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New Fic: Complicit

Complicit
Fandom: Being Human UK
Rated: PG
Category: Gen, George and Mitchell friendship.
Series: Two; immediately post-facility.
Spoilers: Episodes seven and eight of series two (the facility story arc completion).
Summary: George got Mitchell back - but at what cost?
Disclaimer: Being Human belongs to the wonder that is Toby Whithouse, not me.
Word Count: 644

xxx

They didn’t let us have papers inside.

Something about the corrupting influence of the outside world.

In retrospect, that’s hilarious, considering the evil in that place.

Still, though, I’m glad we were isolated.

That way, when you screamed that I didn’t know what you’d done, it was true.

Or nearly true at any rate - because while I told Annie you were drunk that last day in the pink house, I knew better.

I tried to deny it, but I saw the murder in your eyes.

And I knew.

I knew that we’d lost you.

I wasn’t privy to the specifics, but I knew you’d checked yourself out of rehab.

Annie was right when she said “someone” was in the kitchen, because whoever you were that day, you sure as hell weren’t my friend John Mitchell.

I was too scared at the time to process what that meant, and later I was too angry with you to care, but when I watched Annie get murdered a second time, I needed my friend back. I couldn’t stand the thought of dealing with her loss without you - not on top of everything else.

But I still wasn’t going to turn back - even though I knew you were there. I’d known since the first frenzied whisper of blood and death in the halls, but I honestly didn’t think I could stop you, so I ran for my life.

Sometimes, though, the simplest things change everything. In this case, it was just bits of metal on a ring. Your keys in my pocket reminded me that even sat at our kitchen table and so desperate for a meal you’d have accepted werewolf blood, you still fought your demon long enough for me to escape with Annie.

That memory stopped me in my tracks, and I headed back into the facility. Nina’s protests rang in my ears, but I didn’t listen.

Somehow, I managed to find you. I’m still fuzzy on the details, but the end result is all that matters.

I got you back.

It wasn’t until three days later that I understood what that meant.

We stopped at a shop for crisps and I happened to see the paper at the register. Its headline, in a far bigger font than the usual fare, stared up at me. I stared back until the cashier’s voice brought me out of my horrified trance.

“That’s something, isn’t it?” he asked.

I looked back at him. “What’s that?”

He nodded to the paper. “The Box Tunnel Twenty. All those people torn apart like that.”

“Yeah…” I whispered, as I handed over my money.

“They say they were ripped to shreds. Like an animal attack or something,” he continued.

In an instant, my mind connected the dots. I didn’t need my six languages to understand. I took my change without another word and left the store.

When I got back to the car, you were already behind the wheel, and Nina was curled up in the back.

I slid into the passenger seat, and ten minutes later, we were driving down a country road and dissecting classic cinema while Nina sighed and pretended to sleep. Somehow, The Thin Man distracted me from the carnage I’d just discovered, and like our hours-long discussion of Tolkien the day before, it distracted us both from the dull ache that was Annie’s absence.

I’m not sure what it says about me that I didn’t mention what I saw, but frankly I don’t care.

All that matters is that I got you back.

I don’t know how long that will last, but again I don’t care.

For the man next to me today is my friend, not the monster from the facility, or the demon from that train.

I won this time.

I got John Mitchell back.

And, God help me, I’d do it again.


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