![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
servena posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
120_minutenTitel: I'm into something good
Team: Sirius
Challenge: Stimmungen – Starr vor Schreck (für's Team)
Fandom: Being Human UK
Pairing: Josie/Mitchell
Sprache: Englisch
Kommentar: Der erste Teil wurde um 2 Uhr nachts geschrieben, weil mich die Idee nicht schlafen ließ. Der Titel entstammt einem Lied, das in der Being Human Folge 'The looking glass' gespielt wurde, in der Mitchells und Josies erstes Treffen gezeigt wird. :)
Josie has never been afraid of blood.
I'm into something good
Josie has never been afraid of blood. She never understood why other people went pale and had to sit down when they saw it. Sometimes she cuts herself when she's cooking, or pricks her fingers on fixing pins. She had a cat once, a big tomcat with frayed ears who used to scratch her all the time. She's never worried about it.
But now, as she watches the blood running over her fingers and dripping on the pieces of glass on the kitchen floor, she is filled with an immediate sense of panic.
She presses her other hand on the wound and rises up, looking frantically for a towel or a handkerchief. But there's nothing there, she put the tea towel in the washing machine. Her heart is pounding in her chest and her thoughts are racing. Stupid, so stupid, why did she try to pick them up in the first place? Because she didn't think, that's why. Because she forgot.
When she sees him standing in the doorframe, she stumbles back against the counter.
”Don't look”, she says sharply.
But he looks, he stands there like he's rooted to the spot and he's staring at the blood that is welling up between her fingers. She shifts her grip and holds on tighter, digging her finger nails into her skin. His eyes, still those human brown eyes, are wide in fear and something else she doesn't want to think about.
It's all she can think about.
”Mitchell.” Her voice cuts through the tense silence. ”Mitchell, look at me.” Because he's not, he's just looking at her hands, and his gaze is that of a hungry animal. But then he shifts his eyes and when he finally looks at her, really looks at her, she can see the same panic she's feeling.
”Get me a towel from the bathroom. And the first aid kit, if you can find it.” She has no idea how her voice can be so steady when her legs are shaking. The edge of the counter is digging into her back as she leans on it for support.
He doesn't move.
”Go!”
The order cuts through his haze, and he leaves the room. She fights the urge to lock the door behind him. It wouldn't do much good anyway, it's made of cheap chipboard, a man could kick it in without needing vampire strength. As soon as she hears the door of the bathroom, she turns around to the sink and turns the tap on. The cold water stings in the wound as she lets it run over her hand. She watches as most of the blood disappears down the drain. Then she turns her hand and inspects the deep cut in her palm, near her thumb. The cold has numbed the hand and it doesn't hurt, but it looks quite impressive. At least the bleeding subsides slowly.
”Well done, Josie”, she mumbles.
The remains of the glass are still scattered over the floor. She uses the dish cloth to pick up the bloody shard and throws it in the bin. As an afterthought, she reaches out with her left hand and opens the window. Vampires have a keen sense of smell, maybe this will help.
When something touches her shoulder, she jumps. ”Jesus!” She spins around. Mitchell takes a hasty step back, his hands raised. She didn't hear him coming, usually he makes a lot of noise to make her comfortable, but not this time. Her heart feels like it wants to hammer out of her chest.
”Sorry. Sorry.” He sounds breathless, his voice hoarse like his throat is raw. She hides the wound from his sight with the other hand and holds his gaze. ”Did you bring the first aid kit?”
”Yeah. It was in the cupboard.” He puts it on the counter and then retreats a few more steps. Pieces of glass are scrunching under his shoes. He seems a bit more collected than when he left, but she can see his chest rising and falling rapidly with his heavy breathing.
She starts to rummage in the box with her left hand without leaving him completely out of sight. There's tincture of iodine as well as white bandages in there. ”Can you get me the scissors from the drawer?”, she asks. He nods. There are scissors somewhere in the kit as well, but she sees how he shifts on his feet and the way his fingers tremble and decides it's best if she keeps him busy.
The pain finally sets in as she pours a bit of the tincture over the wound to desinfect it, and she swears. He reappears with the scissors in hand. ”Does it hurt?” His eyebrows are drawn together in worry. It's the first human expression she sees on his face since this whole thing started.
”Starting to.” She winces and pours some more of the liquid over her hand. It's dripping into the sink, the colour between yellow and orange, and she tries not to think of blood.
When she looks up, his head is bend over the counter and he's cutting a piece of bandage off with the scissors. Strands of dark curly hair are hanging in his face. She steps around the shards on the floor carefully and holds out her hand.
He hesitates. ”I'm not sure...”
”I'm sure. Do it.” When he doesn't move, she adds: ”I can't do that left-handed.”
His hands shake, but he wraps the white cloth around her hand and manages to tie the ends together. When he's done, they both look at the dressing like a spell has been broken. She releases the breath she hadn't realized she's been holding. ”Thanks.”
”I'm sorry I scared you”, he whispers. He looks fragile, his face even paler than usual, eyelashes dark against his skin.
She considers lying, but he could probably hear her frantic heartbeat from across the kitchen. ”You did scare me. But not anymore.”
”I wanted...I wanted...” The words catch in his throat. She reaches out and pulls him closer, so that he's leaning against her.
”I know.” He presses his head against her shoulder and her left hand strokes over his unruly hair and his cheek covered with stubble. ”Nothing happened, it's okay. It's okay. You did good.”
He laughs breathlessly into her blouse. ”I did, didn't I?”
