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Len liked his personal space. He didn’t appreciate feeling crowded and those who knew him knew to keep a respectful distance.
Mick was the only exception.
When they first partnered up it had been a nuisance. The man didn’t seem to understand the concept of being too close--he was always in someone’s space. But over time his presence became a given, something Len actually missed when it was gone. It was...comforting.
They had spent time apart before. It wasn’t anything new for him to find himself with all the space in the world. He would sleep with Mick’s pillow, wear Mick’s favorite undershirt, and keep a handful of lighters nearby to make up for his lack of husband.
Things were different this time, though. Mick was gone, but he was present. Locked up in the brig, locked up in his head, caring about nothing other than vengeance.
It was unsettling, seeing Mick so focused on something that didn’t involve a flame.
Rip was determined to “reform” his partner, and the rest of the crew seemed on board. Len didn’t bother asking them where they were back when they thought he was going to take care of Mick. They were all a bunch of hypocrites anyway.
Well, most of them were hypocrites. The kid seemed to be genuinely upset when Len came back without his partner that night. Like he actually cared whether Mick lived or died.
Jax was a good kid. The rest of them could go to hell.
Mick’s cell was usually muted, but it didn’t matter--Mick was silent anyway. Every time Len went to visit him, to try and get rid of that empty feeling that came with too much space, Mick remained stone-faced and tight-lipped.
Len would have honestly preferred shouting.
Sometimes he would talk to Mick. Tell him about the mission to 1958 or update him on team gossip. Sometimes he would just sit there, quiet, and let his mind wander. He would always sit with his back to the glass wall--it was easier to imagine that Mick was normal when he couldn’t see his partner’s stoic expression.
And sometimes his eyes would water and he really didn’t want Mick seeing that.
Sara would check on him. She never stayed, but she stuck her head in and asked if everything was going okay.
Len just glared until she left.
Jax came by every once in a while. He didn’t talk, just sat across from Len and tinkered with his latest project. When his eyes wandered up to the cell and his hands stilled, Len didn’t say anything. It was nice, having a little company, and the kid seemed to be the only one that actually gave two shits about Mick anyway.
Visiting Mick became a part of Len’s daily routine. Mick was always the same, always silent and still on the built-in bench.
Until one day he wasn't.
Len walked into the hall as usual, but stopped in surprise when he found Mick sitting on the floor, facing the middle of his cell. His back was pressed to the glass in the exact spot where Len usually sat.
Neither of them said anything as Len sank to the ground, his back lined up with Mick’s. He knew that the thick layer of reinforced glass was more or less impenetrable, but Len swore he could feel heat radiating from the man behind him.
He sighed and leaned his head back, hitting the barrier with a quiet thud.
They stayed that way until Jax came in, carrying pieces of what looked like a small fan and wearing a toolbelt. Jax paused when he saw Mick sitting on the floor, but he didn’t comment. There was the hint of a smile when he settled in across from Len, though, and he struck up a conversation about the fan’s engine and how he was modifying it to rotate at a higher velocity.
Things were not good. Mick was still imprisoned and the rest of the crew was still a bunch of hypocrites, but...at least they had the kid’s friendship. At least they were on the same ship, able to occupy the same space again.
Things were not good, no. But they could easily be worse.