Summary: Lucian and Mitchell investigate a vampire attack, but there may be more to this killing than meets the eye…
Doubt
Liverpool, May 1971
He should have known better than to follow Lucian on this particular errand. Trips to the morgue were never pleasant and had a nasty habit of bringing to the surface old memories that he was still struggling to forget. But whether out of boredom or some masochistic desire to continually punish himself for past sins, Mitchell had decided to go along anyway.
"When I'd heard you were in town, I thought you should be the first to know about this," the white-haired coroner was saying to Lucian as he led them back into the morgue. "They're getting bolder. This one was found not two blocks from here."
Lucian frowned at this, but said nothing.
They approached the metal table with a sheet drawn up over a human shape and the coroner drew back the covering, revealing a young woman who had to have been in her early twenties at most. She was quite lovely, aside from the jagged wound in her throat.
"She wasn't even completely drained," he explained. "Whoever did this was either in a rush or they were interrupted."
"Or they were looking to send a message," said Lucian darkly, leaning over to study the figure more closely.
Mitchell stood at his side, trying to appear as cool and collected as the older man ever was in these situations, but the longer he forced himself to gaze at the corpse on the slab, the more unnerved he became.
Finally, he'd had enough. He needed to get out of that room.
"I'm gonna step outside," he said softly.
Lucian turned, blue eyes searching his face before giving a short nod, his understanding made clear by the simple gesture.
"Not getting squeamish, are you lad?" said the coroner. "I figured vampires were used to these things."
"Just indulging a bad habit," Mitchell answered coolly, retrieving a cigarette from the tin in his inside pocket and heading towards the door.
"Oh, you don't want to do that now," the coroner called after him. "Those things'll kill you!"
He could still hear the man laughing at his own bad joke as the door to the morgue swung shut behind him and he made his way toward the exit.
The sun was just beginning to set as he stepped outside and there was a bit of a chill in the air. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself, the cigarette held between his lips as he started to move away from the door.
He knew that Lucian wasn't a big fan of his smoking, often arguing that just because his lungs would repair themselves didn't mean he should actively destroy them, but Mitchell was simply trading one addiction for another, he'd explained. Having given up the drug-like high of the blood of a fresh kill, he needed something else to fixate on when the cravings started, and smoking helped settle his nerves. So, Lucian didn't really give him a hard time about it anymore. Especially at times like this. He had thought he was doing better with it, but seeing that body just now had only served to remind him that he was still haunted by the sins of his past. He needed a distraction.
Feeling too exposed standing in front of the building while there was still daylight, Mitchell opted to duck around the corner and stand in the mouth of the alley before lighting up. He retrieved a book of matches from his jacket pocket, having still been partial to the old method just as he still preferred to roll his own cigarettes, but for the life of him he couldn't get the match to ignite. He would have liked to blame the sudden breeze that had picked up, but he needed to stop his hands from shaking first.
"Need a light?"
Mitchell started at the voice, cursing himself for being too preoccupied to notice the figure creeping up behind him, but he recovered quickly, taking the proffered lighter from the man's outstretched hand and lighting his cigarette.
"Who still uses matches anyway?" said the man, taking back the lighter as it was returned and depositing it in the front pocket of his jacket. "You're showing your age, Mitchell."
He took a long drag from his cigarette and held it for a moment before letting it out slowly. "What are you doing here, Steven?" he asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
"Looking for you," he answered. "Herrick wanted me to make sure you understood his message."
Mitchell stared at him, confused. He hadn't heard a word from his Sire in more than two years and had preferred to keep it that way. Still, he couldn't stop himself from asking, "What message?"
The man grinned. "The girl," he said, nodding toward the building behind them. "She was for you. He wanted you to see what you've been missing. Or are you really that into playing 'good cop' now that you didn't figure it out?"
Mitchell stood silent as the words sank in. The dead girl in the morgue; Herrick had done that just to get his attention? He suddenly felt sick, but he kept his composure. "And he thought that showing me that dead girl would accomplish what, exactly?"
"He wants you to come back," Steven responded, as if this was obvious. "He said he's willing to forgive this past two years' indiscretions and bring you back into the fold. He wants you to lead alongside him. All you have to do is say the word."
"He's willing to forgive-" Mitchell was furious. He dropped his cigarette on the ground, extinguishing it with his boot, and took a step forward. Though the man was much larger than him, he stood toe to toe, challenging him with his gaze. "That bastard left me for dead. Do you understand? I could wait a thousand years to see his face again and it would be too soon. So you can tell Herrick to go screw himself. I'm not gonna be his poster boy. Not this time. He doesn't own me anymore."
