A/N: So I've fallen back in love with the pure perfection that is Being Human. I have to clarify that I'm in love with the UK version. I've only ever seen promos and one scene of the first episode but, to me, the US version is a rip off (no offence to Americans, that's just my opinion!). I'm especially in love with Mitchell 3 But, anyway, after the first episode of the third series, I needed more Annie/Mitchell love. So here it is. It's sort of my version of how they get together :\ I hope you like it (whether you're a BH fan or not :P)
Btw, there is a banner in my profile for this story that MrsStCloudxToxBe made 3 Love you, sis xxx
Annie stirred the tea mindlessly at the kitchen table before realising exactly what she was doing. Two years of her, um, death had passed but she still couldn't get out of the habit of making tea. The problem arose when she lifted the cup to her lips and reality came crashing down. Annie, in her state, could do many things. She could pick things up, she could cook, and she could hug people; if George, Nina and Mitchell could ever be classed as 'people'. But, still, she lacked the ability to actually consume something. She couldn't eat ice cream when she was sad and she couldn't drink a damn cup of tea like every other Englishman would when life sucked.
She knew that George and Mitchell would be annoyed. They detested how much tea she made but, inevitably, poured down the sink. When they wanted tea, there were never any teabags because she'd used them all. Nina, however, never minded much. It wasn't simply because she preferred coffee. She actually sympathised with Annie. George and Mitchell were simply being their usual egotistical selves.
She placed the mug back on the table and sighed. It seemed like such a simple thing. Tea. But it was the last remnant of her life. Although, technically speaking, it was only half of a remnant considering she couldn't actually drink the tea. She knew that if she was alive, if she actually had a pulse, she would be depressed and most likely doing self harm. However, the only thing that could harm her now was purgatory. And she'd been resisting crossing over ever since she'd met George and Mitchell. Even when she'd been dragged there against her will, Mitchell had saved her.
They were all different. They were all what many would call inhuman. And they were what even more people would describe as 'nightmares'. Annie couldn't be seen or heard by the 'norms'. This, of course, gave her little reason to leave the house. The good news was that she now had powers. She could see people's auras which basically meant she could see how they feeling. Unfortunately, people like her and George, Nina and Mitchell didn't actually have auras. Although she'd never admit it, the only aura she actually cared about was Mitchell's. But, that was only half of it. She could throw things. When needed, she became a full poltergeist. She'd only ever done that when her ex-fiancé had come back to the house (any other times had been accidents)`. And she'd never seen him since.
George and Nina were werewolves. Not the stupid Twilight become-wolf-when-angry kind. But, they were real. They became beasts only at the full moon. They were dangerous. They couldn't even trust themselves to change in front of each other because whatever happened during a full moon, it was no longer George and Nina. Whatever overtook them was evil. But, that only happened one night a month. You'd never guess on the run of the mill day that George and Nina, the perfect couple, both turned into something that truly was the essence of nightmares.
Mitchell. His first name was John. John Mitchell. But, for a reason she didn't quite know, people, even her, referred to him as simply Mitchell. To passersby in the street, he would probably seem like a normal guy. Perhaps a normal guy who was maybe a bit of a loner with a few anger problems, but normal nonetheless. He had that dark, rugged, just-rolled-out-of-bed-so-leave-me-alone look. Mitchell ignored emotions and feelings and if you brought it up, he either changed the subject or left the room. But, overall, he appeared to be a normal guy. But, for almost a century, he'd been able to be so thirsty that he could drink a human body dry. Annie knew he himself wasn't proud of it. In fact he had resisted the bloodlust and the older he got, the easier it was to resist. But it was still there. And every time he came home, Annie could tell if he'd fed. Not only did he reek of blood, but he looked guilty and forlorn. But, still, he wouldn't talk.
The front door opened but she didn't move. A moment later, George and Nina appeared in the doorway. They looked a little rough. Their hair was a bit tousled and their clothes were a little creased. To the outside world, they probably looked like a couple who got a bit too drunk and got a little frisky last night. But Annie knew. She smiled ruefully at them. "How was your time of the month?"
Instead of answering, George stepped into the kitchen and sat down at the kitchen table. "Where's Mitchell?"
Annie shrugged as she stood up to pour her tea down the drain. "I don't know. He left not long after you guys did." She turned to them, leaning against the sink.
"So you spent the whole night by yourself?" Nina asked slowly as she sat next to George.
Annie nodded slowly. "Pretty much."
