You Look Like You've Seen a Ghost || Baz & Mickey
TIMING: Current PARTIES: Baz @bazzledazzle and Mickey @pagingdoctorhart (and also "Simon" SUMMARY: Mickey runs into Baz while wearing a mask, which is super weird because Mickey knows that face is one of his hallucinations from the hospital??? CONTENT WARNING: N/A
Though Sebastian’s face was one they clung to like a drowner to a liferaft, it wasn’t rare for Baz to try on different faces of people they’d met around town. They liked to wear a new one from time to time the same way someone might enjoy trying on clothes they had no real intention of buying; it was a nice way to pass the time, and to change things up even if only for a moment.
The face they wore today had originally belonged to a man they’d met only in passing. He’d been tall, which Baz always found sort of fun to play with. He’d had a light dusting of freckles, too, which the doppelganger found charming. Beyond that, he was a mostly-ordinary looking man.
Which made it all the odder that the stranger ahead of them on the sidewalk was staring at them so intently.
Baz had thought they were imagining it at first, but there was no mistaking it now; the man was staring at them with wide eyes and a strange expression. To a doppelganger, this was usually the sort of thing that meant a change was in order. Someone recognizing the face you were wearing — especially when it was one you knew little about — could spell trouble quickly. Baz knew they needed to avoid the man and find somewhere to swap faces as quickly as they could. They tried to maneuver around him, avoiding his gaze.
—
Mickey was slipping. Blame it on the double shift or the night of drinking and subsequent hangover he had right before the double shift, but clearly he was losing his touch. Any other day ignoring one of his spirit hallucinations came natural to him. But now he was seeing double apparently because he swore he had just seen the same thing earlier at the hospital. Spirits weren’t uncommon, much to his dismay, and he had also become familiar with certain faces that haunted him there. This face was one of them. And he had never seen him outside of the hospital before. It wasn’t that these hallucinations had strict rules. They haunted him any and everywhere. But they certainly had patterns. There was definitely some psychological explanation that he couldn’t begin to diagnose because he sped through his psych rotation in med school. This all had to add up to why Mickey was staring at the supposed ghost rather than ignoring it like he would under any other circumstance.
There was one thing Mickey had learned about these hallucinations though. Moving out of the way of their path was a dead giveaway. The moment he sidestepped the spirit would make him. Over the years he had learned to keep on his path and let those spirits pass through him. Sure it was weird, but it assured that he’d be left alone. He was deadset on overcorrecting his staring, so he set clear on his path as usual, practically checking the man as if he was still playing hockey. “Shit. Sorry.” Mickey said instinctively before freezing in his place. He wasn’t supposed to run into ghosts. Or whatever his brain usually called them he couldn’t actually think right now. “I- what the hell, dude? Are you like, you? And like… physical?”
—
There were certain rules on the sidewalk. Nothing official, of course — Baz had asked once, and their father had given them a rather unkind response — but things that everyone knew well enough. People moving in one direction took one side, people moving in the other walked parallel. You trusted everyone to follow these simple rules, which meant it was always something of a shock when someone didn’t. Like, for example, when the man who’d been staring at them didn’t quite keep to his side of the sidewalk, his shoulder bumping into theirs hard enough to spin Baz around. They blinked, their heart ticking up its pace a bit.
It was best to avoid anyone who might know the face you were wearing as someone else, but if that wasn’t possible, the best course of action was to go with the flow. It was a dance, in its own way; you had to let the other person lead. “Oh, hey, man,” Baz greeted. This body came with an American accent, and they were careful in choosing their words. “Good to see you. I was just—” They cut themself off, blinking. The first question — as to whether or not Baz was themself — seemed to imply that the stranger knew more than he ought to. But the second one was difficult to understand. “Am I… physical? Is that a philosophical thing? To be or not to be, yeah?”
—
Mickey wasn’t often left speechless. Now, staring down at what should have been a dead man, he supposed he could be considered so. It wasn’t that he had nothing to say exactly, but that he was inundated with all of the things he could say. All of which made him sound completely insane. This state that he had found himself frozen in had him questioning many things. Why did the stranger speak to Mickey like the two knew each other? Why were they here and not at the hospital where they belonged? And why the fuck had the two just ran into each other?
