That was the first problem. Somebody recognized the name and of course there wasn't any positive association. His father had never been any good at making friends. Hell, his father had never been any good.
It might not have been so bad if that had been the end of it. If Leonard knew how to keep his head down or how to take a punch or an insult without fighting back. If he even just knew how to keep his mouth shut when he had a thought that was a bit too smart and sure to get under someone's skin. But whatever lesson's his father had thought he'd instilled in him, the only one that had truly stuck was that it didn't matter what the consequences were. Pain, a beating, six against one when he knew he was a runt by comparison and that at least one of them had a knife?
So what.
He thought he'd die. That was when fear hit, not a moment sooner. Because if he died here, what about Lisa? He'd failed his baby sister enough just by being locked up here, but if he never got out, it was all on him. It was too late by then. His back against the wall - literally - barely able to stand and one eye swelling shut.
"How about you beg, Snart?"
There was his one shimmer of hope. He waved goodbye to it. "How about you keep on dreaming?"
Mick's old man was a lot of things, but a professional criminal wasn't one. The things he learned about the name 'Snart' began and ended with the runty little brat that strolled onto the block looking like it was all beneath him. As far as conflicts went, the only better way to ask for one was to come in at the other side of the spectrum and act as weak as his small body suggested. Juvie was training wheels for prison in a lot of ways, but in some ways, it was worse. Reputation was everything here, not on a practical level but a spiritual one. Many teens lacked the concept of consequences.
Sometimes that just meant that you got a beating because the budding Alpha felt the need to establish their dominance. Sometimes, though, it meant a deadly and wholly unnecessary escalation.
When Snart first arrived in juvie, Mick had watched him take his beating along with the other boys and thought it was just a nail being hammered into place. He'd only been there a few months, but it was something he'd already come to accept as being expected. The thing was, though, the beatings didn't stop coming because Snart never learned how to stop rubbing people the wrong way. Every invitation to a verbal match was accepted by the scrawny punk and, while he proved himself adept in that arena, it always inevitably lead to a fling of fists and a trip to the infirmary.
Mick had gone through various stages of watching him, from entertained to annoyed to purely gobsmacked at the unending gall. Mostly there was just a voice in the back of his head that told him it was none of his damn business, that he didn't need to make any trouble for himself when there was absolutely nothing to be gained. And up until now? That sort of reasoning had kept his teeth gritted shut and his fists to himself no matter how tight his skin got.
But here was the thing about being impulsive and having a temper – you didn't always get the chance to think. One day Mick is on his way through the yard and gets cut off by the Alpha and his pack taking Snart on another Hell tour. Maybe the breeze blew just right. Maybe it was just too hot. Maybe the glint of the sun off of the shiv hits some nerve located at the back of Mick's eyes. Whatever it is, it's the breaking point.
He's not thinking when he reaches out and snatches the Alpha by the crook of the arm that brandishes the shank, isn't listening to any of the banter, though registers how it cuts off mid-way into Mick wrenching the other boy around. Damn, does it feel good to put his fist right into that annoying bastard's face, though, to watch his eyes widen in shock. It feels so good, in fact, that Mick has to help himself to another. It earns him a scream and an eruption of blood from his opponent's nose, flecking his face.
And then, all too soon, the boy's legs fall right from under him and he folds like an accordion on the ground. That's alright, though, because there are five left for Mick to throw himself on. Suddenly, no one is paying attention to Snart's smart mouth; turns out there were bigger threats to be found after all.
Of course Len recognized Mick. He even knew his name, if only in passing. He was nothing if not thorough in his observation of people and Mick was just interesting enough to warrant getting that information. An outlier to some extend, hidden depths, he could always tell. Not that he'd ever expected that to matter much, because nothing in the teen's behaviour had ever suggested that he'd even consider doing something like this.
Leonard's father taught lessons. Not showing emotions, never showing weakness. No tears under any circumstances and always just looking out for yourself. Now here was Mick Rory, breaking two of those rules for no reason Leonard could figure out.