Steven stared at him. "I can't believe you," he said. "You'd pass up a chance at real power in favor of, what? Shadowing a poor excuse for a vampire like Lucian Harcourt?" He shook his head in disgust. "You're just as weak as he is."
Mitchell sneered at him. "Yeah? That's not what you were saying when you ran away at the sight of him last month."
In hindsight, it was probably unwise to taunt the much larger vampire.
In one swift motion, he had Mitchell by the throat, slamming his head against the brick wall hard enough to make him see stars. He clawed at the hand crushing his windpipe, but the grip only tightened as he struggled.
"But I haven't explained option two yet," said Steven, leaning in close to his ear. "You see, Herrick suspected that you might refuse. And he said if that was the case, then you were a liability. Now, what do you suppose he asked me to do about that?" He lifted him higher, pressing his back against the wall so that his feet were barely touching the ground. And Mitchell couldn't help the pained whimper that escaped him as the hand closed even tighter around his throat.
As darkness began to creep into the edges of his vision, he caught a blur of movement over the large man's shoulder. Before he could register what he was seeing, the figure pinning him against the wall went rigid, the grip loosening on his throat. He glanced down and could see the bloody tip of the silver stake protruding from the man's chest directly through his heart.
As the figure crumbled away to ash, Mitchell collapsed against the wall, massaging his throat as he gasped for air. He closed his eyes as the world began to spin and felt a pair of hands grip him by the arms. When he opened them again, he found a pair of blue eyes staring back at him with concern.
"Are you alright?" asked Lucian, not relinquishing his hold.
"M'fine," Mitchell responded hoarsely, waving him off.
Lucian finally released him, but he stayed close, not liking how unsteady the younger man seemed on his feet.
"I know who killed that girl," he stated simply.
"Tell me later," he answered. "Let's get you home first."
Lucian insisted on taking a cab back to their flat and the pair road in silence, not wishing to discuss anything in front of the driver, and that suited Mitchell just fine. His head was pounding. By the time they reached their destination, he could hardly see straight, and so he didn't object to Lucian taking him by the arm and leading him up the stairs.
As soon as they got in the door, he immediately collapsed into one of the chairs at the kitchen table while Lucian locked up behind them. The older man then crossed to him and knelt down to eye level. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
"M'head hurts," Mitchell answered groggily.
He cupped his chin, staring into unfocused brown eyes with concern. "I think you have a concussion," he concluded, releasing him and rising to his feet.
"Mmm," was his only response, and Mitchell leaned over the table, burying his face in his arms.
He could hear Lucian moving around the kitchen, every sound amplified by his vampiric hearing and the pounding in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut and retreated further, trying to block out the sounds.
The unmistakably familiar scent of blood reached him and he cracked open an eye as Lucian slid a glass across the table to him. He eyed it reprovingly.
Lucian sighed. "You can't go off blood completely," he said.
"I can try," he mumbled into his arms.
"Now's not the time to be stubborn," he answered. "We've been through this. Your body can't produce its own blood anymore. You have to drink. Come on," he said, nudging his arm. "You'll feel better."
Reluctantly, Mitchell lifted his head, taking the proffered glass. He downed it as quickly as he could. The bagged blood was still pretty unappealing.
He started to feel better almost immediately, the pounding in his head fading to a dull throbbing. His throat even felt less tight.
"Do you want the rest of it?" Lucian asked expectantly.
He nodded.
By the time he finished, he felt completely exhausted. Lucian led him into the living room where he dropped down on the couch, and before he could assure the older man that he felt completely fine, he fell asleep.
Mitchell awoke a few hours later, lying on his side with a pillow under his head and a blanket drawn up over his shoulders. He sat up slowly, blinking into the darkness and found that he was alone in the living room. He rose from the couch, and upon further inspection of the rest of the flat, could find no trace of Lucian anywhere. Concluding that the older man must have stepped out, he gathered some fresh clothes from his room and padded down the hall to the bathroom.
Once he had showered and dressed, he stepped back out to discover that Lucian had still not returned. He dropped down onto the couch and was about to turn on the television when there was a knock at the front door.
Mitchell froze, instantly on the alert. Who could be knocking at two o'clock in the morning? He got up slowly and crossed to the door, pressing himself against it to look through the peephole. His eyes widened in recognition of the figure on the other side and he took a step back, trying to decide what he should do.
"Open up, Mitchell," came the voice from the other side. "I know you're there. I just want to talk to you."
