Chapter Text
He was a mere thirty feet or so away from Eric's car when he crossed a familiar redhead once again.
Mickey came to a screeching halt after recognizing who he’d passed. Whirling on his heel, Mickey faced the son-of-a-bitch. The bastard at least had the decency to not look smug at being right.
“How the fuck did you know those guys were going to gang up?” Mickey demanded. Gallagher examined Mickey a moment, eyes roving him. Mickey could only imagine how he looked: single foot forward as though preparing to charge the other guy. He took a subtle step forward, taking himself out of such a crazed form to relax a little into a more casual stance.
“Sobered up quite a bit there, didn’t you?” was the audacious response by Ian Gallagher. Mickey ignored it to hurl an accusation his way instead.
“How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Do anything that you do,” Mickey growled. “First, you disappear without a trace for a week after you gave me an epic staredown, but apparently that was unrelated. Then you push a fuckin’ van away from crushing the both of us, only after you ran across the fuckin’ lot to get to me in the first place. You find me in two places in a city a fuckin’ hour away from home, and now… Now, not only do you know that five college frat rats are going to pick me out of a crowd o’ queers to beat on, but two of ‘em get battered skulls with no one touchin’ ‘em and two of the three behind me are thrown to the side like it’s nothin’! But you probably want me to believe that was what? The wind?” Mickey was damn near panting from the effort of recounting their misadventures together so far.
Ian released a slow breath and took two steps into Mickey’s space. Normally, Mickey would have backed up to stay out of his reach, but this time he stayed planted right where he was — determined to get answers.
“Did they hurt you?” Was all Ian gave in response. Mickey’s mouth almost dropped to the ground.
“N-no…” Mickey murmured. He met Ian’s gaze and found… worry there. So much for the self-righteousness of two seconds ago with the sobered up there comment.
“Then maybe you should just focus on getting home,” Ian replied gently. And here they were again... Jesus Christ could this boy aggravate him!
“Why do you always fuckin’ do that!?” Mickey exploded. Ian’s eyes widened ever so slightly, but otherwise he looked almost like he expected his outburst.
“Do what?”
“Don’t play fuckin’ dumb, you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about!” He almost wanted to stomp his foot in frustration, spin in a circle, punch the prick in the nose… something! Had there been anyone on the street with them, they’d probably be staring.
“I truly can’t fathom as to what you’re referring.”
“Bullshit. You always do this. I bring up that something weird is happening and you deflect. Whether to make fun of me or ask me a random question about me or tellin’ me what I should be focusin’ on instead. You never just answer a goddamned question!”
“What if I told you that it had to be that way? That answering your goddamned question is actually dangerous? Could get you into trouble? Worse trouble than you found yourself tonight.”
Finally we were getting somewhere, but it’s still a riddle trying to figure out what the fuck he means.
“I’d say you have no idea what I’ve lived through so far in my life and I’m not scared of whatever bullshit you think is comin’ after me because of your big bad secret. Whatever it is, I can fuckin’ handle it.”
“So you think,” Ian warned. His eyes did hold a dangerous glint to them. They were shiny, insisting. Mickey spent what felt like a few minutes, though it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, staring into Ian’s eyes. He enjoyed their color, their intensity, a little too much for his liking. But he could get lost in those green orbs. This was the dangerous stuff here. The magnetism between them that had Mickey feeling like Ian was inevitable… even every time the redhead drove him to want to chuck him into traffic out of aggravation. Mickey took a deep, calming breath and even softened the hold of his shoulders.
“I deserve the truth,” He whispered with more confidence than he felt. “And, in my life or out of it, you’ve gotta make a choice. Are we friends, enemies, what?”
“You told me, and I quote… ‘we ain’t friends.” Ian chuckled at his mimicry.
“Yeah, well, your pushy ass seems to be demandin’ it. But one thing I’ve learned about friends is I ain’t compromisin’ on the bare minimum and that means truth. And it means meanin’ what you say.” He added, thinking of Eric in the car, clueless about everything Mickey had been through tonight because the nerd couldn’t just stick to his fucking word that they were okay being just friends.
“Meaning what I say?” Ian echoed.
“Be my friend, don’t be my friend. I don’t give a shit. Just don’t be flippin’ scripts like the wind blows.” Mickey clarified.
