These Dreams

[bringstheheat]

Normally 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.

Comments

[thecanarylives]

Mick Rory wasn't exactly the fussing or caring type - not that the team had seen much of, anyway. The closest she thinks she's gotten is him slinging Ray over his shoulder and hauling him out of a prison, which isn't exactly what anyone might call bedside manner.

But he's gentle, suddenly. Moving quickly and deliberately with a comfort between them like he's known for years. It's... a little unnerving, honestly. If Sara was the type to be unnerved much, anyway.

"Doll?" She smirks up at him, a little of that playfulness surfacing again as she sips at her water. Still, she can't seem to stop watching him, struggling to piece together the flashes. "I think... I saw a kitchen. Big bright windows, an... an island with a cracked countertop?"

[bringstheheat]

Shit.

He's allowing himself to think too much about that other life. Touching like he's got a reason to and just like that Mick pulls it back in. Drops his hands and steps back. Trying to remember that in this world, in this life, he shouldn't be reaching out like that.

"Yeah. Cracked island. Pool out back."

He can't do this.

[thecanarylives]

It's like flipping a switch. One moment he's warm and close and caring, the next he's... Well, he's Mick. She swallows heavily, surprised at how much it affects her when he steps away.

"I'm sorry," she mutters, glancing down at her hands.

[bringstheheat]

Mick knows that he's overstepped. He allowed himself to sink a little too far into the memory of a life that they shared. He'd touched when he had absolutely no right to.

"'s not your fault," he rumbles after a moment, wishing bitterly that he could reach out again and touch, find some way to offer her comfort. "It's their fault. Whatever they did to us."