Chapter Text
Mickey felt numb inside.
The last few weeks had felt unreal and like a lie. From the sudden illness declaration at the start of last month in his office to the quiet call a few days ago telling him he had to come quickly to the hospital, it was time.
And now afterwards, how was he supposed to go on? He didn’t know. He was having a hard enough time believing that now was an after. Let alone knowing what to do. People looked to him, toons, and humans alike, and Mickey just didn’t know. He wanted to scream at everyone, ‘What do you want from me? I don’t have answers! I don’t even know where to look!’
Outside of performing, the toon hadn't spoken, slept, or eaten in days. His friends, Minnie and Felicity had tried to comfort him. Not even Minnie’s attempts penetrated the deep grief that fogged his mind. While visiting Pa and Don in the studio shop, an Imagineer had told him that the grief had made him lose some of his colors. Mickey had stared at them until they’d got uncomfortable and left him alone.
Mickey just wanted to lie in bed and let the grief consume him. However, whenever he felt like that, someone toon or human, would come in and remind him he had work, or life goes on, or he was the face of a company. A company with no leader anymore. Work had somehow become more demanding since that day in the hospital. Yet he needed it. Work, while busier than usual, was a constant. It was something to rely on. It was dependable.
He wished he was there now. Instead, he sat in a lawyer's office. Since he was not at work, he simply stared numbly ahead. He didn’t smile, or frown, just stared ahead blankly. Emoting was difficult. Either side of him was... his family. They were listening to the will being read. Most of the things relating to the business had been read, as were the things relating to the humans.
While toons were allowed to be written into human wills now and no longer classed as dependents, they were still seen as lesser beings to humans and were often discussed last. Mickey was there to listen to the will reading regarding him. Nothing there was a surprise. Mickey and Da- his father had often discussed the plans in the event of his death, before and after the California Toons Rights Act.
Mickey started to zone back out after he heard the last thing on the will that he knew of on his mental checklist. He expected the lawyer would read the oath and go quickly through the progress of implementing his father’s estate. Then he’d let them go back to their grief.
“…I leave in the sole custody of Mickey,” The lawyer finished Clause 12c. Mickey leaned back, expecting the oath. The lawyer took a breath and continued, “Clause 13. Should he not pre-cease me, I also leave a gift of $107,000 to my second inherent issue toon, Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, hereby known simply as Oswald. Should he not be legally able to receive this gift, it shall be held in trust for him by my Trustees with an increase for inflation until such a time where he can legally obtain the said gift.”
“What!” Mickey asked, voice hoarse from not speaking in days. Oswald…? Who was this toon?
Second inherent issue toon … but that’s me? Mickey felt as though something had come crashing down on top of him. The tension in the room suddenly became so thick that it felt like the lawyer had sucked all the air out of it. Mickey felt jittery like he had drunk eight cups of coffee. He was aware he was shaking.
“What?” Mickey asked again, looking at his human family. He stood up. He was aware by now he was shaking violently “Who’s Oswald?”
Who is this rabbit? What was he to Dad? Did Pa know? Who is Oswald? Why is he in Dad’s will? Dad never mentioned any other creations except Julius and Pete! And they’ve been covered!
Mickey stared at his human family. They were either all avoiding his gaze or watching him with curiosity as though they were seeing how he was going to react. Only Diane seemed worried at how badly he was shaking. He then realized something, and Mickey thought he was going to throw up.
Mickey laughed hysterically and brought his hand to his face and ran his hand up his face. “Oh, Hot Dog…! You knew about this Oswald. Didn’t you?”
“Well, according to your creator—” The lawyer began.
“He was a toon that Walt and Ub created before you, Mickey,” Uncle Roy said. “Due to legal issues, Walt could not keep him. This… deeply affected him, and he never really recovered from losing Oswald. He made a point of never bringing him up if he could. He also made it clear that you were never to find out about him.”
“What! Why?” Mickey asked, trying not to lose his cool any more than he had.
“Because of how you’d react, dear,” Lilly said in a gentle voice.
“And Walt knew you’d have questions,” Roy added. “And Oswald was an immensely sore spot for him.”
“But he knew I’d probably be here when this…” Mickey trailed off. “Why didn’t he tell me when….?”
Mickey choked on the words when he was alive.
“I don’t know. You didn’t deserve to learn like this,” Lilly said softly. She reached up to his and grabbed a hand, and gently guided him back to his chair.
