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The Perk, Wednesday Morning

Mitchell wasn't that charmed by the thought of sitting out and talking to people today, honestly. Or any time this week. But he needed his coffee, and the coffee machine back at the house was thoroughly shot.

And it wasn't worth going back to Bristol for.

So he got a cup of coffee at the front; the barrista gave him an odd look as his generally cheerful demeanour had evaporated into something short and clipped. He paid her no heed.

He sat down near the window, and stared out over the streets. Not quite glaring. (Actually, it was more of a brood.)

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Today, Kate had decided breakfast should be hot chocolate and a muffin. Since the Perk was just a pit stop, though, she was dressed for work as she strode in, cute but sensible in a blouse, vest, tie and a short skirt. Like a 16-year-old business woman. She thought she looked absolutely adorable.

And she perked up some more when she spotted Mitchell, even if he was looking mighty gloomy. "Well hello, stranger."

Mitchell, sadly, didn't perk up much in response. "Kate, hey," he said, and promptly took a long sip of his coffee.

Kate's own demeanor got a little more subdued, too, at that lack of cheer. But just a little.

She pulled up a chair for herself by his table and sat down. "Made it back, I see."

"Yeah. Portalocity came through in the end," he replied. It was practically a monotone.

He really, really didn't want to deal with any of this right now, and she smelled obnoxiously of cheer.

Well, it was hard not to be cheerful after a romantic weekend getaway and two fairly non-weird days back.

Though he was already doing a damn good job of dragging her down. "And I see you're just beside yourself with happiness over it," she deadpanned. "Did something more happen?"

Better weekend than his. Obviously.

"Nothing important," Mitchell said, tonelessly. "You look like you've had a good weekend."

Try saying that while actually looking her in the eye, Mitchell.

"Yeah, I must just be radiating good weekend vibes," Kate drawled, because that hadn't sounded terribly convincing. Still, she had had an excellent weekend, and that won out. "Bod took me to this gorgeous bed and breakfast in Baltimore."

"Romantic," he commented. "What are you, forty?"

Kate raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I thought the Bed and Breakfast phase didn't start until you were worn out and old and trying to recapture lost glory," Mitchell said, dryly.

Still not looking her in the eye, no.

Kate could do enough looking for both of them. Her brown eyes were fixed on him, sort of piercing, as she wondered what exactly this was all about.

"Yeah well, you're the one that mocked me for going to sleazy motels," she pointed out, about as dryly. Oh her poor, poor cheer. "And Saturday was our three month anniversary."

Not that the trip had been planned with that in mind.

"Congratulations."

He took a long sip of his coffee, and set it down.

"Let me know when he pops the question."

Yes, he was ruining her cheer just for the sake of it. Misery loved company, after all.

Kate rolled her eyes. "Shut up." Well, if he was going to stomp on her good spirits, then she was going to be immature.

She picked at her muffin a little. "So. Now's probably not a good time to talk about my new job, either."

Mitchell glared balefully at his coffee cup. "I'm sure it's exhilerating and intellectual."

"It's debt collecting," Kate replied, rather bluntly. "I call people and ask them to give me their money." A pause. "Take your best shot."

Maybe that was being used to see just how off he was right now. Maybe.

"Oh, so you're a telemarketer," Mitchell said, flatly. "But with police."

Or something. He didn't know. He didn't care. He wasn't too impressed with people right now, whether they were telemarketers or gangsters.

"Okay. So something did happen."

No, it probably wasn't a logical follow-up to what had just been said, but it was logical enough for her.

Her cheer had flickered out completely a few moments ago.

"You lot happened," Mitchell snapped; the barrista was suddenly rather happy she didn't point him to the plastic cutlery earlier.

"Well I'm sorry, some people are assholes," Kate replied, surprisingly calm in the face of being snapped at. For now, anyway. "But that's not exactly my fault."

"All of you are arseholes," he shot back. "You just happen to be arseholes who all think you're better than everyone else. And I believed you all, too!"

Kate's expression hardened, mostly to prevent... everything, from slipping out. She was having kind of a hard time reacting to that.

"I see."

No. She really didn't.

"Whatever," Mitchell said, flatly. Now his eyes finally snapped up to meet hers. "What the fuck do you know?"

People tended to think child vampires were bad. Twenty-something vampires could be, too.

One of Kate's eyebrows quirked, and her lips tightened a little. Later, she'd be proud for not looking like she'd just been slapped.

"Nothing, apparently," she said, her tone mocking. "Except that you've gone to full-on Bitchell mode, and it's not a good look on you."

"Bitchell?" he said, eyebrows going up. "Mother Gregson didn't raise them creative, did she?"

Now that was just mean, Mitchell.

A little bit, maybe. Yes.

"Oh fuck you," Kate spat out, her hands splayed against the edge of the table, pushing herself up from her chair. "Excuse me for giving a shit."

"Oh, please. Don't pretend you actually want to hear anything. Jesus wept."

She actually made the chair clatter some against the floor as she stood up.

"That doesn't mean I don't care about what's going with --" Some emotion that wasn't straightforward anger tried to bubble up, so she cut herself off, drawing in an unsteady breath. "Ugh, whatever."

"Yes, that's more of that age-appropriate vocabulary," he shot back.

He briefly contemplated throwing over his coffee and flouncing off before she could. Because that was mature.

Kate blinked at that, and then looked like it was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard. "You used the same fucking vocabulary like two minutes ago! That doesn't even work, Mitchell."

That was clearly relevant here, only not.

Mitchell -- please stop arguing with the girl like you were, yourself, about seventeen years old.

"Oh, because that's relevant," he snapped. "I thought you were leaving?" He shoved his coffee away from him.

"I am," Kate returned, just as irritably.

She'd just been stalling to see whether there was something she recognized to see here. Not so much.

Except for how much he was acting like her on bad days. She did notice that.

"Hope it makes you happy," she said, as she turned to flounce away from him (and her half a cup of hot chocolate, and what remained of her muffin). Her voice sounded strained with anger and something else. "I hope it fucking makes you happy."

Mitchell didn't say anything.

He just sat there, glaring at the window on the other end of the room, battling the feelings of apprehension that had been boiling up over the past two days.

Fuck it.

He was going to go outside and smoke.

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The Perk, Wednesday Morning

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