“Sure, sure. That is the question and whatever.” Mickey finally found himself speaking and of course it would be some useless joke that didn’t mean anything. Part of him wondered if he should just turn and run at this point, but he’d spend the rest of the week thinking about running into a ghost- er, hallucination. “I mean I just ran into you. And usually when I run into you I don’t run into you. First off you’re not here. You’re never here. And when you are there and I’m also there and we run into each other we do less running into each other and more passing through each other, y’know?” He passed and his eyes flicked around as he tried to follow his own trail of words to arrive at this same destination. He nodded to himself in agreement, that all totally made sense, yeah? “I’m so confused right now. Who are you?”
—
There was something odd about the way the man was looking at them. It was a risk you ran, Baz knew, when you borrowed a face. They’d had people look at them strangely plenty of times because they recognized the face they wore; sometimes, people were surprised they were in a city they shouldn’t have been in. (They’d always figured that was what would have happened if they’d run into any of Sean’s mates in London.) Other times, the confusion came from Baz not reacting to them the way they ought to. (Luc came to mind; Baz quickly shoved the thought of him away.) But this felt different than all that. The way the man was looking at him — the way he was speaking… It wasn’t something Baz thought they’d ever really encountered before. And they typically had a lot of experience with this sort of thing.
And the stranger wasn’t really helping to narrow things down much. He was quoting Shakespeare, which was lovely, but then he was going off on some ramble that Baz couldn’t quite follow. “Is that a riddle? I’m here, but I’m not here, we run into each other, but we pass through each other… Is the answer time, or something like that? I’ve always been ruuuuhhhh—really bad at riddles.” Cool it with the Britishisms. You’re meant to be American at the moment. “I’m… exactly who you think I am, aren’t I? You’ve seen me before, we know each other. Who else could I be?” Just accept the easy answer. Please.
—
“No. Not a riddle. Just indecipherable . I do love riddles though. I appreciate the troll under a bridge vibes.” For what it was worth, this stranger seemed just as confused as Mickey was regarding the whole situation, but not confused in the way one of his hallucinations acted when they encountered their first person that could see them. There the shock was in being seen. As if they had roamed around the town without a single pair of eyes meeting theirs for centuries until Mickey had come along. The thought made the hair on his arms stand on end. As if he was special or important enough to be this voice for the unseen? The thought was almost as ridiculous as him being a medium at all. No, in this case the stranger’s confusion didn’t seem to come from being seen, but being recognized. That part was new.
“I don’t think you’re anybody” Mickey noted, another weird thing for a hallucination to say. Most had no idea who Mickey was, just that he could see them when others couldn’t. All signs pointed to something being off. It left him with the option of feigning ignorance and moving on or trying to dig in deeper. The bad news? Mickey definitely looked insane right now. The good news? Since he already looked insane, there was no point in trying to come back from it. Might as well lean into the crazy at this point. “We’ve never met before. But I’ve seen you before. And when I’ve seen you, nobody else can. And I definitely can’t run into you like I just did. You pass right through me. So I’m really confused right now.” It was the most honest Mickey had been about his hallucinations since his parents had died.
—
“Aren’t riddles often indecipherable? The bad ones, anyway. Some people think being smart means asking questions without answers and berating anyone who doesn’t provide one.” They weren’t sure what they were trying to do here. Distract, somehow? As if they could spin words into the right order to make the stranger look a little less confused, or as if there was some way to use pretentious anecdotes as a way to convince him that nothing strange was afoot. It was silly, of course. He’d already decided there was something odd going on, and Baz didn’t quite know how to convince him otherwise. If they knew more about the face they were wearing, it would have been far simpler. But the person in the mirror was as much a stranger to Baz as the man standing in front of them talking about riddles.
Their brow furrowed as the man continued. He didn’t know the owner of this face, but he’d seen him. Why did he look so weirded out, then? If he didn’t know who this was supposed to be, how could Baz be doing the impression wrong? Confusion curled in the doppelganger’s chest, bringing a sense of unease right along with it. “This is really starting to sound like a riddle,” they said, their tone lilting up uncertainly, as if they were making a joke. They had no idea if they had intended it that way or not. “Clearly, if you run into me, you’re going to run into me. I don’t pass through people. I’m not a ghost.” As soon as they said it, something clicked. Oh, fuck. The man whose face they were wearing must have been dead; the man staring at them must have seen his ghost. Why was everything in this town such an ordeal? Baz cleared their throat, straightening their clothes and trying to seem a little more confident than they were. “You must have mistaken me for someone else!”
