In which Mitchell makes Annie cry.
"George!" Mitchell had hardly latched the door behind him when he began calling for his flat mate. "George, can I have a word?"
Out of the back of the hall a somewhat rumpled pair appeared. Nina came out clutching her bag and smoothing her blonde locks back under control while George, a few steps behind, scrubbed violently at his face with both hands.
"Yes… Mitchell?" George answered stiffly.
"Ah, sorry. Didn't realize… I'll just…" Mitchell stammered apologetically.
"Kitchen." George all but barked.
"Yeah. Right. I'll be in the… in the kitchen." Mitchell ducked into the other room, making to busy himself by rummaging through the cupboards.
"I had to go anyway," he overheard George's date making her excuses. "I had a lovely time. The wine was lovely. And the curry was… lovely."
"Well I'm glad. I'm pleased everything was lovely." Mitchell heard George's nervous giggle.
"Perhaps we should do it again, yeah?"
As Mitchell leaned forward to peak through the door he saw the short, blonde place her hand on George's chest affectionately.
"Yeah. Yes." Mitchell could almost hear his mate gulp a nervous breath of air as the smaller woman leaned up on her tiptoes to place a kiss to his lips. She lowered herself back to the floor quite gracefully and turned towards the door.
"See you at work, George."
"Yes, work," George finally broke out of his stunned silence. "Goodnight," he wished as she walked through the door, pulling it closed behind her.
"Well done, George!" Mitchell stepped out of the kitchen, clapping and grinning at his still stunned friend.
"Lovely," George said dreamily, still staring at the door.
"Yeah. Sorry if I interrupted… anything."
"Yes," George finally turned to focus on his friend, standing awkwardly in the kitchen door, holding an empty box of biscuits. "What was so important that you had to interrupt… that?"
"I'm really sorry, George."
"Never mind, Mitchell. Out with it."
"I think Annie fancies me."
"Yeah?" George smirked as he turned on the kettle.
"I'm serious, George." Mitchell began pacing the kitchen nervously.
"So? Wha…" he stopped speaking abruptly as he reached his hand down to the bottom of the tea canister. "Really, Annie?" he whisper-shouted toward the ceiling.
"What's so unbelievable about Annie fancying me?"
"Tea! There's no more bloody tea!" To illustrate, George overturned the empty tea canister onto the countertop. "And, 'FYI', no one says fancy anymore."
"You're not surprised by this?"
"Why would I be? She is a single lady, of an age, with a handsome bloke as a tenant…"
"Two handsome blokes," Mitchell interrupted.
"You're a good mate. When you're not barging in on… activities!"
"I said I was sorry. I'm bloody remorseful, alright? What do I do?"
"Well, you don't do it again – that's for starters," George answered as he emptied the kettle into the sink.
"About Annie! What do I do about Annie?"
"Well, you… keep your voice down," George gestured to the ceiling as they hear floorboards creak above them. "And you take her out for a coffee."
"We already do that."
"Then you make her dinner," George supplied instead.
"I don't cook."
"Are you even sure you want to do anything about Annie?" George was trying very hard to keep the frustration from his voice, but at this point, all he wanted was to go to bed and dream about the sex he was currently not having.
"I don't know, I… She could be good for me, but…" Mitchell raked his hands through his hair in that way he did when there was something troubling him.
"Then do something, or don't. But whatever you do, you do not hurt her. I happen to quite like this flat, and Annie, as a matter of fact. And I will not have you mucking that up."
"You know I would never do anything to hurt Annie!" Mitchell defended himself, appalled at the thought.
"Yeah. Now I'm gonna go have a pee. And go to bed. Goodnight."
George headed off to the loo leaving Mitchell even more confused than he was before speaking to his friend. Did he want to pursue something with Annie? He reached into the fridge for a beer, only to come up empty handed. "Bloody great." He had a feeling it was going to be a very long night.
