day, maybe we need a break. Let’s go to that pub down the road and get a drink and calm down, eh?”
“It’s late,” George says, though he sounds tempted, probably welcoming an excuse to leave the house. “We’ve probably missed last orders anyway.”
“Nah not yet, c’mon,” Mitchell wheedles, stretching out the last word into a plea.
“I suppose we could ... just one,” George agrees and she hears the jingle of keys as someone picks a set up.
Then the front door is open and though she’s upstairs she can feel the blast of air it brings, sweeping a chill over her. The door slams and just like that she’s alone.
~
With the boys gone so is the warmth and the laughter and the little shared world she’d made with the young man who smiled at her. Now the house feels dark and cold and the tears appear. She runs downstairs and curls up on the sofa, sobbing because it’s been so long since anyone spoke to her and she still can’t think of anything to say that’s going to be worth listening to.
They’re gone for exactly fifty six minutes. Fifty six minutes in which she thinks of everything and understands nothing - not why it might be that they can see her, nor why one of them doesn’t even seem surprised; she doesn’t decide what she’s going to say and for the life of her, or more appropriately, for the death of her, she can’t understand why she’s suddenly absolutely terrified at the prospect of being seen.
She always loved people, was happy just being around them and it’s killed her all over again every second of every day she’s been like this to wander through the world and never touch it, overlooked and unimportant. But now this wonderful possibility feels too much like the first day of primary school or the first night away at college. For fifty six minutes the only thing that stops her going completely mad is the way his eyes lit up when he smiled at her, like maybe he was glad to see her, after all.
The second the key jingles in the lock she’s back upstairs, then vanishing and appearing between rooms trying to avoid George. He flits between rooms, searching the scattered bags for his toothbrush, then his pyjamas and finally, though she’s sure he’ll never tell Mitchell, an teddy bear that looks as old as he is. She waits, silent and still, until his light has been off for a while and his breathing has levelled out into light snores. Then she edges, three steps forward and one back, towards the stairs and the muffled noise of late night tv.
The moment she thinks about being downstairs, it happens. She reappears on the bottom step, her heart pounding, every muscle in her body tensed.
Just then, a quiet soothing voice breaks the silence, addressing the apparently empty room. “I’m Mitchell by the way.”
This time she doesn’t vanish and reappear in the living room, she feels the effort of every footstep as she edges towards him.
When she’s at the edge of the partition wall he speaks again, even quieter, almost pleading. “Please come out. It’s ok y’know, I won’t hurt you.”
And just like that, she’s not scared anymore.
In less than the blink of an eye she’s standing in front of him and this time he’s the one who screams.
It’s really just a little yelp of surprise at her sudden appearance but they both wince and cast a quick glance towards the stairs for any sign George heard. When nothing happens, Mitchell breathes an audible sigh of relief and sits back down on the sofa he just shot up from.
“Sorry!” Annie says quickly, marvelling momentarily that of all the ways she imagined this while they were out, she never once thought she might scare him.
“No, it’s all right,” he assures her, smiling again now. “Handy little talent you’ve got there.”
“Yeah maybe, if I had any way of controlling it,” she replies and then suddenly it’s all too much and the questions burst out. “Hang on, how come you can even see me? Normally people just look right through me but you’re ... you’re talking to me and ... oh god, are you dead as well?” She winces internally, smooth Annie, really tactful.
He chuckles darkly at that and nods, “Yep, technically.”
With those two words, every scenario and possibility she invented while they were out vanishes and a thousand new questions take their place. “But people can see you, I mean you rented this house, you just went the pub - how does that even work? Why can’t I do that?”
“I said I was dead, I didn’t say I was a ghost,” he tells her, folding his arms and looking up at her through impossibly long lashes, apparently enjoying himself.
“Wait - what?”
“I’m a vampire,” he says matter-of-factly.
Annie laughs. “Right, course you are. Just a two-man coven is it?”
“Actually George is a werewolf,” he corrects her, calm in the face of her incredulity.
“Ok now I’m scared because I don’t think you’re joking,” she says, hearing a slight edge of hysteria creep into her voice. It’s absurd, because vampires are pale and cruel and fictional and he is entirely real, there is colour in his cheeks and warmth in his eyes and god, they laughed together.
“I’m not joking, I really am a vampire. And George really is a werewolf,” he repeats and when he blinks his eyes change, just for a second, to jet black.
Every instinct in her body screams at her to run or to edge away but then he blinks back to normal and his eyes are warm and hazel and apologetic. She doesn’t run because he said he wouldn’t hurt her and for a reason she can’t quite fathom, something that’s hiding in his eyes, she believes him. Instead, she paces the floor, her mind racing.
“But ... but I saw you in the sunlight today, out of the window,” she stammers, clutching at evidence to make this all a big joke. “I mean,” she laughs, a little hysterical, “shouldn’t you be out, I don’t know, ‘hunting’ now, not watching-” she checks the tv, “-Jonathan Ross?”
“What’s wrong with Film 2008?” he challenges, completely and quite intentionally missing the point.
“Nothing! Oh my God, that’s so not the point,” she shoots back, huffing at him and his cheeky grin. “You can’t be a ... a ... vampire, I mean you look normal, I thought they were meant to be pale ... and y’know, there’s a bed upstairs - don’t you sleep in coffins or something?”
“Sunlight doesn’t kill me, it’s just a bit uncomfortable. And no, I don’t sleep in a coffin.” He shakes his head, apparently bored with the stereotyping. “And as for hunting, well I’m kind of on the wagon at the moment, so to speak. No blood.” He smiles at her but she swears his hands shake, just for a second.
“A vampire who doesn’t drink blood?” she asks tentatively.
“So I’m not exactly Dracula-”
“Definitely not.”
“Yeah well you’re not Patrick Swayze are you?” he challenges, the momentary darkness in his eyes suddenly gone, replaced with a spark of mischief that’s already starting to feel familiar.
She stops her pacing at this, turning to stare at him and fighting to keep her mouth from hanging open in shock.
“Things aren’t exactly like the films,” he tells her simply.
Then he smiles at her and somehow, just like that, none of it matters. Because maybe he is a vampire, maybe the geeky twenty something still snoring upstairs is a werewolf, but they’re also funny and kind and right now, they’re all she’s got. And that’s more than enough.
“Fair point,” she concedes, feeling a tiny smile creep onto her face.
~
Reviews are love :) Third and final part coming soon...