These Dreams
Jun. 29th, 2016 09:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bringstheheatNormally Mick didn't mind waking up. Waking up meant hot coffee, salty bacon and whatever else he could lay his hands on in the galley of the ship before the rest of the wolves descended. Gideon had long since given up any and all attempts to feed him anything that was low-fat, gluten-free (he'd almost burned the galley to a crisp for that shit) or anything else that resembled healthy.
Nope. A man needed caffeine, fat and carbs to get through the day and keep from killing anyone.
So why was he so reluctant to get out of bed?
Why was he recalling memories of a lithe body in his arms, a cascade of blonde hair and laughter that crawled up his spine and made him feel whole again?
Sara. As he passed by Len's bunk, watching the two of them playing cards it hits the big arsonist like a fucking freight train. Another life. Another timeline. Whatever it was, he and Sara had been together. In love. She'd been his fierce, bright star and he'd adored her for it right up until she glanced up at him, cool and assessing and it had been like a fucking heartstrike.
She didn't know.
Mick could recall years of them together, from the day that he'd first stolen a kiss until the day he'd sucked it up and dropped to one knee to ask her for forever and she remembered none of it. Nothing.
He avoided them both after that. Actively. Dodging Len and keeping his distance from Sara as best he could so it didn't trip anything else up. Not that it worked. Snart was too perceptive and Sara too smart not to pick up on the fact that something was wrong.
He had loved her. Still loved her.
Mick was completely and utterly fucked.
Nope. A man needed caffeine, fat and carbs to get through the day and keep from killing anyone.
So why was he so reluctant to get out of bed?
Why was he recalling memories of a lithe body in his arms, a cascade of blonde hair and laughter that crawled up his spine and made him feel whole again?
Sara. As he passed by Len's bunk, watching the two of them playing cards it hits the big arsonist like a fucking freight train. Another life. Another timeline. Whatever it was, he and Sara had been together. In love. She'd been his fierce, bright star and he'd adored her for it right up until she glanced up at him, cool and assessing and it had been like a fucking heartstrike.
She didn't know.
Mick could recall years of them together, from the day that he'd first stolen a kiss until the day he'd sucked it up and dropped to one knee to ask her for forever and she remembered none of it. Nothing.
He avoided them both after that. Actively. Dodging Len and keeping his distance from Sara as best he could so it didn't trip anything else up. Not that it worked. Snart was too perceptive and Sara too smart not to pick up on the fact that something was wrong.
He had loved her. Still loved her.
Mick was completely and utterly fucked.