"Why didn't you stop him from leaving?" George asked quietly.
"Because he wanted to leave," Annie whispered. "You guys, he saved me from purgatory and then considered going to America to be with a bunch of vampires. If he wants to leave me, he can. I don't care anymore."
Nina and George glanced at each other. George stood up and pulled her into a hug against her will. "But, he shouldn't have left you alone."
She stepped out of his arms. "Maybe I wanted to be alone."
"What happened, Annie?" he murmured. "Mitchell saved you. You should be happy."
She ran her fingers through her dark hair. "I don't care if I should be happy. He's making it really difficult to think it was worth coming back. He saves me and then he starts talking about America. Not exactly the welcome I imagined when they let me go. I just wonder how much our friendship meant to him."
Nina shrugged. "You know Mitchell. He's never one for showing that he cares."
"I get that. But, he's never avoided me like this." Annie shook her head. "So I'm done with it. If he wants to save me and then run away, he can." She left the kitchen and headed for the lounge just as the front door opened again.
Speak of the devil. Mitchell stepped over the threshold and looked straight at her. His dark hair was slicked back like always and she didn't have to be able to see evidence to know that it brushed the base of his neck. She watched him take his sunglasses off to reveal his dark eyes. She hated his eyes so much. Well, she admitted that his eyes were beautiful. But, she hated them because he hid so much behind them. His tanned skin glowed a little from the early morning light which filtered through the blinds. And, of course, he was dressed in his usual dark jeans, dark maroon shirt, leather jacket and fingerless gloves.
She scrutinised him. He couldn't hold her gaze for more than a few seconds and there was a blood stain on his shirt. He'd fed last night. She knew that it was natural for a vampire to drink human blood and she knew that Mitchell went for as long as possible without succumbing to the bloodlust. But, every time he came home from feeding, she felt that niggling disappointment in the pit of her stomach. She knew that he felt that, too. And that somehow made the whole thing worse. The one thing that kept him alive was something that he hated doing.
Neither of them had said anything but then Mitchell lowered his gaze and stepped past her, heading to his bedroom. Annie looked through the kitchen doorway at George and Nina. She threw her arms up in the air. "See?" She walked back through to the kitchen. "Nothing. He gives me nothing at all."
George hid a smile behind his hand. "That wasn't nothing."
Annie shook her head as she sat down opposite them. "George, shut up."
Nina and George continued to try to persuade Annie that things weren't that bad with Mitchell but she zoned out. She could remember that moment when she'd died, when her heart had stopped beating. She'd seen her lifeless body lying at the bottom of the stairs. 'She fell down the stairs.' That's what Owen, her ex-fiancé, had said. She almost laughed at the lie now that she knew the truth. The sad thing was that she could never expose him. She could never prove that he had pushed her. Sure, George or Mitchell could tell her mother. But what use would that do? Her mother wouldn't believe a total stranger, who was accusing Owen of abusing his fiancé, would she?
There wasn't much that Mitchell and Annie had in common. Mitchell could actually be seen by the 'norms'. And Mitchell could actually eat and drink. Whether it was blood or pizza, Mitchell could actually eat. Mitchell could be, and she knew he had been, physical with another person. To be fair, she hadn't exactly tried to be with someone else. She'd been a bit busy, coping with her death. Still, she figured that it was an educated guess that it was impossible. She knew that she could hug people and she and Mitchell had accidentally kissed (and both of them had felt it!). But, still, she didn't know if making love was an option anymore. But, the one thing that she and Mitchell had in common was that they were, effectively, frozen. They never aged and never changed, they simply...were. Annie could endure purgatory if she so wished, and if fate was cruel enough, Mitchell would suffer death with a stake through his heart. But, until either of those things happened, they were frozen. They could never have children, they could never age, and they could never do what was simply expected of being human.
Still, as Annie looked at George and Nina, she felt a surge of jealousy. What happened to them both each month was truly horrible and disturbing. She had witnessed them both transform and the image haunted her. But, still, they had each other and despite the agony they experienced each month, they were happy. They could get married and have children and grow old together. Other than that one day a month, they were still human. But, still, Annie was alone in that respect. She'd met a few other ghosts but they'd all inevitably crossed over. But why had she resisted? Why had she resisted death so many times just to live in a world where she was, ultimately, alone? She'd once believed that she wanted to stay so that she could be with her friends. But was that it? If she went back to purgatory and endured it, George and Nina would be fine. And Mitchell...the way he was acting, it was almost as if he wanted her there anyway.