There really wasn't much he could do other than watch, because he'd already been thoroughly beaten at this point, tasting blood and keeping a hand against the wall to make sure he wouldn't fall over. But Mick fought like a demon, something feral and animalistic and all Len could do was watch, confusion and admiration growing in equal measures. It wasn't until they were down or had retreated, safe for one, that he considered speaking up again.
Why safe for one? Well, that was because Mick had that one pinned to the ground, clearly close to passing out. Yet Mick showed no sign of stopping and if he didn't say anything, he'd kill the boy. Which wasn't something that bothered Leonard much, but for whatever insane reason, Mick had done this for him and he didn't want him to have a pointless murder on his record. So he tried to intervene, fruitless as he expected it to be.
"Mick." That came out a bit weak. Leonard cleared his throat, calling out a lot louder. "Mick!" They had never talked, but here he was, trying to get through to him. "It's fine. It's over. Leave it."
Mick had been in a lot of fights over the course of his life so far, but it was rare he got into this sort of single-minded ferocity and it'd never been over anyone else but himself before. Hearing his name barked at him is a bit like splashing cold water over him – his head snaps up to look at Leonard with wide, bright green eyes, jaw hanging a little. It's as if he's noticing the other boy for the first time, or waking up from a daze. Broken out of his spell, the blonde boy begins to quake a little.
He feels feverish and dizzy. The world has swept back in and all the noise, the screaming of the boys in the rest of the yard, no longer acts as a soundtrack anymore. No one calls him Mick here, not even the few people he's gotten along with enough to play cards and eat beside at lunch.
His more recognized moniker – Rory – snaps over the din by the guards sprinting towards the scene. Unwisely, he begins to stand only to have his feet swept out from under him by a CO, who throws him bodily up against the wall near Leonard. At least there he goes limp, lips pressed into a thin line as he's interrogated. What the hell is going on? Why were you fighting? Whose shank is this?
He stays silent, eyes rolling shut as he pants to regain some of his breath. Since Leonard seems to be the only coherent one, he's asked the same questions. What the hell happened, Snart? Whose shank is this?
Now, Leonard most definitely had a smart mouth, but he wasn't an idiot. Smart remarks, those he could do all day, but actually giving names? Not done. He wasn't about to bend down to any kid's dominance, but he also wasn't going to turn anyone over to an even higher authority. Not how he played. He knew nothing and saw nothing and if he had to play a little confused to get away with that, he could. His thoughts are more on Mick than this futile conversation, which did fuel the one thing he did want to say.
"He helped me." Mick Rory had just saved his life. He didn't like the thought of a debt like that, but now it existed nonetheless. "Mick helped me." Against whom, he didn't say, but at least this got Mick off with a warning rather than any actual punishment.
There they were now, various people licking their wounds, the atmosphere tense but with more attention on them, no fight could just break out again. Leonard had his arms loosely crossed as he stepped up to Mick Rory, eyes on him warily. "Nothing in it for you. So why?"
With that sort of response, the guards had more important things to worry about: namely, making calls to other COs over the radio and picking up the fallen to haul them off towards the infirmary. Mick was let go, but he didn't imagine for a moment that the matter was settled and that he was off the hook. Someone would be around later to ask him some more questions... until then, he had some time.
At least from the guards. Mick's eyes narrow down on Snart's blues ( well, the one that isn't almost swollen shut ) as the younger boy makes his own interrogation. In response, his lips take on a delicate frown; if he'd just stuck his lip out a little more it'd be a full on pout. It's not more than a second before Mirk averts his gaze and side-steps Leonard, letting his longer legs be his asset in this instance as he walks away, back towards the compound.
Unfortunately for Mick, without enough COs to do proper crowd control just yet, rec time was being extended by at least a few minutes.
His eyes narrowed. Well. His eye narrowed, the other one was pretty much narrowed by necessity and just about swollen shut. He wiped his face with the end of his sleeve, as if that would make him look any less beaten. Only then did he follow behind Mick, with as much of a casual stroll as he could manage. It wasn't really one, given he was limping, but worth a try. There were too many eyes on him, but that was a constant here. He didn't ever want to be used to that, so it still made his skin crawl.