”Yeah.” She smiles. ”You did.”
Team: Sirius
Challenge: Stimmungen – Starr vor Schreck (für's Team)
Fandom: Being Human UK
Pairing: Josie/Mitchell
Sprache: Englisch
Kommentar: Der erste Teil wurde um 2 Uhr nachts geschrieben, weil mich die Idee nicht schlafen ließ. Der Titel entstammt einem Lied, das in der Being Human Folge 'The looking glass' gespielt wurde, in der Mitchells und Josies erstes Treffen gezeigt wird. :)
Josie has never been afraid of blood.
I'm into something good
Josie has never been afraid of blood. She never understood why other people went pale and had to sit down when they saw it. Sometimes she cuts herself when she's cooking, or pricks her fingers on fixing pins. She had a cat once, a big tomcat with frayed ears who used to scratch her all the time. She's never worried about it.
But now, as she watches the blood running over her fingers and dripping on the pieces of glass on the kitchen floor, she is filled with an immediate sense of panic.
She presses her other hand on the wound and rises up, looking frantically for a towel or a handkerchief. But there's nothing there, she put the tea towel in the washing machine. Her heart is pounding in her chest and her thoughts are racing. Stupid, so stupid, why did she try to pick them up in the first place? Because she didn't think, that's why. Because she forgot.
When she sees him standing in the doorframe, she stumbles back against the counter.
”Don't look”, she says sharply.
But he looks, he stands there like he's rooted to the spot and he's staring at the blood that is welling up between her fingers. She shifts her grip and holds on tighter, digging her finger nails into her skin. His eyes, still those human brown eyes, are wide in fear and something else she doesn't want to think about.
It's all she can think about.
”Mitchell.” Her voice cuts through the tense silence. ”Mitchell, look at me.” Because he's not, he's just looking at her hands, and his gaze is that of a hungry animal. But then he shifts his eyes and when he finally looks at her, really looks at her, she can see the same panic she's feeling.
”Get me a towel from the bathroom. And the first aid kit, if you can find it.” She has no idea how her voice can be so steady when her legs are shaking. The edge of the counter is digging into her back as she leans on it for support.
He doesn't move.
”Go!”
The order cuts through his haze, and he leaves the room. She fights the urge to lock the door behind him. It wouldn't do much good anyway, it's made of cheap chipboard, a man could kick it in without needing vampire strength. As soon as she hears the door of the bathroom, she turns around to the sink and turns the tap on. The cold water stings in the wound as she lets it run over her hand. She watches as most of the blood disappears down the drain. Then she turns her hand and inspects the deep cut in her palm, near her thumb. The cold has numbed the hand and it doesn't hurt, but it looks quite impressive. At least the bleeding subsides slowly.
”Well done, Josie”, she mumbles.
The remains of the glass are still scattered over the floor. She uses the dish cloth to pick up the bloody shard and throws it in the bin. As an afterthought, she reaches out with her left hand and opens the window. Vampires have a keen sense of smell, maybe this will help.
When something touches her shoulder, she jumps. ”Jesus!” She spins around. Mitchell takes a hasty step back, his hands raised. She didn't hear him coming, usually he makes a lot of noise to make her comfortable, but not this time. Her heart feels like it wants to hammer out of her chest.
”Sorry. Sorry.” He sounds breathless, his voice hoarse like his throat is raw. She hides the wound from his sight with the other hand and holds his gaze. ”Did you bring the first aid kit?”
”Yeah. It was in the cupboard.” He puts it on the counter and then retreats a few more steps. Pieces of glass are scrunching under his shoes. He seems a bit more collected than when he left, but she can see his chest rising and falling rapidly with his heavy breathing.
She starts to rummage in the box with her left hand without leaving him completely out of sight. There's tincture of iodine as well as white bandages in there. ”Can you get me the scissors from the drawer?”, she asks. He nods. There are scissors somewhere in the kit as well, but she sees how he shifts on his feet and the way his fingers tremble and decides it's best if she keeps him busy.
The pain finally sets in as she pours a bit of the tincture over the wound to desinfect it, and she swears. He reappears with the scissors in hand. ”Does it hurt?” His eyebrows are drawn together in worry. It's the first human expression she sees on his face since this whole thing started.
”Starting to.” She winces and pours some more of the liquid over her hand. It's dripping into the sink, the colour between yellow and orange, and she tries not to think of blood.
When she looks up, his head is bend over the counter and he's cutting a piece of bandage off with the scissors. Strands of dark curly hair are hanging in his face. She steps around the shards on the floor carefully and holds out her hand.
He hesitates. ”I'm not sure...”
”I'm sure. Do it.” When he doesn't move, she adds: ”I can't do that left-handed.”
His hands shake, but he wraps the white cloth around her hand and manages to tie the ends together. When he's done, they both look at the dressing like a spell has been broken. She releases the breath she hadn't realized she's been holding. ”Thanks.”
”I'm sorry I scared you”, he whispers. He looks fragile, his face even paler than usual, eyelashes dark against his skin.
She considers lying, but he could probably hear her frantic heartbeat from across the kitchen. ”You did scare me. But not anymore.”
”I wanted...I wanted...” The words catch in his throat. She reaches out and pulls him closer, so that he's leaning against her.
”I know.” He presses his head against her shoulder and her left hand strokes over his unruly hair and his cheek covered with stubble. ”Nothing happened, it's okay. It's okay. You did good.”
He laughs breathlessly into her blouse. ”I did, didn't I?”
”Yeah.” She smiles. ”You did.”
