// slipping away

These days, Sara would use literally any excuse to stay in the house. Mikey was happy to oblige, indulging in the opportunity to get the fuck out of the house with zero kids and a strong craving for rum. Vice was where he was headed, the best place he could wind up during one of Eureka’s million ‘annual event’s. It meant cheap liquor, loud music, and a whole gaggle of people ready to make bad decisions. One might argue that bad decisions were what gotten Mikey in trouble in the first place, but.. Mikey wasn’t here to argue.

He was here to get wasted. 

Mikey wanted to pretend that everything that’d happened over the past week was fake. One drink. Like people, STRANGERS, weren’t trying to take his baby girl from him. Two drinks. He wanted to forget the enormous weight on his shoulders that strengthened every day. Three drinks, four drinks, five--

A buzzed fog settled nicely over his vision as the warmth of the alcohol took over his body. Eventually, he’d dismissed himself from the booth where he’d gathered with some barely friends and made his way toward the K.94.5 DJ booth. He’d known Judd was there, but he’d done his best not to pay him any attention as he snaked his way through the club. He hadn’t wanted to seem too eager; he’d had more qualms than he had confidence considering his luck with... well, people. 

The alcohol was the only reason his heavy steps hadn’t faltered. Mikey craved that easy energy that seemed to exude from Judd like warm molasses. Something to lift him out of this pit of despair he just couldn’t shake. 

“How exactly did they rope you into playing tonight?” Mikey’s teasing tone broke through the noise of the crowd as he closed in on the man in the booth, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol. “What have you got lined up for us, J? ‘Trucker Jamz ‘21′?” 

Sara: Wait — Mikey. Mikey, slow down. Are you okay? Is Olive okay? What do you mean you don't know what to do? What's going on?

MEME DAY - ( as answered by my muses )

[ 💛 because i got these two mixed up, oops ] how empathetic is your muse? how compassionate are they? is this something people expect from them, or are people surprised when they find out how compassionate or empathetic they actually are?

“I like to think I’m compassionate. Might be something that comes with age, or time, or whatever. Don’t really have the time or energy to hold grudges, or to be judgmental anymore. Sometimes I wonder what I could have done differently in my life, with all of the time I wasted on that shit.”

[ 👪 ] what is your muse’s relationship with their parents like? was it always this way?

“Dad’s been my biggest support system the last few years- but no, we haven’t always had a great relationship. I straight up ran away to Los Angeles because I couldn’t imagine living in Eureka for another minute. But things change. I wish I’d had more time with my mom. I’ll never stop wishing for that. I don’t know what I'll do without my dad. I don’t even like to think about it.”

[ 💀 ] has your muse gone through anything traumatic? if so, how has this trauma affected them?

“Aside from life? No major trauma. My mother passed not long ago, but we’re healing well, surprisingly, considering our family. I hate to jinx us like this. I should probably go knock on wood, huh?”

[ 😍 ] does your muse believe in true love? why or why not?

“Absolutely I believe in true love. I see it constantly, in the people around me, and in places I go. Do I think that everyone finds true love? No. I think a lot of people never even experience love at all and that’s... well, that’s really sad.”

MEME DAY - ( as answered by my muses )

[ 😱 ] does your muse have any specific fears? where did those fears come from?

“Very specifically, but also very broad- my biggest fear is losing anyone in my family. After my mom died... I don’t know. It was like something clicked in my soul, and I’m suddenly surrounded by reminders that any of us could go at any minute.”

[ 🏆 ] is your muse multitalented? what are their hobbies, and why did they pick up these hobbies? if they don’t have hobbies, why don’t they?

“On god, I don’t have an ounce of talent in my body. I tried picking up a ton of shit throughout my life, but nothing ever really stuck. I danced for a while-- but that’s not really a talent, and no I won’t get into WHY.”

[ 🤝 ] how does your muse approach intimacy? are they hesitant, or do they like it? what types of intimacy do they like and dislike? (ex. physical intimacy, sexual intimacy, emotional intimacy, etc.)

“Like anyone, I crave intimacy... I can admit it. But I’m not the only person I have to think about anymore. It’s not so simple as picking up my phone and inviting any warm body into my bed to keep me company.”

[ 👗 ] what is your muse’s fashion sense like? are they able to dress the way they want to? what would they wear in an ideal world?

“At least sixty-percent of my life is lived in my uniform. But if I get the chance to choose my own attire, it’s usually more relaxed than anything. T-Shirts and jeans. Sweat pants... Man, I’d live in sweatpants.”

MEME DAY - ( as answered by my muses )

[ 🐺 ] does your muse like solitude? do they prefer it to being around others? how easily does your muse get lonely?