It was only when he reached Mick's side that he realized that he actually didn't know what to say. He shouldn't even have followed him, he had done this for whatever reason and if this was the end of it, it was the end of it. He certainly didn't need to encourage the man to believe he was in his debt. But here he was, having run after him like a puppy.
That's what it was. Leonard sat by the table and leaning back against the wall, legs crossed and one hand playing with his almost empty glass. His eyes were trained on Mick and the woman that had pretty much draped herself over his partner's lap. It wasn't as if he could blame her, Mick clearly wasn't discouraging it.
Which was annoying.
He wasn't jealous, that'd be ridiculous. He knew Mick didn't care about that woman, Mick didn't really care about anyone other than him, so why would he be jealous? Annoyed, though, that was another matter. Because Mick had dragged him out here and he hadn't come along so he could watch his partner grope someone else.
"Are we done here soon? Because I'm getting bored." And annoyed.
He hadn't exactly planned on pulling anyone tonight, but sometimes you just got lucky. Why was it so often in conjunction with a friend or significant counterpart?
Leonard should know that any higher brain functions Mick possesses stops very short of a skinny little 20-something crawling into his lap. She's skinny, leggy, and she wants him. He generally prefers women with more of a rack on them, but she loops her arms around his neck like she belongs just there. She isn't afraid, where most sensible good girls would be.
He can't help paying her some attention.
"Go on."
Mick digs in his pocket and tosses the keys on the table between them. She's more obvious than Leonard will ever be, ever so casually working his jawline like he's the only man in the world.
Even in his thoughts, this was lacking emphasis. Seriously?!
Leonard picked the keys up and very seriously considered throwing them at Mick's dumb face. He knew he shouldn't have come out tonight, clearly that had been a bad decision. He hated it enough when he didn't figure out what Mick had been up to until after the fact, but now he had to actually be there for the foreplay too?
It was on. Leonard leaned forward, the keyring around one finger as he looked at Mick. "Did you get your dick checked out yet or is it still itching?"
Mature. But, hey, the girl stopped her licking for now.
It'd have certainly been a statement, to have the keys thrown in his face. But it'd have taken some passion, too. Leonard attracts some filming, but it's some low-budget curious hovering, for now.
She hears it, as Mick does. His expression flags a good bit, lips parting in brief incredulity.
"Hey man, I just made some shit up for you so you wouldn't be so embarrassed about your deal." Mick glances towards the woman in his lap now, how she's eying him so very dubiously.
Sure, it would have been a statement, but Leonard had his doubts about the success and - more importantly - this worked much better with a lot less effort. He rolled his eyes at Mick's frankly just poor try of a cover and tapped the key against the table. "I keep clean actually. Helps that I don't go for everything that blows my way."
Leonard bristled when Mick grabbed for him, although it was of course a predictable reaction. However, nothing hides his smugness, because as far as he was concerned, this had gone well. Girl was gone and would stay gone, not as if Mick throwing a tantrum would help his case there. "What's wrong with me? You're the one dragging me out so I can watch you get an impromptu lap-dance from someone barely above being jail-bait."
That was right, he thought himself very much in the right here.
Breaking Mick out of prison had been a routine job at this point. Just half an hour later and there they were, stuck in Central City traffic and not even worried that anyone was going to catch on to them. Leonard had his feet against the dashboard, head resting against the window. He glanced at Mick every now and then, but for the most part his attention was on his phone. He was texting.
"Do they have any better food in the can these days or do you want to stop at the next drive through?"
His eyes were already back on the phone, a smile lighting up his face when he read the message he'd just received. However, he lowered his hand to turn to Mick fully, raising his eyebrows.
Iron Heights was almost more a home to Mick than anywhere else by now, but that didn't mean he didn't enjoy his time away. After a time the predictability of prison diverged away from comfort and into drudgery, especially when he was on his own. Fortunately, his old pal must have felt something similar and inspired himself to come up with a new way to make fools of the penal system. Or maybe he just needed a new project.
