Rick might be nothing more than a human being - one on the frailer side at that, due to his age and poor choice in life habits - but he acted ten feet tall and bulletproof when he was caught up in the heat of the moment. He was a force to be reckoned with, and if Mike thought he was going to get away with throwing himself to the wolves again, he was going to lose it! Rick stood his ground with a hardened expression of determination, eyes brimming with tears, huffing as if he had just run a marathon—
Then a claw reached up and oh so tenderly cupped his cheek.
The human stiffened for a moment, taken off guard. He had been very much in the midst of ripping the killer a new one, so a digit deftly wiping away a tear he didn’t know he was close to shedding was… unexpected. He squeezed the eye that Mike brushed against shut before blinking a few times, blue eyes twinkling with residual wetness and visible surprise upturning to meet faceted red rubies.
How often did he crave for Mike to touch him just like this?
When was the last time anyone else had ever treated him so sweetly?
The killers voice was soft and smooth as honey as he spoke, hushed tones turning his velveteen voice low and husky. Rick’s harried panting began to slow as he registered that Mike was… apologizing?
Apologizing for not thinking about his own safety and running headfirst into certain danger. For making him think he was keen on Ken’s half baked revenge plan.
Rick raised a brow at that. He wouldn’t do it? But he had already gotten so close with Kenneth, and—
He didn’t get an opportunity to question it, the killer moving on to apologies about how their mission to go back to the prison had gone wrong, risking it all over that glob damn knife.
Bewilderment crept across Rick’s features, worry lines pinching in confusion. He thought it would’ve felt downright cathartic to hear Mike acknowledge that he was in the wrong. To say out loud that his actions screamed that he falling in line with his Federation instincts far too easily. But… it didn’t feel like a victory at all. Especially when Mike spoke like he himself wasn’t entirely sure how separated he was from his ingrained military training. Calling himself brainwashed, a tin soldier…
A fuzzy memory was just out of reach in the back of his mind. Where had he heard that exact phrase before?
The thought was fleeting as the subject moved on to what happened afterward. The human visibly cringed and moved his gaze to the side for a tense moment before hesitantly turning his attention back. The emotional wounds were still wide open and raw, so much so that he apparently found himself unable to maintain an unwavering gaze with the mercenary at the mere mention of the incident. It was painful. He didn’t want to address it. He didn’t want to think about it. He said already that he didn’t need to hear it!
He hated the way that the mental image of Mike in the throes of Berserker rage reaching for his neck was burned into his minds eye. He hated how the things that had been said rung in his consciousness like echoes. Unfiltered truth is exactly what it had been — what the fuck else would it be?
It might not be unsubtle from the way he fidgeted that Rick wasn’t sure if he necessarily bought that at face value…
He looked back up at the mercenary with a frown as he called himself broken again. So much self hatred dripping from his mandibles in a way he didn’t often express. The assassin had always been so positive, happy go lucky, humorous and bright in personality…
Hearing him say that deep down, he felt that way about himself… Made him see Mike in a different light…
You are all that I have left. The hand that had been viciously gripping Mike’s claw relaxed, the last of Rick’s righteous anger dissipating. It was achingly sweet, how the assassin was trying to convince him that he wasn’t a complete idiot. That he had nearly been crushed under the weight of his damaged brain in the mind meld machine. Yeah, right. If anything would’ve turned the mercenary’s intelligence to goo, it would be attributed to the holes riddling his grey matter. Yes, he remembered the corner of the apartment plastered with beautiful, intricate science… And all the kinky things they did there. But that didn’t mean—
Wait. Wait a second. Was… was Mike stuttering? Not just tripping over his words, either. That - that was his stutter.
Rick’s eyes widened, staring at his ex-boyfriend like he had just grown a second head. It was bizarre, how the after effects of the mind meld would manifest themselves — this time, the parts of himself within Mike were speaking back to him. A shred of his own conciousness lost to himself that lived within the assassins subconscious making itself known.
Rick didn’t know what to say. His brow furrowed, the stress of it all catching up to him. As much as he hated it, Mike was right. Like he usually was. They would be found eventually, one way or another. The safety of the Outpost would fail them at some point. Lizardperson and Flannax would stop at nothing to reach them, to own them.
What other choice did they have? It was either become Pets, or die trying to avoid their fate. He bit his lip, a thousand doubts racing through his thoughts. What if the calculations were wrong? What if the device failed them? What if they couldn’t trade Lizardperson back for his dimension? What if, what if, what if—!
Rick slipped his bony hand into a chitinous palm. He interlaced their fingers, his thumb caressing thumb. The beat of silence grew between them as he seemingly struggled to find the right words, anxiously rubbing Mike’s knuckles like a worry stone.
“….Y-you… Y-you’re not… you’re not broken. Okay?” He began quietly, his voice softer now that the proverbial wind had been taken out of his sails. “A-aaand even if you were, it… I-it’s because of me.”
Rick looked down. He carried that guilt like a lead weight, and he wasn’t sure if it would ever go away.
“Second of all… th-that stutter is - is reeeally wigging me out.”
He gave a dry huff of a laugh that was halfhearted, looking back up to gaze into sparkling rubies.
“Look, I-I… I don’t trust myself. I-III haven’t trusted anything about my mind s-since… since… y’know…”
Since it had been taken from him. Poked full of holes, burned his memories and natural genius into oblivion.
His hand slid up Mike’s forearm, into that special hold that he had been taught. The one from gromflomite culture that he had adopted, much the same as he had adopted their notion of engagement trinkets.
“I-if you think we can do it, th-then… Then w-we’ll do it. Give it our best shot.”
Trust was something that was in short supply these days. Rick didn’t trust a damn thing. He wasn’t even sure if he could trust that the black hole device would work, or that everything they had done wouldn’t be for nothing. The only thing he could trust was… was…
“M-Mike?” The human breathed, looking up into ruby eyes with a certain softness, a deep affection only reserved for him. “B-before they find us… b-before the Feds try to ship you off… before w-we, we try to make the black hole a-aaand it blows up in our faces…”
His eyes looked from one compound lens to the other, searching for something again. Peering deep into them, looking for a sign. A shimmer. Something.
He whispered, a pleading ache in his voice. A please between the syllables. Their faces were so close that he could feel the faint warmth of Mike’s breath, smell the sharp sting of blood emanating from his shoulder wound.
“J-just this once. Kiss me, b-before it all goes to shit.”
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