“Hmm. That’s a tough question. My solitude usually adds up to a couple of stolen moments between meals and bedtime stories. I do enjoy time to myself, I guess... But I like spending time with the people I love more. Loneliness is hard to find in Eureka. If you’re ever lonely, just shoot me a text.” 😉😉😉

Wyatt knew that Sara wanted him to make an effort — Sara and Wesley got on famously well (as Wesley would love any woman he brought home in comparison to Tatum), but he and Mikey hadn’t clicked. Aside from their altercation at the Co-Op, they’d kept to themselves, sometimes a ‘hello’ or ‘how’s it going’ tossed in one or the other’s direction, but nothing more intimate than that. Wyatt felt gun shy, and Sara could at least understand that. 

It’d taken quite a while for him to believe Sara when she told him he didn’t deserve what Mikey had done to him, and he still wasn’t completely convinced. Wyatt would punish himself forever for his past mistakes, and he assumed Mikey would as well. If he were in Mikey’s shoes, he can’t say he’d have behaved much differently. 

“Ah.” Wyatt nodded in understanding, gulp swallowed as he glanced towards the house. “Oh. Alright.” He agreed, knowing there wasn’t much else he could respond with — and this was a peace offering of sorts. Wyatt would be stupid to turn his nose up at it (pun absolutely intended). “Just let me go put my things down, say hi to Benny.” Wyatt felt as if he hardly got enough time with his son or with Sara, but he knew that Sara would usher him back out onto the porch regardless of if Mikey had even made the offer he had, so Wyatt gathered his resolve and headed inside.

A greeting was made to Patrick, Olive, a hand on the back of Bennett’s head as Wyatt pressed a kiss against his son’s forehead. Sara, hands on either side of his face as she greeted him with a pleased kiss. “I’m going to have a beer with your brother.” He pronounced, to which Sara smiled in earnest and sent him on his way, beer now in hand. 

Though Wyatt didn’t sit on the swinging bench beside Mikey, that felt far too intimate, he would sit on the top step of the porch, back against the bannister so he was facing Sara’s twin. “They’re making goo. Hope you don’t have a lot of carpeting at your place. Olive is having a field day in there.” Wyatt adored Olive because she was an extension of Sara — and while he might not be as utterly charmed by her father, Wyatt was glad that Bennett had a cousin to grow up with. It made him feel better, especially when Wesley’s children were so grown up in comparison. 

-

Mikey was grateful for the extra moments alone to compose himself. He didn't want to make assumptions, but he's almost certain he saw a flash of something cross Wyatt's face. A touch of fear, maybe, and that was Mikey's fault to begin with. The man hadn't been the most understanding of Wyatt after the scandal that ripped through their lives. In most ways it wasn't any of his business to begin with, other than the fact that he'd inserted himself on Sara's behalf. He was a Bennett, after all, and the lot of them were often stubborn, and pig-headed. But it wasn't on Wyatt to have to keep paying for Mikey's insecurities. Once Wyatt had re-appeared, Mikey visibly tensed. It had become such a force of habit that he didn't realize he'd done it anymore. His hazy blues followed the other man across the porch, until he'd finally settled on the step a few feet away from Mikey. A hearty laugh pushed passed his lips, and the humor in Wyatt's tone helped him begin to relax. Mikey leaned back against the porch swing, both hands wrapped around the beer in his lap. "Yeah, no, I like to think I had the good sense to go with laminate for that very reason." he'd nodded, slowly, a sloppy grin still tugging at his lips. "Do yourself a favor and make sure you buy washable wall paint. Benny is going to be a little artist, I can tell." Oh, did Mikey love his nephew so, and he would love the next just as well. Despite the fact that they were not the most well off family, he wouldn't change what they had for the world. And to think he almost stayed in Los Angeles. The silence hung between them for perhaps a moment too long. After his amusement had subsided, the nervous churning in his stomach returned, threatening to empty it's contents just like it always did when he was about to swallow his pride. "Look Wyatt--" he'd began, his body turning to face the man more fully while he'd gestured nervously with his hands. "I know your heart's in the right place with Sara, and you're trying to do right by her. These people in here--" he'd waved ominously toward his fathers home, "They're the most important thing to me, you know? For a while, I really thought you were trying to fuck with that." despite the passion interlaced with his words, his tone remained amiable, and non-threatening. Mikey sighed gently, taking a stiff swig of the beer in his hand. "But, now I know that's not the case."

Judd let out a laugh, finding the other man absolutely charming – which, in all honesty, was a bit of a stark contrast in the types of guys he typically went for. Usually there wasn’t much conversation leading up to what happened next, but he liked to change things up from time to time. And Mikey seemed fun enough, so why not make the most of it before the night ended? 