Whatever the reason, Mick was enjoying the taste of fresh air and the thrum of adrenaline in his veins. One arm rests on the frame of the open car window while the other taps his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. It wasn't that he was scared of being caught so much as he wanted to let the horses on the engine run; fortunately, it didn't look like he was going to be breaking any speed limits any time soon. It was pissing him off... and wasn't anything to do with the attention and smiles Leonard was giving to his phone.
But his partner knowingly or unknowingly says just what he needs to hear to get his mind on something a little less reckless.
"Heh. You can count on me." Even if Mick wasn't always hungry, he could almost always eat. It came with the territory of being such a big bastard. Right now, he was famished. Seeing the fat chef of the Big Belly logo in the distance makes his mouth water, and he drives towards it.
"Who's that, Lisa?" He wonders like an afterthought, nodding to the phone in Leonard's lap.
"My treat." Obviously, given Mick was fresh from prison and Leonard had made sure to provide clothes and get his items of value, but it wasn't as if they could hit an ATM just yet. He shifted a little, angling one leg so he could rest his ankle on his thigh instead, once more folded up in a way that didn't really look comfortable, but that he somehow managed to make look as if he was posing anyway. It wasn't so much a talent as a curse most of the time, but given his profession, he'd be a liar to deny not profiting from being commonly seen as attractive.
"No. Lisa's busy somewhere, won't give me details. Says she's well." The usual. He'd have to check on her eventually, but too much control and it just backfired with her. "It's a friend of mine." Ah, wrong word choice. Friend. Should have known better. Whatever. "Someone I know."
Mick hums something like gratitude, despite the fact Len was his only source of credit at the moment. He ramps the car up and wheels it into the Big Belly line.
That Lisa is vague gives him no sort of concern. Ever since she was into her teenage years, Lisa liked her independence. That didn't mean Mick and Leonard didn't use all their resources to check in on her, but it'd always given her some image of freedom when they didn't make it obvious, as it would now. If they really wanted it, the two of them had the sort of connections to pinpoint Lisa exactly. Fortunately, it was beyond the point of them worrying for the most part.
Which made Leonard's odd behavior all the more suspect. Mick doesn't immediately interrogate him, but he certainly takes into account the special consideration to his phone that isn't his sister.
"The usual. Extra ice in the drink and large fries." Leonard put the phone down and watched as Mick made the order, adjusting himself in the seat until he came a little closer to sitting properly. He planned on eating and drinking after all, typically not things accomplished that well when horizontal. Holding his wallet out to Mick with one hand, his phone vibrated again and Leonard looked down once more, smiling to himself. Must have been a nice message.
Leonard knows exactly how late it is. His inner clock never really stops and even if it would, the ticking of the actual clock on the wall would remind him. He isn't especially inclined to care right now, however, eyes narrowed as he measures something on the blueprint in front of him, glancing at his notes.
There's a bottle of beer not that far from him, but he's pretty sure it's been standing open for several hours now. Not that he's thirsty and, anyway, it's getting to be time for breakfast, just judging by the dawn creeping in through the windows.
Mick isn't really counting, at least not to the point that he even glances at the open bottle on the table now. He knows it's been a while since he last saw Leonard do anything remotely demonstrable when it came to being a person. It's starting to unnerve their hire-ons a little bit.
What Mick does isn't on the beat of time. He pulls Leonard free of the clock and all the maps by the waist, a hard mouth pressing against the nape of a neck.
"Don't need one." So he doesn't really see why he should take one. He's not very appreciative of Mick pulling him away when he's in the middle of things, so it's not that surprising that he puts a hand on his chest to push him back. "Come on. Leave it." Leave him, that is. He wants to get this done and being interrupted in the middle of it really isn't helping. Neither is a mouth on his neck. Frankly, that's just rude.
"No." It's simple, a hand pulling at the cloth rimming a shoulder, sinking blunt teeth into a pale swath of skin. He sinks into Leonard bit by bit; relatively soft, then a powerful presence. Mick marks him by degrees; he doesn't want anyone else to know Leonard hasn't been here, but he's still not willing to let the man go just yet.
Strong arms wind around what Mick sees as his counterpart.