How could she understand? How could she ever comprehend his life? Mitchell was by no means feeling self pity. He'd got over that a century ago. But, in reality, she didn't know him. She didn't know the guilt he felt everyday from trying to stay alive. She didn't know the loneliness he felt as he watched the ones he loved grow old and, eventually, die. Even now, George and Nina will die, and Annie...well, it was kind of a safe assumption that she'd pass over at some point. She didn't know about the 'Box Twenty Massacre' (as the news was calling it) but he knew he had to tell her soon.
He stared down at his suitcase that was carelessly strewn with clothes that he still hadn't got around to put away. America was a nice idea, in theory. The 'Old Ones' would certainly understand him a lot more than anybody possibly could here. Even the local vampires had a different frame of mind to him. While he held on to what little humanity he had, they willingly let it go. But, he was better off here. Even if George and Nina died and Annie passed over, at the minute, their goodness reminded him exactly why he had started resisting the bloodlust.
Annie.
He didn't admit it to anybody. Not even himself. He guessed that George and Nina had figured it out. But, they wouldn't have told her. Why would they tell her that she was the sole reason that he'd stayed in England? He'd endured purgatory before it was his time just so that he could have Annie again. And yet, he didn't have her. He had relived each of the deaths of his victims. He had relived the guilt and the pain. And, still, he'd relive it all over again just to have that one moment when she had run into his arms.
The sheer thought of losing her, having her taken away from him, was agonising. He'd told George and Nina that he'd get her back, no matter the cost. He'd implied that he'd get her back, even if he died and had to suffer purgatory himself. But he lied. Well, he meant it to a certain extent. But, he'd much rather bring her back and be there with her. And now he was.
He sat down on his bed and ran his gloved hands over his face. What was he doing? Seriously. He was a killer. A monster. And here he was, pining for a woman like a thirteen year old girl would do about her favourite celebrity. And, to make it worse, the woman in question was actually dead. Although, more accurately, he was actually pining for her ghost.
There was a knock at the door and he turned to his suitcase, pretending to be occupied. "Come in," he murmured.
The door opened and Annie stepped inside, a pile of clothes in her arms. She was indescribable. Many would simply describe her as beautiful, and she was. Her dark curls always tumbled perfectly around her face. With her chocolate eyes, perfectly shaped nose, and dark skin, many girls had been jealous of her when she was alive. Her clothes never changed. Her grey shawl, white shirt, grey leggings and knitted boots were, quite frankly, part of what made her beautiful. They were simple and weren't extravagant, just like she wasn't.
But, 'beautiful' didn't describe Annie as a whole. She was scary. No, she was fucking terrifying. People probably didn't think that Anna Clare Sawyer could ever be angry. Mitchell didn't know much about her life but assumed that the closest Annie ever got to expressing anger was through debates, but never arguing, never fighting back, never showing violence. But, now? Her anger made things fly across the room. Her anger made things break. Her anger made Owen, who had once seemed so strong and indestructible, weep like a little girl. He was grateful that she seemed to finally have some control over her poltergeist powers.
Still, she was so much more than a beautiful and a scary woman. She was honest, outspoken, trustworthy...a friend. For almost a century, all Mitchell had done was try to blend in, not draw attention to himself. He'd never purposefully gone out to find friends. Finding George was a freak chance, a coincidence. Nina came to be one of his friends because of that coincidence. And Annie? Out of all the houses in London that he and George wanted to rent, what were the chances that they'd want the one with a lonely ghost as its only constant occupant?
But what did he think a friend was? He openly called George and Nina friends but he felt differently towards them than he did to Annie. What made her so different? Why had he gone through purgatory just to bring a ghost back to the mortal world? If he didn't think of her as a friend, then what was she?
Annie shuffled slightly. "I did some laundry. This is yours." She gestured with her eyes to the clothes in her arms.
Mitchell cracked a smile. "A ghost who does laundry? You could be a nice Casper figure for someone."
She bristled and he instantly regretted his joke. "Where do you want these?"
He flinched at the harshness in her voice. It was like he had just fed all over again. It was like that moment when he held a dead human body in his arms and realised exactly how much pain he had just inflicted. He felt that same guilt he did when blood still covered his fangs, chin and clothes. But it was worse because when he felt guilty after feeding, they could never respond. But, here, now, he could see the pain flash in Annie's eyes and the way they turned glossy with unshed tears. He didn't know why she was so upset about the joke. All he knew was that he somehow should've known not to say it.