“Right, yeah I remember that aptitude test back in high school,” he teased, “though, I’d have to argue that stripper or exotic dancer would look good on you. Y’know, if we’re just talkin’ about uniforms or…” Trailing off, he gave the other a knowing grin, never one to be subtle. “It sounds like a nice perk to me. Being a hero and looking real good while doing it – you’ll have to send me some action shots one of these days.”

Taking a long sip from his glass, the male nodded at the question. “Please, I welcome trouble,” he returned the smirk, placing the drink back down on the table. “I’m a DJ on K94.5. Not sure if you ever listen at four AM, but if you’re lucky enough to be savin’ lives that early you might hear me.” Judd snorted. “Though I’m workin’ to get a later slot. Most of the listeners I get at that time are, like, truck drivers and single mothers up too early with their bratty kids – super not my demographic.”

-

At some point, Mikey had relaxed into his chair, his comfort evident by the way he'd draped himself over it's high back. With his glass in hand, he watched Judd as he spoke, his own silence perfectly practiced, careful not to interrupt. Mikey was good at letting other people talk. He almost preferred it. With Judd, if he'd listened well enough, the conversation would keep circling back to him, and then Mikey wouldn't need to divulge too much. Still, beryl pools watched the other man with intent, amusement flickering through his gaze. "About that," his tone suggests that maybe, probably, he's joking. "I actually used to dance. For money." He paused, brows raised, his head cocking softly to the side. "A lot." Once more, he brought the glass to his lips and sipped absently at the whiskey. "That doesn't bother you, does it?" He had a sneaking suspicion that Judd wouldn't mind. Re-adjusting himself then, Mikey leaned back into the table, his glass now placed thoughtfully against it's designated cocktail napkin. "Are you going to be terribly offended if I haven't? Weird shifts, you know." he'd feigned a look of apology, "'Radio doesn't work very well in the ambulance." Mikey smirked. Having put very little effort into the excuse, he's almost certain Judd wont buy a lick of it. "What kind of stuff do you play?" Ever the flirt. Although Mikey's never been much for subtlety, his attention settles over the man across the table once more, his gaze heavy and his interest genuine... It doesn't stop him enjoying this way more than he thought he would.

“Oh absolutely I have a type! Witty, passionate, hungry... Physically, not so specific, but if my girl can’t keep up with me at that Sunday brunch buffet? It’s not going to last.”

“How about a best-and-worst? A little over five years ago, and the result is currently flinging mac n’ cheese around my kitchen like it’s her life’s mission.”

Russell loved Mikey — and by extension, Olive. Mikey had been a rather unexpected but immediate friend for Russ when he’d joined the squad, someone who refused to let Russ take himself too seriously and could always find a way to help him find a silver lining. There was no mistaking that Russ had his work cut out for him with medical school, and working a full-time job on top of that sometimes felt completely impossible. 

And despite these impossibilities that kept Russ feeling as though meaningful relationships or friendships were impossible, there he was happily greeting a running Olive as her arms wrapped around his legs in a framed embrace. “Of course I do. Olive said it’s a requirement.” Russ retorted with a grin, letting Olive’s hand slip into his as he helped her climb into the back seat, ensuring she was properly clipped in. “If I don’t get to sleep, neither do you.” 

Russ shook his head as he shut the backseat door, looking to Mikey with understanding eyes. “You don’t have to thank me. Except — maybe now you do, pretending like she doesn’t have a million and one reasons to love her Uncle Russ.” A roll of the eyes followed as Russ made his way back around to the driver’s side, climbing in and buckling himself in. “Right. Ice cream?” He asked, eyes looking at Olive through the rearview mirror.

-

Again, there was laughter shared between them. It was a common occurrence as the two had grown closer, and as Mikey found a new reason to trust Russ inside each of his many folds. While it was true that he never had trouble trusting people, it was rare that he’d aligned so evenly with someone he was lucky to call a colleague, and friend.

“You’re right.”

Not that Mikey was some sappy idiot, or whatever.

The two of them spent a lot of time skating around the clutches of life’s dreadful what if’s, so once in a while, special trips for ice cream were necessary. Plus, who else would Mikey live vicariously through, but his unattached, childless best friend? 

“So, Russell.” He coo’d from the passenger’s side, contorting his body for a look at the driver despite the restraint from the seat’s belt. Olive is chanting something about chocolate ice cream in the back seat, a vibrant doll with mult-colored hair waving around in her grip. “Made any new friends lately?” Mikey is the conductor of the shit-spoon express, but Russ consistently renews their friendship contract, so he hardly ever relents. “Tall...” his daughter’s lulls surround them from the back seat, “Handsome...” Sometimes he wonders how often Russ thinks about giving him a smack. “Not more handsome than me, though...”