"Where are you going?" He challenges the push of Leonard's mind against him, pressing the significant weight of his own body against his counterpart. "You're not done. And no one needs you to be."
His eyes close for just a few moments when Mick bites his shoulder and that is a mistake, because it means barely suppressing a sound and having to brace himself against giving in. He's not a man guided by emotions, but every now and then he can't deny he has them. Emotions as well as desires. He exhales through his nose, focusing on his annoyance. Easier to keep a handle on. "You're being a big help."
Something else that holds steady. Sarcasm.
He breathes in and considers, finally settling on a compromise, better known as a lie. "Give me a minute. Almost done."
Mick grunts, as if doing his considering, warm breath washing over the indentation of his teeth in Leonard's skin. Then the moment passes and his arms tighten around Leonard, allowing him to pick the younger man clear of the floor. If he won't be moved by reason or temptation, then force is the last resort. Not that Mick is disappointed in the least.
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"It was my first day in juvie."
That was the first problem. Somebody recognized the name and of course there wasn't any positive association. His father had never been any good at making friends. Hell, his father had never been any good.
It might not have been so bad if that had been the end of it. If Leonard knew how to keep his head down or how to take a punch or an insult without fighting back. If he even just knew how to keep his mouth shut when he had a thought that was a bit too smart and sure to get under someone's skin. But whatever lesson's his father had thought he'd instilled in him, the only one that had truly stuck was that it didn't matter what the consequences were. Pain, a beating, six against one when he knew he was a runt by comparison and that at least one of them had a knife?
So what.
He thought he'd die. That was when fear hit, not a moment sooner. Because if he died here, what about Lisa? He'd failed his baby sister enough just by being locked up here, but if he never got out, it was all on him. It was too late by then. His back against the wall - literally - barely able to stand and one eye swelling shut.
"How about you beg, Snart?"
There was his one shimmer of hope. He waved goodbye to it. "How about you keep on dreaming?"
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Sometimes that just meant that you got a beating because the budding Alpha felt the need to establish their dominance. Sometimes, though, it meant a deadly and wholly unnecessary escalation.
When Snart first arrived in juvie, Mick had watched him take his beating along with the other boys and thought it was just a nail being hammered into place. He'd only been there a few months, but it was something he'd already come to accept as being expected. The thing was, though, the beatings didn't stop coming because Snart never learned how to stop rubbing people the wrong way. Every invitation to a verbal match was accepted by the scrawny punk and, while he proved himself adept in that arena, it always inevitably lead to a fling of fists and a trip to the infirmary.
Mick had gone through various stages of watching him, from entertained to annoyed to purely gobsmacked at the unending gall. Mostly there was just a voice in the back of his head that told him it was none of his damn business, that he didn't need to make any trouble for himself when there was absolutely nothing to be gained. And up until now? That sort of reasoning had kept his teeth gritted shut and his fists to himself no matter how tight his skin got.
But here was the thing about being impulsive and having a temper – you didn't always get the chance to think. One day Mick is on his way through the yard and gets cut off by the Alpha and his pack taking Snart on another Hell tour. Maybe the breeze blew just right. Maybe it was just too hot. Maybe the glint of the sun off of the shiv hits some nerve located at the back of Mick's eyes. Whatever it is, it's the breaking point.
He's not thinking when he reaches out and snatches the Alpha by the crook of the arm that brandishes the shank, isn't listening to any of the banter, though registers how it cuts off mid-way into Mick wrenching the other boy around. Damn, does it feel good to put his fist right into that annoying bastard's face, though, to watch his eyes widen in shock. It feels so good, in fact, that Mick has to help himself to another. It earns him a scream and an eruption of blood from his opponent's nose, flecking his face.
And then, all too soon, the boy's legs fall right from under him and he folds like an accordion on the ground. That's alright, though, because there are five left for Mick to throw himself on. Suddenly, no one is paying attention to Snart's smart mouth; turns out there were bigger threats to be found after all.
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Leonard's father taught lessons. Not showing emotions, never showing weakness. No tears under any circumstances and always just looking out for yourself. Now here was Mick Rory, breaking two of those rules for no reason Leonard could figure out.
