He would never forget the day Annie was taken from them, the day when time stopped. All that remained was pain and guilt, stuck in an echoing cottage, no merry greetings or daft trivia for the day. If Mitchell could take back all the awful things he'd done, all the horrible things he had said; he would do so in a second just to have Annie back. He didn't care if she shouted or screamed at him; at least she'd be back where she belonged, with them…with him.
And fuck did she scream at him.
When she first arrived back, he'd been scared. She was so eerily quiet. George was freaking out, that this wasn't their Annie. They had to remember it would take time.
Annie, his angel of reality and consequence, had given him a day of peacefulness before she flashed a shadowed version of her famous 'we need to talk now' glare. He was in the doghouse and for some reason it made the whole dreamlike world they'd been living in the past four months feel like the old days.
So he'd sat heavily on the single bed, keeping still, focusing his senses for one brief moment downstairs where George paced apprehensively, heart beating frantically, before returning his full attention to Annie, back facing him, shoulders tensed as she silently closed the heavy bedroom door. With no one holding her, she was always tense as though anticipating something.
Christ, he had been nervous, heart twisting and thumping, not unusual since their departure from Bristol. Nervous contemplating if he'd crack, give in to his nature, nervous he'd reveal all the gruesome details of his killing sprees to George.
He thought going clean would be harder this time. Surprisingly, it wasn't. Yeah, it was a struggle, it took a lot to not kill Lucy, but it was different. Now he had George, and Nina, to remain clean for. The thudding pain, dimmed but still ever present, left by Annie's departure, silenced the lust. If the pain stopped, it would be over, and Annie would officially be gone. He couldn't explain how he felt her go, well if he was honest, he knew now. It's funny how you don't realise what you've got until it's gone.
In this moment, it was Annie who got his heart in a panicked frenzy. The jumpity rhythm produced by his heart continued now she was back and safe with them. Every time he watched her, every moment he touched her, held her, made him nervous. In a good way though, that was new.
It was going to happen sooner or later, he knew Annie was pissed with him, had that look in her eyes; conflictions, anger, sorrow. A look which hit him just as bad as sharp pain of her departure. He'd really fucked it up this time.
Her voice cracked as she spoke, breaking through the thick silent air, hammering down his weakened stature. "I know everything, Mitchell. At least up till Kemp". At the time he couldn't tell if her smirk produced by the bastards name, worried or defiant, was a good or bad thing.
And that's how it started. He pleaded, needing her to understand. What he'd lost sight of. Shouting, not at Annie, just a build up of emotions, lack of sleep, withdrawal; seeping through uncontrollably.
With time he kept silent, voice drying out, granting her lectures to burst the secluded bubble he'd been living in. He didn't question how she knew exactly; it was time to face his actions, what he had released back into the world. A lecture he needed to hear.
The sharpness in her voice, oddly refreshing, stung none the less. George doesn't know does he? How could you let this happen? Control…Lucy…We could have helped you! Innocent people. No excuse…And Herrick!
He finally broke his silence when she began blaming herself; that she was engrossed by her own self pity, falling apart, blind to the signs. This was not her fault.
He really freaked out as she slid down the door into the cold floor, eyes so tired, lifeless, talking only to herself; "It's my fault. I was stupid to think ignoring the door would be fine, you know. I didn't realise they were waiting for me…".
He'd scrambled to the floor beside her, suddenly worried he'd lose Annie in the small distance of the bedroom. The memory of her face would always linger in his mind, as he knelt in front of her, pulling his gloves off in a quick sweep, cupping her face in his shaking hands. Pale skin, eyes not quite as bright as before, haunted; all he wanted was to ease her aching soul, bring a smile back. From his limited knowledge on ghosts, he'd remembered some needed touch, absorb a little energy. He was recharging her so to speak.
The feel of her skin beneath his fingertips stirred confusing feelings he had kept lodged down, out of the way. He wasn't ready to delve into whatever was occurring between him and Annie. She was back now, that's all that mattered and he'd be damned if anyone hurt her again; including himself.
"Do you remember before we left for the facility, in the kitchen, you told George to stay away from the cities?". Mitchell had nodded stiffly, memory unshakable.
"What about me? If George was cured, who would see me?". Realisation hit her eyes, a little spark.
"Did you know I was going to cross over?". He explained it to her; couldn't let her stay, not to witness this monster he'd become, cared too much about her for that to happen…still did.
When Annie squeezed him into a tight hug, he felt at more at peace, that they could finally move on. He asked her when he should break the bombshell to George, knowing George would never forgive him.
Funny, he'd always been the one George and Annie turned to for guidance, for help, and now it was Annie who held the voice of reason, "Let's hold back and settle for a couple of days. Then we'll tell him. No more secrets".
Later that night, Mitchell woke up with a start, groggily scanning the dark; his bedroom, a warm body curled beside him on the bed… Annie, he remembered, asleep. She was having a nightmare, cries muffled by the lumpy pillow and he was almost certain the cause of her distress. Carefully, Mitchell pulled her closer to him, warm tears pricking his own eyes as he swiped her own, wanting only to remove her memories of that place. No, he wasn't going to push her, if she wanted to tell them where she was, she would in her own time. And one day she would.
Mitchell lay awake for the remainder of the night, holding her sleeping form as Annie slowly reached a peaceful slumber, easing his worried tinged heart strings. There was a stark difference in her now, he noticed; she was solid, skin not as spongy or cold, the touch of her hair like silk thread. Not misty, she felt real; the soft curve of her face, her tears actually soaking his fingers and t-shirt rather than instantly evaporating. He would later pick up the smell of sweet roses, filling his head with dizzy thoughts of spring.
By late morning she woke, a tangled mess of curls, duvet and sunlight, squeaking as she stretched, curling her bare toes, knocking the duvet to the floor. Mitchell chuckled, a foreign sound after so long; she really does hog the covers. His voice held a rusty morning tone to it, "You were sleeping, I didn't want to wake you".
She tensed; remembering the dream, a tiny edge of worry crept in as her eyes glazed over. Annie always kept a brave face for them, but he knew, used to always know when something wasn't quite right. The tension was short lived though as she smiled, too ungroggily for a normal person waking up, "I fell great actually, refreshed".
Sheepishly, Annie removed her hand which had crawled its way under his top during the night, resting gently on the area which had pained him so greatly. He'd been solely focussed on Annie being home, he only just registered the pain had completely stopped.
In fact, the pain stopped when they got Annie back, ceased and a whole flourish of emotions he had forgotten about returned. It wasn't a dream anymore.
Reluctantly, Mitchell allowed Annie to drag him to his feet, the freezing floor shocking any morning grog from his system. George and Nina were cooking downstairs, and the aromas fluttered seductively into the room. As he observed Annie pull her cardigan back on, he knew in that instant, he would change his ways for them. Mitchell wouldn't take them for granted again.