patheticvillain | fifty-five ➢ spam & voice

private } mickey

Hey. You busy?

private } beyond

Got something for you.

spam

[Recovering from being disemboweled physically took about forty-five seconds. Recovering psychologically is taking a little bit longer. Cassel takes comfort in simple tasks and routines in the meantime, trying not to think about what happened with Creed or what happened in the Enclosure or what's going to happen next. There's this feeling like the other shoe is going to drop - not uncommon on the Barge, but not something he wants to deal with, either.]

[During the day, when he's not in the gym, he spends time in his room or in the common rooms with yarn in his lap, curled up in an armchair, knitting and purling on autopilot. He has no idea what he's making, which is usually how he goes about things. Eventually he casts off and picks it up, examining it in the light. It appears to be a tiny sweater with at least three arms.]

[He never said he was good at this.]

[At night, a lithe black cat roams the halls. To Cassel's credit, this time he's wearing a little blue collar with a name tag. On the other hand, it took him this long to come up with that, so maybe he's not so smart after all. He curls up on the backs of couches, winds between people's legs, and wanders into cabins behind their occupants, purring loudly and very insistently.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The deal?

[A quick sideways look, still a little careful. He doesn't want to say the wrong thing.]

I don't know what it is. I don't - feel like that's something I should guess about.

I think you probably could.

[But, okay. Mickey reaches for his abandoned cigarette and taps out the ash that's built up, then drags deep, the smoke scratchy and soothing in his lungs.]

Ian's sick -- I told you that, right? Or was sick.

[Was. He smiles a little.]

[He takes a sip of his beer, watches Mickey smoking. It's the visual equivalent of readjusting his glove cuffs: familiar, comforting.]

Yeah. I knew that.

[Now he does want to guess, but keeps his mouth shut, just cocks his head, listening.]

Really sick. He tried to take Yevgeny -- we had to put him in the hospital.

[That's a story he's been holding onto, except for when Venus accidentally dragged it out of him, but it feels so much easier to say now. Before, it was a grim, suffocating reminder of what awaited him at home. Now, it's just history.]

He'll be out when I get back. Good as new.

[Now it's just history. And Cassel can see the way it's lifted like a weight off Mickey's back - like he's sitting up straighter, his spine less crooked.]

[It's beautiful. Cassel smiles.]

And you can be a family again.

[For half a second, Mickey looks like he might just start crying again -- but then he smiles instead, all bright eyes and boyish toothiness.]

Yeah. Not a minute too soon, too -- he's way better at all that parenting shit than I am.

[Okay, but he kidnapped a baby, Cassel thinks doubtfully but definitely doesn't say, instead just scooting sideways to lean on Mickey's shoulder.]

Well, yeah, no shit. I wouldn't trust you with a baby.

[Maybe he picks up on the thought anyway, or maybe he realizes it's the inevitable thought process when the two things -- kidnapping Yevgeny and being a good dad -- came one right after the other. Maybe he just hears him instead of you. He glances over at him.]

He's good at it when he's not sick. Which now he won't be.

[God, that feels so good to say -- if he could tell Fiona he's not sick anymore and mean it this time. He closes his eyes, blowing out a cloud of smoke.]

Fuck, man. This is...

[Huge. Life-changingly huge. But the changes in Mickey's life have always happened in big moments.]

Yeah. Kind of a big deal.

[He takes another drink, then, not looking at Mickey directly:]

Are you still mad at Iris?

[He suspects Cassel wants him to say no, and so he gives himself a little time to think about it, and then to think about whether it's worth lying. In the end, he nods.]

Yeah.

[But now it's more like being mad at Mandy; for a minute there, he had truly hated Iris, but that much has passed.]

I'll do... something, though. Go say thank you. Get flowers or whatever.

[He's not expecting anything. Iris is hurting, but people hurt all the time, and Mickey was hurting, too. He understands, even if he doesn't like it.]

[At Mickey's answer, he shrugs.]

Do what you feel like you need to do. Don't force it.

I can't just leave it like that.

[Even he has some manners.]

I'll figure something out.

. . . You're a good guy, you know that?

[He means it. Despite all the shit, everything Mickey's said to him, he thinks it's true. Because there's a part of him that, if he was as mad at Iris as Mickey is right now, wouldn't say a word.]

Shut up, man.

[Unsurprisingly, he squirms a little under the positive attention.]

I just-- I owe her that fucking much, that's all.

[Sorry, Mickey. Cassel just thinks it's true.]

She loves you.

[And you love her too. But there are lines you don't cross, of course, and saying that's one of them.]

[He doesn't say it, and he doesn't quite respond to what Cassel does say, but he lets a beat of silence fall between them like its own kind of acknowledgement.]

I wouldn't take it if that was the only reason, though.