“The only one flipping scripts here is you, Mickey,” Ian grinned. “Be your friend or don’t? Why don’t you tell me what you want in that department, since you previously kept insisting we weren’t to begin with?” Mickey glared at Ian. That wasn’t the fucking focus of this and he goddamned well knew it. He’d taken control of the conversation, and Mickey couldn’t deny it. Damn him.
“Fuck off,” Mickey growled, turning on his heel and starting to walk away before a frigid set of fingers wrapped around Mickey’s wrist. He pulled his arm free and whirled back around to glare at the appendage responsible for the touch.
Ian looked sheepish in return. Almost self-conscious.
“You really outta get yourself checked out. Can’t be good to always be that cold,” Mickey griped. He marched away, leaving Ian behind in silence.
At the car, Mickey didn’t offer where he had been or what had happened and Eric didn’t ask. The driver simply started the car after Mickey entered the passenger seat, and drove off. It was the least comfortable car ride Mickey had been in… And he’d been in a car with thousands of dollars of drugs, guns, and even some body parts tucked away in uncomfortable places.
They spent the whole hour drive in silence. There wasn’t even a goodbye or a “call you later” once they arrived at Chief Swan’s house, which was still lit inside despite it being 1AM.
Fuck, Mickey groaned internally. He’d had no idea how it had gotten to be that late, but he knew he was in trouble. He rubbed irritably at his eyes and pinched his nose, gathering a calming breath before walking in through the front door.
Surprisingly, chief was fast asleep on the couch, snoring away. Infomercials played on the TV so it was likely stuck on the same channel from a game earlier in the evening. He wasn’t sure what to do in this moment… Effectively, he’d gotten away with breaking curfew… he guessed he could just… take the win?
Turn the lights off?
And chance it waking the chief up? Fuck no.
He crossed as silently as humanly possible to the stairs and bit his lip as he took the first step. Silent… good. Second? Silent… Third? CREEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAKKKKKKK….
The chief’s snores stopped.
“M-Mickey??” Chief’s voice rang out.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
Turning around, Mickey came to face Charlie at the arch of the living room, fully standing as though in a flash.
“Hey, Charlie,” Mickey murmured.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Charlie snipped.
“Yes I do. I didn’t mean to get back this late.” he replied as calmly as he could. A pregnant silence stretched between them. Charlie’s brows rose as the seconds ticked by.
“That’s it?” he demanded. Mickey arched a brow.
“What else is there?”
“No ‘I’m sorry?’ No ‘I’ll call next time?’” Mickey took a seat on the traitorous creaky step and bit his lip, biting back a smart retort. After everything that had happened tonight, Mickey was in no mood to go rounds with Charlie Swan, or even reason with him. Mickey’s version of reasoning might get his ass packed back to Chicago. And he’d come too fuckin’ far to get shipped back now. Plus, there was a mysterious redhead still in the back of his mind that he knew would still be there. But at least here he stood a chance of one day figuring this mess out.
Charlie’s mustache twitched with impatience, but they stared at each other for so long that Mickey could feel the tension naturally breaking. He would not be the one to speak first. He just wouldn’t. Charlie put a hand on one hip and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other hand’s fingers. He sighed and groaned somewhat at the same time and Mickey merely huffed a breath in agreement.
“Is everything okay? Did anything happen while you were gone?” Charlie asked, voice a complete opposite from what it was. Mickey was stunned by the question. He… he backed down so easily. If Terry had cared at all he would have bitch-slapped him for not answering him before. Silence is what got Chief Swan to realize something may be wrong? Silence was always the guaranteed lane to a beating just to get a fight out of him.
“Mickey?” Charlie prompted, taking a few steps forward. Mickey stiffened. Not because he thought the chief was going to do anything against him, but out of discomfort for the situation.
“It wasn’t a great night, can we leave it at that?” Mickey supplied reluctantly.
“Did you get a flat or something?” Charlie offered. Mickey could have lied. Very easily. He could tell his guardian right now that they’d popped a tire and it took the two teen boys an hour or two to figure out how to change the damn thing without cell service for a YouTube video how-to. He could even invent somebody creepy who stopped by to “help” and it was the scariest night of Mickey’s life. And Chief Swan would have believed him.
Instead, Mickey shook his head no.
“Then what happened?” Charlie asked kindly. Mickey dropped his head between his shoulders.
“Can I please just promise to call next time?” and drop this whole conversation?