There really wasn't much he could do other than watch, because he'd already been thoroughly beaten at this point, tasting blood and keeping a hand against the wall to make sure he wouldn't fall over. But Mick fought like a demon, something feral and animalistic and all Len could do was watch, confusion and admiration growing in equal measures. It wasn't until they were down or had retreated, safe for one, that he considered speaking up again.
Why safe for one? Well, that was because Mick had that one pinned to the ground, clearly close to passing out. Yet Mick showed no sign of stopping and if he didn't say anything, he'd kill the boy. Which wasn't something that bothered Leonard much, but for whatever insane reason, Mick had done this for him and he didn't want him to have a pointless murder on his record. So he tried to intervene, fruitless as he expected it to be.
"Mick." That came out a bit weak. Leonard cleared his throat, calling out a lot louder. "Mick!" They had never talked, but here he was, trying to get through to him. "It's fine. It's over. Leave it."
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He feels feverish and dizzy. The world has swept back in and all the noise, the screaming of the boys in the rest of the yard, no longer acts as a soundtrack anymore. No one calls him Mick here, not even the few people he's gotten along with enough to play cards and eat beside at lunch.
His more recognized moniker – Rory – snaps over the din by the guards sprinting towards the scene. Unwisely, he begins to stand only to have his feet swept out from under him by a CO, who throws him bodily up against the wall near Leonard. At least there he goes limp, lips pressed into a thin line as he's interrogated. What the hell is going on? Why were you fighting? Whose shank is this?
He stays silent, eyes rolling shut as he pants to regain some of his breath. Since Leonard seems to be the only coherent one, he's asked the same questions. What the hell happened, Snart? Whose shank is this?
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"He helped me." Mick Rory had just saved his life. He didn't like the thought of a debt like that, but now it existed nonetheless. "Mick helped me." Against whom, he didn't say, but at least this got Mick off with a warning rather than any actual punishment.
There they were now, various people licking their wounds, the atmosphere tense but with more attention on them, no fight could just break out again. Leonard had his arms loosely crossed as he stepped up to Mick Rory, eyes on him warily. "Nothing in it for you. So why?"
He had to understand.
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At least from the guards. Mick's eyes narrow down on Snart's blues ( well, the one that isn't almost swollen shut ) as the younger boy makes his own interrogation. In response, his lips take on a delicate frown; if he'd just stuck his lip out a little more it'd be a full on pout. It's not more than a second before Mirk averts his gaze and side-steps Leonard, letting his longer legs be his asset in this instance as he walks away, back towards the compound.
Unfortunately for Mick, without enough COs to do proper crowd control just yet, rec time was being extended by at least a few minutes.
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It was only when he reached Mick's side that he realized that he actually didn't know what to say. He shouldn't even have followed him, he had done this for whatever reason and if this was the end of it, it was the end of it. He certainly didn't need to encourage the man to believe he was in his debt. But here he was, having run after him like a puppy.
Damn it.
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Let's skip time...
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Let's do the time warp again...
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ice cold jealousy
That's what it was. Leonard sat by the table and leaning back against the wall, legs crossed and one hand playing with his almost empty glass. His eyes were trained on Mick and the woman that had pretty much draped herself over his partner's lap. It wasn't as if he could blame her, Mick clearly wasn't discouraging it.
Which was annoying.
He wasn't jealous, that'd be ridiculous. He knew Mick didn't care about that woman, Mick didn't really care about anyone other than him, so why would he be jealous? Annoyed, though, that was another matter. Because Mick had dragged him out here and he hadn't come along so he could watch his partner grope someone else.
"Are we done here soon? Because I'm getting bored." And annoyed.
finally
Leonard should know that any higher brain functions Mick possesses stops very short of a skinny little 20-something crawling into his lap. She's skinny, leggy, and she wants him. He generally prefers women with more of a rack on them, but she loops her arms around his neck like she belongs just there. She isn't afraid, where most sensible good girls would be.
He can't help paying her some attention.
"Go on."
