Change of Plans

Rated: PG

Category: George and Mitchell Friendship.

Season: One.

Spoilers: None.

Summary: The best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry. Let alone vampires and werewolves.

Disclaimer: Being Human belongs to the wonder that is Toby Whithouse, not me.

xxx

A soft knock on Mitchell's door preceded a quiet question from the hall.

"Mitchell?"

Inside the room, a sigh escaped its only occupant, and his answer was decidedly not interrogative.

"George."

The door swung open, and as George took in Mitchell's appearance, his mouth fell open. Mitchell laid on his bed, in only boxers and a tee-shirt, in need of a shower and a shave. George shut his mouth, then opened it again as if to speak, but it was a moment before words came to him. As usual, they came with exaggerated gestures and much hand-flailing.

"You're not ready!"

Mitchell shrugged, not bothering to look up from the magazine he was flipping through. "I'm not going."

"But… but… but…" stammered George. "We've had this planned for ages."

Mitchell gave George a look over the magazine. "Two days is hardly ages, George."

"That's not the point!"

Mitchell tossed the magazine aside. It landed on the floor amidst a pile of laundry.

"Oh, yeah? Then what is?" he asked, sitting up and facing George.

"I don't want to go by myself."

"So take Annie," said Mitchell. He waved a hand dismissively in George's direction and retrieved his magazine. As he laid back down, clearly not keen on going anywhere, George plowed on.

"You know that won't work."

"Why not?"

"The film is brand new. The cinema will be packed."

"So?"

"So where will she sit? They'll sell all the seats."

Mitchell waggled his eyebrows at George, and a devilish grin split his face. "In your lap?"

"Mitchell!" George squeaked.

"What?"

"You're despicable."

Mitchell laughed. "True. But seriously, you could just buy an extra ticket. Then save the seat."

"Oh, and explain that how?"

"Oh, come on. No one will ask. If they do, just say you got stood up."

"Oh, right. Because that's a barrel of laughs," moaned George. "Seriously, I thought you wanted to see this, too."

"I do!"

"Then what's the problem?"

Mitchell tossed his magazine aside again and stood up. He faced George for a moment, then turned and began rummaging in his closet.

"Look, I just don't want to go right now, okay?"

"Why not?"

"Just… because. Alright?"

George's eyes narrowed. For the third time in two minutes, he spoke his friend's name, and this time, instead of a soft question or an exasperated exclamation, it was a concerned plea.

"Mitchell…"

"George, just leave it!" yelled Mitchell. He slammed a handful of hangers against the closet wall and knelt to inspect the detritus of clothing on the closet's floor. He was obviously angry as he picked through socks, pants, and shirts, clearly not looking for anything except an excuse to not talk to George, and George responded in kind. He reached out, grabbed Mitchell's shoulder, and spun him around to face him.

"No!" he shouted. "You're always doing this, and I'm tired of it!"

"Doing what?" asked Mitchell.

"This brooding vampire nonsense. Come on! We're going out!"

Mitchell shoved George away from him.

"No, I'm not. And as for this 'vampire nonsense,' as you call it, you have no idea."

"And I don't care! Come on, you're coming. It'll do you good." George's voice took on a parental tone, and Mitchell scowled.

"Look, I don't need to be ordered about by the likes of you."

George's eyebrows rose as Mitchell stood up and stalked away from him.

"The likes of me? What's that supposed to mean?"

Mitchell blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "Jesus! Just forget it!"

"I most certainly will not! What did you mean by that?"

"George, just listen to me!" pleaded Mitchell. "I can't go out there! Not now!"

There was a note of desperation in Mitchell's voice now, and somehow, even as worked up as he was, George heard it. Instinctively, he knew there was more going on here than Mitchell simply changing his mind about going to the movies. Carefully, he approached his friend, who stood looking out the window.

"Mitchell? What's going on?"

Mitchell sighed and shook his head. His eyes were fixated on something in the street below him.

"It's just that…"

"What?" George whispered.

Mitchell shook his head again. "It's nothing."

"Mitchell…"

Slowly, the vampire turned and faced the werewolf. Their eyes met for a second, then Mitchell's gaze fell to the floor.

"Look," he stammered. "It's just that… well… I'm hungry, George."

George's eyes grew wide. "You mean?"

Mitchell nodded, and George couldn't help but notice that he shook a little as he did.

"Very."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Silence fell, and it reigned for a long moment. Neither man seemed to know what to do. Finally, George shrugged, snorted, and then nodded to himself.

"Well, in that case, you want to split a pizza?"

Mitchell waved dismissively at George and flopped back down on the bed.

"No, George, I can't ask you to… no. You go ahead. Go see the movie."

George shook his head.

"Don't argue. Meat lovers, yeah?"

Mitchell blinked, sat up, studied the floorboards for another minute, sighed, then finally nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

George nodded. "Good. Then it's settled."

With that, he disappeared from the room only to reappear a moment later. "It'll be here in half an hour."

Mitchell nodded absently and swallowed hard. "Good. That's good."

He was still sitting on the bed where George had left him. Slowly, George slid down the wall by the door and sat in the doorway. For the next twenty minutes, neither of them spoke. There was frankly nothing to say. Bringing up the latest football match or The Real Hustle just seemed wrong, and they both knew it.

And then, suddenly, Mitchell's head jerked up.

"Is Annie even here?"

George startled.

"Now that you mention it, I don't think so. I didn't see her when I called for the pizza, and I don't hear her now. Why?"

Mitchell shrugged and stood up. "I could really go for a cup of tea. That's all."

George grinned. "Well, I guess you'll have to make it yourself for once."

Mitchell snorted a laugh. "Yeah, I guess I will," he said, as he stepped over George and headed downstairs.

A moment later, George followed him. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, there was a knock on the door. He opened it and discovered the pizza delivery boy. He paid up and turned toward the living room. As he set the pie on the coffee table, Mitchell emerged from the kitchen. He held two bottles of beer. George raised his eyebrows, and Mitchell grinned, then shrugged.

"Changed my mind."

George nodded to the beers. "You sure that's a good idea?"

Mitchell looked at the beers for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Fair enough, then. Let's eat," said George.

And eat they did. They also drank. And laughed. And watched films chosen specifically to torture one another. And then laughed some more at each other's expense.

At one point, as George gestured for Mitchell to take the last slice of pizza, Mitchell paused and whispered the quietest "thank you" ever known. George heard him just fine, though, and his "anytime" was just as hushed. And by the time Annie returned in the wee hours of the night to find both of her boys asleep in front of a flickering television, Mitchell was no longer hungry.

In fact, at least for the night, he was very, very human.