“W- why didn’t he tell me? What happened to him? Why is this the first I know of him? Where is he?” Mickey stammered. His thoughts raced in a circle like a train on a track.
“I don’t know Mick. Walt never mentioned him much to me either,” Roy said, sounding close to tears. He smiled, “But I did meet him a long time ago. You remind me of him. I think you’d have liked him.”
Mickey wanted to ask more questions. He wanted to scream and shout and demand to know the answers. He wanted to know everything about Oswald. Who was he? Where was he? He had caught the use of past tense from Roy and knew that he knew more than he’d admit. He also knew it wasn’t Uncle Roy he wanted answers from. He wanted them from Dad. He wanted to yell and ask if he had done something wrong.
However, Lilly’s hand was warm and calming on his. Mickey was also far too tired and distraught to sustain his bewilderment. His core hurt with grief and loss. Mickey felt like something had been taken from him when Dad had… Maybe it had. It was not uncommon or even unheard of. So, he sat there and let Lilly comfort him. He was tired and felt ill. There had always been something maternal about Lilly, even if she wasn’t his creator in any way. But at that moment, he needed her soothing calm.
The lawyer coughed and finished reading the will. He then talked with the family about the estate. Mickey blocked it all out.
While sitting there, Mickey turned this mystery over in his head. He needed to find out what happened to Oswald and who he was. Why had he been hidden from Mickey? Had it been something he had done? Something about that name… Oswald… it seemed familiar. It resonated with him. Oswald felt like someone Mickey should know. Mickey wondered if maybe deep down, he did know Oswald – he had just been forced to forget him. Something ached for this other creation… this toon he had never met.
By the time the meeting was over, Mickey had decided. He was going to find out who Oswald was, what happened to him, and bring him back if he could.
^O^ °O° `O’ °O°
After the meeting, Mickey took a valuation of himself. He decided that he was not fit to do anything in his state. He had canceled other meetings for that day and went to a diner for a solo lunch. Then, for the first time in days, gone to bed and slept. When he woke up, he had showered and applied some paint for the first time in days. He carefully applied paint to his hands under his gloves. After that, he had breakfast and took Pluto for a walk.
He felt far healthier than he had the day before. He still felt dreadful. Thinking of Dad was almost impossible. In contrast, it was almost difficult to not think about Oswald. He forced himself to think about the projects that he had awaiting him back at the office. They had let him come in, but he knew they had lightened his load. He needed to work; he needed the distraction from this. The grief just seemed unending and surrounded him. Like he was drowning in an inkwell of despair.
Mickey looked around him and felt ill. It felt wrong that it should be sunny and bright on a day like this. There were no leaves in the trees. Around him, other people, other toons, some even his colleagues, went on with their business. He was grieving and felt irritated that others could be happy. Even the breeze was pleasant and gently cooled his warm skin. Mickey wanted to scream.
Mickey walked for fifteen minutes. He had no direction, simply intent on walking Pluto. When he became aware again, he recognized where he was. He was on the outskirts of Toontown, on a large avenue. He looked up and saw a house like his own even the same colors although slightly muted. The key differences were that it was larger and built to be slightly more accessible.
Mickey felt nervous as he looked at that house. Mickey immediately felt a wave of guilt. He wondered if anyone had told his brother yet. Pa and Don had said they had announced it over the tannoy, shocking Pa.
Mickey’s movements as he turned on the path and walked towards the house were sluggish like he was wading through the metaphorical swamp of guilt that he felt. He stepped up towards the front door. He raised his hand and paused for only a moment before knocking.
Henrietta, his brother’s housekeeper, came to the door a moment later. Her grey eyes widened when she saw who was at the door and then softened with sympathy.
“Oh! Hi Mickey. He’s just had his coffee. I will ask if he wants to see you,” Henrietta said. She turned and walked to the living room.
“Henrietta, does… does he know?” Mickey asked.
Henrietta stopped and looked at Mickey with those pitying eyes. “Yes, Mr. Disney… Mr. Roy Disney came around a few days ago and told him. He came to the funeral, but stayed to the back so that he wouldn’t be forced to you know...”
Mickey nodded, understanding why his brother would want to stay away from the noise, “I’m sorry. It should have been me.”
