#mickey scott

“My Master did,” Mick smiled, his fingers moving to the bruise on his throat, fingers slowly grazing over the hickey, pressing into the bruise, feeling the warm ache spread through his body.

It had been a long time since they’d been together - him and Quinn. Master had granted him permission to spend his evening how he liked, and he could think of no better way than getting high with his Babe. It had been a long time since he’d been in Toronto, since he’d been high. New York was a different life completely. Mickey had to be polite and respectful, act like someone he wasn’t.

“They make me feel better,” He said softly, “Like I’m alive, like I’m not some pathetic sub who can’t stand up for himself.” His fingers moved to a dark red mark on his chest, running over the whip line softly. 

“I still fight sometimes,” He smirked, hand moving over the red mark firmly. “I don’t make it easy,” He chuckled, glancing up to her eyes, to her blonde hair, blue eyes. Gorgeous.

“You don’t make it easy either.” He pointed out softly, his hand moving to push her blonde her behind her ear.

“I love you, Babe.” He’d never said those words before. Never said them to anyone but his Master. He didn’t know where they’d come from. She could never be his. He could never be hers. But they’d always had a connection. The Mouse and the Babe. Mouse and Babe.

Once upon a time, they’d nearly had a child.

Maybe once upon a time they would.

Mick never wanted his DNA passed on. Quinn was as close to him as he’d ever find.

Quinn smiled back at him. She hesitated for a moment, nervous.

“I love you, Mouse,”

And everything was right with the world.

Mick drew her in for an embrace, kissing the top of her head.

Mickey had been looking forward to the baby - a tiny little clone/hybrid of two of his favorite people. It was hard keeping in contact with Chloe and Sam given the physical distance between them but they tried with phone calls and skype and the occasional snail mail filled with goodies and gifts. Mickey remembers the last one he and Kurt had sent them - a package with a tiny Ralph Lauren polo shirt - Jacob would never get to wear it now.

Chloe had told them that’s what they had called the baby. Little Jacob, born sleeping. They were going to have a funeral for him tomorrow, that’s why Mickey was sat alone in the bedroom  packing up an overnight bag for himself and Kurt while mulling everything over. They would fly out that evening,  stay overnight at a hotel, attend the funeral and then fly back tomorrow night. A very short stay, perhaps the shortest they had ever made.

In a way, Mickey was glad. Death was always hard for him to deal with and the death of a child, a mere babe in fact was proving more difficult than most. He just couldn’t understand how it could happen or why and it stirred up so many complex feelings inside of him, so many memories he didn’t like to think of. Like Babe and their near miss, Babe and her almost babe. The terrible way he had treated her. Seeing Chloe’s anguish and Sam’s numb silence brought into perspective the feelings Babe must have been going through and brought back a lot of guilt he’d thought had passed. He was afraid to speak with Kurt about it, but knew his Master would get it out of him eventually. For now, he could hide behind the grief of losing little Jacob.

Grief was something he hadn’t expected to feel for a child he hadn’t known, who he hadn’t held or even really seen and yet there it was. It wasn’t as raw as when his mother had passed, wasn’t as life changing as when his father had passed, but still he knew it was grief and pain and the deep ache of wondering ‘what if?’.

As he folded Kurt’s shirt, Mickey wondered what might have been if he’d survived. He wondered what he’d have looked like. If he’d have had Sam’s mop of blonde hair and Chloe’s spunky personality. He wondered what his laugh would sound like, what he’d be good at. If he’d like video games like his Dad and MMA like Chloe. Wondered if he’d be able to teach the kid some moves. Wondered if he and Kurt would have been like family. Distant uncles maybe. Maybe it would have been Mickey’s chance to be an uncle for real this time. He didn’t know his sister’s kids and they didn’t know him. He regretted that, but they’d been born at a time in his life when self destruction was all he cared about. Mickey wondered if he’d ever get chance to really be an uncle. Or a father.

Kurt and he had only briefly spoke of children. Kurt wanted them and Mickey wasn’t sure, but as he got older, he was becoming more sure. Or he’d thought he was. Now he wasn’t so sure again. Wasn’t sure he could open himself up to the pain Chloe and Sam were going through.

Mick raked a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. Why did bad things always happen to the best of people? He wished he could take Chloe and Sam’s pain away. He wished they could have little Jacob back.

He clenched his fingers in his hair, tugging at them so the pain would ground him. He had to make it through this for them, had to smile and comfort where he could. Had to apologize to them and to Quinn. He took a deep breath and leet go of his hair, then placed Kurt shirt in the overnight bag and zipped it up. A deep breath and a count to ten.

“All packed,” He called as he stood from the bed and picked up the bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He wasn’t ready for this, but he would get through it with Kurt at his side. He would stay strong for two of his best friends. They had enough to deal with right now.

With another deep breath, Mickey exited the bedroom, finding Kurt and wrapping an arm loosely around his waist.