Disclaimer: CBS owns 'Moonlight.' I make nothing off this.
AN: The MickBeth intimacy on the show annoys me at the moment, so I'm moving back into my AU fantasy world!
This was written well before 'Fated to Pretend' showed, so it's nowhere near canon. Just a warning. :)
No, scratch that. Mick HATED being human. He thought of Coraline bleeding to death on his staircase and dismissed her summarily. The bitch deserved it for putting him through this. One lousy stake wound couldn't possibly have hurt this bad.
"Oh God," he groaned, slumping onto the cool tiles. Mick wasn't sure if he was going to throw up or pass out but he prayed that neither would happen. The last thing he wanted was the ignominy of being the first vampire to revert because he died from choking on his own vomit. And if he wasn't careful he was going to gash his head open from thumping it on the ground. Who cares? Mick amended swiftly, if it takes even a slight bit of the pain away, it'll be worth it. His hands were clasped tight above his left hip, fingers digging into the flesh in an effort to still whatever was causing the pain.
Thank God for the bathroom on the first level. And Christ, there it was again, that burning that strung down his side and peeled away any control he might have had. He pulled himself upright again, trying to remember which side the appendix was on, and which side the liver. Maybe it was a kidney? He thought back frantically to the kidney punches he'd thrown and received over the years. Yep, about right. Followed immediately by the thought, Oh my God, my kidneys are failing. Eyes pinched, teeth clenched - the anguish was heart-breaking. He was reverting, one organ at a time, in a cold, porcelain box, and still the sweat beaded as he fought not to scream.
Mick had known indigestion was a bitch for about two months now. For a while, he lay around miserably, convinced it was the worst mortality had to offer on a regular basis. Not that that stopped him, of course; there was too much to taste and he was trying to pack fifty years of regrets and an eternity's supply of memories into a few short months. Antacids permanently featured on the revamped St John shopping list, right after steak, catch of the day, coffee and beer. Well that was all about to be replaced by a six-pack of someone's chemically preserved, well-used plasma. This reversion made heartburn feel like an orgasm. The agony radiated through his back, his side and Oh fucking hell, Mary Mother of God, now his groin as though someone was teasing the nerves with a pair of pliers.
Something wrenched inside him and Mick threw up. When the need to urinate slammed through him, he followed his body's urging blindly, recognising that it was expelling all lingering remnants of humanity in preparation.
The arm bracing him upright trembled. He must have been fighting it because all of a sudden he couldn't...Jesus, it hurts so much. The burning was spreading and it felt like glass shards travelling down... Quiet sobbing echoed back as he forced himself to weather the pain. Maybe this is what childbirth feels like? The sobbing stopped moments later - it was hard to breathe and the more he inhaled, the more his body throbbed. He couldn't have drunk this much liquid - it just wasn't possible that he needed to pee so badly. And then he couldn't...and the pain started up.
Panic seized – what about the bloodlust? The bitch hadn't mentioned anything about the reverting. He was so blind; did he need his sire? For a second Mick felt the years strip away: he was standing in a kitchen watching the blood drip from his hand and he just wanted his mommy to kiss it better.
Pigs urinate in fits and starts, he thought wildly. Maybe it's all the ham I ate. Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow saying Oink. And he steadied again but not before... Jesus, had he? No! Yes...oh my God. He wasn't going to look at the wet spot on the denim anymore. He'd wash the jeans tomorrow, no, he'd burn them. Burn everything he couldn't have anymore.
The wrenching travelled like a knife tip and then suddenly...it was gone, and he was gasping in relief, feeling the cramps loosen and his knees shaking. Oh God, if this was just the first wave...
But the next morning and the morning after that he woke up blissfully human. He washed the jeans of course. Several times. And worried every day that the pains would start up again. By the third day he was tired of sitting at home and waiting for death to take him again. There had to be another explanation.
Unfortunately, there was just one being that could give him a human perspective, and they'd only spoken a handful of times in the last two months. It had been Josh's six week death anniversary the last time he'd called her. Beth had been polite but distant. He had been awkward. After all, the messages he left her the first two weeks had been so joyous he thought he might melt some of the ice shroud around her just by sheer infectious living. Maybe show her that life still had a lot to offer, and of course, he craved the simple pleasure of being around her the way he'd always dreamt of. Well that didn't work. And when it didn't, he realised that she tainted his happiness. So he left her to her mourning and he got on with building his life raft of experiences: the sun; the beach; golf in the daylight (Josef had almost spat in jealousy); the food; the clubs God, when was the last time, if ever, he'd been actually clubbing; sex – Jesus, women had learned a few things since the sexual revolution; reading in the park; sticky, oily sunscreen; jazz bars; ice cream...