"Just put them anywhere," he whispered, looking at the floor.
"No," Annie said sternly.
Mitchell slowly lifted his head and frowned. "What?"
She shrugged. "I spent my time and energy washing these clothes. I am not going to put these clean clothes on top of a mountain of screwed up and creased jeans and tops like that of a teenage boy's."
Mitchell shook his head and stood up. "A couple of things. Number one, you don't have energy because you're a ghost. Number two, you didn't have to do my laundry. I'm more than capable of working a washer."
She quirked an eyebrow. "I'll believe that when I see it. Now take your laundry and clear all of this up unless you really are going to America."
He sighed and took the clean laundry over to his chest of drawers. "You don't have to keep talking about it, you know."
"I just don't understand why you'd even consider leaving us," she whispered.
"You don't understand," he whispered, not even turning to look at her. How could he survive the inevitable look of disappointment that she'd give when she found out the truth? But he knew that she wouldn't just be disappointed, she'd be angry. He couldn't cope with that.
"Then help me!" she exclaimed.
He shook his head and turned to her. "Annie, I will tell you. I promise. Just give me time."
She smiled ruefully. "That's something we both have plenty of, isn't it? Time."
George walked into the living room and sat down next to Mitchell on the settee. As far as he knew, Nina and Annie had gone to the shops to pick up some groceries. He sat in silence for a minute while Mitchell watched the TV. He was worried about Mitchell. Annie, he knew, would go to Nina if she would ever want to talk. But Mitchell? He would need someone to drag it out of him before he admitted to what everybody, except Annie, knew.
"Hey, George," Mitchell started as he muted the TV.
George frowned and turned to him. "Um, yeah, Mitchell?" he asked tentatively.
Mitchell paused. "Is Annie okay?"
Maybe George didn't need to do that much dragging after all.
George rolled his eyes and took his glasses off. He laughed to himself as he cleaned the lenses with the sleeve of his jumper. "Did you just ask that? Did those words just leave your mouth?"
Mitchell frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
George shook his head as he replaced his glasses. "Are you seriously that oblivious to everything? Or are you just being an idiot of a vampire by not admitting it?"
Mitchell ran a hand over his face. "I don't know what to do."
George frowned. "How old are you?"
Instead of answering, Mitchell leaned his head back. "Does Annie fancy me?"
George elbowed Mitchell in the rib. "Are you being this childish? You're a hundred and sixteen years old. Act your age. You're not twelve anymore."
"What?" Mitchell exclaimed.
George smiled to himself. "No one says 'fancy' anymore."
Mitchell frowned and hit George over the head. "I'm being serious about this," he whispered. "Does she fancy me?"
George quirked an eyebrow. "You really are oblivious to everything, aren't you?"
"You knew?" Mitchell exclaimed. "And you didn't tell me?"
"You're acting twelve again," George muttered. He sighed. "Mitchell, you do know that her middle name is Clare, not subtle, right?"
Mitchell sighed. "How long? I mean, how long have you known that she fancies me?"
George shrugged. "A couple of weeks, maybe. I suppose going to hell and back to save her may swing a woman."
"I suppose so," Mitchell murmured. "Do you think I should tell her?"
George turned his head to look at Mitchell curiously. "Assuming that you're referring to you blatantly wanting her, you need to. She's wondering why she came back. You can see it in her eyes."
Mitchell nodded reluctantly. "I'll talk to her soon. I will."
"Good. I'm tired of you two avoiding each other and acting like your twelve," George muttered.
"Stop saying that," Mitchell exclaimed. "You know that this isn't a regular 'relationship' and I think we're allowed to go about it a little childishly." A thought suddenly struck him, forcing him to take his feet off of the coffee table and sit up straight, like a cat that was just sprayed with water would. "Who am I kidding, George? Why am I even contemplating telling Annie how I feel?"
George sighed. "What's wrong now?"
"George! She's a fucking ghost. How can we ever be normal?" Mitchell exclaimed.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well, you know," Mitchell mumbled as he wiggled his hips a little bit.
George laughed out loud. Not only did Mitchell look ridiculous (George wondered why his hundred and sixteen year old vampire friend wasn't mature enough to simply say 'sex'), but he sounded ridiculous. He knew his friend well enough to know that Annie was exactly what he needed. Annie was down to earth and she was genuine and she was, ultimately, inhuman. But, she would make him feel cared for, wanted, loved, and, most importantly, Annie would make him feel everything that he was ever afraid to feel.
