Rating: G

Word Count: 701

Characters/Pairings: Annie, Mitchell bit of George

Disclaimer: Don't own. Belonging too BBC4 (I think)

Spoilers/Time Line: round episode 3

To the Rescue

"Oh my god! Oh my god!" cried Annie as she came running out of the kitchen.

"What is it, Annie?"

"In there, I saw it!" She held up at tea towel using it to her face.

"What's wrong?" Mitchell asked again, lifting his palms to settle her.

"I can't -- in there!" she said as she moved close to him, grabbing his arm and holding tightly. He caught a light familiar chill from the contact.

"It's okay, Annie. I'll take care of it." he said as he patted her shoulder to comfort, making steps toward the kitchen. I thought we got rid of all those weird utensils she got from the register. Must've missed one.

He crossed the threshold into the kitchen and scanned the area for any dubious pieces of cutlery. There he spotted it. On the table were little colorful clippy thingys that some how reminded her of her fiancee. Mitchell scooped them up, quickly then shoved them into his pocket. Safe.

"There, there Annie. It's done."

"Already? What'd you do with it?"

"They're in my pocket. It's safe now." He patted his hand against his side and watch as she pulled a face.

"What you mean in there? In your pocket? How'd you manage that? You-you mean you killed it?" He watched in a kind of horror as her eyes began to well up with fresh tears.

"Well, they weren't really living in the first place now where they?"

"HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT, MITCHELL? IT WAS A LIVING BREATHING, THRIVING-" Mitchell put his hands up and backed away from Annie, bumping into the sink in the process. Just then came a rustling from the cupboard. "Oh my god it's still alive!" she sighed in relief and rocked against the table when her knees weakened. "Well, don't just stand there. Go on! Get rid of it!"

Mitchell just stared at her for a moment, confused before he tilted his head and listened. There he heard a rustling in the cupboards. He bent down quickly and opened the door.

"It's -- a pigeon?"

"Of course it is, what else could it be?"

"Well, I thought you were-"

"And what's that you've got in your pocket, then?"

"Oh it's nothing." Mitchell said as he worked on shooing the bird out of the opened window. When it was all said and done he looked back at her and smiled hugely. He was very proud of himself. But when he caught the look on Annie's face, he faulted a little.

"We never would have had this problem if it weren't for the two of you!"

"Us!? What do you mean?"

"You're all so messy, with your crumbs and your leaving the windows opened and your, 'eating at the table is such a bourgeois concept'. Mitchell's face wrinkled in abhorrence at being accused when he'd just came to her rescue!

"I've never said that."

"Oh. Oh then I guess that was Gilbert, wasn't it?" She smiled abashedly.

"Why was there just a pigeon flying out of our kitchen window?" asked George as he entered into the flat.

"Annie left it opened again." Mitchell offered. George shook his head making a pitiful whining noise as he made his way upstairs. It was his time of the month.

"Way to throw me to the dogs there, hey Mitch?" Mitchell frowned again at the nickname.

"I CAN HEAR YOU!" Wailed George before slamming his door, finally.

Annie winced, pinched her mouth closed and shrugged. As can all the neighbors, she thought as she moved to sit down at the table. The pipes groaned. Mitchell continued to lean against the sink and watched as she curled her fingers around a cooling mug of tea. His facial expression was screwed up in a kind of deliberation.

"Well ... That was exciting wasn't it?" She added, giving him an apologetic smile. He folded his arms, body jerking against the counter top in the way it always did when he was thinking seriously. "Would you liked some tea?" She offered.

"Annie?" He said, finally breaking his silence.

"Yes, Mitchell? Her eyes drifted to where his fingers gripped his arms.

"How is it you thought I got a pigeon in my pocket?"