He debated. This was embarrassing. Which guy wants to call the woman he's secretly in love with to tell her that he got really bad stomach cramps and then pissed himself... Mick rolled off the couch with a groan. There was always Josef. He stayed on the floor, groaning even louder. Josef would tell everyone and their mother before he got Mick the information. As it was he hated the very existence of the compound and he'd vowed to get payback for the golf thing.
Stop being a fucking pussy, St John and call her. Make it quick. Ask where to get the info. Wham, bam...shit, now I'm hard. He considered calling one of the one-night stands, maybe one of the two-night stands? But it might get a bit iffy to start describing reverting issues with someone who doesn't know Vampires exist. And Mick just didn't want to admit to himself how badly he wanted to hear Beth's voice again.
He compromised with his pride and called her home phone. She was unlikely to be home during the day so he'd leave a message, she could call him back, and then his pride would be somewhat salvaged. Or she wouldn't call him back and what was new about that? And he'd revert, in horrible, screaming agony... Oh please be in.
Of course, it went to the answering machine.
"Hey Beth. It's Mick. I uh, didn't mean to call until I thought you were...I have a problem...and I was hoping someone -you, I mean- could help. I don't know much about human medical issues but I'd like to know where I can find out about something. Call me back if you might-"
"Mick."
Now he was supremely glad that he was already on the floor because lord knows it would have been a hard thump down.
"Beth." Way to go! Monosyllables. Atta boy. "I didn't realise you were home. Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt anything."
"No, you're not. I had a long night so I'm not on today."
She was smiling, he could hear it. He felt the answering grin break out on his face. "Well, lucky me."
"So, you're sick? Because you don't sound sick. When did this happen?"
Idiot. Way to go reminding her of how long it's been. "Sort of. Look, I just had some symptoms that came and went and I was trying to figure out if it was a human condition or - I thought I might have been reverting. I can't go to a doctor. Or to the hospital. And I don't know where else to get the information."
"What happened, Mick?" Beth bolted upright in her bed at the words 'doctor' and 'hospital.' He was ill? He was ill and there was nobody with him?
"Beth, you don't have to worry. I just need-"
"Just shut up and tell me."
Mick was pretty sure it was a good thing, maybe? She actually wanted to talk. Or she was just feeling sorry for him, and the thought made him bitter.
Beth listened to the silence on the other end and grimaced. Of course he didn't want to talk, she'd been stalling him for months. "Mick, if you don't want to tell me, I understand. Um, there might be some triage numbers that you can call and describe your condition to..."
"Strangers?" There was full-blown panic in his voice. He took a deep breath. "Fine. There was a lot of pain. I could barely stand or walk. I was nauseous and I threw up once. Most of the pain was centred around the left kidney, I think. It must have lasted for at twenty minutes but it felt like hours. I've never been in so much pain." He sounded like a sissypants. God damn it. "And I have a high pain tolerance."
"Oh my God, did you take something? Are you still in pain?" Beth found herself hopping around the bedroom trying to fit into the other leg of her jeans and talk simultaneously.
"I'm fine now. It hasn't come back. But there was a wrenching feeling that I didn't understand. It felt like my body was dying one organ at a time."
Well if anyone knows what death feels like, Mick does, Beth thought fleetingly. The thought crashed into the memory of another dark-haired man, now six feet under and rotting. Lots of people know about death. And that's not Mick's fault.
"So you think it could be reverting?"
"It doesn't make sense," Mick snapped in frustration. "Coraline never said anything about the reverting but the original Turning took 24 hours. And there's no pain till later. It doesn't make sense that the pain would come and go over days."
"You want me to tell you it's something human, don't you?" she responded softly.
He sighed.
"Well, it could be a stomach bug like stomach flu? Or maybe you had an allergic reaction to something? Perhaps you injured your kidney doing something? There's more than one problem that fits those symptoms."
Oh God. He was going to have to tell her. "There is...one more thing..."