—
“What? No. A good riddle always has an answer. It just makes you think for it.” Mickey was distracted far too easily and he was pretty sure this stranger knew it. Mickey could be ‘ball, ball, squirreled’ out of any serious conversation. The only thing that saved him was the usual lack of serious conversations he was willing to have. “Those people sound like assholes. It’s never as simple as just being smart or not smart.” Another thing Mickey felt strongly about. Intelligence was far too subjective to try to narrow it down to a yes or no. He was prepared to dive deeper into that with the stranger before he physically shook his head to abandon the thought, “Not important right now though! Focus.” He was talking to himself, but if the stranger assumed it was them and also wanted to lock in, Mickey would appreciate the two birds, one stone solution.
Mickey flinched at the mention of ghosts. Of course that is where this would go. What else could he possibly expect when he mentioned passing through something? Stupid. “You’re not a ghost. You’re right. But usually you’re in my head and only I can see you and I definitely can’t touch you.” Needing to test the theory immediately, Mickey spun around, motioning for the closest person that would acknowledge him, “Hey! You. You can see them right?” Mickey asked, gesturing to the second stranger of the day. Confused, but obeying, the stranger nodded nervously before walking off. “Ha!” Mickey laughed in triumph before turning back towards the passerby, “Thank you!” Now back to the stranger who was still here. “Others can see you. Which means I’m either not crazy or far crazier than I thought. But I know your face. It’s hard to miss when I’m the only one that can see it.” Mickey wasn’t even mad, just confused. Usually, his denial of the spirits won over curiosity. But today’s little plot twist had ruined that. “Look, I'm just really confused right now. Do you have a name? Mine’s Mickey.”
—
“See, that’s what I’d say, too, but there are a few blo—-blowhards on Reddit who’d disagree with you.” Being American was a lot harder than it looked. These days, Baz didn’t often bother trying to match their slang and vocabulary to the face they were wearing. More often than not, they stuck with Sebastian’s face, and he’d been just as English as they were. The rest of the time, they simply didn’t care if people thought their speech patterns were odd. Right now, though… they couldn’t let this stranger realize that they weren’t who they were pretending to be, lest he figure them out entirely. After the fiasco with Luc, Baz would rather avoid things like that. “Why isn’t it important? I’d love to talk more about riddles with you!” Anything to steer clear of the conversation the man really wanted to have, which Baz, in turn, really wanted to avoid.
Okay, the stranger didn’t think he was a ghost. That was a good thing! Except… apparently, the stranger didn’t think anyone was a ghost, despite having evidently seen enough of them to have a frame of reference. That was odd, wasn’t it? That he seemed to think the ghosts he evidently saw were just in his head, even now that he was faced with a more tangible version of one? Baz turned to the person on the street who’d confirmed that they could see them, offering a sheepish wave before the other took off at a much quicker pace than they’d started with. This man was making a scene. Baz only liked scenes when they were the ones making them. “Of course other people can see me,” they said, a little uncertainly. “I’m standing right here. Are you sure you didn’t just spot me in a crowd and commit the face to memory? That seems a lot more likely than whatever it is you’re describing here.” They shifted uncertainly, unsure if they ought to give their actual name or not. It wasn’t the one that went with this body, but they weren’t sure they knew what the one that went with this body was. Deciding it was safer to use an alias, they pulled one from the back of their mind with relative ease. “Simon. Are you all right, Mickey? Maybe you ought to see a doctor.”
—
Reddit? Jesus. “Thank god. I can’t imagine any scenario where it would be a good thing if me and someone on reddit actually agreed on something.” This situation was giving Mickey a headache. And making him meaner than he ever had any intentions of being. Even from the grave, allegedly, ghosts were ruining Mickey’s day.”You’re distracting me on purpose and it’s working, but I don’t appreciate it for the record.” Maybe they really did know Mickey and knew how to sidetrack him. More likely, Mickey was easy to sidetrack.
It was occurring to Mickey that any chance at saving face would invite turning and walking away. Accepting that he had probably made a mistake of some kind. It would be easy to do, considering he really believed that these spirits in his head were just hallucinations, right? By that logic, the stranger was completely right and it was just some type of pareidolia taking place here, seeing a face in something that had always been in his mind. That seemed reasonable. But Mickey was not feeling especially reasonable today. “Holy shit. You’re ghost gaslighting me!” He was laughing incredulously now, certainly not the glowing image of someone put together and sound of mind. “I don’t need to see a doctor, Simon. I am a doctor.” he groaned, annoyed by himself for self identifying that way. “I might actually be crazy, sure. But not about this. You’re dead. Well not you, but someone that looks exactly like you. Like a twin or a great great ancestor that somehow wears modern day clothes. The logic isn’t perfect, but it’s there Simon! It’s there!”
