Chapter Text
Mick didn’t have to hear that request twice— If Jeremy told him to jump, he would ask how high. So, he follows him.
His thoughts are so incredibly quiet for the first time this entire evening, as he’s finally walking through Jeremy’s house. Mick takes his time to fully admire everything. The piles of toys on the carpet in the living room. Trophies on shelves he assumes are from Jeremy’s childhood. Damage and scratches and drawings on the wall he wishes he was there to get the stories for.
Mick wasn’t expecting such an open invitation to Jeremy’s bedroom, but like hell he won’t take it. The Scout slowly and carefully shuts the door behind the two, and lets Mick get slowly acquainted with the room.
It’s… perfect. Well— Messy. Pretty messy, actually. Although, that’s not too far off from how his room on base used to be.
Jeremy goes to sit down on the bed, and just stares at Mick as he… stands there. He bites his lip.
“Y’gonna lay down?” He whispers, “Or— or just stand there…?”
Mick swallows. Right. Right, lay down, right. “Uh— uh-huh.” He nods, soaking in the awkwardness. What a stupid, immature mistake.
He feels his face burning up, as he sits down beside Jeremy, going to take off his shoes just as Jeremy is. He hates himself for feeling so happy at the connection. Like they’re a couple.
Jeremy lifts himself back up around the same time as Mick does, and turns to look at him. “I… I appreciate it.” He starts. Mick notices he’s leaning in. “I really, I really do, Mick.”
Mick looks down as Jeremy’s hand moves closer, resting right upon his, squeezing oh-so gently. “Ya don’t know how much this means to me.” Even closer, now, as he scoots towards him, “How much… You mean to me.”
The Australian has spent time learning these social cues his entire life. He knows what Jeremy wants from him as he leans closer, as he squeezes his hand tighter. As the man looks down at his lips, then back up to his eyes with longing. He knows Jeremy well enough to know what to do here. He knows society’s expectations when anyone does this. Even with all these expectations he knows he should give into, he still is dreadfully, painfully hesitant.
What if that’s not what Jeremy wants out of this? What if he doesn’t want him to kiss him, and then he ends up kissing him— and he’s booted out of the house? Kicked out of his bedroom, where he’s been wanting to stay this entire time?
There’s too much at stake here, he can’t just guess like this, and lose everything in the process. He can’t be brave about it like he used to, he can’t be the bigger person, because he doesn’t even know if he is anymore.
This never was a bad thing, not before. He always did see them both as equals, but he knew that him and Jeremy had somewhat different levels of maturity. Or maybe that was just… Personality. He’s never known the right term. All he’s known is that they are different. He didn’t mind the difference.
He always found himself being the bigger person in arguments, though. When they had to problem solve. Jeremy has always been argumentative— he fights for what he thinks is right, and he’s awfully stubborn. He doesn’t like to lose fights. Inside, Mick never did either, but unlike Jeremy he could walk away. Keep the peace.
Mick was always okay with this dynamic they had. Jeremy’s grown as a person now. He can see all the evidence. Mick feels like the less mature out of the two, now. He feels like the smaller— hell, he’s spent all these years yearning, saving himself for a man he was never in contact with again. Not like Jeremy. He moved on, he made something out of himself.
This spiral seems to frustrate Jeremy. He moves back, away from Mick, and softly says, “Sorry.”
Mick shakes his head, in an attempt to stop the thinking. “No, no it’s okay,” He begins, trying so desperately to get the touch, the closeness back. He never realizes how much he misses it until it leaves him. “You really don’t need to feel bad, Jer.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” Jeremy looks away, which is almost always a bad sign. He told Mick once after a bad argument the only reason he looks away is because he can’t quite bear to look at him. Like it hurts him too much. “I didn’t understand… What ya wanted from me. I got it now.”
What he wanted from him. No, no, Mick didn’t want— nor expect— anything from him, at least he doesn’t think so. “What… What do y’mean?” Mick utters, “I don’t want anythin' from you.”
…Maybe that’s a lie. Maybe he knows that it’s a lie. He does want something from Jeremy. Not that he’s owed it, but he wants it. A desperate urge to rewrite their history, to change what’s become of them.
Jeremy’s brow furrows. He opens his mouth to speak, closes it, then opens again. “That’s— that’s my problem.” He admits, emptily. “Why don’t you want me? Why didn’t ya…” He stops, simply to collect himself before he continues. “... Want anythin’ from me?”
“I… did want you, Jeremy.” Mick responds, confused. Jeremy shakes his head.
“No, you didn’t.” Jeremy’s voice is unsteady. Mick watches as he stands up, desperate to get on his feet to pace back and forth. He looks at his feet while he speaks. “You— you didn’t, because if ya did, I wouldn’t be in this shit… This— this radio silence. I know you ain’t a talker, but Mick, come on.”
He doesn’t understand. Hell, neither of them do, but Mick especially doesn’t understand. What was he supposed to do? What did Jeremy want from him?
Mick’s voice is terribly quiet. “I don’t know what you’re expectin’ from me.” He admits, then softly says, “But— I’m sorry. I really am sorry.”
Jeremy stops his pacing, and almost looks bewildered back at Mick. He has the vaguest understanding why Jeremy would be upset— but is it his fault? How does he redeem himself? What could he do to make Jeremy happy again? He would do it— he would, he just needs to know what to do. In a final desperation to make this right, he begs, “Please, tell me what I can do for you.”