"Oh?" Beth stopped, hairbrush still tangled in her hair. "And what's that?"
"It makes you want to...pee," Mick finished quickly, almost mangling the word.
"Pee?" she echoed.
He debated hanging up right then and moving across the country. He could go grow peaches in Georgia or something. "Yes!" A little testily.
"And did you?"
Mick squirmed at the amusement in her voice. "It's not funny," he growled. "It was ridiculously painful and yes, what the fuck else was I supposed to do? I thought I was reverting. I thought my body was getting rid of all traces of mortality!" He was shouting and waving his free arm around now, not that she could see him.
"I'm sorry," Beth stuttered. "Look, I'm sorry. It's not funny. I'm not laughing. You just sounded so embarrassed..."
He sniffed.
"Do you want to go to a doctor? I'll go with you, if you want," she said, trying to keep the amusement out of her voice.
"NO!" Mick was yelling again. "I told you, I'm fine now. Still mortal. It just - it just went away and that bothers me because I don't know if it'll come back. And the next time I don't want bloodlust accompanying it."
"Did you check the symptoms online?"
"Eh?"
"Mick, everything's online now. All you do is google the symptoms. You spend half your time on the internet!"
Yeah, at Buzzwire or at that kinky-. "Vampire, remember?" he prevaricated. "Our fatal illnesses are usually absence of head or presence of small pile of ashes. I guess searching through a huge list of mortal illnesses didn't rank high on my priority list."
There was no response.
"Beth," he all but bellowed.
"If you don't stop yelling, I'm hanging up!" she screeched back. Beth was only slightly mollified by his assenting grunt. Big baby. "I'm searching online." Cancer? Infections. Haemorrhaging? No no no. Jesus, these were all so serious...and..oh!
Mick was not prepared for the question.
"Do you like water?"
He stifled the urge to growl. "Yes." Short and sweet; he didn't want her to hang up.
"Good because I suggest you start drinking a lot of it. Not Coke, not beer, and steak only twice a week instead of the almost daily occurrence that I'm sure it is."
"Excuse me?" Bluster your way out of this one, St John – not the beer!
"Kidney stones, you dumb ox." Beth was laughing from sheer relief.
"Ex-CUSE me?"
"Kidney stones, Mick." Her tone was serious this time. "I don't know what you've been doing to get kidney stones in two months but you are clearly not taking care of yourself. What's in your fridge?"
"Ex-" Mick stopped, some part of his brain realising that the lemming-like repetition wasn't helping his pride. "Uh, meat, eggs, dessert...beer." A lot of beer, but she didn't need to know that. "Carrots?" Veggies, right. Balanced diet and all that.
"What did you have for breakfast?"
The question shouldn't have upset him, but it did. It reminded him of too many solitary meals over the last few months. He didn't want to face that thought today - it wasn't Beth's fault that they had needed such different things over the last few months. It was time to go and leave her alone again.
"Beth, thank you. But I can take it from here." Quiet and respectful - he was almost back to Vampire Mick. "I'm sorry I yelled," he continued, "And I'm sorry I interrupted your day off. You asked for time and I wouldn't have called-"
She felt the tears rush in.
"-except Vampires don't really know much about mortal illnesses."
After a few seconds he tried again. "Beth?" The line was still open; he could hear that soft futzing hum in the background.
"But you're not a Vampire right now. You're human, aren't you?"
She sounded broken-hearted and he had no idea why. He had no idea about anything anymore. "Yes. But I'm not sure how much-"
"What are you doing for lunch?" Beth asked, almost fiercely.
Mick felt his jaw clench. "Why?"
Awkward, ugly silence. Two months worth of silence, guilt, half-admissions, misunderstandings, lurking doubts.
"Nothing," Beth said finally. "Sorry, I guess I got carried away."
Ah, fuck it, he was human still. For now. And she was finally talking. "No doubt," he rejoined smoothly and crossed his legs, fingers and toes for luck. "Would you like to have lunch?"
"Oh yes, please!"
The words shot back so fast Mick half-thought he was hallucinating. Oh yes? Please?
"I mean..uh - this way at least I can make sure you eat properly," Beth was saying.
St John charm scores again. Mick laughed. "Nice catch. Now as to wine." His voice was rich and warm with sudden happiness. "Red or white?"
Beth looked over at the bright sunshine dancing outside her window. "White."
"Perfect."