—
“Oh, I’m with you on that one! I don’t want to be on the same page as people like that. Have you ever seen their takes on movies?” Baz was a master of dancing around subjects they didn’t particularly want to broach; this conversation was proof enough of that. They weren’t usually called out for their attempts at distraction, of course, but perhaps Mickey was a little more observant than most. “I’m not trying to distract you,” they said, the lie burning their tongue and twisting their stomach into knots. “I’m just trying to make small talk!”
But, of course, no distraction was foolproof. Mickey was dead set on getting to the bottom of this, even though Baz was dead set on… well, keeping far away from the bottom. Which was a very new goal for Baz! They were typically happy to spend time around bottoms! (This was a tangent they didn’t need to go on, even internally. They were trying to distract Mickey, not themself.) “I don’t even know what ghost gaslighting is!” Not technically a lie. They could guess what he meant by that, but who could say for sure? It was enough of a loophole to save them the stomachache, at least. “Oh! You’re young for a doctor. Congratulations on finishing medical school!” Another attempt at distraction that didn’t seem to take as well as they’d hoped it might. Perhaps Mickey was too intelligent to be sufficiently distracted. Doctors were meant to be smart, weren’t they? “Look, ma— man,” stupid American accent, “I’m clearly not dead. I’m walking around talking to you, aren’t I? Dead people don’t do that! And I haven’t got a twin, and I don’t think great great ancestors look exactly like modern day people in real life! Maybe it’s one of those… glitch in the matrix moments, yeah? Oh! Maybe you’ve accidentally caught a glimpse of a parallel universe! That’d be fun, wouldn’t it?” The further they could steer Mickey from anything even remotely resembling the truth, the better off they’d be.
—
Mickey could feel his attention diverting. It was annoying. For just a minute, Mickey felt what others must feel whenever he was around them. It wasn’t a great feeling, admittedly. Though he would certainly write this off as an exception to the usual rule. In his case, it was probably charming if not a bit offputting. It may have been that in this case too, if he wasn’t talking to a not-dead dead person. “”I won’t entertain their taste in movies just like I won’t entertain your kinda futile distractions. I’m like, so focused right now. I’m locked in. Big talk only.”
What was frustrating was that Mickey knew he would love them in real life. They had the same lightheartedness that Mickey knew he had in other situations. If the two had met under different circumstances he was sure the two would have become fast friends. Right now, Mickey wasn’t sure that Simon would do anything other than strap Mickey in a straitjacket. Right now, Mickey wasn’t feeling super positively about Simon either. “If there was a ghost gaslighting olympics you’d have the gold.” Mickey groaned. He ignored the doctor comment, partly because it was another attempt at diverting the conversation and mostly because he hated feeling like he was bragging. “A glitch in the matrix sounds even less likely than you formerly being a ghost and coming back to life.” Which he also didn’t believe, of course, because that implied he had been dead and a ghost and Mickey had seen him. Which he hadn’t. Obviously.
Crossing his arms, Mickey had to acknowledge that this felt like an immovable object. They were clearly not willing to share their secret here. Banishing Mickey to the shadow realm version of ignorance. Especially annoying since Mickey had often described himself as an unstoppable force. “Okay, fine. This alleged other version of yours always hangs out at the hospital. I guess I could just check our medical records then. See if I recognize someone that looks suspiciously like you.” It was a shot in the dark and something that would take days or weeks to do. Mickey was stubborn as hell though. He certainly wasn’t above doing it.
—
“This is big talk! This can definitely be big talk!” Baz insisted, trying to keep the distraction alive. It probably wasn’t going to work. People were a lot harder to distract when they knew you were trying to distract them. They’d seen that in play recently, even with Luc; no amount of changing the subject had kept him from the truth, even if Baz maintained he’d have been far better off without it. They doubted they could keep Mickey from uncovering something, even if they were reasonably certain they could maintain at least some control as to what that ‘something’ might be.
