Hal isn't even aware the other Old Ones had taken an interest. That happens when you spend fifty-five years isolated from the vampire community.
"How discomforting." Comparable to being turned, he thinks, but by a careless amateur rather than properly.
He could leave it at that. Yes, this is Annie's Mitchell, the one who died, the one she missed so much, who used to live in the room Tom has now, who used to sit on the couch where they sat and watched Antiques Roadshow not so very long ago, but there was never more than a passing acquaintance between the two of them, and Mitchell only knew him as the man he very determinedly isn't anymore. He doesn't owe Mitchell anything. He could say nothing, and Mitchell wouldn't even know there'd been anything to say.
But there is something between them now, isn't there? His gaze drops to the rota, the glitter pen and little pictures of nappies that he'd found horrific at first glance, now the last remaining evidence of Annie's tireless efforts to make their hodgepodge little household into something like a family. Something tightens in his chest and he forces it to unwind again.
"I only ask because I lived there." If there's a non-awkward way to say this, he isn't aware, so he's just going to say it and hope for the best. "In Barry, with Annie, afterward."
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"How discomforting." Comparable to being turned, he thinks, but by a careless amateur rather than properly.
He could leave it at that. Yes, this is Annie's Mitchell, the one who died, the one she missed so much, who used to live in the room Tom has now, who used to sit on the couch where they sat and watched Antiques Roadshow not so very long ago, but there was never more than a passing acquaintance between the two of them, and Mitchell only knew him as the man he very determinedly isn't anymore. He doesn't owe Mitchell anything. He could say nothing, and Mitchell wouldn't even know there'd been anything to say.
But there is something between them now, isn't there? His gaze drops to the rota, the glitter pen and little pictures of nappies that he'd found horrific at first glance, now the last remaining evidence of Annie's tireless efforts to make their hodgepodge little household into something like a family. Something tightens in his chest and he forces it to unwind again.
"I only ask because I lived there." If there's a non-awkward way to say this, he isn't aware, so he's just going to say it and hope for the best. "In Barry, with Annie, afterward."