“Now don’t let him hear you speaking like that. You’ve been through a lot these last few months,” Henrietta said. She then walked into the living room, closed the door, and had a conversation with Julius.
Mickey stood in the hallway. He shifted from foot to foot, feeling tired. Pluto whined and butted his head under his hand. Mickey smiled and petted the dog. He hadn’t been completely alone. His loyal dog was still here.
After five minutes, Henrietta came out of the room and smiled at Mickey, and nodded. He nodded in return.
Mickey walked into the room, keeping his pose as neutral as possible. Julius had once brokenly explained it was easier for him that way.
What always surprised him about his brother’s house, was how nicely decorated it was. He seemed to understand how to make his house appear timeless and yet modern. He had a skill for lighting things and placing things in a way that told a story, which would normally be a talking point, but was so simple to understand no talking was required. Which suited Julius with his disabilities.
There were a series of photographs on the wall. The current collection told their history. The first was the original Laugh-O-Grams studios in Kansas City, with several artists including Dad and Pa. Next, was a photo of Dad on the train. The next was taken in the Hyperion studio with the initial Artists and workers including Pa. After that was a photo of the 1927 team. Then, a photograph of Pa, Dad, Julius, and Mickey not long after Mickey was created. Then, one of Dad, Julius, a nervous Felicity, and Mickey in the 1930s. Lastly, a photo from the 40s of Julius, Felicity, and Mickey sitting on some tech Pa had been developing, while Pa and Dad looked at some paperwork in the background. Mickey looked at the 1927 photograph and wondered if Julius had taken any photos of him and Oswald.
Mickey looked away and saw Julius. Julius was lying on his stomach on the floor. In front of him was an art book and several sheets of paper. He seemed to be sketching. He was wearing a pair of yellow overalls. Dad had designed them for him after Julius’ complained that Mickey had shorts. Mickey idly wondered if Oswald had shorts or overalls.
“Hiya Pal,” Mickey said to Julius as he entered.
“Hiya Pal,” Julius echoed back at him in Mickey’s own voice. He then smiled sadly at Mickey. He then cocked his head to the side, his sign he was trying to work out how to communicate something, and said in a broken amalgamation of voices, “You’re here. …I didn’t expect you.”
Mickey walked over and sat on the floor next to him.
“Whatcha doin’?” Mickey asked.
“Whatcha doin’?” Julius echoed back. He pointed at the paper and mimed sketching with his hand. Mickey looked at it and saw it was a drawing of Julius’ former co-star Virginia Davis. It was a very impressive sketch with nice shading.
Mickey smiled wildly at him and gave him a thumbs-up with his left hand. Julius copied his actions perfectly, before frowning. He cocked his head to the side. He then asked in a younger version of Pa’s voice, “How are you… Mickey?”
Mickey went quiet. He had no idea how to respond to that. He was feeling so many things and yet felt numb. His thoughts flew around in a chaotic tornado, but when Mickey tried to organize them, he wanted to throw up like he was on a rollercoaster. He had been so busy, but at the same time, Mickey felt all the work had done was break up the monotony of trying not to think about… Now, there was Oswald, and Mickey felt guilty, he felt he should be thinking about Dad. However, when he did, Mickey felt angry… but it all seemed unreal. As though he’d walk into work tomorrow to smell that particular cigarette smoke. That Oswald was nothing… but he didn’t want that. His brain wanted to know who Oswald was.
“I’ve been busy…” Mickey said, unable to stare at his older… oldest brother?
“I’ve been busy,” Julius echoed. He paused, “Mickey…”
Mickey looked at Julius. He felt tears in his eyes. He shook his head.
“I will be ok Jools,” Mickey said softly. He didn’t want to worry his brother.
“I will be ok Jools?” Julius echoed, forcing his voice to rise slightly to indicate a question. He cocked his head to a side, “Mickey… You look… unwell.”
“It’s alright,” Mickey reassured him, not wanting Julius to worry. That would make him feel bad. Mickey added quickly, “How’ve you been?”
“…right. How’ve you been?”
Julius paused for the longest time. Mickey started to get worried. When Julius spoke, it was initially in other voices, but with the last two words he spoke in his own voice. It was a voice that Mickey rarely heard. He had only heard it enough times, that he could count each time on one hand. It was Julius’ own voice. His own voice was quiet and soft-spoken, it had a child-like quality but still sounded older and wise to Mickey. “…Scared …Angry …Shocked …Sad …Lonely.”