Baz considered Mickey’s statement with a thoughtful look. “I do love gold,” they said, humming quietly. “But, no. I’m afraid this is one Olympic sport I’m no champion of! No ghost gaslighting here.” Technically true. Baz was gaslighting a bit, perhaps, but not about ghosts. They definitely weren’t a ghost, though they’d admit that they occasionally felt a bit like one. Baz was just… a different sort of haunting. Not one they had any intention of explaining to Mickey, of course. “Is it? It doesn’t sound less likely to me. I’ve heard stories about glitches in the matrix before — people seeing things that didn’t make sense with no explanation provided — but I’ve never heard of someone dying, becoming a ghost, and then coming back to life.” It was true enough. Necromancy was a thing, but Baz had never personally known anyone who’d gone through it, nor had they ever heard a story that matched this exact situation. And they doubted they would, because this situation was a bit ridiculous.
They didn’t particularly like the idea of Mickey digging further into this, either, though. They doubted anything could really lead back to them, but… They thought, again, of Luc. They thought of how things could blow up in your face so easily, of the delicate balance they’d built for themself here. They liked this town. They didn’t want to be forced to flee it. “Now, hold on,” they said, shaking their head. “This feels like it violates one of those hippo laws, doesn’t it?” They knew what HIPAA was, of course; this was another distraction attempt. Surely the doctor would feel the need to correct them here, right?
—
With a groan, Mickey covered his face with his hands. This was the first time in a long time that Mickey actually wished he could turn tail and run away from this conversation. The irony was that Simon would have welcomed it. Neither of them wanted to be here right now, but Mickey’s stubbornness was winning out over the nauseous feeling telling him to get out of there. He needed to have some kind of answer. He needed to know why this person was different from all the other spirits in his head. “We figure out this mystery we have and I’ll give you all the big talk you want Simon.” Mickey never promised anything, not after his family told him about his sister and mother’s true identity. But Mickey would still stand by what he said.
If Mickey wasn’t so focused on the real question at hand, he might question Simon on which Olympic sport they did think they were champions of. Since they claimed that this was just one they wouldn’t excel at. They were clearly humble too, considering all the ghost gaslighting going on in this conversation. Maybe they’d make a new top trophy and give them platinum. “Well agree to disagree, I guess, but I know it’s not a glitch in the matrix either. Still not sure exactly what it is, but not that. And if there was a glitch in the matrix, it would totally be cooler than me seeing some random dead person not being dead. I don’t even know you. And no offense, you would certainly not make my top ten list of alternate universe people I want to see.” He couldn’t claim that he had ever heard of someone coming back to life after death either, but couldn’t outright deny the possibility. Witchcraft and all that. He didn’t like to think about it though. Considering the what ifs of something like that only lead him down a depressing road on memory lane he’d rather not frequent.
At least the hippo law comment pulled a quick chuckle from Mickey. His sense of humor wasn’t completely lost, which felt at least a little grounding. He didn’t like the way he was acting right now, causing a scene and nearly panicking. It was a relief to know that he was still here, in parts. “Rest assured that Moo Deng is completely safe and legal” Mickey quipped, “No HIPAA laws are violated by a doctor that has access to that information looking into it. It’s not like I’m sharing the information with anyone.” He didn’t even know what he would do with the information in all honesty. It wasn’t like he could take it to the police or his parents. They’d both think he was insane. “Besides, you shouldn’t even be worried about it. From what you’re saying there’s nothing to find there anyways, yeah?”
—
“I don’t think there’s any mystery we need to figure out,” Baz replied, picking each word carefully to avoid the burn of a lie. There were several parts working together to make it true — the I don’t think, which made it the doppelganger’s opinion, the we which included them in the ‘investigation.’ It was more than enough to satisfy the pesky rules a fae had to abide by, though it didn’t seem to be quite enough to get Mickey off their back. They wondered absently what he might do if they turned around and took off in the other direction. Would he follow them? Try to track them down later? The latter would have little effect, of course; Baz doubted they’d revisit this face again now that they knew its original owner was haunting some poor sap around town.
They would have never borrowed this face to begin with if they’d known it would lead to this sort of trouble. Baz liked to take the easy road when possible, though there were some exceptions to this rule. It might have been easier, for example, to use a face other than Sebastian’s in Wicked’s Rest, especially after Luc made his appearance. But Baz’s emotions were the only driving force bigger than their desire to make things easy on themself, and they couldn’t quite give up their friend’s features. The same problem didn’t exist with the face they wore now, of course; Baz would be happy enough to dump this form and never touch it again. “I’m not sure how else you’d explain it!” Careful words, once again: Baz didn’t know how Mickey would explain the situation before him, even if they knew the truth. “What do you think it is, then? Because I’ve told you what I think already.” About a lot of things!
