Chapter Text
ATLAS HQ
Mitchells room
Shortly after finishing off Hades
Mitchell absently thumbed the metal seam of the socket where his prosthetic arm usually was attached. It was a late evening, and had just been maybe a day since he'd slit Hades' throat – and one of the attacks he'd recieved had rendered his prosthetic arm completely useless. He still remembers vividly from when they were in the warbird on the way back to HQ, the surges of pain from where his nerves connected to the prosthetics artificial nerves, and the uncontrollable twitching of his left hand, the synapses never quite reaching his hand right.
He remembered how Gideon had watched his tense, pained expression twitch each time pain surged through his arm, with a look of genuine concern in his own features. Mitchell had occasionally glanced over, and the british man had looked away just as fast. Each time it put a small smile on the americans face and a light flush of color across his ghostly pale cheeks. His captain cared for him, even though he hid it under his barking of orders and grumpy expression. Mitchell knew, though – the captains true feelings always shone through his eyes, the light gray-blue orbs betraying his facade. He'd seen how Gideon looked at everyone in his team – with the utmost care and love, as if they were all brothers (with the exception of Ilona.) What he never saw, though, was how Gideon looked at Mitchell just a second longer, patted his back just a bit softer.
Mitchell had always had, in a matter of personality, a very subtle air to him. He'd always been the same, though, ever since he was a child. He was mostly silent, obedient. Never questioned orders. He wasn't at all like Joker, with his quips at Gideon during missions.
He liked to think of himself as a good soldier.
At several occasions, he'd been compared to a puppy. When he'd ask why, he'd get answers like ”You're easy to read” ”You're always so honest”, and his personal favourite ”Your presence can lighten up an entire room.” The last one had actually come from Gideon, but at the time, he didn't make much of it. A soft, appreciative smile, and a nod before moving on with his day.
He was awoken from his thoughts by the light rapping of a knuckle against his door, and the voice of his captain was heard ”Oi, open up, mate.” He got up from his bed before walking over, trying his best to hide the ugly end of his arm behind his back. He felt self-concious about his prosthetic arm, and when the arm itself wasn't there, the feeling multiplied by a hundred. He slowly pushed the doorhandle down and pushed the door open, and there was Gideon, just like the voice had foreshadowed. ”...Good evening, captain.”
”No need to pull the formal crap with me now, Mitchell. Let me in, will ya?” his captain mutters, and Mitchell stepped aside to let Gideon inside his small room. It didn't have much – a bed, a desk with a chair, a window, a dresser. He'd been granted a recovery period of two weeks and a room of his own to be able to rest properly, due to the heavy damage he'd taken during the quarrel with Hades. He had several cracked ribs, a bad bruise covering most of his abdomen and lower body, and some bullet bruises (he'd been reckless during the mission at one point, and taken a shot or two to the lighter parts of his armor, and even though they didn't penetrate, the blunt trauma was enough to cause major bruising). And of course, the broken arm, because Hades had stabbed a knife into it, causing irreparable damage. At least he'd shanked the bastard, finally.
He closed the door when Gideon was inside, and went over to sit back down on his bed. Gideon shortly followed, the bed dipping and creaking a little under his weight.
”You look like shit, Mitchell.” he says suddenly, causing the younger man to scoff in amusement.
”Yeah. Finishing Hades off had a price.”
”So, how do you feel?”
He sighed a little, before taking off his shirt (with only a slight struggle, due to the lack of two hands.) The bruise across his toned abdomen was already turning dark blue and purple, along with irritated shades of red. The bruise, partially hidden under bandages over his lower ribs, disappeared under the hem of his pants, and the bruises from the bullets, both across his shoulder blades, was blooming like gruesome flowers from where the bullets had hit him. Add to that some cuts and scrapes, and of course, his missing arm, and you had something that definitely needed recovery time.
”Like I look, but five times worse.” he mumbles, self-conciously covering the socket on the end of his left arm with his right hand. He didn't like anyone seeing it, least of all his captain.
He glanced over to see Gideons disgusted expression.
”They really did a number on you. Fuck me, Mitchell, I'm sorry.” the british man muttered, and was that guilt in his eyes?
”Why are you apologizing, Gideon? It's not exactly your fault, you had other people, other things to tend to. I was just being reckless.”
The older man abruptly stood up, running a hand through his blond-black hair. He seemed frustrated, and Jack wondered if it was his fault. He flinched when Gideon turned back to face him.
”But it is my fault. You're on my team, you're my responsibility. This, and all the other deaths and injuries we had today, happened on my watch.” the man snapped. Mitchell reared back, leaning back on his right hand. ”Gideon, please-”
”You got hurt, because I didn't keep an eye on all of you. I was being absent.”
Mitchell slowly stood up from his bed, and made his way over to the distressed captain, gingerly placing his hand on the others shoulder. ”Gideon, listen to me, will you?” he says sternly, not backing down. He remained silent until Gideon turned his eyes to him, locking his gaze on Mitchells.
