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mickeymTitle: From Ashes of Steel
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: implied Ricky/Jake, Mickey/Jake
Words: ~350
Spoilers/Warnings: Vague references to The Age of Steel
A/N: I need to be writing J2 -- or better yet, sleeping! -- so of course I'm not doing either. Upon re-watching AoS for the 103498140398th time tonight, I was struck by how much I like the idea of Mickey/Jake. So, um. Have some. :)
It's a bit of a mystery, because he misses Rose both more and less than he'd figured on. Less, since he's gotten accustomed, after a fashion, to her coming and going. She was gone, but she always came back.
More, because now there'll be no seeing her again.
Yet he's still happier here than he's been in a long, long time.
Now, Jake…Jake's a complete mystery.
Mickey's not sure how to read him. He's smart and sarcastic, quick-thinking and light on his feet. Seems pretty likely no one's ever called him an idiot, or made him think he was the tin dog. Still, he holds back. Says a lot of words that don't add up to much information, least not about himself.
Doesn't talk about Ricky much, either.
And, s'okay, because Mickey understands grief. After all, he's grieving too, right? Different kind of loss, maybe, but no less permanent and no less painful.
Weeks run into months, days blurring one into another. Cybermen, always another one just when they think they've got 'em all. Nights spent huddled under blankets in the van, or in some bolt-hole or another somewhere, also blurring together. Sometimes they crash at Pete's, get real beds in real rooms, a whole room to each.
Those nights are the weird ones, the ones Mickey can't figure out, because he should sleep better in a real bed, but he doesn't.
Pretty sure from the circles under Jake's eyes he doesn't either.
There's frost on the ground the morning Mickey wakes up with Jake curled up around him, breaths against his neck moist and warm and sour-sweet with sleep. He tries to untangle himself, tries to move away before Jake wakes up, then freezes when Jake blinks up at him.
"I'm not him," he says into sleep-foggy eyes, not sure which of them he's trying to convince.
"I know," Jake tells him, and curls closer.
Mickey holds him when he cries, awkward and uncomfortable but certain, ready.
Their first kiss tastes like salt, but underneath that is something that tastes like hope.
~fin~
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: implied Ricky/Jake, Mickey/Jake
Words: ~350
Spoilers/Warnings: Vague references to The Age of Steel
A/N: I need to be writing J2 -- or better yet, sleeping! -- so of course I'm not doing either. Upon re-watching AoS for the 103498140398th time tonight, I was struck by how much I like the idea of Mickey/Jake. So, um. Have some. :)
It's a bit of a mystery, because he misses Rose both more and less than he'd figured on. Less, since he's gotten accustomed, after a fashion, to her coming and going. She was gone, but she always came back.
More, because now there'll be no seeing her again.
Yet he's still happier here than he's been in a long, long time.
Now, Jake…Jake's a complete mystery.
Mickey's not sure how to read him. He's smart and sarcastic, quick-thinking and light on his feet. Seems pretty likely no one's ever called him an idiot, or made him think he was the tin dog. Still, he holds back. Says a lot of words that don't add up to much information, least not about himself.
Doesn't talk about Ricky much, either.
And, s'okay, because Mickey understands grief. After all, he's grieving too, right? Different kind of loss, maybe, but no less permanent and no less painful.
Weeks run into months, days blurring one into another. Cybermen, always another one just when they think they've got 'em all. Nights spent huddled under blankets in the van, or in some bolt-hole or another somewhere, also blurring together. Sometimes they crash at Pete's, get real beds in real rooms, a whole room to each.
Those nights are the weird ones, the ones Mickey can't figure out, because he should sleep better in a real bed, but he doesn't.
Pretty sure from the circles under Jake's eyes he doesn't either.
There's frost on the ground the morning Mickey wakes up with Jake curled up around him, breaths against his neck moist and warm and sour-sweet with sleep. He tries to untangle himself, tries to move away before Jake wakes up, then freezes when Jake blinks up at him.
"I'm not him," he says into sleep-foggy eyes, not sure which of them he's trying to convince.
"I know," Jake tells him, and curls closer.
Mickey holds him when he cries, awkward and uncomfortable but certain, ready.
Their first kiss tastes like salt, but underneath that is something that tastes like hope.
~fin~
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Date: 2010-01-06 09:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-06 04:26 pm (UTC)In fact, I really love how you captured them both.
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Date: 2010-01-06 11:25 pm (UTC)*needs Who icons*
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Date: 2010-01-14 04:50 pm (UTC)