Fiction Outtake: Mitchell’s Desk (Trevor’s Song Era)

Way back on Thursday, I promised you guys an outtake based on my Thursday Thirteen. Here it is and don’t forget about the BAFAB contest I’m throwing!

Mitchell joined Amy in the doorway to the room that used to be Wayne’s private space, back when the farmhouse had been Wayne’s. Mitchell looked things over; it was shaping up into an office all right. His office. Like Kerri’s studio in what had been an attic was hers, this was his.

“M,” Amy said, drawing the sound out as if she was eating something good.

He grunted, immediately on guard. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

“What’s that big wooden thing in the middle of the room?”

“A desk, Aim,” he said, playing along. Privately, he was disappointed that she couldn’t do any better. After all, he’d practically been voted Least Likely to Need a Desk in high school. Rock stars didn’t need desks, unless they got caught up in the drama of sweeping everything off them so that a girl could be laid down there. It was better when you left the stains for someone else to clean up.

“You.” Amy said. It was a declaration. “You have a desk.”

“A whole office-like space,” he agreed, nodding. “I’ve got a band to run, remember?”

“You didn’t need a desk in your apartment.”

“Not so long as I was happy eating off my lap,” Mitchell said. “What did you think the table turned into?”

She played with her lower lip, thinking. “That really is a desk,” she finally said.

“Scares the shit outta me, too,” he lied. The truth was it felt good. Powerful. Like he knew exactly who was in control of ShapeShifter, and he was the one who had that control.

Okay, he admitted. That part scared the shit out of him. But it wasn’t like Trevor could have run the band. Eric refused to do anything more than hear the final decisions and Daniel wasn’t willing to handle it alone. That left it up to Mitchell.

Amy nodded, like she’d agreed with something he’d been thinking. She clapped him on the shoulder. “The band’s in good hands,” she said, and left the room, heading down the small hallway to the breezeway that led to the new addition.

Mitchell stayed in his office for a minute, letting Amy’s words sink in. Had she really just praised him?

“Aim!” He tore down the hall after her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her hand on the doorknob of one of the new guest rooms.

“You just… you were nice. You feel okay?”

“Every now and then, Pipsqueak, you earn it.” Her smile, that sisterly one he hated, broadened. “Must be Kerri’s influence ’cause we both know you couldn’t do it alone.”

He put his arm around her shoulders. “That’s better.”

“It is a cool desk, Mitchell.”

He snorted. “The whole fucking house is cool, Aim.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still mad it’s yours and not mine. Don’t push your luck.”