The front door opened and Nina walked in, laden with carrier bags. George leapt up and began to help her. She smiled gratefully. "Thanks, George," she murmured as she kissed his cheek.
"Where's Annie?" Mitchell asked quietly.
So that George didn't burst out laughing, he nudged Nina's arm and then headed to the kitchen to put the shopping away. "Oh, she should be back in a minute," Nina explained. "She wanted some time to herself. She'll be back, I promise."
"Is she okay?" Mitchell asked hurriedly.
Nina glanced through the kitchen doorway at George and then nodded at Mitchell. "She's fine. I think she's still overwhelmed that she's back here with us."
A moment later, Annie popped into the room. She had a tendency to do that if 'norms' risked seeing a door randomly open by itself (or if she was simply being lazy). She looked around and waved at George. "Hi George."
He waved back. "Hey, Annie."
She turned to Mitchell and faltered for a moment. "Hi Mitchell," she whispered. She gave him a small smile.
He flicked his hand in what George assumed was a wave. "Hi Annie." An awkward silence hung in the air until Mitchell stood up and headed upstairs.
George leant forward and rested his forehead on the cupboard that was in front of him. So much for Mitchell telling her soon.
The news murmured to itself in the background but Annie wasn't listening anymore. She'd channel-surfed for a good five minutes before resorting to the news. It wasn't anything too exciting, mostly about that damn 'Box Twenty Massacre'. But, her attention had drifted. She found that happened a lot lately. She'd start to do something with good intentions but then stop because her mind had wandered.
She was curled up in her armchair, her chin resting on her knees. It seemed crazy. She held the power to have scared the 'norm' tenants out of the house before she'd met George and Mitchell. And yet, at the moment, she was the one who was feeling haunted. She wasn't sure whether that was good or bad. But, either way, she was definitely being haunted.
Since she had been dragged to purgatory, she hadn't been able to escape him. He was there, in her mind, reminding her of why she had resisted death all of the other times. He was there, in her thoughts. His dark, mysterious appearance, his voice, even his smell. His voice. It was quiet, and deep. And, of course, it had that gorgeous Irish twang. But, of course, she hated it, just as she hated everything else about him at the minute. They all taunted her, reminding her that no matter if she admitted it or not, no matter how much she wanted him, she could never really, truly have him, could she?
She could, rather depressingly, mull all of this over all day, every day, and he would be oblivious. He had no clue that while he went out to the pub or went feeding, she was here, questioning whether it had been worth accepting his rescue. Although Mitchell never expressed emotion, he had always been her friend. It was him she had come to when Tully had harassed her. It was him who had held her when she found out that Owen had killed her.
But, now, he wasn't putting the effort in. He was avoiding her. She didn't know why. But, she just knew that it was fucking annoying.
Mitchell strolled into the lounge in, predictably, some dark jeans, a dark blue shirt, and those damn fingerless gloves. His hair was the same as it always was; dark and slicked back until it brushed the nape of his neck. His dark eyes, the eyes she hated to love, showed no emotion whatsoever. It made him even more inhuman than he already was.
He picked the remote up and flopped onto the couch, propping his feet on the coffee table.
Before he could change the channel, though, Annie spoke up. "I'm watching this."
Mitchell sighed. "Annie, it's repeating what it said two hours ago."
"I don't care," she exclaimed. "I'm watching it."
Mitchell finally relented and set the remote down beside him. "Where are George and Nina?"
She gave him a contemptuous look before turning back to the TV. "They're at work."
A look of realisation crossed his face. "Oh yeah. They mentioned that they both had the night shift."
"Yeah," Annie muttered.
"I ordered a pizza," Mitchell exclaimed.
Annie nodded slowly. "Congratulations. I'm not sure what you want me to say considering you're the only person here at the minute who can actually eat."
Mitchell lapsed into a silence and Annie was thankful. He had evidently taken stupid pills or something because he kept coming out with the most ridiculous things. He didn't usually sound this stupid. In fact, he usually sounded rather smart. It was only when he acted on impulse that he sounded as stupid as he was at the minute. Who tells a ghost that they've ordered a pizza? She didn't really care. If he wanted pizza, he could have pizza. She honestly didn't care what he ate.
