Greetings, readers!

So, this is an idea that I have had for quite some time, though I had not planned on pursuing it until after the series was finished. I knew that I would never want to permanently leave this universe that I have created, so I decided that I would keep a story open in which I would share a series of one-shots and various drabbles set within the universe of The War Chronicles series.

I am currently in the planning stage of REVOLUTION and I've sort of hit a block, so I came up with an idea:

Why not open up my little one-shot page now?

I've been filling the TARDIS journal I do all of my writing in with a lot of drabbles lately anyway in an attempt to get my creative juices flowing, so I figured, why not share some of them? (At least the readable ones, that is, lol.) That way, maybe I can work out some of my little plot bunnies and still give you guys some little tidbits to tide you over until I can get my shit together on the main story! :P

So here's the deal with these:

The stories you will find here are not necessarily going to be in any kind of order (or necessarily be very long). At the top of each, I'll probably give some kind of little summary to let you know where it's happening in the timeline. There will likely be some "deleted scenes" of sorts included here, or just little things I'd like to share that I feel don't exactly fit in the main story. Really, these will just be whatever happens into my head within this universe.

So, I hope you enjoy this first little drabble! I think the date and title of this one should probably give you a good enough idea of what's happening in this one, so I'll leave you to it.

Please share your thoughts and feel free to throw out any requests! It may help my writer's block. ;)

Summary: Only in the darkest times does one fully appreciate the light…

Withdrawal

Essex, 1969

He deserved this.

The more he began to remember, the more the faces of his victims haunted his dreams, Mitchell realized; he deserved this.

He often wondered what his old parish priest would say, what penance he could possibly do to atone for all his sins. Because it wasn't just the faces of his victims that plagued his nightmares; it was hellfire. So vivid he could feel the flames, hear the screams of the damned- his fellow prisoners sentenced to eternal torment. But that was the fate of all murderers, wasn't it? How could he ever hope for anything but Hell? It was what he deserved.

What he didn't deserve was comfort.

He didn't deserve the strong arms that would envelope him when he woke up screaming during the night- the whispered words promising it was going to get better. And yet he accepted these things without hesitation, because if there was one thing that becoming a vampire had instilled in him, it was self-preservation. And cowardice.

The first few times he had been only vaguely aware of this presence, having been half delirious from withdrawal and the terror of his nightmares. He had clung to the figure like a lifeline, seeking an anchor to the waking world. At first he had been confused, disoriented.

He could recall a time during his childhood; both he and his mother were suffering from a terrible fever that had plagued their village, leaving his father struggling to care for them both and still keep up with his work. During those nights he was often plagued with terrible nightmares as well, likely brought on by the fever. But he always awoke in his father's arms, to comforting words in the darkness, and there he would remain until he fell asleep once more. It was a memory he had not recalled for decades.

But the arms that he awoke to of late were not his father's, the whispered words spoken to him were English, not the melodic Gaelic of his upbringing. And yet he found comfort, he felt safe, just as he had on those nights long ago when he was just a boy. Only these nightmares were so much more terrible than the fever induced apparitions of his childhood.

There were nights that left him so shaken that he couldn't bear to be left alone, nights he thought that it would be better to end it all- resign himself to his fate. And it was those nights that Lucian would stay. Mitchell would fall asleep with his head on his shoulder and in the morning he would awaken with an arm draped protectively over his side. He slept better for it.

As his mind began to clear over the weeks that followed, he wondered why this man he had never known before would go to such lengths to come to his aid- the man who had originally been sent to kill him. When he asked, the older man had spoken to him of forgiveness and second chances; things he himself had not believed he deserved. Yet that was exactly what he had been given; a second chance. After all the weeks of being buried by guilt and fear, he discovered something else…

Hope.