There was a quiet chuckle, but the distraction attempt didn’t seem to have much more of an effect than that. They weren’t sure digging into the medical references of this face would have any way of blowing back on them, but it still felt like a risk they’d rather avoid if possible. “Well, I don’t give you permission to look at my medical records,” they tried, because maybe that was something. “In fact, I’m doing the opposite. I’m saying expressly that I don’t want you looking at my records. And it’d be awfully unprofessional for you to go peeking now that I’ve done that, yeah? It’d be an abuse of power!” Would it? It certainly sounded damning to say, though Baz wasn’t quite sure the term applied here.
—
Of course the mystery would think there was nothing mysterious going on. Mickey groaned at the lack of progress. Was this what it was like talking to him when he got his mind set on something? He could only assume Simon was just as annoyed by Mickey’s tenacity as Mickey was with theirs. It didn’t help that Simon was being especially wishy-washy. I think. Not sure. Being intentionally vague did little to make Mickey feel better or make him less intent on getting to the actual truth here. Even the hallucinations Mickey saw all around him were less infuriating than Simon. He never figured he’d reach a day where he preferred them.”You’re making this so much more difficult than it needs to be. I don’t even want to do anything about it. I just want to know why.” He wasn’t lying exactly, Mickey hated doing that, but he probably wasn’t being entirely honest either. In the moment, he did think he was happy with just an answer to the question. Mickey twenty-four, forty-eight, seventy-two, etc. hours from now Mickey was an entirely different story. “Clearly, if I had an idea of what it was I wouldn’t be pulling my hair out right now trying to figure it out. I think that if I know why I can see and touch you right now then maybe I’ll feel less crazy in the future.”
Mickey half considered for a moment whether Simon actually had any say in the matter. Sure, if they didn’t want their medical records dived into the morally acceptable thing would be to leave them alone. He’d have to check with the hospital lawyers on the actual legality. “Unfortunately for you and many of my coworkers, being professional has never been my best strength.” Simon had clearly picked the wrong doctor to test it on. If anything, this year had proven that Mickey’s morality was questionable at best and mildly fucked at worst. “It does sound like you’re implying that I will find medical records for you if I look, though. Love that.” With a sigh, Mickey tried to reign in the crazy and center himself, “Look, I’m really not trying to lose it here. I’m actually usually a super chill person. Which probably seems hard to believe right now because of the whole losing my mind vibe I have going on. And I’m not trying to lose my mind. I’ve just got a lot of questions because this is a first for me. And I have to have answers. There’s actually not a line I’m not willing to cross at this point.”
—
It was a bit laughable, the idea that Mickey wanted to know just to know. Not because Baz thought people would automatically prove to be some sort of threat if they had the truth in their arsenal — they liked to imagine people were a bit more trustworthy than that — but because it wasn’t a promise one could make with only half the pieces of a puzzle. Mickey couldn’t say for certain what he’d do with an answer if he didn’t yet know what that answer was. There was every chance that he’d think nothing of it and walk away, sure… but wasn’t there just as much a chance that he’d investigate further, or tell someone something he oughtn’t, or do something, even unintentionally, that could put Baz in danger? Satisfying a stranger’s curiosity wasn’t worth any sort of personal risk for Baz, who put their own safety and well being above just about everything else. “What if I can’t tell you why?” They could, of course, but let Mickey make his own assumptions based on a question that sounded rhetorical. “What if I’m every bit as lost as you are? It’s not as if I know everything, either, you know.” Carefully chosen words, woven together in a way that wasn’t quite a lie even if they weren’t quite honest, either. “If I had any idea what was going on, don’t you think I’d say? Even if only to get you to sod off.” The stress was getting to them; they didn’t even realize they’d slipped something a little too British for their accent into the sentence.
Of course, Baz actually had no idea whether or not Mickey would find any medical records. Anything he found wouldn’t belong to Baz, but rather to the body they were currently wearing. He’d find out, at the very least, that the name Baz had given him was false, but that might not be much of a surprise. Nothing about Baz’s demeanour seemed to imply that they wanted this conversation, so giving a fake name was almost an expected result. Things would probably be fine, even if Mickey did find the medical records that went with this body. Baz shouldn’t be so worried about it; they weren’t entirely sure why they were. Residual stress from Luc, probably, or worry at the idea of having to uproot themself again, or concern that this might bring hunters to their — and, by extension, Joel’s — door. “You’re not coming across as super chill at the moment, no. I’m not sure what answers you want from me.” Would Mickey even believe the truth? It was easier to assume he wouldn’t, if only because it saved Baz from having to say it.