“I’m sorry Pal. I should have been here for you,” Mickey said, sadly looking at the drawing. He wondered if Julius’ old co-stars had reached out to him.
He knew Pete had; he had told him as much. Despite their antagonistic relationship on screen, neither Julius nor Mickey had any bad blood with Pete. It was simply acting. He was another of Pa and Dad’s creations, who simply defined his relationship with them all differently. Mickey and Julius simply called him their cousin.
Mickey wondered if Oswald knew. He wondered if had he heard in the same impersonal way Pa had and realized what they had lost. Did he even care? Did he think that he had been abandoned and… his loss had turned to loathing? Did Oswald have someone he could turn to in his grief? Someone who supported him. Or had been grieving, bound to silence by contracts and rival studios?
Mickey was snapped out of his thoughts, by the sound of Dad’s voice. It took Mickey a bewildered, hopeful moment, to realize it was Julius. His face fell, and he looked away upset.
“We’re going to be ok if we stick together… This grief is easier to face with your… little… brother. He is not gone, not really, but we can’t go back, and we need to stick together and care for each other,” Julius echoed, looking lost in thoughts. “There’s a lot of work that must be done.”
Mickey stared at Julius. It was a surprisingly in-depth statement, and before yesterday Mickey would have assumed that Dad said this to Julius in the aftermath of Pa leaving the company in 1930. However, something about the exact word choices gave Mickey pause.
“He said that when he left Oswald, didn’t he?” Mickey said, voice shaking. He then said, “You knew him.”
Julius looked at Mickey shocked, as he echoed Mickey’s words back at him. Mickey saw the tears and guilt in his eyes as he spoke. Eventually, he nodded, tearily. He added in Pa’s voice and then Mickey’s, “I know… You know?”
Mickey sat there dumbfounded for a moment. Julius knew? And he had never told him? Had Dad thought Mickey was just good for business? Why did Julius know but not Mickey? The kernels of hurt and grief quickly turned to anger.
“Well, now I know!” Mickey said upset.
Julius echoed him, and added again in Dad’s voice, “We need to stick together and care for each other… You do not look ok.”
“I am. It’s just… I am thinking about work,” Mickey said, the anger rising inside him.
“…thinking about work… I think you should calm down… You should take time off. You look—”
“I can’t,” Mickey said, voice breaking. Then on autopilot, not considering that he was talking to his brother. It didn’t occur to him what Julius would force him to do. His tone became harsher. “Dad would hate it if I rested. There’s so much work that needs to be done. The company is now my responsibility. You won’t understand. Dad expects me to do better than you. I can’t be less than perfect. Anything I do is a reflection on me and a reflection on us and the company. Did you know in the parks they treat me like I am Dad or Dad’s Park Avatar?! I can’t be less than perfect! I can’t rest! I don’t have the luxury of staying out of the spotlight! I need to be perfect! Dad expects perfection! I can’t stop working or I will fail Dad! And I fail Dad, the company tanks, and it’s not like I am replaceable.”
Mickey heard buzzing as he fell silent. He felt a white cold rage inside him, flavored with fear. His father had lied to him his entire life about a brother he had never met. Mickey felt betrayed. It was a brother he had replaced. Had Dad not told him because if Mickey slipped up that’s what would happen to him? He realized what he had said. I must be perfect, or they’ll replace me. Like how he replaced Julius and Oswald. Mickey realized whether he knew it or not, his fear that he was never going to be good enough had gotten far worse since the day before. If he was not perfect, then he would have failed his creator.
Mickey slowly became aware the buzzing was not in his head, but actually, his brother repeating back what he had said. Each word felt like an unfair hammer blow. Mickey felt awful, he had snapped at his brother.
Mickey looked at Julius. Horrified, he watched as his brother was forced to echo back all the unfair and terrifying things he had just said. Julius looked alarmed and a little afraid as he spoke. Mickey felt the guilt pile up in his stomach. He had scared his brother.
“Julius, Jools, I am so so sorry. I-I didn’t mean to. You’ve got very specific reasons for why you avoid the spotlight,” Mickey tried to appease him, looking upset. He flapped his hands at his brother trying anything to help.
