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Mick was tired. He slept when he couldn’t drink and drank till he slept, but even then he was always tired. None of the other seemed to notice it, but then again they never really looked at him. There was this moment when he was drunk enough, just before he passed out, that he could forget Snart. Forget he was dead, forget he had ever been alive. Last time he had been like this, Len had again been the reason. He had also been the one to pull him together again.

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Mick laid in the bed with a quiet Len by his side. They had both been a little tipsy and had fallen into bed together like they often did. Mick had tried to keep his feeling to himself but something must have shown. Len had turned his face and had looked at him like he had never done before.

“Mick, we’re partners, a team, and I’m not big on this feelings thing you know, but just to clear the air. I want you, Mick, I need you, but there ain't no way I'm ever gonna love you. That's not something I can do! Mick”


Mick hadn’t said anything to that, what was there to say. It had felt like Len had driven a shiv into his gut. Mick had gotten up, taken his clothes and left. He couldn’t remember the next two weeks, it all got lost in the alcohol he drank. He had tried to avoid Len, but in the end, he just wasn’t good enough. Len had carried Mick back to their place and gotten him sober. He had comforted him in his own way without talking about it. They had continued on with whatever-they-did and the shiv in his gut lessened over time. Mick could lie to himself most evenings. He would drink and think “ two out of three ain’t so bad”.