—
Mickey felt like he was beating his head against a wall. How many times has he considered leaving this conversation now? If Simon turned and left, would Mickey even chase him down at this point? Probably, because whatever gorilla glue had been holding Mickey’s sanity together regarding spirits and ghosts all these years seemed to be cracking and breaking apart at the moment. He probably wouldn’t have a public meltdown here on the spot, right? “What if you can’t tell me?” Mickey laughed incredulously. Playing dumb didn’t suit the stranger. “And what if I was a cowboy?” He wasn’t, for the record. He had just dressed up as one for Halloween once. And also more recently to a club. Through the annoyance, another word caught Mickey’s attention as well. “Sod off?” Mickey questioned aloud. He had heard the term before, but not from an American. He had assumed Simon had been American this entire time. “Well that’s bloody preposterous, innit?” Unable to help himself, Mickey mirrored the accent with his own flare.
Unlike most moments in his life, Mickey was ready to give up. In a lot of ways, it was probably a miracle. If his parents had known such a thing was even possible they’d probably drive across town to give an award to Simon or the keys to the city or something. But this was clearly going nowhere. Besides, if Mickey reframed this a little, it wasn’t even necessarily giving up now was it? It was simply redirecting his curiosity in another direction. Since Simon himself wasn’t budging, his new avenue would be medical records. If he truly got desperate - and he’d really have to be fucking desperate to stoop this low - he could keep an eye out for ghost Simon by the hospital. If he reappeared, Mickey could ask the intangible version himself. “I don’t know what answers I want either, but I know that whatever you’re not answering definitely answers whatever I want to know!” another heated reply before taking another calming breath. “But you know, what? It’s fine. I’m done wasting both of our time. You, wasting mine with misdirection and unclear answers and me wasting yours with the general psychotic episode.” He held his arms up in surrender and backed off a few steps. “I’ll just find the medical records on my own time and maybe find you around the hospital or something. Have a nice before, present or after-life. Not really sure what category you fall under, honestly.” Of course Mickey was seething. It pissed him off more feeling rage like this. He wasn’t meant for this kind of anger anymore. He thought he had gotten rid of it all. “Also, I’m so fucking chill for the record. And we totally could have been chill and friends together!”
—
“Well, I’m certain you’d look very handsome in the hat, at least!” Another attempt to change the subject, because didn’t everyone like being complimented? Wasn’t that a good way to distract, to throw off the scent, to bend someone like putty into what you needed them to be? It would have probably worked on Baz, who would throw everything away for a compliment if the person delivering it seemed sincere enough. They were uncertain it would work on Mickey, who seemed to be losing himself little by little as time went on. Maybe he’d have a breakdown right here in the street, and Baz could slip away while he fell apart. The thought made their stomach churn more than they thought it ought to. They didn’t particularly like Mickey, if only because he was asking them questions they didn’t want to answer, but they weren’t sure they wanted anything unpleasant for him, either. They mostly just wanted to be left alone, which was a new thing for them. It didn’t seem like it would be happening. Mickey wouldn’t even let their brief slip into Britishism slide! “Sorry. I was raised by an English nanny!” The lie burned on their tongue, tying their stomach into knots, but maybe it would explain away the slip anyway.
Maybe they needed to cut their losses here. There was a chance that Mickey’s search might turn up something that could make Baz’s life more difficult, yes, but wasn’t there also a chance that it wouldn’t? Wasn’t there some shot that this wouldn’t blow back on them at all, that Mickey would drive himself mad looking for answers in all the wrong places and tire himself out? If Baz saw him again, they certainly wouldn’t be wearing this face. This face was one they’d retire for giving them a bit too much trouble, like that of the woman who had inspired a banshee to hold a knife to their throat for the crime of cheating fate. Maybe they should let Mickey do his digging. Maybe that was the only solution here. “You know what? Fine!” Baz threw their hands up, frustration clear. “You want to search for my medical records, you have at it! But you’re certainly not chill! And I don’t make friends with people this level of not-chill, so I doubt we would have been friends at all!” A bit childish, maybe, but Mickey deserved it a little.