It was nearly eleven in the morning when Mitchell woke up on the sofa with a note pinned to his tee shirt, like a lost child or a murder victim. The juxtaposition of the two examples suddenly made his skin crawl.
See you had a late night. Be working all day at the restaurant. Late dinner at Nina's. Don't do anything stupid. Remember tea.
X George
He crumpled the paper and tossed it in the general direction of the bin. There were beer bottles littering the floor and coffee table, and judging from his splitting headache, the fridge was probably empty again as well. Mitchell had gone round the shop last night to pick up tea and grabbed a sixer while he was there. A quick glance into the kitchen confirmed it.
He decided to hop in the shower before clearing away his mess. By the time he had straightened the flat to a more presentable – at least a more livable – state, had his coffee and determined that his stomach was still torn up – either from the nerves or the alcohol – to eat anything, it was getting on to one in the afternoon.
Mitchell rinsed his coffee mug and fished into his pocket for a cigarette. He took the fag, a pen and a pad out into the back garden and sat cross-legged on the hard ground next to the stone wall. It was warm for early October and he was glad of it, but the sun was glaring down reproachfully at him, ignoring the fact he had a hangover.
Pro's, he began to write. Her sweetness, purity, goodness, cheerfulness, sense of humor. He paused for a moment. Looks? he thought. "Goes without sayin'," he murmured to himself. She doesn't see me as I really am.
With that last tick on the list, he finished his cig, ripped the page from the pad and crumpled it into his fist. Why had he even thought of the stupid idea of makin' a list? Someone once told him something about lists…
"Hello, Stranger."
Mitchell glanced up at the still open back door. There Annie stood in another set of jeans and a long-sleeved, creamy colored tee shirt. And all Mitchel could think at the moment was how her skin against the fabric resemble milk swirling into a cup of tea. Tea. Tea! Annie was here for tea, that's right. He made to stand as she took another step into the garden.
"No, I'll join you down there. It's a lovely warm day, isn't it?"
"Aye," he managed as she settled next to him.
"Well, I'm early. But then you're out of tea, aren't you? I thought we could walk to the shop together," she smiled for seemingly no reason in particular.
"Well, no, actually. George was a bit cross about there bein' no tea last night. I went round the shop then."
"Ah. Sorry, George," she said as if the third party could hear her at the restaurant nearly forty miles away.
"Ah, but we are out of biscuits," Mitchell supplied as if this was helpful. He felt himself settling back into a comfortable rhythm now that Annie was here. The thought almost broke into his mind that it was odd how much more uncomfortable he was when she wasn't around.
"Oh, well I have plenty. We could do tea in my flat! We never do that. Is that ok?"
Mitchell chuckled at the absurdity of her question. He simply stood up and offered her his hand to pull her to her feet.
"Thank you, sir," she said as she leaned up slightly and kissed Mitchell's cheek.
A half hour later, they were sat on Annie's small couch, in Annie's small living room, finishing their first cups of tea.
"I hope George wasn't too put out by the tea… thing," Annie apologized for the umpteenth time.
"More like the me walking in on things… thing," Mitchell mumbled into his teacup.
"You didn't!"
"Well, no, but I almost did. He should thank me, really. 'Cause of me interruptin' she asked him out on another date." He smiled broadly as he said this, knowing full well it was oddly something in George himself that had snared the five foot, blonde firecracker.
"Yeah?" Annie exclaimed, sharing in Mitchell's enthusiasm for his friend's fortune.
"Yeah. But, no, they were really adorable together. She said 'lovely' quite a lot, and George was George." Mitchell frowned for a moment, thinking about what he had witnessed from the kitchen doorway last night. "Really, it was quite… awkward."
"Oh…" Annie sounded slightly deflated.
"But cute," Mitchell reassured her. "George was nearly stunned beside himself when she gave 'im a goodnight kiss."
"Awe," she cooed in response. "So, then… I wasn't the only easy one last night."
"Sorry, what?" Mitchell almost spat as Annie stood to take the cups to the kettle for a refill.