The doorbell rang through the house and when there was no movement, Annie looked across at Mitchell. "Mitchell, the doorbell rang."
He nodded absentmindedly. "I know. I'll get it in a minute."
Annie stared at him in disbelief and a moment later, she stood up and headed for the front door. She pulled it open, not being particularly bothered that, to the pizza guy, the door had just opened by itself. Predictably, Mitchell leapt from the settee and ran over to the door, sending an awkward smile to the poor delivery man. He pulled a few notes from his back pocket. "Keep the change," he muttered as he took the pizza box and shut the door.
He glared at Annie, taking a step forward until her back hit the door. "What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking that you're being ridiculous," she exclaimed.
"Me?" Mitchell yelled. "I'm being ridiculous?" He punched the wall next to her head with his free hand.
She didn't even flinch. "Trying to hurt a ghost? Good luck with that."
Mitchell's tanned face took on a look of pure anger. She knew that had she been alive, had she had a body, she would have been ripped to shreds. "You're so frustrating," he muttered as he took the pizza box into the lounge.
"I'm frustrating?" she yelled. Her blood boiled with anger and the lights began to switch on and off. The TV kept change channels, the radio switched on and kept swapping stations, and a few electrical sockets began to spark.
"Annie," Mitchell began quietly. "Calm down."
"I will not calm down!" A glass vase flew across the room and narrowly missed Mitchell's head.
"Annie, I'm serious," he said sternly.
"I am, too! You bring me back from hell and start to avoid me. You never talk to me anymore. When Nina and George weren't here because they were transforming, you left me alone so that you can drink some poor person's blood. I'm not even sure if you actually wanted me back. I am not the frustrating person here." Hot tears were rolling down her cheeks from the anger she felt. She used what little control she had left to throw a cushion straight into Mitchell's chest.
"Annie! You did that on purpose," he accused.
She nodded defiantly. "Yeah, I did. Just be grateful it wasn't a wooden stake."
Before he could respond, she disappeared from the room and reappeared in her bedroom. Without touching it, she turned the stereo on and a song by John Lennon started playing at full blast. She crawled onto her bed that she never used (after all, ghosts don't need sleep) and sat up, crossing her legs. Instead of crying, she reached for the pile of paper on her bedside table. She began methodically folding it like she had done so many times when she had been alive. When she had started this, she had believed she just enjoyed making them. But, over time, she found that the only reason was that it relaxed her.
There was a knock at the door. "Annie, can I come in?" Mitchell asked.
"I don't care," she muttered, concentrating on folding and twisting her piece of paper.
The door opened and Mitchell stepped inside, looking rather confused, regretful and, ultimately, apologetic. He turned the stereo down until it was a quiet hum. Annie glanced up and then returned to her paper folding. "What do you want?"
Mitchell paused. "Did you imply that you want me dead?"
Annie glanced at him again, finally letting a tear drip down her drink. "Yeah. I didn't mean it, though. Mitchell, I swear I didn't mean it."
He nodded slowly and gestured to her bed. "Can I sit?"
"Sure," she whispered.
He watched her delicate fingers smoothly crease the paper as if it was the most natural thing for her to do. "What are you doing?" he asked quietly.
She'd never heard such a tenderness lace his voice before. He almost looked like a timid little boy had been caught doing something wrong. She made the final creases and handed the paper rose to him. She gave him a tentative smile. "I'm sorry for saying that."
He shrugged. "I guess I deserved it. I haven't exactly been the best friend these past weeks. Where did you learn this?"
"Blue Peter. Out of all the episodes I watched, this was the one thing I could get right," she admitted.
He sighed. "I apologise. I should have treated you better these past weeks. Especially since I'm the one who saved you."
"I still don't understand something, though," she admitted.
"What is it?"
"Why did you avoid me? Why did you act like you didn't want me?" she asked.
He twirled the paper rose around his fingers. "You know when you're a kid and you think you have eternity to get things right and to be a good person and to love somebody? Well, I suppose we do have eternity but you get my point, right?"
She nodded slowly. "Yeah."
He shrugged and stared at the rose she'd given him. "And then there's that moment when you realise that you don't have eternity. You're not supposed to have eternity, anyway. And that can be triggered by anything: growing old...or losing someone." He looked at her to catch her eyes. "Confession time. When I heard that you had been dragged to purgatory, I didn't know what to do. It's like that cheesy line 'you don't know what you have until it's gone'. Just the sheer thought of not having you here was agonising. And maybe I took you for granted. I mean, you kept resisting death and I kind of assumed you'd always be here for me. So when I had you back, I didn't know what to do."
