Name: auguris
'verse: Ghost Sight
Story: A Beer or Three
Colors: Sulphur 02. Temptation; Bone Black 06. Urn
Supplies and Styles: Glitter: Shame
Word Count: 730
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Summary: Mitchell checks up on Len, post Paole. (Part I, II)

Len opened the door after the second knock, the annoyance on her face lessening when she saw Mitchell. "Patience, wizard. Also hi."

"Sorry. Just wanted to check up on you."

Len shrugged and moved out of the way, gesturing him inside with a flourish. "That's nice. You're a nice friend."

Mitchell shut the door, brows raised. "Are you drunk?"

"Nah, I'm fine." She pat Mitchell's arm. "Just having a beer. Or three. You want one? I'm having one."

"Or three," Mitchell murmured. He followed her into the kitchen. Her apartment was cramped, the living room and the kitchen nearly the same room and only separated by the linoleum/carpet line. She had books and DVDs stacked against most of the wall space, a pile of clothes taking up two-thirds of the couch, a small TV adorned with various odds and ends, and a bunch of computer parts on the tiny table in the kitchen. A trio of empty beer bottles lay in the sink.

Len handed him a beer with a little more force than necessary before ripping the top off her own. Mitchell waved his hand over his own, and she laughed when the cap went flying into the sink.

"Magic," she said, waving her fingers.

"Lady, you are gone," Mitchell laughed. "Are you okay?"

"Just. Thinkin. Why are you here again?"

Mitchell took a drink. "Checking up on you."

"Oh." Len leaned up against the fridge. "D'you call?"

"No. I was... in the neighborhood?"

"Mmm. No one calls. Sorry it's messy." She knocked back more than a mouthful. "S'always messy."

This wasn't exactly going according to the incredibly vague plan Mitchell had played through his head on the way up the stairs. "Why don't you sit for a minute?"

"M'okay."

Mitchell sighed and leaned back on his heels, inspecting the kitchen. Very kitchen-like. Stained marble counter-top. Purple blender base -- where was the pitcher? A half-empty knife holder. An urn on top of the fridge. A -- wait, what?

"Is that an urn?"

Len looked up. "S'my Mum. She died. Like yours. But not a wizard."

"I know, you told me. Why is she on your fridge?" He reached out on instinct; no haunting.

"Where else am I gonna put her?" Len spread her arms wide, indicating the whole of the apartment. "She doesn't mind. I think. Didn't really know her. She was a hunter, you know? Old-school. Kind of ironic, considering Daddy was an illegal dam. Damp. Thingy. Me." She pointed to her chest.

"Okay." He put down his beer and took her by the shoulders. "You need to sit down." She fell into him, either losing her balance or her sense of propriety. "Len?" This was not going to plan at all.

"M'sleepy."

Mitchell put an arm around her shoulders. "Let's get you to bed."

She shook her head. "I'll sleep here."

Mitchell snorted. "Standing up?"

"Standing up. Like a horsie."

"You're not a horse."

"No, I'm a monster." She buried her face in his neck. "An ugly monster with no friends."

"Hey, I'm your friend." Mitchell wrapped his other arm around her waist. "And you're not a monster. Or ugly. Definitely not ugly."

She raised her head, eyes unfocused and face way too close to his. "Do you know how many kisses I have?"

Mitchell swallowed. This was a line, this was a line and he had definitely crossed it. "No?"

She raised a finger and tapped it against his lips. "One kiss. Only one. Ever. Ever-ever. I'm twenty-five and only one kiss ever. Sad." She was staring at his lips. "And he never called me."

Mitchell gently pushed her away. "I think it's bedtime for little Lens."

Len stared at her fingers. "Okay."

He managed to get Len to her bed without either of them tripping on anything. She settled in without looking at him; he helped take her shoes off and pulled the blanket over her chin.

"Goodnight," he said.

"'Night," she murmured back.

Back in his car he pulled out his mobile, worrying his lip. He hadn't done anything wrong, not really. Just stupid. Stupid enough that he had to tell Cagri, but maybe it could wait until morning. At least until he got back to his place.

Right, and then it could wait until tomorrow, then until next week, then until never.

Mitchell groaned and hit the call button.