Clenching his jaw, Mitchell steeled himself. He reached for the door handle and pulled it open, glaring down at the man in the police uniform standing on the doorstep.
"Well, aren't you going to invite me in?" asked Herrick after a moment's silence.
"Nice try," Mitchell answered with a sneer, folding his arms across his chest. "What, are you posing as a cop now?"
"No, not posing," he said. "Joining the police force has its benefits, you see. It's a lot easier to clean up the messes."
"I'll bet," said Mitchell. "How did you find me, anyway?"
"Oh, I have my sources just as your friend Lucian has his," said Herrick. "You didn't think you could hide forever, did you?"
"I'm not hiding," he responded, though his voice lacked the conviction he'd intended.
"I see," said Herrick, flashing his predatory grin. "I take it you got my message."
"I take it you got my answer."
"Well, not really," he said. "You see, piles of ash aren't very good at delivering messages."
"Neither are corpses," came the retort.
Herrick grinned. "Listen to you; so self-righteous. I think the old man is rubbing off on you."
"Better him than you," Mitchell shot back.
Herrick never faltered. "And how long do you suppose that's going to last? You think you can tag along with one of the Old Ones for the rest of your days? Lucian Harcourt doesn't get attached to people, he travels alone. And he certainly doesn't spend his time 'rehabilitating' rogue vampires. Sooner or later his charity is going to run out and he'll decide you're more trouble than you're worth, and where will that leave you? I think we both know that you don't manage very well on your own. What are you going to do then, Mitchell?"
He wanted to speak, but he found that the words only stuck in his throat. He settled for glaring at the older man instead.
Herrick gave a satisfied grin. "My offer still stands," he declared. "Come and find me when the time comes." And with that he turned and headed down the hall, disappearing from sight.
Mitchell stood for a moment longer before finally coming to his senses and closing the door, locking it behind him. He shuffled back into the living room and dropped onto the couch, staring absently at the blank television screen. He tried to bring himself to turn it on, but he couldn't even move. All he could focus on were Herrick's words running through his head.
How long had he expected this arrangement to last? He hadn't really thought about it before. Maybe because he was afraid of what the answer would be. But we've been travelling together for more than two years, never apart, he reasoned. Neither of us has ever even hinted that we wanted things to be different.
You think so? countered the voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like Herrick. Then where is he now?
Mitchell sat frozen for almost an hour, caught in an internal debate, until he finally caught the telltale sound of a key turning in the lock and the front door opened. He didn't even look up as Lucian stepped inside, locking the door behind him and removing his jacket before crossing to the living room.
"I didn't think you'd be awake," said Lucian as he stepped around the back of the couch, taking a seat beside him.
"Where'd you go?" Mitchell inquired without looking up.
"I was just taking care of a few things," he answered simply.
He just nodded.
When Mitchell continued to stare blankly at the opposite wall, Lucian finally broke the silence. "What's wrong?"
"I think we should move on," he said suddenly. "Someone was here earlier, this place isn't safe anymore."
Lucian sat up straighter, eyes shifting around the room as if he might find some unnamed intruder hiding in the shadows. "Alright," he answered finally. "We'll leave in the morning."
He was about to rise from his seat, but Mitchell wasn't through. "I think," he said, "that we should go separately."
There was a brief pause, then Lucian said, "If that's what you want."
Mitchell's heart sank. Admittedly, he had hoped that the older man wouldn't be so quick to agree, but he dismissed the thought. He was being childish.
"Or is this about something else?" he pressed, picking up on his abnormally subdued behavior. "You said you knew who killed that girl."
"I killed that girl," he answered bitterly. "At least, she's dead because of me, so I just as good as."
"What are you talking about?" asked Lucian, perplexed by this sudden revelation.
Mitchell sighed, still refusing to meet his gaze. "It was Herrick," he explained. "He was trying to get my attention; show me what I'm missing."
Lucian frowned. "What about that vampire in the alley?" he asked.
He shook his head. "Steven was just the messenger," he answered. "He said that Herrick was willing to 'forgive me' and he wanted me to come back."
"And are you going to?" asked Lucian, his expression unreadable.
Mitchell stared at him. "Of course not. How could-" He cut himself off, unable to hold the gaze of those piercing blue eyes. He took a breath. "Look, the point is, this isn't gonna stop. Herrick is a stubborn bastard. He'll keep at it until he gets what he wants, one way or another. You've got enough to deal with without my problems and you've done more than enough for me already."
Lucian shook his head. "You say that like I've kept you around out of charity," he said lightly.
