She lay in the bed that smelled of the other vampire. She couldn't remember her time or place. There was nothing in her world except the pain... and that scent. The healing was a fiery itch deep within her chest. She longed to scratch it, to tear it open and stop the burn. Instead, she concentrated on pulling in deep, unnecessary breaths to draw herself away from it. In. And out. She coiled herself tightly around the burn and breathed in his scent again. She kept all her cries and screams locked inside, sure that she could never put back the pieces if she broke down. She only breathed... and waited to be fed.


Nina looked up as Mitchell let himself quietly into the room. He said nothing, just started with an inscrutable expression at the impossibly still figure on the bed. Nina thought he seemed tense, and that it obviously had something to do with their guest. She had expected him to go to her, as he had seemed drawn to do before, but he stayed by the door, watching.

It must be the blood, she thought. He could probably still smell it on her despite her and Annie's efforts to clean away every last bit. "Mitchell, I need to ask you something. Do you remember much from when you were in hospital last year?"

Mitchell grunted an affirmative.

"Did the anesthetics help any with the pain? Or was it different... for you?" Nina asked, keeping her voice gentle. She hated to dredge up that painful incident in his past when he had nearly been staked by Herrick.

Mitchell looked toward the bed again, this time with definite compassion in his eyes. He turned back to Nina and managed to both nod and shake his head.

"Sort of. A bit. But not like they work for a human. It should take the edge off, though. Make it more bearable."

A timid knock at the door announced the arrival of George. Mitchell moved closer to the bed so as not to block the door. He kept his back to George and stood with his arms crossed, the muscle in his jaw visibly tightening. Nina could see that there was clearly some trouble in paradise.

"Right, George, I need to pop down to the hospital. We need pain killers. That wound isn't even fully closed, how she's keeping quiet like this I'll never know." Nina went to George and stood on tiptoe to give him a swift peck on her way out the door.

"Erm..." said George to Mitchell's back once Nina was gone. He took off his glasses and began to pick at a non-existent spot. "Erm" wasn't enough of an apology for Mitchell, however, and he gave him no response.

"I'm sorry," said George, "I was being a prat. You have no idea how sorry I am that I said those things after everything you've done. I know Emma and Richard didn't help us for nothing. I know there was some cost. Whatever it is, I'll do it, I'll pay it."

"It's alright, George." Mitchell said, sighing and turning to face him. "It's not as bad as all that. There's nothing owed," he lied.

"I don't believe you. I'm not daft. You might as well come off it and tell the truth."

"There's nothing you can do, George. It's for me. All I ask is that you understand when I have to do it, whatever it may be."

George swallowed awkwardly and nodded, unable to meet Mitchell's eyes. It seemed that there was no escape from the guilt. Mitchell gave him a small, rueful smile, full of understanding. He knew about guilt.

"I told them I wouldn't kill. I made sure of that. They weren't too keen on it, but they were dying to know what I was up to. You should have seen them, stumbling all over themselves to look like they didn't care. Sheer nosiness will be their undoing one day, I wager." He grinned broadly at George, his mood flashing back to jovial. The speed at which he could swing from highs to lows and back again always left George dizzy. Mitchell invariably skipped any emotional middle ground. George wasn't always sure if that was a good thing, but it did make it next to impossible for his friend to hold a grudge for any extended period of time.

George laughed with him. "I don't think there's any shortage of crazy things that could eventually lead to their demise. If that's what eternity does to you, makes you mad as a..." he trailed off, realizing that that line of thought was probably in poor taste for present company. Mitchell rolled his eyes, but didn't look overly affronted by his faux pas. Can't hold a grudge, George thought again as he grinned at him. "Sorry."

Their attention turned to the still form on the bed. "D'you think she can hear us?" asked George. "Is she awake? She was at first, but now... She should be crying, she should be... Not that I want her in pain, but..."

