a/n: So, I pretty much swore to myself I'd never write a fanfiction again, but Being Human is too awesome to only have 32 fanfics, Annie and Mitchell are too cute not to be together if only in fic form (for now), and procrastinating what I'm really supposed to be doing is proving too tempting. It has been a while though, so bear with me-- I'm kind of rusty. :)

Title: How to Woo A Ghost

Chapter One: Blind Date

Rating: PG-ish

Summary: Annie goes on a blind date, Mitchell fights some strange new feelings, and George is having mood swings and strange cravings. M/A, G/N, some M/OC, A/OC.

Disclaimer: I do not own Being Human. Or Mitchell. Or Aidan Turner. But if I ever get three wishes...

How To Woo A Ghost

by Elizabeth5

"Is that him?"

Annie paused in her mad dash to clean up the kitchen, two mugs in hand, as she listened for the phantom knock that hadn't actually happened. Mitchell exchanged an amused glance with George, leaning back in his chair as he turned his gaze back to Annie. "I'm pretty sure that was just a dog barking. Down the street."

To his surprise, Annie began pacing, gesturing wildly with the mugs still in hand. "Why did I agree to this in the first place? I'm rubbish at dating, even when I was alive, and now I don't even have that going for me."

"Annie," Mitchell started, rising to his feet to comfort her.

She whirled on him suddenly, index finger jabbing at him. "This is all your fault, you know!"

As much as Mitchell would like to be affronted by the accusation, Annie actually wasn't all that wrong. Mitchell had been the one to suggest that Annie go on a blind date, although to be fair, he'd been coerced into it by his current somewhat "girlfriend" Shelly. She was only his "somewhat girlfriend" because the term girlfriend implied much more romance than the actual relationship provided; shagging someone semi-regularly was nice but not exactly the stuff about which sonnets were written. At least, not any sonnets he'd ever read. But Shelly-- nicknamed Lauren 2.0 by George and Annie-- was attractive, intelligent, low maintenance, and a reformed vampire herself, which made her pretty much the perfect bedtime buddy since there was no danger of him accidentally killing her, ala Lauren 1.0.

Anyhow, Shelly had been the one to suggest setting up Annie with a warlock friend of hers-- ("Those actually exist?" George had gaped when Mitchell first brought it up)-- whose name was Andrew and who owned his own sporting goods store. Annie and Andrew. It was cute enough to make a person want to puke. Mitchell had little expectation that the two of them would actually hit it off-- Annie still had too many issues with the whole Owen debacle to want to have a relationship with anyone at that point, in his opinion-- but Shelly had been insistent.

"She just sits around the house with nothing to do," Shelly explained to Mitchell. "And besides, she needs to have people to hang around besides you and George."

Mitchell had thought it strange that Shelly should take such an interest in Annie since the two seemed to have barely two words to say to each other when they were in the same room together-- which was as little as possible and would stay that way so long as he could help it. And furthermore, he very much doubted Annie would ever agree to such an arrangement, but Shelly had been rather... persuasive on the subject, *ahem*, and so he had gone home and broached the subject tentatively to Annie. Anticipating rejection, he'd been surprised when Annie merely looked up at him a long, calculating moment, and then briskly turned away. "Yeah, all right."

What? Mitchell furrowed his brow at her, wondering if maybe she'd misunderstood. "You don't have to, you know. I can tell Shelly you don't want to."

"I said I'd go, didn't I?" Annie asked, and began scrubbing a pot in the sink.

Mitchell scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, but you don't have to feel obligated or anything. No one's feelings will be hurt if--"

"Mitchell. It's one date. I'll go." Annie glanced back at him. "You must think it's a good idea, or you wouldn't have asked me."

"Yeah, but--"

"And besides," Annie continued, "I should know more people besides just you and George."

George, who had been half-listening in on the conversation and half-dozing, chose that moment to pipe in. "Oh, so I suppose the two of us aren't good enough for you anymore?"

This sort of melodramatic outburst had become more typical of George as of late. Nina had discovered a few months before that she was pregnant, and after a good 30 minutes of yelping, whimpering, and indignant stuttering, George had proposed. The wedding was postponed until after the little hairy monster arrived-- Nina wanted her wedding pictures to be taken when she was back at her fighting weight, thank you very much-- and in the meantime, George had developed the rather delightful and annoying symptoms of sympathetic pregnancy. As a result, he was sleepless, tired, nauseous, and often crabbier and moodier than Nina herself. He had also become incredibly emotional as of late-- even more so than usual.

At this newest little outburst, Annie exchanged an amused glance with Mitchell before turning back to George with a placating smile. "Of course you're good enough for me, George. But you and Nina are going to be married soon, and the house is going to feel so empty when you're gone..." A sudden idea seemed to strike her, and she brightened. "Who knows, maybe Andrew will move in and help with the rent!"

