Bite your tongue until it tastes like blood.

[havens.livejournal.com]

Title: Bite your tongue until it tastes like blood
Fandom/Pairing: Being Human, Mitchell/Annie
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,000
Genre: Angst, Drama
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Short Summary: The damned don't get happy endings. (AU In which Mitchell turns Annie.)
Notes: Seriously. This isn't a happy Mitchell/Annie fic. In fact this is the first unhappy Mitchell/Annie fic I have ever written and I have written so many Mitchell/Annie fics.




After years of waiting, of anticipating and expecting it to finally happen, it does.


She appears before him, a vision of white in the bright sunlight that stings his eyes and forces him to wear his sunglasses. Even with them on he squints, but he sees her. Oh, she is all he sees. She is cinnamon skin and endless ebony curls that spiral past her shoulders, down her back, and she is so alive.


His mouth waters.


Here she is, his eternal damnation, finally arriving. It has been so long, so very long, and there is no way he will resist now. To hell with being good, to listening to George, to believing he could try and be human.


He is a creature of the night, what nightmares are made of, and his eyes begin to sting for a different reason as they darken until all colors but black fade.


He will have her. She is his. He has been waiting forever it seems, and now, now forever has ended and opportunity strikes.



.



Her blood is the sweetest of wines, addicting as it slides down his throat while her body jerks against his. He holds her tight, so tight, her back flush to his chest as his arms crush her ribs. He thinks, sorry, love, as she whimpers, as she wheezes, but nothing will stop him.


What's done is done. This is destiny and he's captured it, her, and there's no way he is letting go.


Only as he drinks her he thinks of how lonely he is, how George has his Nina and he has no one. How Herrick drones on about recruiting, of a superior race and that they should all be doing their part.


This is different. The way his world's been turned upside down since she appeared, laughing and smiling before him on a busy street corner while chatting with her friends. It's not like the other times, not at all. It feels different and as her heart beats slower and slower, he pulls his aching fangs from her much paler flesh and stares.


"Please," she rasps so softly it could very well be his imagination.


"Shh," he replies, stroking his finger along her cheek. So cold, she is so cold. "It will be over soon."



.



He sits at her side and waits. She is in his bed and George has no idea, none at all. If he did, Mitchell is quite sure he would not be alive right now. Undead. Not alive. He is undead and waiting for his eternal companion to awake to this new life he has bestowed upon her.


She will thank him. From the bruising he has found upon her skin, she will thank him. This is better. She will have strength and eternity and him. This was meant to be. He knows, oh he knows, and as he waits, he keeps his gaze upon her face.


She is lovely. Her full lips, the shape of her eyes. That hair of hers, so much of it, all curled and soft and begging to be wrapped around his fingers. He must take it slow, he will be better than Herrick. He will be kind and teach her, give her the choices he never had.


The gasp rips him from his thoughts and his eyes meet hers which are full of terror.


"What have you done to me?" she asks hoarsely. She sits up, clutching at her throat, clawing at her skin and he quickly reaches out to grasp onto her wrists, to pull her hands away from her.


"Don't touch me!" she shrieks, fighting against him. "Don't touch me! Don't!"


"Annie, shh," he whispers.


She stills against him. "How do you know my name?" she asks in a whimper. "Please let me go. Please, oh please, I swear I won't tell anyone. Just let me go."


"I can't, love," he whispers. He doesn't let her wrists go. She will run and he cannot have her out there around the humans. There will be a massacre. "I'm sorry."


"What have you done to me?" she asks him again. "I don't feel right. I am cold and my throat burns and my jaw aches ..."


"It's the hunger," he answers.


"What?" she asks. "Please, please stop. Did Owen put you up to this? I know I made him mad but this isn't fair! I apologized!"


Mitchell leans back, to study her face. She is crying and she is terrified and this need to ease her pain comes over him. It must be the bond he has created in creating her. He likes it, though. It might be the warmest he has felt in centuries.


"Who is Owen?" he asks. Though he knows. Of course he knows. The ring on her finger, the bruises on her skin. Her tormentor. That is Owen. Perhaps one day he will allow her to have her revenge, to hurt him like he hurt her. The strangest part is that he swears he knows exactly what has happened, all the sadness and pain in her life, the happiness, the joys, all of it. He swears that by drinking from her, by turning her, he knows her entire life.


This life will be better.

"This is real, isn't it," she murmurs. "This is not a game."


Mitchell shakes his head.


Annie nods.


"Let me go," she whispers. "You're hurting me."


He lets go.