“I’m only going to ask you again in the morning,” Charlie replied gently.
“Of course you will,” Mickey grumbled. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, steadying himself. He examined Charlie’s concerned face and felt calmer about telling him. If Mickey had to have this conversation with Terry, he’d get his ass beat for allowing five people to get the jump on him. He’d tell him he deserved it. He was sure that what Charlie’s reaction would be would just make him uncomfortable for a different reason.
“Eric an’ I went to a club and… Well, first he made it awkward because he’s got a crush on me and can’t get it through his head that I don’t— have one on him, I mean. So… he tried makin’ a move on me and I yelled at him. Left him. Some guy came up to me… turned out he was lookin’ out for gay guys to beat on. He and his buddies ganged up on me,” Mickey summarized. Charlie’s eyes exploded in his head.
“ Mickey!” was apparently all he could say because they sat there another thirty seconds or so before Mickey finally continued.
“I got away fine. I dunno what happened, suddenly two were on the ground, two more just… I dunno, disappeared, and I headbutt the last guy and got away. That’s my first time bein’ on the receivin’ end of a beat-down like that, though. It was weird.”
“Weird,” Charlie scoffed. “We should be calling Port Angeles police!”
“I didn’t get a good look at anyone but the first guy and the police ain’t gonna—” Mickey stopped, realizing he was entering dangerous ground. Couldn’t exactly tell the truth about cops to a cop.
“Well… I mean… I doubt there’s enough to go on. Police’ll probably just tell me to be more careful next time.”
Charlie sighed deep, clearly warring with himself. He was going over the details of the situation, trying to decide if Mickey had a point.
“Ian Gallagher was up there too. Trying to decide if he was involved with me getting away,” he blurted before he could stop himself.
Charlie’s brows rose.
“How could he have known you were there too?” Charlie asked. Mickey shrugged.
“He does keep showing up where I am. It’s weird.” Charlie nodded in agreement.
“Good fortune in this case, though, right?” Mickey shrugged again.
“Guess so.”
Charlie shook his head as though shaking out a bad thought or mental image.
“Well…” his guardian murmured, slightly under his breath. “I guess we’ll have to prioritize that phone. I don’t care how we get it, whether I get it for you or you work for it, but that communication is a must, Mickey. Especially if you’ll be hanging out late. I don’t have to tell you what kind of dangerous world we live in.”
Mickey shook his head in agreement. He sure didn’t. Mickey was at one time part of that danger.
“I think let’s keep you in the house tomorrow. Today was a lot of excitement.”
“So I’m grounded?” Mickey scoffed.
“More or less.” Charlie agreed. Mickey rolled his eyes. Whatever. He probably wasn’t going to leave the house anyway.
“There’s a beach trip next weekend… Don’t know if I’m even still invited after the shit with Eric gets out, but… Does this include that?” Mickey asked.
Charlie grimaced.
There was a part of Mickey that wanted to say fuck it, that he’d go regardless, just to make a point that he’s basically an adult and he’d not needed anyone to tell him what he could and could not do before, so why would that start now? But there was another side of him, a more reasonable side of him that respected that Charlie was trying to do right by him and was trying to be as chill as he could.
“Let’s see how that report card comes out,” Charlie replied reasonably. Mickey shrugged.
“Let’s start with tomorrow.”
Mickey shrugged and stood, calmly. He nodded at Charlie once and ventured up stairs.
That night, he dreamed of the attack from the night and could swear that he saw Ian Gallagher’s face, distorted in rage, but clearly him, as he bashed the two skulls together before him and then ripped the other two free from behind him. Except in his dream he whirled around to catch Ian standing behind him. Mickey, on his knees, Ian standing behind him, all five douchebag guys long forgotten. Staring up at Ian, Mickey felt his breath gasp out of his lungs. A sharp intake of breath followed when Ian offered a hand to him.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Mickey demanded.
“Now, is that how we say thank you?” Ian teased. Mickey bit his lip. He would not thank him… though, shouldn’t he? Gallagher didn’t have to get involved… He’d already warned him, done his due diligence. Surely this could be considered above-and-beyond?
Well then… Didn’t that deserve an above-and-beyond thank you in return?
Mickey accepted the proffered hand and rose to standing. He still had to look up to look into Ian’s face. Once he met eyes with the other boy, Mickey knew the proper way to thank him…
He took one bold step forward, wrapped his fingers around Ian’s neck, and drew them close, closer, and even closer together until they were nose to nose. Ian looked amused, almost humorous. As though what Mickey was doing was funny.