Mitchell cringed inwardly, but said nothing.
"It's called being a friend, Mitchell," he continued, turning serious. "I 'deal' with your problems because I care about you. Don't you know that?"
Yeah, but for how long? he thought miserably. "I just… think we'd both be better off if I went it alone for a while," he answered softly.
Lucian gave him a long, hard look. "Is that you talking or him?"
He didn't answer.
"He was here, wasn't he?" he pressed. "Is that what this is really about?"
Again he remained silent, staring down at his hands in his lap.
"I'll tell you what," said Lucian, inching a little closer so they sat shoulder to shoulder. "If you can look me in the eye and honestly say that you'd rather be on your own right now, then tomorrow, we'll go our separate ways. I won't say another word about it. I'm not about to try and control your life; I'm not Herrick. Just tell me what you want to do."
After a long pause, Mitchell finally lifted his head, brown eyes connecting with steel blue… but he couldn't bring himself to lie. He released a heavy sigh. "I just don't want to be a burden," he answered almost inaudibly.
Lucian shook his head. "You are only ever a burden on yourself. Hasn't it ever occurred to you that I might just like having you around? Or did you just hit your head harder than I thought?" he teased, evoking a small smile out of the younger man as he nudged him with his shoulder.
"Look, whatever Herrick said, don't even think on it," he continued. "He's only trying to manipulate you. You should know that better than anyone."
"I know," said Mitchell. "I suppose I was just… afraid… that he was right."
"About what?" asked Lucian.
He paused for a moment, weighing his words. "That I was going to end up alone," he said finally. "And that eventually I'd have to go back to him because I couldn't bear it."
"What makes you think you're going to end up alone?" he asked, studying him closely.
"Because-" Mitchell sighed. He might as well just say it. "Because you're used to being on your own, you don't travel with anyone. All I do is slow you down and- don't give me that look, you know it's true- Anyway, you've got more important things to deal with without me getting in the way. I'm just afraid that one day you're gonna realize that I cause more trouble than I'm worth and then you'll have to move on."
Lucian shook his head, his anger at Mitchell's Sire building. "Did you let him feed you that line as well?" he accused, speaking a bit more harshly than he had intended.
The younger man opened his mouth to fire back a retort, but found he had nothing to offer. Instead, he simply retreated further into his corner of the couch, folding his arms protectively across his chest and turning his face away to stare at the opposite wall. "You didn't say it wasn't true," he muttered under his breath.
Lucian sighed, feeling his anger dissipate. "I didn't think I needed to," he answered.
He noticed Mitchell's shoulders relax slightly, but he continued to sit in silence. He decided to try a different tactic. "Come here," he said, slipping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him closer.
The younger man was slightly resistant at first, but he finally gave in, pressing himself against his side and resting his head against his shoulder with a defeated sigh.
"I have a confession to make," said Lucian softly.
"And what's that?" Mitchell indulged when the older man seemed to be waiting for an answer.
"When we left Essex two years ago, after you got back on your feet, I didn't decide to take you with me out of concern that you'd relapse," he began. "I did it for entirely selfish reasons."
Mitchell lifted his head, looking up at him in confusion. "I don't understand."
"Don't you?" he questioned. "Because I did it for the same reason as you. I didn't want to be alone. The only difference was, I didn't realize it until I met you. I'd spent so many years in solitude that, up until then, I had forgotten what I was missing."
For a moment, the younger man stared at him in bewilderment as the words began to sink in. "Really?" he asked, unable to think of anything else to say.
Lucian nodded. "So you see?" he continued with a grin. "You can't get rid of me that easily."
Mitchell quirked an eyebrow at him. "Is that a threat?" he smirked.
"That's a promise," came the reply, his teasing tone turning serious.
In the darkness of that small flat in Liverpool, brown eyes studied blue, searching for the slightest trace of hesitation behind those words, but the older man did not waver. Satisfied, Mitchell simply nodded. "Good."
Once again, that took longer than expected… I had planned to post this earlier today, but I ended up stuck at the car dealership for about 3 1/2 hours. But, hey, I got a new car! Happy early birthday to me! Lol.
Anyway, I realize this has sort of turned into the Early Adventures of Mitchell and Lucian, but I hope you guys like it!
Lately, I've actually sort of come to regret getting rid of Herrick so early on in the series because I keep coming up with new ideas. But then I realized I have about 40 years worth of timeline gap to play with, and so here we are! Expect to see more of Herrick from time to time.
So, thanks for reading! Please share your thoughts. :)