Annie felt her heart break as his eyes turned glossy. Of course, despite how Mitchell was telling her things she'd never dreamed would ever leave his mouth, he still refused to cry. She reached forward and placed her hand on his cheek. "Mitchell," she whispered, "can you feel that?"
He looked into her chocolate eyes that were always so deep with emotions, begging him to get drowned in them. So he jumped. "I can feel something. It feels cold and tickly. But it's nice."
She smiled widely at him. "Mitchell, don't feel guilty. I think we all assumed I'd be here longer. That's what made it so scary. I wasn't ready." She paused and took her hand away from his cheek. "I never thanked you."
He shrugged. "You don't have to," he murmured as he reached for her hand.
She laughed to herself. "I want to. Mitchell, you don't know how happy I felt when I saw you standing there."
He nodded slowly. "I think I do. I've never felt so happy in my hundred and sixteen years of existence as when I saw you running towards me."
Annie smiled and touched his neck, admiring how unknowingly, scarily, perfectly, handsome he was. She knew what he was capable of. But she didn't care. She leaned forward, about to touch her lips to his, but Mitchell stopped her. She frowned, sitting back a bit. "What's wrong?"
He sighed. "Annie, you're good for me. I know you are. But, I'm not good for you. I've done things you don't know about. I've done unimaginable things. When I remember them, they scare me because it reminds me how powerful I can be. I haven't told you everything."
Annie shook her head. "Mitchell, I don't care what you've done. You're not that man anymore. I know you have to hurt people to live and that's not very fair. But I know you try to refuse the hunger. And that's the man I know." She paused for a moment. "That's the man I want."
Mitchell frowned. "You're not supposed to want me, though."
She rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm not going to want George, am I? Besides, let's look at my past record. My first boyfriend posted naked pictures of me on the internet, the second asked my mother for a threesome..."
Mitchell started laughing, making that beautiful smile appear on his face.
"It wasn't funny," she warned. "And the third...well, he pushed me down the stairs and killed me. I'm thinking that a vampire is a step up."
He cracked a smile. "Personally, I wouldn't class Owen as a boyfriend, but there we go." He paused. "Annie, is it weird for me to say that I want you, too."
She shook her head slowly. "No. It's not weird."
He paused. "How are we going to make this work?"
She shrugged. "I honestly don't know. I mean, we're both technically dead. That means we have to be going in the right direction, right?"
He chuckled and nodded. "That's true. And because you're dead, I can't hurt you which is always a bonus."
Annie nodded slowly. "That is very true."
They both started laughing and Mitchell's trailed off as he stared at Annie. "It's kinda sad that it took you being dragged to purgatory against your will for me to realise how amazing you are."
She shrugged. "That doesn't matter. We have an eternity to make up for those first few years, right?"
Mitchell smiled and tentatively reached forward to brush the tips of his fingers across her cheek. It was an odd sensation. There wasn't the smooth silkiness of touching human skin. It was kind of like putting your hand in front of a cold breeze. It was chilling and tingly. He supposed the 'norms' wouldn't like it. But he did because it was Annie. It was so different to everything that relationships had meant to him in the past. For him, relationships were about power, about manipulating women and using sex as a weapon. But, with Annie, he didn't care if they never made love. He honestly didn't. He just wanted her and everything she was.
He leaned closer and pressed his lips to hers. Pulling back, he searched her face for a reaction. "Too weird?"
She shook her head. "Not in the least." She held his gloved hand in hers. "Mitchell, I don't care what things you've done in the past. Because those things made you who you are right now and that's the man I..."
He frowned. "You what? You can tell me anything, Annie."
She faltered but shrugged as tears fell from her eyes. "You're the man I love. When I was in purgatory, you were the one ironically haunting me. I couldn't get you out of my head. You're the one I wanted to save me."
He smiled softly. "A ghost that was haunted. Who knew?" He held her hand in his. "You know, ever since I became a vampire, I thought I was a lost cause. I thought I'd never feel emotion again. But, when you were in purgatory, I think I felt every emotion possible."
"It doesn't matter," Annie whispered, touching his cheek. "I'm here now. No more avoiding me, right?"
He nodded solemnly. "I promise." He hesitated for only a moment before he leaned closer and the vampire kissed the ghost who he unknowingly haunted.