"Last night. You kissed me… or, I kissed you… well… we kissed," Annie stumbled over her words quickly as she poured more steaming water into the mugs. "And I said, 'I was just,' and you said, 'Easy'. Remember?"
"Oh, yeah… that." Mitchell stood and walked the short distance to one of Annie's bookshelves, hoping the action would shake out some of his nervous energy. It didn't.
This particular shelf housed a collection of Jane Austen novels, a few empty candlesticks, a brass bowl with buttons inside, and several old and well-worn, unframed photographs propped against the book spines. Mitchell studied them idly as he waited on Annie to speak again or return to the couch with more tea. After a few moments of silence, he turned to find Annie sat back on the couch, watching him, his cup abandoned on the coffee table, while hers warmed her hands.
"Sorry. Nosey," he had the good grace to blush and she couldn't help finding that adorable. Especially the way the color lit his too-pale cheeks.
"Not at all. I'm in your flat on a daily basis. I could probably write books and books on you and George. Bring them here?" she asked sweetly.
Mitchel gathered up the photos and transferred them to Annie's waiting fingers as he resumed his seat beside her.
"Those are my sisters, Sue Ellen and Elizabeth. Liz is at Uni now. Essie – that's what I called her since I was this high," Annie explained holding her hand down near her knee to illustrate. "Since I couldn't say Sue Ellen. You know, S. E. became Essie… Well, she's got three boys now. I've never seen the youngest – Brett." She flipped through a few more stopping at a picture of her and a tall brunet girl. They looked to be about ten years younger than Annie was now. Maybe fifteen. "Going to the club with my best girlfriend, Sasha. She, was, insane at the clubs!" Annie laughed at a particular memory, and Mitchell smiled warmly at the sound, but it faded all too quickly.
"That your mum and dad?" he asked as she looked longingly at the older couple in the next photo.
"Yeah." Annie left it at that, getting up to place the photographs lovingly back on their shelf.
"Why don't you have any recent pictures, Annie?" Mitchell asked gently. Annie let out a long breath before turning back round to face Mitchell with a worn out look plastered over her features.
"Owen," she said simply.
"Do you… want to talk about it?"
With his question, Annie's mask crumbled and the tears started streaming down her face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she sniffed quietly, swiping at her eyes as if the sight of her tears could offend him in some strange way.
"No, Annie, sweetheart." Mitchell stood and collected Annie into his arms as quickly as he could. He should have known not to say anything. You don't pry with something as personal as all of that. "We don't have to talk about it. Not ever, if you don't want to."
"But…" she began hesitantly. "You would listen if I did?"
Astonished, Mitchell pulled back so to look Annie in the eyes. "Of course." He hugged her tightly to him once more. "I'm always here, Annie. I'll always be right here." Mitchell could feel her head nodding against his chest as he stroked her hair softly.
Inwardly he cursed himself. He'd not even decided if he wanted more out of his time spent with Annie, and already he'd gone back on his word to George that he would never hurt her. Maybe not directly, but he loathed the feeling he might be in any way responsible for her pain.
"Drunken noodles fer me, and, uh, basil pork fried rice for Annie." They were back at the boys' flat and Mitchell was unpacking the sack of Thai delivery that had just arrived at the door. "Not one pepper hot, not two peppers hot, but three, count them, three peppers hot!" He pointed to the sticker on the side of her carton illustrating the strength of heat within.
Annie laughed as she took the proffered food from him. "That is because I'm no wuss!" She squealed as Mitchell popped the top off another ale and sent the metal disk sailing toward her head.
"I prefer to taste my dinner, thank ya." He passed her a bottle and the opener. "And for that, you'll get your own tops the rest of the evenin'." But he laughed jovially as they made their way to the couch to continue their Lost marathon and eat their dinner from cartons like students. "I'll have you know, Annie, even pissed and sloppy, we are ten t'ousand times cleaner than most of my students." His accent was coming through loud and clear after the second ale.