Still, before he lost his nerve, he crashed his lips to Ian’s—
“Fuck!” Mickey jerked awake in bed. “What the hell?” he asked himself as the dream ran through his mind once again… and again…. And again….
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered to himself for good measure, running both hands through his hair.
He wasn’t going to challenge his own intelligence by asking himself why he was fantasizing about Ian Gallagher in his dreams. But he was going to judge himself for it. The guy may be hot but he’s a class-A prick.
“Fuuuck,” he groaned again from between clenched fingers. He threw his fists to the side and examined his bedroom. He made note of the stack of papers on his desk, the books scattered across its surface, and the small pile of Coke cans gathering where the wood met the wall. He supposed idly that he’d need to clear all of that away today… seeing as he was grounded.
Grounded. This wasn’t by far Mickey’s first punishment. It was, however, his first normal punishment. A plain ole’ grounding for something completely understandable (well, by the standards of most). No pistol-whipping, no fist fight whether he wanted to participate or not, no quota of sales to make up for a fuck-up. Just… sitting at the house with no friends and, he supposed, no TV. The term “grounded” was flung so easily and yet it came with no clearly-defined parameters, Mickey realized with surprise. What exactly was the expectation? Simply no friends, or also no TV? Well, if Charlie was still intending to go fishing today, there wasn’t exactly a reason to believe that anything would be enforced beyond him leaving. And even then he could be an ass and leave but make sure to come back well before dark.
But, if Mickey were being honest with himself, he was kind of looking forward to a day of nothing. It was like a time-out for a young child, only without the tears and tantrum. He couldn’t decide if he was making Charlie a sucker for giving him a day to do nothing or if Charlie was a genius for punishing him by giving him exactly what he needed all along.
He relaxed his brow, feeling it stretched up nearly to his hairline, rubbed the final remains of sleep from his eyes, and climbed out of bed.
Mickey practically skipped down the stairs — an odd amount of energy coming from him considering the late hour he went to bed and all that took place the night before. But still, he was simply ready for breakfast and a quiet day at home.
Then the phone rang.
He was prepared to cross to the phone, but saw Charlie’s dark hair out of the corner of his eye. Seated at the table was his guardian, a cup of coffee before him, fishing supplies to the side. He looked… dark. Clearly the mood of the early morning had not worn off.
“Let voicemail get it,” Charlie murmured. Mickey sighed and took a seat across from Charlie, not quite knowing where it was going but having a feeling that a conversation was part of it.
The robot announced that no one was home and directed the caller to leave a message. A part of Mickey believed that it was Mandy finally reaching out and he was going to miss it — because that would be his luck. But Eric’s voice picked up on the answering machine. Mickey rolled his eyes and collapsed into his seat, rubbing the corners of his eyes with his fingers.
“Uh, hey, Mickey… I just…” He exhaled sharply. Mickey could only imagine the look on this kid’s face as he was struggling to come up with the words. “I just wanted to apologize for last night. I really like you and, and yeah you’ve made it clear you don’t feel the same. I… I dunno, I just keep hoping that at some point you’ll change your mind. But, but I know that’s selfish. And I shouldn’t be standing in the wings for you when you’ve said you see me as just a friend—” The answering machine picked up telling caller to hurry it the fuck up. “Well… anyway… See you tomorrow. Or, if it’s not too much… call me back.” Eric asked. Mickey was actually impressed that it didn’t quite sound like pleading or begging.
Mickey scratched at his brow, trying not to feel self-conscious with his guardian listening in to the message intended for him. This wouldn’t have happened with your own phone, he thought grimly to himself. Letting his guardian get him a phone was starting to sound really nice.
“And oh look, I was also going to talk to you about last night,” Charlie declared after Eric’s message was complete. Mickey stifled a groan with a light exhale through his nose. “Nothing big, just checking if you’re okay.” Mickey gave him an incredulous look, brows unsure of whether they wanted to raise or furrow in surprise.
“Fine…” Mickey responded after a brief stare-down. Charlie exhaled, not breaking eye contact with his new charge.
“You were attacked… And like you said last night, you’re used to being the one to gang up on people, not the other way around.”