And watches as Annie moves back, further and further, until she is pressed back against the wall and looking like a caged animal. She is so frightened and he wants her to understand that it will be all right. He is here now. He will teach her how to live and she will come to appreciate this life she now has. No one can hurt her now. No one can ever hurt her again.


Yet they remain there in silence, staring at each other for what could very well be hours, or even days. Time means nothing to the dead.



.



"What have you done!" George shrieks after he has slammed Mitchell against a wall. His forearm is pressed against Mitchell's windpipe and it's a good thing he doesn't need to breathe or he'd have blacked out minutes ago.


"I wanted what you had with Nina," he wheezes.


George sobs out in agony, in grief, and shakes his head as he tries not to cry. "You murdered that girl," he hisses. "That is not what Nina and I have!"


"I'm not like you," Mitchell must remind his friend. "I am ..."


"A monster," George whispers. He steps away from Mitchell, looks at him as if he is the most disgusting of creatures and shakes his head. "I want you out," he says.


"Of course," Mitchell answers. "We'll be gone by morning."


"Good," George replies. "It's best. Full moon tomorrow."


"I know," Mitchell says with a nod of his head. "I'm sorry I couldn't be what you wanted."


George turns away, intending to leave the room but stops at the door. "I'm sorry you've ruined that poor girl's life."


And then he is gone, and Mitchell remains, finding it hard to truly feel bad. George doesn't understand. It was meant to happen. They couldn't pretend forever.



.



"Where are you taking me?" Annie asks as he clutches her hand and drags her out into the night.


"Where would you like to go?" he replies, giving her a question instead of a true answer.


Annie scoffs, then stops, refusing to move. "Italy," she answers him.


"All right," he nods.


She laughs shrilly. "You are insane!" she yells. "Let me go!"


"And then what?" Mitchell asks angrily, losing his patience with her. "Let you go so you'll go out there and kill?"


"I would not -" Annie begins to protest.


"You would," he interrupts her. "Trust me, you would."


"I don't trust you," Annie spits out. "You murdered me."


"In time you'll see that I've given you everything you could have never had if you remained human," he murmurs. He begins to walk again, pulling her along at first, but eventually she goes willingly, follows and then is finally at his side, keeping his brisk pace.


Mitchell smiles a little.



.



Once they are settled he must ask her a question he was never asked.


"Do you want to feed from humans, Annie?"


"Want?" she asks as she looks up. Her eyebrow quirks up and a flood of emotions cross her face before she relaxes. "You mean I don't have to?"


"You don't have to," he confirms. "You don't have to kill."


"You killed me," she reminds him.


"It wasn't like that," he finally begins to confess. "I ..."


"What?" she softly asks him. "Please, tell me? I think I deserve to know."


"I was drawn to you," he admits. "Not your blood. I was drawn to your soul, to your life force. I wanted it, all of it. I wanted you and after years of abstaining, I gave in and took you. I drank your blood and it was heavenly. It was the closest I have ever been to such a place and I couldn't give you up. I felt that you were meant to be ... here."


"With you," she murmurs.


"With me," he repeats.


It is quiet for a moment and Mitchell tries to get a grasp on what she is thinking.


"I'm glad you did it," she whispers.


That is most definitely not what he was expecting to hear.


"If you hadn't I'd be dead anyway," she tells him. "Owen would have killed me," she goes on, turning the ring upon her finger. "He hurt me so many times and I thought I deserved it. That if I could just be better, if I could finally get it right and be what he wanted it would stop."


She laughs. "And I know how that sounds, but I loved him. I loved him so desperately and I was so honored to be the one that he chose. He could have had anyone and he chose me. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, to make me his wife and be the mother of his children. He was so kind once, at the beginning but then ... the kindness faded and was replaced with such cruelty. He was so terrible and he hurt me so many times but I never left. I would have never left and I would have died."


"Annie," he whispers.


"Please don't pity me," she pleads. "I don't want your pity. I wanted to tell you, so that I could, and now I have and I can move on. I don't want to hold onto it anymore. I just want to be free of it."


"You are free," he assures her. "Annie, you are freer than you ever could have been."


"Because you chose me," she agrees.


He shakes his head. 'No, Annie," he says, "it was you who chose me."



.



"You could leave if you wanted," he tells her one day over tea. "You could go anywhere, see anything. I won't force you to stay."


Annie smiles as she stirs sugar into her tea and shakes her head. "You never forced me to," she says. "I stay because I want to."


"Why?" he asks. He honestly wants to know why. She makes sure to remind him during arguments that he took her, killed her, stole the life she could have had and the children she dreamed of having away. She knows exactly what to say to make it hurt. She knows him. Somehow, somehow she has gotten under his skin and into his head.