Mitchell held up his palm to shush him. He crouched down at the side of the bed and gazed intently at her face. It was anything but relaxed. There was tension in the set of her mouth and in her arms, which were wrapped protectively about her chest.

"She's definitely awake. I can't tell if she's aware of us, she's so closed off." Mitchell thought he could still see that wildness lurking behind her set features, like something caged and pacing it's bars. He wondered if the others could sense it as well. He was reaching out to her without even realizing that he was doing it when her eyes suddenly snapped open. He drew in a sharp breath and they focused on him in an instant. For a moment they seemed frozen, aware only of each other. Mitchell felt pinned down by her gaze and was unable to break it. His hand slowly continued toward her, stretching out his fingers to brush away stray strands of hair that were obscuring her face. As his questing fingers brushed against her she flinched and cried out, clutching at her chest, her intense control over herself and the pain broken.

Mitchell snatched his hand away and stumbled backwards, unsure what he had done to hurt her. She was writhing and twisting, the covers torn away. He was afraid that she would start herself bleeding again and stepped forward, arm outstretched to reassure her.

"Go!" she spat out, the first word she had spoken to any of them. She flung an accusing arm toward Mitchell and the door. He stood with his mouth open for a moment until he felt George push past him.

"Just go and send Annie up, she can help me calm her down!" George commanded, leaning over for her to clutch at his hand. As Mitchell backed out of the door he saw her clenching and unclenching her fingers over George's hand and gritting her teeth against a scream of pain. He took the stairs two at a time, calling for Annie. She appeared at the bottom, looking alarmed.

"Go help George!" he said, and to his relief she popped out without asking for an explanation. He didn't think he could have given her one anyway. He wasn't sure what had happened himself.

Feeling useless, he wandered over to where Seven was sitting on the sofa and dropped down heavily beside him. He randomly selected a cup of tea from the table just to have something to do with his hands and ran a replay in his mind to see where he had gone wrong. Seven watched him apprehensively. This was not a happy vampire. Finally, Mitchell mentally threw up his hands in defeat. He looked up and found Seven watching him with interest.

"I'm sorry, Seven. I really should have thought to take you home. You must be tired as hell."

"No worries. How is our little friend?"

Mitchell smiled tightly. "On the mend. You're a hero, Seven." He paused, thinking. "Seven, how do Richard and Emma stop when they feed from you?"

"Oh, they do it in teams, there's always someone there to help. A spotter, if you will. And they're never hungry enough to lose complete control. I keep them very well fed." He grinned proudly at Mitchell.

Mitchell sighed. "Let's get you home to rest, we'll give it another go day after tomorrow. Remember, you're off limits. No one else feeds from you, you couldn't take it right now." Seven smiled his thanks and let Mitchell help him out to the car.

Mitchell drove Seven up to the Hargrave's door and helped him up the walk. As he turned to leave he couldn't help but chuckle as he glimpsed Richard and Emma peering from behind a pair of hideous curtains. Looking for some clue as to his doings, no doubt. Well, Seven would soon relieve their curiosity. Mitchell had told him that there was no need for secrecy, not wanting to cause any unnecessary trouble for him if he didn't tell them what they wanted to know. He didn't entirely understand the dynamics of their oddly symbiotic relationship.

God, but he was tired. All he wanted was a hot shower and a cigarette. He decided to start with his second objective and pulled out a packet of smokes as he slid behind the wheel. It was the first time he had been alone since this whole mess began. If there had been one good thing about it, it was that it had at kept him busy for once. Busy enough not to hear the pleading voices in his head, or the sound of screaming brakes on the lines. Busy enough not to see the rows of bloody faces turned toward him and illuminated by the sickly green glow of the train lights. The images came flooding back to him now, inexplicably mixed with a vision of an accusing arm waving him out of his room. He laughed bitterly. He was such a monster that even the other monsters couldn't stand his presence.

He slipped the car into drive and headed for home. It was all that he could think to do.