Mitchell's ears pricked up at this. "Move in? You haven't even gone on a first date yet."

Annie raised the spatula she'd been cleaning, leveling it at him. "Well, you don't have to say it like that. You know, there are men who find me attractive and who'd want to move in with me. It isn't the most ridiculous idea in the world."

What? Where had that come from? He backpedaled furiously. "Of course it isn't--"

"Actually, I'm glad you're dating," George interrupted, and suddenly he was inexplicably teary eyed. "Everyone should have love in their lives. Like I have, with Nina."

Sighing, Mitchell shook his head and slouched down in his seat. "There is entirely too much estrogen in this house..."

That had been two days ago. So the be technical, Annie was right when she said it was all Mitchell's fault that she was now anticipating a blind date with a total stranger. Although, if Mitchell was going to quibble-- which he wasn't, because in Annie's current nervous state, she might very well stab him or make a light fixture explode or something-- it was actually Shelly's doing. And if he were really going to quibble, he'd point out that it was really Annie's fault. Because he'd never actually expected her to go along with it.

And then, as if things weren't already dramatic enough, George asked the one question he really shouldn't have asked at the moment. "Are you going to wear that?" he asked, eying over Annie's usual gray and white ensemble.

After defeating Herrick, Annie had been exploring her powers, pushing the limits of what she could and couldn't do. She'd discovered she could eat a little every now and then-- not too much because since she didn't have a digestive system anymore, the food would just sit there in random lumps around her body before they finally dissolved-- and if she concentrated very hard, she could change her clothes. She didn't do it often because it did require a vast amount of concentration and energy, but she'd been wildly enthusiastic to learn that if the occasion required it, she could wear a new outfit.

Tonight, apparently, was not an important enough occasion to merit it-- which Mitchell found he was strangely glad of-- but George's having called that into question seemed to throw Annie for a loop. She looked down at her clothes, her face verging on panic. "What's wrong with the way I look?"

Mitchell shot George a warning look, which George ignored. "Well, it's just a bit... blah."

Really, for a man dealing with a hormonal, pregnant fiance, George was absolutely clueless. "Blah?" Annie repeated, looking down at herself, aghast. "I knew it. I'm hideous! Why would anyone ever want to date me?"

"You're gorgeous," Mitchell assured her, casting another dirty look at George. "Ignore him. He's an idiot."

George sputtered indignantly, and Annie whirled toward Mitchell, eyes ablaze. "This is all your fault. I never should have agreed to this!"

And then the doorbell rang.

There was a mad dash as Annie raced for the stairs, hissing, "I can't answer it! I can't answer it!" While George and Mitchell began to scramble around like idiots until Mitchell remembered himself and slapped George's arm. "What are we carrying on for? He's not our date." And, composing themselves, together they went to answer the door.

Mitchell had actually never met a warlock. The closest he'd gotten to it was reading Harry Potter-- yes, J.K. Rowling was popular even with vampires-- and in his mind, he'd half-convinced himself that Andrew was going to be a gangly, bespectacled fellow wearing Quidditch robes and thick coke-bottle glasses that made him look about 12 years old.

Andrew was not Harry Potter. Andrew was tall, broad-shouldered, and gut-wrenchingly handsome (not that Mitchell went for that sort of thing, but he did have eyes, for goodness sake). Andrew was dressed impeccably in tan slacks and a dark v-neck sweater that made his eyes sparkle (really, Mitchell was totally, sincerely straight). Andrew looked like Prince Bloody Charming out of some storybook, the kind who could sweep any girl off her feet.

And Andrew was going out with Annie.

"Hi, I'm Andrew," he said in an easy, affable voice, seeming not at all intimidated by Annie's two fairly sized male roommates, which was a pretty impressive feat in and of itself. "Is Annie home?"

Mitchell couldn't stop staring at him. He was going to take out Annie.

George glanced at Mitchell expectantly before realizing Mitchell wasn't going to respond. He cleared his throat. "Just a tic. Let me run up and fetch her--"

"No need."

All three men turned at the sight of Annie, who had appeared suddenly in the front entryway, still in her normal gray and white outfit, but wearing a touch of lipstick now. She regarded Andrew shyly, extending a hand. "Hi, I'm Annie."

Andrew was staring at Annie like he'd just won the lottery. Something inside of Mitchell clenched at the sight of it. "Hi," Andrew said when he'd managed to stop drooling, "it's so nice to meet you. Shelly's told me a lot about you--"

"I'm a vampire," Mitchell said abruptly.