—
“Don’t flirt with me now, Simon” Mickey was almost positive that this wasn’t flirting at all to begin with. He wasn’t great at flirting in the first place. People always thought he was when he wasn’t and admittedly, he rarely knew when he was actually flirting. It had something to do with him not knowing if he actually liked someone until he spent a billion hours with them. He blamed it on the fast way he made regular friends with strangers. He sped up the friendship process at the cost of the romance process. That was the working theory at least. He was certain there were no romantic feelings towards Simon. He didn’t even have friendship feelings for them, and that was truly a bad indicator for Simon, Mickey could befriend anyone. “An English nanny? What? That has nothing to do with any of this.” A bit hypocritical of Mickey to claim, considering his rambling with people hardly ever stayed on track for more than a few minutes. But now, in the heat of the moment and desperately trying to stay on topic, the constant fluctuation was infuriating. “You’re driving me around the twist, Simon.” He was pretty sure that was English slang. Maybe.
It seemed the potential relationship between the two ended here. With Simon refusing to budge on their stance of ignorance and silence and Mickey unwilling to let things go. Mickey hated this. He could be confrontational when needed, but more than anything else he didn’t like disliking people. It was such a waste of his energy that was much better served being focused elsewhere. “If you actually knew me you’d eat those words by the way! You’d be like ‘Oh you know Mickey? He’s SO cool and SO chill.’” Out of everything messing with his head today, Mickey might have taken Simon’s last comment the most personally. He probably wouldn’t on normal occasions, but today was an odd conglomeration of all the other stresses. “And once you figure out how cool and chill I am it’ll be way too late. And I’ll be off being cool and chill somewhere else with cooler chiller people. Like maybe your English nanny! I bet she’s cooler and chiller than you!”
—
“I can’t really help that, can I?” That much was true. Baz liked people. Baz often liked people a little too much, which led to a little too much flirting and a little too much of… the things that flirting led to. They didn’t really want to sleep with Mickey — at least, not now that he was making such a fuss about this whole thing. He was handsome enough (everyone in this town seemed to be attractive, though this could have been due, in part, to Baz’s tendency to find everyone they met attractive), but anything they got up to in the bedroom would probably end in Mickey dissecting them for scientific research, at this rate. And dissection wasn’t something Baz loved. They couldn’t even really stomach Grey’s Anatomy scenes that took place in the surgical suites! “Well, I don’t know what anything has to do with anything when you’re rambling like a madman!” Also true, though arguably not Mickey’s fault. Baz had never been particularly skilled in staying on topic. “Stop that. You’re being very disrespectful, you know. To my English nanny.” Who didn’t exist. Baz’s stomach twisted further with the lie.
Baz let out a laugh that was sharp and bitter and didn’t really sound much like their usual fare at all. This really wasn’t the sort of person they wanted to be. They were very laid back, most of the time! Mickey had just… gotten to them. Somehow. With his… unchillness. Yeah, that was it. Baz was frustrated at just how unchill Mickey was. “I doubt it!” Their voice came out higher than they intended it to, almost shrill. “I very much doubt that I’ll ever think of some bloke who’s spent the last ten minutes accusing me of being a ghost in the streets as chill! And my English nanny would never hang out with you, by the way. My English nanny has no interest in that!”
—
Had Mickey just made an enemy? He hated the feeling forming in his gut, spreading like vines through his stomach and up his chest. He felt nauseous and angry, but also a bit sad. As much as he didn’t like Simon, he hated the idea of hating anyone. It wasted too much energy and far too much time. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Go home and sit on his couch and stew while thinking about how mad he is at Simon? That had to be the most boring way to spend an evening Mickey could possibly imagine. This was all Simon’s fault. And obviously some of Mickey’s too but the rage was clouding that judgement. “Your English nanny would totally love me for the record. I am exactly what nannies love. I have a childlike wonder and sometimes I look a little sickly! She’d pinch my cheeks and make me soup. And a cuppa!” He desperately needed to get away from here and maybe call his sister or Oliver or literally anyone that could distract him and make him forget about the first person he’s decided to hate in like 15 years.
—
“Oh, you wish my English nanny would make you a cuppa! You’d be begging for her to pinch your cheeks! She’d not be caught dead pinching any part of you!” People on the street were giving them odd looks as they passed, but Baz wasn’t bothered by it. They’d not be trying this face on again, that much was certain. Any consequence that rose from the odd looks would fall on Mickey and Mickey alone. “I don’t need this, frankly. I’ve much bigger things to worry about than some terrible, not-chill, HIPAA-defiling doctor!” They spun dramatically on their heels, stomping off. They made it a few feet before pausing, turning back to shout, “And I’ll be telling my English nanny all about this, by the way!” And with that, Baz was off. Joel could surely be convinced to play the part of English nanny if needed for the future.