"Because," she answers simply.


"Because," he repeats. "Annie, that is not a good enough answer. That is no answer at all."


"I feel safe," she admits with a shrug.


"With your murderer?" he asks incredulously. "And I thought I was the only fucked up one here."


She laughs again and reaches out, to touch his wrist gently. "You took me away," she tells him as she strokes his wrist. If it were possibly his pulse would be racing beneath her touch. "You saved me."


He laughs sardonically. "I killed you, remember?"


She nods. "You did," she agrees, "and I don't think I'll ever forget, but in death I found life."


"I gave you a choice I was never given," he murmurs. "Herrick didn't let me choose. It was kill, kill, kill. I had to be what he wanted."


"And I am what I want to be," she murmurs back to him. "And I am where I want to be."


"We're a very fucked up pair," he chuckles.


"That we are," she agrees and smiles a bit more. "But at least I am good company."


"Your tea is fantastic," he teases.


"Endless supply," she teases right back.



.



France brings devastation.


"I killed him," she rasps.


She's covered in blood. It's on her skin and her hands and in her hair and her clothes are drenched and she stands there in his doorway, her eyes wide and bright, bright, so bright.


Mitchell doesn't know what to say, how to react. He stands, goes to her and touches her face.


"I killed her too," she adds. "They were on their honeymoon and I smelled him. I smelled him! I knew his smell and I followed them all day long. They were so happy and I hated them more than ever before. Not even dead a year and he was with that vile thing, parading her around as if she was all he ever wanted and I killed them."


"Annie," he whispers.


"I'm glad I did it," she whispers back. "After all he did to me, after everything, I'm glad I did it."


"I didn't want this for you," he whispers hoarsely. "Why didn't you come to me?"


"This was something I had to do," she answers.


He doesn't respond, mostly because he doesn't know how. Instead he takes her hand and leads her into the bathroom, to pull her into the shower with him. It's strangely normal to do such a thing when they never have and he washes the blood from her skin until it's gone. At least, from her outward appearance. He knows this blood will never truly disappear.


"I'm sorry I've disappointed you," she mumbles into his chest as the water pours over them. It's cold now, but Mitchell is warmer than he has ever been.


"You never could," he assures her. His fingers stroke through her wet hair, down her back, until he's wrapping his arms around her.


"I'm not sorry I did it," she says in a stronger tone. "I'm not."


"All right," he says, "all right."



.



"I think I could love you," she tells him one morning in London. The sun is beginning to rise, casting soft light around the room and he can see the perfection of her skin as she lies beside him. His hand rests over her hip while her leg rests between both of his and she tilts her chin up, to catch his gaze.


"We don't love," he must tell her though it pains him to. "We are damned."


"You're wrong," she says. "We do love. It isn't about souls. It isn't about hearts. You don't love with those things."


He wishes to humor her now.


"And what do we love with?" he must ask her.


"Our hands," she answers, pressing hers to his chest. "Our mouths," she goes on, kissing his lips. "Our bodies," she continues, pressing herself closer.


"Our minds," she adds. Their foreheads press together.


Mitchell shudders against her.


"Annie," he rasps, shutting his eyes tight. He shakes his head.


"Please, Mitchell," she whispers.


"Do you forgive me?" he asks her.


There is a beat and then -


"No."



.



Annie is gone the next morning.


Mitchell falls off the wagon by nightfall.



.



They'll find each other again. It is inevitable. They will tear through the entire world, searching for parts of themselves that they will not find in anyone else. He's know since the beginning that they're pieces of the same puzzle. Jagged pieces, once smooth and perfect, ruined by time and neglect, but somehow they still fit.


It's taken him centuries to finally find her, so he believes he'll be able to wait until they cross paths again.


But the tea he drinks is pure filth compared to hers and the bodies that come together with his own never bring him the warmth Annie has. Their blood helps a bit more, but he's forever left starving for more.


Thankfully they have eternity on their side and when they meet once more Mitchell will ask her the same question.


Do you forgive me?


He expects the same answer.


No.


Only this time he'll reply with, I do love you, as much as I can in this broken body and it doesn't matter that you don't forgive me. I don't want your forgiveness. I just want you.


Because you saved me, too. As much as a monster like me can be saved. And if I'm to be damned for an eternity, let that eternity be spent with you.


It seems less like damnation then and more like a salvation he knows a devil like himself doesn't deserve yet desires.


And he'll have it, too.

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Comments

[feathersandgold.livejournal.com]

I loved this! I always wanted an AU of a vampire Annie and I think you did a fantastic job :)