In his head, it had seemed like a perfectly logical thing to say, but now everyone was staring at him and blinking like he'd lost his marbles. Andrew cleared his throat. "Yeah, Shelly mentioned that, too." He turned to Annie. "Should we get going?"

He held out his arm. Annie glanced briefly at Mitchell before taking it, and then they left. Together.

George rocked on his heels, looking pleased. "Well, he was handsome, wasn't he? Tall and strapping. And he had such a nice smile..."

Mitchell rolled his eyes, trying to ignore that tight sensation in his stomach. "You are such a woman," he told George, and stalked out of the room.

He tried to distract himself by watching some bad nighttime soaps, popping in a Laurel and Hardy DVD, even exercising a bit-- although, exercising wasn't nearly as entertaining for vampires, since his body had pretty much been frozen in the state it had been in when he died, which meant he'd be trim and toned forever whether he bought a Bowflex or not. It seemed like he'd been going at it for ages, but when he finally checked his watch, it was only 10:00.

Still, he figured Annie and Andrew should be getting back soon. 10:00 was plenty late enough for a first date.

When 10:30 rolled around and there was still no sign of them, Mitchell called George, who was over at Nina's. "Have you heard from Annie?"

"Nope." George sounded as though he was in a much better mood than he had been earlier in the day. He giggled abruptly, and Mitchell grimaced, trying not to imagine what was happening on the other end of the line.

"It's 10:30," he pressed, "don't you think they should be back by now?"

"Mitchell, relax, it's fine." Okay, things were officially weird if George was telling him to relax. "The night is young. Some clubs don't even open until 10 or so."

"Clubs?" Mitchell repeated, eyebrows arching as high as they could go. "You think he took her clubbing?" Another thought struck him, and he frowned. "Wait-- how on earth do you know how late clubs are open?"

But George had clearly grown distracted on the other end of the line. "All right, sounds good. Talk to you later."

The dial tone sounded before Mitchell could protest. He hung up his own phone, brooding. Clubbing. Had that dirty rotten bastard actually taken Annie clubbing? Mitchell knew why men took women to clubs. He might have been born a century ago, but things didn't really change all that much. You took a woman dancing so you could be somewhere dark and loud, where you'd have to press close to hear each other, where you were allowed to touch her and pull her close...

Abruptly, he rose to his feet, grabbing his jacket and his car keys. He drove with no real thought to where he was going, certain that he'd be able to intuitively sense where Annie might be. But all the parking lots of the clubs were jam packed, and he had no idea what kind of car Andrew drove anyway. Well, he wouldn't make that mistake again. Next time, he'd get a full background check on Andrew or any other punk who was going to take their Annie out on the town.

If there was a next time.

Crap. Was there going to be a next time?

By the time he circled back home, the light was on in the living room. Mitchell hurried inside, relieved to see Annie sitting on the living room sofa, warming her hands with a mug of tea. Alone. He feigned nonchalance, as though he hadn't spent the better part of the evening driving around like a crazy person looking for her.

Annie smiled at him as he entered, motioning for him to join her on the couch, which he did happily. "Out with Shelly?" she asked him.

"Yeah," he lied. It was easier than explaining where he'd really been. Forcing a bright smile, he asked, "So, how was it? Best night ever?"

Annie's expression became contemplative. "Andrew was... nice." The ghost of a smile haunted her lips, and even that little tiny twitch of a smile made Mitchell's innards twist painfully. "Very nice," she amended.

Mitchell searched her face for any sign of discontent, disappointment, anything. "He didn't try anything, did he?"

She rolled her eyes. "He was a perfect gentleman. Unlike a certain vampire I know who shags every girl he meets on the first date."

That stung. "Not... every girl," he protested feebly.

The shadow of something passed through Annie's eyes, too quick to name. It was gone before he could place it. "Well, we had a nice time. He was sweet."

Mitchell released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Do you think you'll go out again?"

"I don't know." Annie shrugged as though it didn't matter, though he could see in her eyes that she wanted him to. Again, the painful clenching of Mitchell's internal organs. "I guess we'll see, won't we?"

He did his best to smile. "I'm glad you had a good time." He rose to his feet, faking a yawn. "Well, I better go to bed."

Annie looked at him in surprise. "You aren't going to stay up to watch Super Nanny?"

It had become something of their nightly ritual-- mocking the baffled parents, the wild children, the unflappable nanny. But Mitchell found he didn't have the stomach for it that night. "Nah, I'm beat. Tomorrow though, yeah?"

He left before she could answer, afraid that she would be able to see into the heart of him, afraid he might have to see into the heart of himself.

TBC...

Coming up: A second date. A red dress. Some more sputtering. Poor Mitchell.

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