“ ‘S not my first time gettin’ threatened. I’m not traumatized,” Mickey laughed. Charlie didn’t break that eye contact.
“I wouldn’t be so sure…” Charlie murmured. Mickey withheld an eye roll.
“Dad pistol-whipped me for forgettin’ to get milk but you think an almost beat-down is gonna ruin my mental health?” Mickey laughed incredulously. Charlie shook his head.
“Just because you’ve experienced one thing, that doesn’t mean that something else can’t also be traumatic.” Mickey did roll his eyes.
“So what’s the deal with this grounded thing? I’m supposed to watch paint dry and just sit here bored?” Mickey demanded. Charlie could clearly see that Mickey was done talking about it and wasn’t about to fight him on it — thank God.
“That’s the general idea, yes. Homework. No phone, no TV. I’ve got a list of things to do here too, which should keep you occupied.”
Mickey nodded.
“I’ll be back around dark, I’d say. Homework. Housework.”
“Alright, I get it,” Mickey griped. Charlie nodded, satisfied.
Mickey set to a day of … somewhat nothingness.
There’s something about cleaning another man’s toilet that sets your brain off to looking for literally anything else to set your focus on. For Mickey, it set back to that dream, which sent him back to thinking about last night. There truly was something off about that Gallagher kid. But he couldn’t put his finger on it. Because all of the signs were pointing to something truly abnormal. But that would be batshit crazy to even consider and Mickey knew that.
It was just batshit crazy in and of itself that Ian Gallagher was always around when something crazy happened to Mickey: being squished by a van being just the start. But also, regardless of Ian’s genuine point that he was also skipping class, it was weird that he was in detention at the same time… stalkerish. That mysterious dad of Ian’s after detention. Coming to the gas station at the same time. Warning him to stay close to home… warning him to not go near the guys at the club… Showing up down the street after Mickey’s miraculous escape…
And not only that but Ian’s fuckin eyes changed color. He couldn’t believe he’d imagined that. Mickey wasn’t exactly creative. So unless Mickey himself was going crazy, he refused to believe that he’d made it up. Ian’s hands were cold like the dead… And come to think of it, that doctor sister of his also had frigid cold hands… Was it the whole family that was fuckin’ weird?
Mickey flushed the newly cleaned toilet and allowed the racing thoughts to go down the drain with it.
As he returned to the kitchen, the phone rang for what must have been the third time that day. Eric again? Mickey thought with annoyance. The nerd didn’t leave a message every time, but Mickey recognized the first six digits of his number, so he recognized him by the caller ID at this point. He was tempted to pick up the phone and immediately hang up just to give the kid a hint, but as his brain was thinking through the facts, the true, hard facts of his life in Forks, he realized that he didn’t really have room to be picky on who he kept in his life. His own sister wouldn’t pick up the goddamned phone for him. And surely by now the kid had picked up the hint that no amount of quality time or dazed-off looks in Mickey’s direction was going to change his mind about not wanting to try a relationship with the other kid.
Just as he’d decided to pick up the phone to see what he wanted, the call went to voicemail again.
Probably for the best, he decided. For as little as he had in the way of friends, he did also know that it was bullshit what Eric had tried to pull. But… again, maybe if the kid finally caught the hint, maybe that means they could go on with a normal friendship now.
Mickey was surprised by how much he hoped for that. He didn’t want to turn away his friend. He actually did enjoy spending some time with him. The way that Mickey’s stories knocked the air out of Eric’s chest was always good for a laugh and the nerd had Mickey’s best interest at heart, and he knew that. Mickey stood the chance of a normal life if he continued his friendship with Eric. Unlike a friendship with —
Nope. Not even going there.
Mickey had already completed the little homework that was left and had already gone through three of the six items on Charlie’s list. He turned his attention to the TV but decided that he didn’t even have a clue what would be on or what would be of interest if he even looked at what was on. So TV would be a waste. Then his eyes turned to the uncovered window across from the TV and the idea of going outside appealed to him much more.
Mickey wasn’t normally the outdoorsy type. Hell, the closest to a forest that Chicago had was the few parks that usually consisted of baseball diamonds more than trees. Compared to all of that, the small stretch of woods outside Charlie Swan’s house was like a lush forest. Moss coated each tree trunk and barely any light filtered through the leaves from how tightly packed the trees were to each other. A thought even occurred to him that it was possible for him to get lost in these woods. He shrugged the thought off, of course, because the alternative was working ahead in his classwork or finishing up that list from Charlie all in one go. Both options were “gag me” options.