”You almost died yourself today. We lost some men today. We could've lost you too.” he begins. He knew he was hitting soft spots, seeing pain in Gideons hard expression, but he continued. ”You were stressed. You had a much bigger team to keep track of, and excess adrenaline. Noone blames you for anything that happened today. You did an amazing job, captain.” he finishes, slightly squeezing the shoulder beneath his hand. Gideon bit his lip.
”Somehow, it hurts me the most to see you like this. I feel like I failed as a captain, as a friend. You're alive, but you're suffering. And it's my fault.”
Mitchell sighed deeply, and pulled Gideon into an akward, one-armed hug.
”Goddammit, captain, you're the fucking reason I'm alive.” he mumbled, before burying his face into the brit's shoulder. He could feel the other man tense up. Mitchell nervously remained still, waiting for a response. A hug back, a gentle push away, a punch, he'd take anything.
And when he felt two arms wrap around him gingerly, mindful of his injuries, he felt extremely relieved. ”Thanks, Jack.” was mumbled somewhere by his ear. That was the first time Gideon had used his first name, and it made him feel ten times lighter. He liked how it sounded with that accent he'd grown so fond of. He closed his eyes and relaxed, allowing himself to finally feel at ease.
A few minutes later, they slowly let go of each other. The private let his arms drop, and he simply gazed at the british man for a second until he felt Gideon run his hand down his left arm, his gaze following his hand.
Mitchell flinched violently, backing away, hiding the end of his left arm with his right. He fell back onto the bed, still cradling his arm. ”D-don't touch it.” he mumbled shakily, the moment they'd had a few seconds ago gone. He stared down on the floor, and pulled his legs up onto the bed. He saw Gideon move, and after a moment the bed dipped. He felt a hand on his right shoulder.
”Oi, Jack, does it hurt? Is it something wrong with it? Should we get you to a nurse?” the british man mumbled with concern. He shook his head, eyes still trained on the floor. By now he'd started shaking, and and he squeezed the top part of his left arm with his right hand, so hard that his knuckles whitened.
”Mitchell, you're crying.” he heard, the voice accompanied by a thumb gently wiping tears away from his cheeks – he hadn't noticed he'd started crying in the first place.
”... I-I just hate it.” he mumbles, unvoluntarily sniffling. ”I hate it – I hate that I need that prosthetic. I hate that I didn't do more to save Will. I shouldn't have given him the charges, I should've planted them myself. I hate myself because I'm pathetic, I'm defect and broken, I lost everything that fucking day. I hate that I'm still even alive, because I don't know if I have anything to live for outside Atlas.” he finished his rant, voice getting shakier by each word he squeezed past his lips. ”I'm broken, Gideon, and without that stupid fucking prosthetic, I'm absolutely useless!” he said, before abruptly getting up from the bed, pacing around in the room, before punching a wall with all he had. Pain exploded from his knuckles, and he figured he probably cracked something, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He simply leaned his forehead on the wall, trying to calm down, but his clenched fist and grinding teeth showed the exact opposite.
”Hey, mate, calm down.” he heard from his side, and an arm laid around his shoulders, gently pulling at him. He turned his head toward Gideon, his eyes red-rimmed from crying, and Gideon had probably never seen anyone look so miserable. It stung in his heart to see his private like that.
Without a word, he grabbed the taller man by the shoulders and pulled him down into a hug, one arm around his shoulders, running his other hand through the dark brown hair. Mitchell stood frozen for a moment, his arms just hanging limply along his sides. The only movement that happened was the occasional sob, before he wrapped his arm around Gideon.
”Sorry.” he mumbled weakly, pressing his face into Gideons shoulder.
”It's okay, Mitchell. Nothing that happened is your fault, and arm or not, you're always useful. You should trust your captain more.” he says calmly, still running his fingers through the others hair. It always used to calm him down when he himself was younger, so he just hoped it would help on Mitchell. After a few moments, he slowly detached himself from the younger man, taking a hold of his shoulders, looking deep into his eyes.
”Get some rest, Jack. You're exhausted and you're in pain, you need to rest, recover. Soon you'll get a new arm, and I'll train you for a few days. Then you're out there again, okay? Hang in there, Jack.”
He gave Mitchell one of his rare, softer smiles, and the private wiped his face free from tears before smiling back. ”...Yeah. Thanks, Gideon. Sorry for getting all mushy on ya.”
”No problem. Now go the fuck to bed, I'll see you tomorrow. Don't miss breakfast.” his captain said as he moved towards the door.
”Wouldn't dream of it.” Mitchell responded, watching the door close. He just stood there and smiled for a moment, before pulling his shirt back on and getting into bed. He already felt better about the whole situation, and with a small smile on his face, he fell asleep.