Who: Mannix and Mickey
Where: December’s House
When: Night
Now that everyone seemed to be accounted for, maybe, just maybe, he could get that drink with December. It’d been forever since they’d talked about it. Since the full moon, maybe? And it just kept getting put off as crisis after crisis landed at their feet. While she still might have a morgue full of bodies, he was pretty sure that cause of death was clear for at least half of them, so maybe he could sweet talk her into taking a night off. It was with that in mind that he knocked on the door, hoping he had to drag her out of the house, rather than out of the morgue.
Mickey was up, his sleep scheduled a little fucked after having just crashed for almost a full day after everyone was accounted for. He was partially on December’s schedule, a result of sleeping on her couch, making sure he saw her if she left for work, making sure she was around, alive and well and he had a feeling that went two ways. They were getting better, or maybe just starting over. It left Mickey at ease with everything, which was an improvement on everything else. What had happened to him was still weighing heavily on him. His cuts were still there, including the one on his forearm, bandaged even if it could have gone without because he didn’t want to look at it. There were still bruises on his face and he was still in pain, still hurting both mentally and physically, but it was getting better. Slowly. He heard the knock, frowning and heading towards the door. “Did you forget your keys?” he asked opening it and finding himself staring at Mannix. “Oh, um, hey.”
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