He marched forward in a straight line as best as he could help it. There would be no getting lost if he made no turns, right?
He wished he had some bud, thinking that getting high in the middle of this wonderland would provide a helluva trip. He could just imagine getting lost in the shifting leaves and picking out shapes in the branches while stoned.
But, of course, he was in Forks, fucking, Washington, and had made no pot connections.
Still, this walk was peaceful and there was something about it that put him at ease. He settled onto an overturned tree trunk and simply stared ahead. He allowed his brain to empty. No more thoughts of Ian Gallagher, no more thoughts of Eric or Mandy… Just, peace and fucking quiet. Just Forks, Fucking, Washington.
At first when he heard the crackles of movement in the trees he just assumed that it was the wind or maybe even squirrels burrowing in the leaves. But slowly, the hair rose on the backs of his arms and neck when he realized that the crackles were getting closer…
“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me…” Mickey muttered. “Ian, I swear to Christ,” he stood up, expecting to see the familiar redhead, but instead found… the dad. The weirdass dad with long, tangled dirty-blonde hair and an unkempt beard. He wore the same clothes as before too. He was an odd blend of old yet young. He couldn’t have been more than thirty based on his blemish and wrinkle-free skin, and yet his eyes carried decades more… Fifties?
“What was that about my boy?” the guy asked.
“What the fuck’re you doin’ here?” Mickey demanded, wishing he had his Glock.
“You think you’re the only one in Forks who enjoys a stroll through the trees, kid?” the man asked lightheartedly. He held his hands out in surrender, though. It was as though the guy was used to people calling him out for being a creep, already trying to look smaller and less threatening. Mickey could clock this guy from a mile away; he was trouble.
“Get the fuck away from me,” Mickey demanded, feet rooted to the ground, unwavering and refusing to allow himself to appear frightened. No, he was trying to appear frightening… which would have worked a lot better with his fuckin’ Glock.
“Well, I’ll go, but first… what was that about my boy?” he repeated.
“He’s always showin’ up after me and now there’s fuckin’ you. Your whole family a bunch of creepers?”
The man laughed. Loud, boisterous, and almost violently, he laughed. Mickey’s brows furrowed and he wondered if he could possibly run back to the house through the underbrush, roots, and fallen trees.
“Again… you’re not the only lad in Forks who enjoys a good stroll through the woods.” Just there Mickey picked up a slight Irish lilt to his accent. But it was distant. First generation American perhaps?
“One coincidence I’d buy,” Mickey grunted. “But this? ‘Specially after the crap your creep of a son said last night?”
The man’s bushy brows rose in surprise.
“Oh, last night, eh? Where did you see ‘im last night?”
“Just get your ass away from me,” Mickey demanded again.
“Well, Ian sure does know how to pick ‘em,” the man spat. There was a smile on his face, but a glimmer in his eye that demanded violence. Mickey knew that glimmer… he probably wore it now.
Mickey just leveled his glare at the older man, stiffening in preparation to block any sort of attack. The tension in the air was so thick Mickey would have choked on it had he not been accustomed.
The guy held up his hands one more time and vanished. Mickey heard the air rush out of his lungs in shock, stiffening more in preparation for the sudden re-appearance. He didn’t know whether to whirl around and try to catch sight of him again or to stay exactly where he was. Any move could be the right or wrong move. His brain raced trying to figure out what to do. As the minutes ticked by he decided to back out of the forest, one step at a time.
Other than his own footsteps there wasn’t a single sound. Not a bird, not a squirrel, not an insect. It was so silent that his eardrums wanted to explode from it. Once he hit the clearing of Charlie’s yard, he booked it to the house and locked the door behind him.
He couldn’t shake the feeling… the feeling of danger. There was something not right about that guy. Normally, a thirty year old man in the woods wouldn’t even blip on his radar. Just a guy that he could easily tackle and knock out with a well-placed blow if needed. But this guy… there was something about his air… something about his speech and his build that was deceptively innocent. And he was connected to Ian who had a similar feeling only… safer. He didn’t get the sense that Ian wanted to hurt him… but he got that sense from his father.
