heather11483 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heathershaped) wrote2009-03-25 12:49 pm
heathershaped) wrote2009-03-25 12:49 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Comfort (Being Human; Mitchell, Annie)
Title: Comfort
Pairing/Characters: Annie, Mitchell
Rating: G
Summary: Mitchell and Annie pass the morning. Vague spoilers for the end of the series.
Word Count: 722
Notes: Study break ficlet for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
paynesgrey, who prompted me with Mitchell/Annie, mornings. (prompt post here)
Annie trails her thumb up the side of her cup of tea, feeling the warm press of the porcelain against her fingers while she still can. She can't drink it or anything, but that's not the point, is it? It's comfortable, and she always drinks -- drank, used to drink, whatever -- tea in the mornings. Stopping now, just because she's ... well, she doesn't think she can.
Not even super-special-snowflake ghosts can give up old habits.
With a wry smile, she lowers to sit on the steps, listening to the cars and sporadic foot traffic. The noise is nice, really. She's never liked the quiet, and not being able to be around people is the worst part of all this. If it weren't for George, for Mitchell, Annie feels sure she'd have floated away a a long time ago. Especially since -- well, she didn't do the best job keeping her feet under her when she was alive, did she? Bit funny, when she thinks about it (and she has a lot of time to think about it), that she's better able to stand on her own now she's dead.
No one can see her at the moment, she doesn't think; it's not consistent yet, what she can do. It's only been a week since she walked away from that door and became something else. She doesn't even know exactly what she can do, but it's preferable to just flitting from room to room, not even being able to touch anything. Whatever it is that she is now, it's better than before.
Besides, there's still tea, isn't there? Even if it goes cold in her hands a bit faster than it used to.
"And George wonders why I keep making it," she says to herself, glancing down at the now-cool liquid in her cup and wrinkling her nose.
"What about George?" Mitchell drops down beside her on the step. He's not dressed for work; Annie knows he's off till tomorrow night. She knows both the boys' schedules. He swings his elbow out enough to nudge her side gently. "If you're wondering who ate the last of the biscuits, I'm pretty sure that was me. He helped, though."
"I didn't even know they were gone. I just made those!" Annie holds in a smile as she smacks his arm.
"We work fast, George and I," Mitchell waggles his eyebrows and rests his elbows on his knees, letting his hands dangle. He watches her a moment, in that way of his, but Annie doesn't mind -- hard to, really, when most people literally look right through her. She doesn't think she'll ever get used to how weird that feels. "You okay?"
"Couldn't be better," she told him, smiling. "You?"
"Couldn't be better," he repeats, and turns his head to look out into the street. They don't talk for a bit, but Annie finds the quiet not so oppressive when there's someone there to be quiet with. They sit out here often; maybe, with the sun being lower in the sky and everything, it's easier for him to be out here. For her part, Annie loves when the boys are awake. The nights can be really sodding long when you don't sleep, and she still can't work up the nerve to try it. Mitchell gets restless at night too, she knows -- it's not like she can't hear him pacing, even when later he's all teasing and grins.
Maybe mornings are more relaxing for them both.
"It's been so quiet lately," she says. "Uneventful."
"You complaining?" Mitchell lifts a brow and smiles slightly at her.
"No; but just ..." she shrugs. "You really think it's over, then?"
Mitchell shrugs. "Herrick's over," he says simply. "That's all I know."
Annie gives a snort. "You're supposed to make me feel better."
"It's all I've got at the moment," he says, but he brings an arm around her waist and tugs her close. "Does this help?"
It does -- it really does -- but she grins and doesn't answer the question. "I'm still not over those biscuits," she said. "I should leave you both to fend for yourselves next time you've got the munchies."
Mitchell smiles, and he's warm against her. "But you won't."
Annie rolls her eyes toward him, but doesn't argue.
Pairing/Characters: Annie, Mitchell
Rating: G
Summary: Mitchell and Annie pass the morning. Vague spoilers for the end of the series.
Word Count: 722
Notes: Study break ficlet for
paynesgrey, who prompted me with Mitchell/Annie, mornings. (prompt post here)Annie trails her thumb up the side of her cup of tea, feeling the warm press of the porcelain against her fingers while she still can. She can't drink it or anything, but that's not the point, is it? It's comfortable, and she always drinks -- drank, used to drink, whatever -- tea in the mornings. Stopping now, just because she's ... well, she doesn't think she can.
Not even super-special-snowflake ghosts can give up old habits.
With a wry smile, she lowers to sit on the steps, listening to the cars and sporadic foot traffic. The noise is nice, really. She's never liked the quiet, and not being able to be around people is the worst part of all this. If it weren't for George, for Mitchell, Annie feels sure she'd have floated away a a long time ago. Especially since -- well, she didn't do the best job keeping her feet under her when she was alive, did she? Bit funny, when she thinks about it (and she has a lot of time to think about it), that she's better able to stand on her own now she's dead.
No one can see her at the moment, she doesn't think; it's not consistent yet, what she can do. It's only been a week since she walked away from that door and became something else. She doesn't even know exactly what she can do, but it's preferable to just flitting from room to room, not even being able to touch anything. Whatever it is that she is now, it's better than before.
Besides, there's still tea, isn't there? Even if it goes cold in her hands a bit faster than it used to.
"And George wonders why I keep making it," she says to herself, glancing down at the now-cool liquid in her cup and wrinkling her nose.
"What about George?" Mitchell drops down beside her on the step. He's not dressed for work; Annie knows he's off till tomorrow night. She knows both the boys' schedules. He swings his elbow out enough to nudge her side gently. "If you're wondering who ate the last of the biscuits, I'm pretty sure that was me. He helped, though."
"I didn't even know they were gone. I just made those!" Annie holds in a smile as she smacks his arm.
"We work fast, George and I," Mitchell waggles his eyebrows and rests his elbows on his knees, letting his hands dangle. He watches her a moment, in that way of his, but Annie doesn't mind -- hard to, really, when most people literally look right through her. She doesn't think she'll ever get used to how weird that feels. "You okay?"
"Couldn't be better," she told him, smiling. "You?"
"Couldn't be better," he repeats, and turns his head to look out into the street. They don't talk for a bit, but Annie finds the quiet not so oppressive when there's someone there to be quiet with. They sit out here often; maybe, with the sun being lower in the sky and everything, it's easier for him to be out here. For her part, Annie loves when the boys are awake. The nights can be really sodding long when you don't sleep, and she still can't work up the nerve to try it. Mitchell gets restless at night too, she knows -- it's not like she can't hear him pacing, even when later he's all teasing and grins.
Maybe mornings are more relaxing for them both.
"It's been so quiet lately," she says. "Uneventful."
"You complaining?" Mitchell lifts a brow and smiles slightly at her.
"No; but just ..." she shrugs. "You really think it's over, then?"
Mitchell shrugs. "Herrick's over," he says simply. "That's all I know."
Annie gives a snort. "You're supposed to make me feel better."
"It's all I've got at the moment," he says, but he brings an arm around her waist and tugs her close. "Does this help?"
It does -- it really does -- but she grins and doesn't answer the question. "I'm still not over those biscuits," she said. "I should leave you both to fend for yourselves next time you've got the munchies."
Mitchell smiles, and he's warm against her. "But you won't."
Annie rolls her eyes toward him, but doesn't argue.