(Yeah, so I've apparently lost my ability to write in past tense. and for my character blocking to make any sense. But this wonderful prompt is eating at my brain. I really would like to work on this some more! and thanks for prompting Being Human so often, it gives me the kick I need to actually write it!)
"I don't understand why I can't tell you to 'talk about it' when you always want me to talk about it. To accept it, to say it out loud." George says. They're sharing the sofa, George's feet in Mitchell's lap but Mitchell won't look him in the eyes. He stares defiantly at the wall, their postures hiding their anger. "I didn't rip Herrick apart George." He snaps and tries to move out from under George's feet and stand up. George grabs his wrist. "Maybe not Herrick. But you've killed before Mitchell. Don't pull that shit." George grounds out the swear through his teeth and Mitchell stops. George tugs at his wrist, pulling him back down onto the sofa. Annie stands in the kitchen doorway, her hands wrapped around her mug, her shoulders hunched inwards as she tries to be smaller than she is. "He was your friend Mitchell. Just because he was a bastard doesn't mean you can't grieve." Annie murmurs, just loud enough to be heard. Mitchell covers his face with his hands. He wants to be someone, anywhere but here, with the people he loves asking him questions he doesn't want to answer. "I don't want to talk about Herrick." He says and shakes off George's hold on his wrist. "Herrick is dead. I never want to talk about him again." In one movement, too fast for George to stop, he stands and heads for the door. Annie sees something in George's eyes and flickers away. Mitchell grabs the door handle. He knows it's cold outside, he doesn't care. George's hand slams the door shut before Mitchell can even move. "Has it ever, even occurred to you, that maybe, maybe, you owe this to us! To me! That after I killed a man for you, maybe I deserve to know what he was to you?!" George shouts, uncharacteristically angry this far from the full moon. He's crowding Mitchell, his wolf/man smell burning inside Mitchell's nostrils, Mitchell's eyes flicking black in anticipation of a fight. It would be so easy, in this moment, just to let go. To let all the strength inside him boil over. It would be so easy to shove George back and start a fight. Maybe Mitchell's learning self control or maybe he's just never been one to take the easy path. He surrenders, lowers his head, feels his eyes flick back to human. He doesn't meet George's eyes, because if George wants the truth he must have it now, knowing that Mitchell is ashamed to say this in the presence of a good man. "Herrick was everything." Mitchell murmurs. George leans back from Mitchell's personal space but Mitchell's hand snakes out, over George's outstretched arm, to his shoulder, holding George there. He cannot say these words with space between them, he cannot let these words pollute the air between them. George doesn't move and Mitchell lets his hand drop. "Herrick was..a father, brother, friend...lover." Mitchell can't, won't, see George's face but he hears the intake of breath. Mitchell spreads his hands in front of him in an almost-apology. "There is no bond tighter than that of creator and created. Herrick made me. Herrick owned me. I am what I am because of Herrick." Mitchell stares at his wide-spread hands and feels, rather than see, George remove his palms from the door. "Mitchell, I'm sorry..I" George stutters, falling back on old habits and stilted speech. "I'm glad Herrick's dead. He can't hurt you anymore." Mitchell manages before he turns and flees out the door. Herrick is dead but Mitchell will never be free.
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No Tighter Bond
Date: 2010-01-08 05:28 pm (UTC)"I don't understand why I can't tell you to 'talk about it' when you always want me to talk about it. To accept it, to say it out loud." George says. They're sharing the sofa, George's feet in Mitchell's lap but Mitchell won't look him in the eyes. He stares defiantly at the wall, their postures hiding their anger.
"I didn't rip Herrick apart George." He snaps and tries to move out from under George's feet and stand up. George grabs his wrist.
"Maybe not Herrick. But you've killed before Mitchell. Don't pull that shit." George grounds out the swear through his teeth and Mitchell stops. George tugs at his wrist, pulling him back down onto the sofa.
Annie stands in the kitchen doorway, her hands wrapped around her mug, her shoulders hunched inwards as she tries to be smaller than she is.
"He was your friend Mitchell. Just because he was a bastard doesn't mean you can't grieve." Annie murmurs, just loud enough to be heard. Mitchell covers his face with his hands. He wants to be someone, anywhere but here, with the people he loves asking him questions he doesn't want to answer.
"I don't want to talk about Herrick." He says and shakes off George's hold on his wrist. "Herrick is dead. I never want to talk about him again." In one movement, too fast for George to stop, he stands and heads for the door. Annie sees something in George's eyes and flickers away. Mitchell grabs the door handle. He knows it's cold outside, he doesn't care.
George's hand slams the door shut before Mitchell can even move.
"Has it ever, even occurred to you, that maybe, maybe, you owe this to us! To me! That after I killed a man for you, maybe I deserve to know what he was to you?!" George shouts, uncharacteristically angry this far from the full moon. He's crowding Mitchell, his wolf/man smell burning inside Mitchell's nostrils, Mitchell's eyes flicking black in anticipation of a fight. It would be so easy, in this moment, just to let go. To let all the strength inside him boil over. It would be so easy to shove George back and start a fight. Maybe Mitchell's learning self control or maybe he's just never been one to take the easy path. He surrenders, lowers his head, feels his eyes flick back to human. He doesn't meet George's eyes, because if George wants the truth he must have it now, knowing that Mitchell is ashamed to say this in the presence of a good man.
"Herrick was everything." Mitchell murmurs. George leans back from Mitchell's personal space but Mitchell's hand snakes out, over George's outstretched arm, to his shoulder, holding George there. He cannot say these words with space between them, he cannot let these words pollute the air between them. George doesn't move and Mitchell lets his hand drop. "Herrick was..a father, brother, friend...lover." Mitchell can't, won't, see George's face but he hears the intake of breath. Mitchell spreads his hands in front of him in an almost-apology. "There is no bond tighter than that of creator and created. Herrick made me. Herrick owned me. I am what I am because of Herrick." Mitchell stares at his wide-spread hands and feels, rather than see, George remove his palms from the door.
"Mitchell, I'm sorry..I" George stutters, falling back on old habits and stilted speech.
"I'm glad Herrick's dead. He can't hurt you anymore." Mitchell manages before he turns and flees out the door. Herrick is dead but Mitchell will never be free.