He was used to fathers wanting to hurt him, that wasn’t new. But it was the murderous vibe that he picked up from the guy that had him shivering. He’d not shook like that since the last time a run went sideways and Terry gave him that glimmering look. The look that told him he was going to die if he didn’t get out of his face. Pistol in hand, Mickey knew that Terry’d do it too. That’s why Mickey treated the stranger like he would a bear— made himself bigger, louder. There was a part of him that was surprised it had worked…
“Jesus,” Mickey gritted.
And then, the fucking phone rang.
Staggering to the phone, Mickey took steadying breaths. Regardless of who was on the other line, he didn’t want to tip anyone off that something crazy had just happened. He’d had enough of crazy. It was time for something somewhat normal.
“Hello?” Mickey answered.
“Mickey, thank god!” the voice cried. It could have been the adrenaline pumping through him, but Mickey could genuinely not tell if it was Gallagher or Eric.
“Who’s this?” he asked rather than check Caller ID.
“Eric, were you expecting someone else?” he chided.
“As a matter of fact I have other people in my life, douchebag,” Mickey snipped.
Eric sighed on the other end.
“Sorry, I just… I’ve been trying to get to you all day.”
“I know, I heard.” Mickey grunted with aggravation.
“You ignored?” Eric asked meekly.
“Not intentionally,” Mickey allowed.
“Oh,” Eric sounded a fraction brighter. “But you got my first voicemail?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“I… I’ll just repeat now that I’m really sorry, Mickey. I promise I won’t ever try that on you again if you’ll just let me be your friend still.”
Mickey stood in silence, still thrumming from his run-in with the stranger in the woods. His brain, damn it, was rushing through his memory of the first time he saw this guy… but unfortunately he only remembered seeing the guy, not Ian saying anything about him, just confirming it was his dad.
What was he doing in the fuckin’ woods? Did he live nearby? Do lots of people stroll in those woods and Mickey’d just never noticed?
“Mickey?”
“Huh?” he blurted, realizing his trip out of the moment. “Oh, uh… Yeah. Let’s just… pretend it never happened. Just don’t let it happen again, a’right?”
“Of course, of course. And, Mickey?”
Mickey said nothing, just waited.
“Thanks,” his friend breathed.
A couple of hours and three remaining chores later, Charlie walked through the door with a fish hanging from a string clutched in his fist.
“Fish for dinner, I take it?” Mickey called.
“Sounds about right!” Charlie returned, beaming.
Mickey sat at the table, the completed check list in front of him.
“Oh good, you got it all done,” Charlie noted as he walked by to the sink.
“Yeah,” Mickey murmured.
And so they settled into silence. Mickey was grounded, so there wasn’t much for Charlie to ask him about, apparently. And Mickey didn’t care too much about fishing, so he wouldn’t even know what to ask if he did care to ask.
The stranger in the woods stayed with him instead.
He drummed his fingers on the table, unsure of whether or not to ask. Charlie gutted and cleaned the fish right there in the sink. Mickey wrinkled his nose, but otherwise kept his displeasure to himself.
“Something bothering you?” Charlie asked, setting a steaming plate of fish in front of him.
“The fuck?” Mickey gasped, glancing around the kitchen, looking for the time. “I fall asleep?” he grumbled. Charlie laughed lightly.
“Yeah; one moment you were here — quiet, but here — and next thing you were sawing logs,” he chuckled. Mickey ignored that last comment. He just pulled his plate closer and cut in.
“Did I work you too hard?” Charlie asked. Mickey shook his head no and crammed in the first mouthful. “Did something happen with you and your friend?” he asked.
“No,” Mickey muttered. “Well,” he corrected, “Yeah, we’re fine.”
“Oh, that’s good!”
“Yeah…” Mickey murmured in agreement. Charlie’s brows quirked in question. Mickey sighed and leapt for it, “Anyone come walking through the woods by your house?” he blurted. Charlie’s brows furrowed and his head did a strange bob on his neck: a “dafuq” face his final response.
“Uh… not that I’ve noticed, why?”
“Uh…” shit, he hadn’t thought this far… “Reading a… scary story… for class…. And… I dunno, just lookin’ at those trees had me wonderin’ ‘bout creepers,” he offered lamely. Charlie gave a pathetic laugh, clearly still confused — possibly not buying Mickey’s excuse.
“No, not that I know of. People who want to go to the woods go to the mountains, Mickey,” Charlie laughed.
Mickey simply nodded.