The man before him stops to consider his words. This is new— he’s never quite been the type to think before he spoke, at least not while Mick knew him. “I don’t…” Jeremy begins, cutting himself off to be silent for just a little longer. Mick shifts from the way he was sitting, attentive. “I wanted you to— to chase after me. To tell me not to go. Jesus, Mick,” He covers his face in his hands, despair in his voice, “Why didn’t you tell me not to go without you?”
Mick sits there for a minute, staring, his elbows resting on his knees. He’s closing in on himself, getting smaller, and he doesn’t even realize it. He doesn’t realize how his breath is shortening, how he shifts away from Jeremy’s gaze. He doesn’t have his answer. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what he did wrong.
All Mick feels is weak, as he sits there, staring up at Jeremy. All he feels is miserable, as the man stares at him back, equally lost for words. They stay in this spot for what feels like an eternity. Motionless, sick with grief, before Jeremy steps closer to him.
The younger man’s actions are soft, as he works through the steps of what to do in this situation. What they used to do at home. He sits down next to him, not daring to touch him, or make sudden movements. Like he’s treating some type of stray dog. No more yelling, no more crying. He’s quiet with him now.
Jeremy is soft. Shockingly for once, he’s patient. “I’m sorry,” He begins, “I shouldn’t have done that to you. I shouldn’t have— talked to you. Like that.”
This is new territory. For Mick, at least. He didn’t get to see Jeremy like this. He didn’t get to watch him grow as a person, not since they disbanded, and he knows Jeremy didn’t do a whole lot of growing while they worked together. It worked in his favor, mostly. Right up until he caught himself in an unfortunate situation with a shit ton of robots he never should have fought by himself. Mick doesn’t think Jeremy would do that now, though.
Jeremy probably wouldn’t do a lot of things he did before. Not now, with his kids and all. He’s almost jealous. Jealous he didn’t get to see this side of him. Jealous Jeremy didn’t think he was worth growing up for. Learning how to be less reckless.
Maybe he was always fine with this dynamic. Maybe, it fulfilled him to watch over Jeremy everyday, picking off enemies just to make sure he was safe. Jeremy took up way more time through the Sniper’s scope than any of the BLU fuckers ever did, that’s for sure. This new dynamic is so foreign to him, and maybe that’s why it’s so troublesome. Mick feels a weight akin to discomfort as Jeremy places a blanket around his shoulders, and urges him to relax.
Jeremy sits back down next to him, soft. “Did ya want the bed? I can take the couch.”
“No,” Mick replies, almost sinking into himself more.
“Do you want me to stay with you? Do you…” Jeremy almost hesitates, he’s shy. “Do you still want to sleep in the same bed as me?”
Mick considers, then lays down. A silent agreement. It’s not like he could really complain about it, even if he wanted to. He does have half a mind to walk back into his camper, sleep for the night, and drive far, far away from here before Jeremy even wakes up. No matter how much he wants to do that, he knows he could never bring himself to. He could never bring himself to lose this moment, as Jeremy lies next to him for the first time in years.
It’s not the same, no matter how hard they try. There’s no cuddling, no closeness. When they would share the bed in the camper, they had no choice but to stay so close to each other. Not that either of them minded.
Now, in Jeremy’s bed, there’s space. His bed is big, for being something Mick assumes hasn’t been shared in a while. He wonders how many women— or, maybe men, even— have laid in this spot before him. Jealousy burns in him again. He wishes he were the first— no, the only one, who has laid in this bed next to Jeremy.
It’s not realistic. Hell, none of this is realistic. He thinks back to when they died.
Both of them, dead. Just to come back again. Sometimes, he wonders if he should even be alive at all. Or Jeremy. He could never wish death on Jeremy, not for this. He could only wish death on himself.
He wishes he didn’t come back, or that Medic didn’t save him. That he was just left to bleed into the water. Leave his body there, maybe, where he belonged. Dying alone.
Jeremy is still talking to him. At least that didn’t change. Jeremy always loved to talk.
“I shouldn’t uh… Make you the villain, Mick, I’m sorry.” He says, “I never— never thought’a you as the villain. Not in my mind, at least. It’s not your fault. It will never…” Jeremy turns to his side, to face Mick again. “It will never be your fault. It’s mine. You ain’t… responsible, for any of this. I’m just glad we’re back together again, yeah?”
The older man admires his face. He’s smiling. Mick’s always liked his smile, in all the forms it takes. The shit-eating grin when Jeremy knew he was being a nuisance. The sincere smile when Jeremy would comfort him. All of them. All the times he’s happy, he’s always soaked it in.
He’s always loved his blue eyes. He’s always loved his nose, and the freckles that decorate him from his forehead all the way down to his chin.
It’s too bad, it’s just too fucking bad.
Mick musters up all the courage he could possibly gather in this moment, looking Jeremy dead in the eye. It’s uncomfortable for both of them. Mick hates this. He hates it, he really, fucking hates this.
“I’m…” He starts speaking, only to lose it. His volume. His confidence. “I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m sorry.”
That smile Mick absolutely adores fades, and he feels his stomach churn in guilt. Jeremy nods. He just nods, takes the information, and turns to his other side, his back facing Mick.
They’ve never felt so far apart before, and they’ve lived away from each other for years after work. Here, in Jeremy’s bed together, they are uncomfortably, agonizingly distant.