Mick digs in his pocket and tosses the keys on the table between them. She's more obvious than Leonard will ever be, ever so casually working his jawline like he's the only man in the world.
Re: finally
Even in his thoughts, this was lacking emphasis. Seriously?!
Leonard picked the keys up and very seriously considered throwing them at Mick's dumb face. He knew he shouldn't have come out tonight, clearly that had been a bad decision. He hated it enough when he didn't figure out what Mick had been up to until after the fact, but now he had to actually be there for the foreplay too?
It was on. Leonard leaned forward, the keyring around one finger as he looked at Mick. "Did you get your dick checked out yet or is it still itching?"
Mature. But, hey, the girl stopped her licking for now.
Re: finally
She hears it, as Mick does. His expression flags a good bit, lips parting in brief incredulity.
"Hey man, I just made some shit up for you so you wouldn't be so embarrassed about your deal." Mick glances towards the woman in his lap now, how she's eying him so very dubiously.
"I just met him last week. I felt sorry..."
Fuck you Snart,
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Offence very much intended.
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Mick Rory bristles, blue-green eyes narrowing on his counterpart.
"He's so clean, you could wipe him on a church pew and he'd come out ready for a tetanus shot. He'd beg you for it."
But she was gone already gone. Now it's almost the principle, and Mick is seething. He reaches out, hooking a fistful of Leonard's shirt.
"What's wrong with you?"
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That was right, he thought himself very much in the right here.
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red hot jealousy
"Do they have any better food in the can these days or do you want to stop at the next drive through?"
His eyes were already back on the phone, a smile lighting up his face when he read the message he'd just received. However, he lowered his hand to turn to Mick fully, raising his eyebrows.
"I'm hungry if you are."
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Whatever the reason, Mick was enjoying the taste of fresh air and the thrum of adrenaline in his veins. One arm rests on the frame of the open car window while the other taps his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. It wasn't that he was scared of being caught so much as he wanted to let the horses on the engine run; fortunately, it didn't look like he was going to be breaking any speed limits any time soon. It was pissing him off... and wasn't anything to do with the attention and smiles Leonard was giving to his phone.
But his partner knowingly or unknowingly says just what he needs to hear to get his mind on something a little less reckless.
"Heh. You can count on me." Even if Mick wasn't always hungry, he could almost always eat. It came with the territory of being such a big bastard. Right now, he was famished. Seeing the fat chef of the Big Belly logo in the distance makes his mouth water, and he drives towards it.
"Who's that, Lisa?" He wonders like an afterthought, nodding to the phone in Leonard's lap.
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"No. Lisa's busy somewhere, won't give me details. Says she's well." The usual. He'd have to check on her eventually, but too much control and it just backfired with her. "It's a friend of mine." Ah, wrong word choice. Friend. Should have known better. Whatever. "Someone I know."
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That Lisa is vague gives him no sort of concern. Ever since she was into her teenage years, Lisa liked her independence. That didn't mean Mick and Leonard didn't use all their resources to check in on her, but it'd always given her some image of freedom when they didn't make it obvious, as it would now. If they really wanted it, the two of them had the sort of connections to pinpoint Lisa exactly. Fortunately, it was beyond the point of them worrying for the most part.
Which made Leonard's odd behavior all the more suspect. Mick doesn't immediately interrogate him, but he certainly takes into account the special consideration to his phone that isn't his sister.
"What do you want?"
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There's a bottle of beer not that far from him, but he's pretty sure it's been standing open for several hours now. Not that he's thirsty and, anyway, it's getting to be time for breakfast, just judging by the dawn creeping in through the windows.
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What Mick does isn't on the beat of time. He pulls Leonard free of the clock and all the maps by the waist, a hard mouth pressing against the nape of a neck.
"Take a break."
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Strong arms wind around what Mick sees as his counterpart.
"Where are you going?" He challenges the push of Leonard's mind against him, pressing the significant weight of his own body against his counterpart. "You're not done. And no one needs you to be."
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Something else that holds steady. Sarcasm.
He breathes in and considers, finally settling on a compromise, better known as a lie. "Give me a minute. Almost done."
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