"You only teach boys?" Annie giggled at the look of contempt Mitchell was attempting.
"Shut up and watch, or the smoke monster'll get ya."
"What did you say that thing was, again?"
"He's Jack the Ripper's ghost, hell bent on killin' from the beyond," Mitchell teased.
"He's not! You've seen every series of this, you know!"
"Yeah but it's more entertainin' to come up with wild t'eories. I've seen it t'ree times, Annie. Once already with you. Let me have my fun."
"Oh, hush!" Annie threw her hands up. Sawyer was tricking Kate out of a kiss while tied to a tree in the jungle. Mitchell knew it was one of Annie's favorite scenes. He'd be surprised if she didn't run the DVD back in order to see it again. Suddenly his stomach was uneasy and he stood to take his half-empty carton and stow it in the fridge. "Mine too. Please? Thank you!" Annie said in a rush, passing him her carton, nearly empty already.
Mitchell cleaned up the takeout mess while Annie watched her scene once again, and silently returned with two new bottles of ale. The banter that had begun so easily as soon as they had returned to the first floor flat died down with the end of the episode and they watched another in companionable silence.
Annie's head was feeling woozy and she leaned up against Mitchell for support, reveling in his warmth against her back. He felt safe, made her feel safe. She smiled and closed her eyes as the next episode began.
"Annie?" Mitchell whispered softly into her ear. She heard it only faintly at first as she snuggled back into the warmth of… of Mitchell's arms. Her eyes shot open abruptly, though she remained still, not wanting to disturb anything. "You awake now, darlin'?"
"Mmm," she answered warily.
"You passed out about an hour ago. We drank quite a lot, the two of us. We'll both have a bloody good headache in the morning." He moved to help her sit up and she groaned.
"What time is it?"
"Past midnight. I don't expect George will be home this evenin'." Mitchell steadied Annie just as she was about to stumble forward off the couch. "And I'm not sure you should be walkin' all on your own."
"Maybe…" she gulped as another wave of dizziness hit her, followed quickly by that sweet warmth, and she couldn't decide if it was from the alcohol, or the man holding her up. "Maybe you're right. May I sleep on your couch?"
Mitchell shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid you can't." She frowned at him in response and it took all of his steadily wavering composure to maintain a straight face. "Flat has a strict no girls on the couch policy."
"I'm not a girl! I'm your landlord… I'm Annie!"
"And that's why you'll have my bed." Mitchell had sobered up a bit as he had watched Annie doze. He had matched her for drinks, though she weighed quite a bit less than he, and he was afraid her state of drunkenness far exceeded his. He'd not send anyone home in such a state, no matter whom or how close they lived. He watched Annie smile warmly as he began guiding her to his bedroom at the back of the hall.
They stumbled to the edge of the bed and he sat her there attempting to kneel in front of her and remove her sneakers.
"Thank you, Mitchell."
"Fer gettin' ya pissed?" he chuckled to himself as he slipped her feet from their confines and swung her legs round onto the length of his bed.
"For not asking about my parents."
His breath caught at her quiet words and he wanted so much to know her story in its entirety. Though he knew asking would crush anything he had managed to heal tonight. Instead he stepped around the other side of the bed and sat cross-legged on the mattress next to Annie. Her eyes were open and soft, and her smile was easy. He saw a lucidity in her features that told him she wasn't as far gone as he'd first believed. "That's your story to tell, Love," he whispered as he looked down on her.
"Are you going to kiss me like he kissed Kate?" The bluntness of her question startled him and it must have shown on his face. "I've always wanted to be kissed like that." She sighed and closed her eyes, expecting nothing.
"Then I'll kiss you like that," Mitchell said steadily. He leaned down and brushed his mouth against her now parted lips, sliding his tongue softly along their opening. Her moan of appreciation caused him to deepen the kiss. And in that moment, all logical internal discussion he had held in his mind of whether or not this was what he wanted did not matter.