Julius curled in on himself. He wrapped his arms around his midriff protectively. He looked scared and uncertain. There was however another look there, which Mickey realized slowly was anger. When he looked at Mickey, Mickey expected to see anger in his dark blue eyes. However, he was surprised to see that Julius looked at him with a surprising amount of worry. Julius was angry, but not with him.
“Mickey,” Julius said in Dad’s voice. He added, “You need to calm down.”
He then echoed back at Mickey in his over frantic voice, “I can’t be less than perfect! I can’t rest! I can’t stop working or I will fail Dad!”
Mickey flinched.
Julius continued in Dad’s voice, “I love you, boys.”
Julius repeated Mickey’s worries again and then Dad’s affirmation. Then again, and again.
Mickey scrambled to his feet and backed away now the scared one himself. Julius copied him and stepped towards him. He kept repeating the phrases over and over. The mantra began to feel mocking. Mickey began to feel boxed in.
Mickey knew now if he didn’t perform to optimal standards, he could have been replaced. Ergo, he had to be the perfect toon, the perfect entertainer.
“I can’t,” he said quietly.
Julius echoed him, and it seemed to invigorate him further.
Henrietta ran in seconds later. She immediately began calming Julius, telling him everything was ok. She tried pulling him away from Mickey, but Julius fought her. Mickey at this point was pressed against a wall.
Henrietta looked at Mickey, “I think you should leave.”
“Yep,” Mickey said. He didn’t think twice, before running into the entranceway. He called Pluto and the two of them sprinted from the house like the devil was on his heels. Only when he was outside and down the drive, did Mickey turn back to look at the house.
Julius looked at him from his living room window, and Mickey could tell that he was disappointed in him.
Mickey had all but run home, Pluto on his heels.
He had organized to meet up and spend time with Minnie and their friends. He knew that all of them wanted to comfort him and reassure him. However, after the talk with Julius, that was the last thing Mickey wanted to do. He was already getting sick of condolences and comfort. Part of Mickey was scared that if he was with them, he’d lash out at them too.
He quickly telephoned Goofy, Donald, and Minnie, claiming he felt ill. Then, he lay on his couch staring at his ceiling.
An hour later there was a knock on his door. Pluto immediately ran to the door and began whining and scratching it. Mickey ignored it until he heard Minnie calling him, telling him she knew he was in there. Mickey rolled off his couch and stood up.
Mickey rubbed his face, feeling ill. He then let his wife in. He knew he looked a mess. He still looked very tired. His hair had started to stick up in odd directions. He flattened his hair and went to the door.
On the other side was Minnie. She was in her nicest polka-dot skirt and was wearing her matching bow and bag. She smelled of roses and even had makeup on. She looked the image of perfection, except for the worry in her eyes.
“Mickey?” Minnie stepped towards him, into the house.
“Hi,” He croaked.
“Mickey, what’s wrong?” She caught his hands with her. He felt her hand grip his left hand tightly.
Mickey paused. He said softly, “I don’t want to snap at you.”
“You won’t,” Minnie said gently. “I know you.”
She guided him to the sofa. Slowly, without saying a word, simply sitting next to him she got him to open up. She sat and listened. When he faltered, she let him finish. She smoothed over the fur on his ears and head when he began to cry. When he was done, she sat with him. She very carefully told him he should apologize to Julius. Mickey agreed, and she promised to come with him the next day.
They fell into a thoughtful silence. Mickey glanced at her and saw the low afternoon sun reflecting off her face.
“This… makes sense,” Minnie said eventually. “Too much sense.”
“What?” Mickey asked.
“It doesn’t happen a lot anymore,” Minnie said slowly. “But it happened a lot when we were new. We’d get that horrible feeling doing certain gags. It was like déjà vu.”
“Yeah,” Mickey said. “Gosh, I don’t think I have felt them in about a decade.”
“What if… that was us… doing his jokes, Oswald’s jokes?” Minnie looked at Mickey wide-eyed, horror written on her face.
Mickey swallowed feeling slightly spooked. “Maybe…? Maybe he had a girlfriend too, or something?”
“…Or Something,” Minnie agreed.
She shrank in on herself, looking disturbed. Mickey reached out and pulled her close. He rested her head under his chin. He held her tight, stroking her black fur. He promised himself he would fight tooth and nail before something, or someone happened to Minnie. Not that she couldn’t fight herself, but the idea of losing his wife terrified him.
There was another long pause before Mickey spoke again. “Do… Do you remember anything else? From the first few months?”
Mickey had a hard time remembering much before Steamboat Willie had been drawn. Minnie had a better time remembering the first few months, due to the much more blatant sexism at the time seeing Minnie only as a controlling girlfriend. She had, like Mickey, evolved a lot from those days. Most of the time, Minnie disliked her first very one-dimensional design. However, sometimes, like that moment, it had some perks.
“No… not real… Hmm…” Minnie trailed off. She pauses. Mickey could see she was slowly realizing something. “I remember I once saw Walt sneaking a toon, who I always thought was you, back into the studio. I asked Les about it, and he said that he’d explain again. He never did.”
Mickey watched her. “You think that was him? Oswald?”
“I… Maybe… Do you know what he looked like?” Minnie asked.
Mickey shook his head, “Us. I assumed.”
Minnie looked up at him, “Oswald is important to you, isn’t he?”
“He’s my family, Min,” Mickey said. “I keep feeling like our family is getting smaller. It would be nice to add to it for a change.”
Minnie raised a brow, looking unimpressed.
“Not like tha-at. I’m not ready for that,” Mickey flushed. He and Minnie had discussed having children. Neither of them was ready.
Minnie looked away, cheeks going a little bit pink. Eventually, she regained her composure, “To find him, you’re going to need proof. What he looks like would be a start.”
“But how? I doubt I can put a personal ad ‘Looking for long lost toon brother’,” Mickey said.
“Could you ask U--?” Minnie began.
“I would rather not. He’s usually mum about topics like this. Also, he’s been quite upset since…” Mickey trailed off.
“Ok,” Minnie said gently. She looked at his wall. “We’re going to need someone who will talk and who knew Oswald. You’re going to want the whole story.”
“I… Thank you,” Mickey said looking down at her. He really had the most wonderful wife.
She had moved on the sofa so that she was leaning against his shoulder. He could feel her hand stroking his ears. She looked back up at him, and he marveled that somehow her dark blue eyes glistened like sapphires. She reached over with her spare hand and caught his.
“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” Minnie said softly.
“I love you,” Mickey said after a moment. He then asked quietly, “Stay with me tonight, Min?”
“Of course,” she said. She looked at him, “Perhaps I can help you feel more like yourself? I could apply paint to your hand?”
Mickey held up his right gloved hand and frowned. He had applied paint earlier that day, but he was never as thorough as his family at applying paint. He hadn’t felt much in that hand for a while now. He was starting to believe he ever would again.
“I would like that,” he said sadly.
Minnie reached over and gently removed the white glove, and winced.
A large light blue scar was across the center of the black four-fingered hand. It went completely through his hand and was so large it covered the majority of it. The edges looked like Lichtenstein scarring, jagged lines going up his fingers. The paint around the scar was dry and cracked, as though it had been burned. It hadn’t always looked like that, when he had been a child it had been a lot smaller, and it didn’t feel so numb. The scar had slowly lightened as Mickey had gotten older, losing more and more color. Now the blue was so pale it could almost be translucent. It wasn’t a solid color either, having the effect of it constantly swirling and moving.
Mickey grimaced, he didn’t like looking at his hand. Perhaps due to the fact, the scar seemed to be constantly changing. He was scared some mornings that he’d take off his glove and there would be nothing there at all. He had voiced this once to his creators, who had looked at each other with fear and a look of devastation. They had comforted Mickey, but Mickey had never brought that fear up again.
Mickey’s scar was one of the best-kept secrets in Disney. It would not do if their competitors found out their beloved mascot’s hand was mutilated. As far as Mickey knew, less than ten people were aware of it.
Mickey knew that the scar had come from an accident during Mickey’s first six months. He had asked both his creators, both had refused to tell him further information, only looking at him guiltily. Both Dad and Pa would check on his scar every so often.
“It looks painful,” Minnie said softly.
“I can’t feel anything,” Mickey admitted.
Minnie raised his palm to her lips and kissed it. He moved the hand, so he was cradling her cheek. It looked like an insult next to her perfect face.
They stayed like that for a while on the sofa before Minnie stood up. She held out a hand. “Come on, I apply some paint, then make us some vegetable soup.”
Mickey smiled up at his lovely wife. During their talk, he had slowly started to feel tired from the events and emotions of the last few days.
He took her hand.
‘O` °O° `O’ °O°