[JMM] You need to see a therapist. Why?
[AU, weird, and kind of goes along with THIS that I wrote a long time ago. Wayward!Mickey, I think.]
“This is really weird.”
And he wasn’t referring to the fact that he couldn’t seem to sit up straight in a chair to save his life. He was sprawling, to be more accurate, legs up over the arm of the couch while his back was on the cushions, and he was staring at the ceiling. The weird he was referring to was the fact that he was relatively certain that that fall he’d just taken wasn’t one he could just wake up from. Being tossed headfirst over a cliff tended to do that to a person.
Damn mob mentality.
He can easily take a person one-on-one, but when it was six or seven-on-one and he wasn’t a member of the six or seven? That was a whole other story. It was him and Gloria-they’d gotten cornered by a group of people who didn’t take too well to the fact that they had bar codes on the back of their necks, and the next thing they knew, they were being forced back up against the guard rail, he lost track of his sister, there was falling, and then-nothing. Nothing but black and quiet for a good two seconds, and when he opened his eyes again, he was here, in the middle of an office, talking to a woman he didn’t recognize, but-she could be a shrink. If he was looking hard enough. He’d played it cool for a while, not sure if this meant that he was just unconscious and moving into death, or if he really was dead, as he suspected.
This was making his head hurt. He decided to just shut up and let the woman talk, seeing if maybe he could get some answers that way.
“What’s weird about it?”
Mickey paused, staring up at the ceiling for a moment, before glancing over at her. “You are aware of how incredibly shrink-like that sounds, don’t you?”
The woman blinked at him for a moment before responding. “Well-I am a therapist. Isn’t that how I’m supposed to sound?”
“Yes-if you were really a therapist,” Mickey said, giving her a look. “You’re more of a figment of my imagination. Or my dying subconscious. Way I figure, the chemicals in my brain are decomposing and causing me to enter a fugue dream state, and once they’re done being overproduced and my body is rotting at the bottom of that outcropping, you’ll just go poof! and I’ll cease to exist completely.”
“Ah,” the woman smirked. “I take it you don’t believe in the afterlife, then?”
“What, you mean like heaven and hell?” Mickey said with a frown, before looking back up at the ceiling again. “Alec may have mentioned it once or twice, but-I never thought it was for something like me.”
“You mean someone like you.”
“No, I mean something,” he replied, glancing at her briefly in his peripheral vision. “I’m not completely human. I’ve got cat DNA in there somewhere, along with who knows what else-I’m a product of science, not nature. Generally speaking, that demotes me to ‘thing’ in the eyes of most, and takes me off the list for all the cool post-death gigs.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “If this is all in my head, why the hell am I debating theology?”
“Maybe it’s not in your head?”
That only earned her a scoff and an eye roll. “And what are you, some kind of angel?”
“No,” she said with a slight chuckle. “I’m more of a-reaper.”
“Reaper? As in Grim?”
“Yes.”
He turned, looking her over for a moment. “You’re hot for a skeleton in a black shroud.”
She smirked. “We’re allowed to take whatever form we choose.”
“How fortunate for you,” Mickey said with a sigh. “Guess that keeps you from scaring the crap out of people.” He paused for a moment, before kicking his legs over and actually sitting up. “So what-you’re here to decide where I’m going for my eternal rest? Hate to break it to you, love, but generally speaking the man-made trained assassins generally just get sent to the land down under-or, at least that’s what I’ve heard.”
“And if I said that’s up for debate based on what you tell me?”
“I might be inclined to make myself look very, very good,” he said, giving her a wide smile. “But I’m also a pathological liar.”
“I’m sure you are,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him, before settling back into his seat. “So are you going to talk to me now, or are we going to dance around each other a little more. Not that it matters, really. We do have all of eternity.”
Mickey paused for a moment, before smirking slightly and leaning back into the couch. “Well, I did always like to dance.”
806 words
“This is really weird.”
And he wasn’t referring to the fact that he couldn’t seem to sit up straight in a chair to save his life. He was sprawling, to be more accurate, legs up over the arm of the couch while his back was on the cushions, and he was staring at the ceiling. The weird he was referring to was the fact that he was relatively certain that that fall he’d just taken wasn’t one he could just wake up from. Being tossed headfirst over a cliff tended to do that to a person.
Damn mob mentality.
He can easily take a person one-on-one, but when it was six or seven-on-one and he wasn’t a member of the six or seven? That was a whole other story. It was him and Gloria-they’d gotten cornered by a group of people who didn’t take too well to the fact that they had bar codes on the back of their necks, and the next thing they knew, they were being forced back up against the guard rail, he lost track of his sister, there was falling, and then-nothing. Nothing but black and quiet for a good two seconds, and when he opened his eyes again, he was here, in the middle of an office, talking to a woman he didn’t recognize, but-she could be a shrink. If he was looking hard enough. He’d played it cool for a while, not sure if this meant that he was just unconscious and moving into death, or if he really was dead, as he suspected.
This was making his head hurt. He decided to just shut up and let the woman talk, seeing if maybe he could get some answers that way.
“What’s weird about it?”
Mickey paused, staring up at the ceiling for a moment, before glancing over at her. “You are aware of how incredibly shrink-like that sounds, don’t you?”
The woman blinked at him for a moment before responding. “Well-I am a therapist. Isn’t that how I’m supposed to sound?”
“Yes-if you were really a therapist,” Mickey said, giving her a look. “You’re more of a figment of my imagination. Or my dying subconscious. Way I figure, the chemicals in my brain are decomposing and causing me to enter a fugue dream state, and once they’re done being overproduced and my body is rotting at the bottom of that outcropping, you’ll just go poof! and I’ll cease to exist completely.”
“Ah,” the woman smirked. “I take it you don’t believe in the afterlife, then?”
“What, you mean like heaven and hell?” Mickey said with a frown, before looking back up at the ceiling again. “Alec may have mentioned it once or twice, but-I never thought it was for something like me.”
“You mean someone like you.”
“No, I mean something,” he replied, glancing at her briefly in his peripheral vision. “I’m not completely human. I’ve got cat DNA in there somewhere, along with who knows what else-I’m a product of science, not nature. Generally speaking, that demotes me to ‘thing’ in the eyes of most, and takes me off the list for all the cool post-death gigs.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “If this is all in my head, why the hell am I debating theology?”
“Maybe it’s not in your head?”
That only earned her a scoff and an eye roll. “And what are you, some kind of angel?”
“No,” she said with a slight chuckle. “I’m more of a-reaper.”
“Reaper? As in Grim?”
“Yes.”
He turned, looking her over for a moment. “You’re hot for a skeleton in a black shroud.”
She smirked. “We’re allowed to take whatever form we choose.”
“How fortunate for you,” Mickey said with a sigh. “Guess that keeps you from scaring the crap out of people.” He paused for a moment, before kicking his legs over and actually sitting up. “So what-you’re here to decide where I’m going for my eternal rest? Hate to break it to you, love, but generally speaking the man-made trained assassins generally just get sent to the land down under-or, at least that’s what I’ve heard.”
“And if I said that’s up for debate based on what you tell me?”
“I might be inclined to make myself look very, very good,” he said, giving her a wide smile. “But I’m also a pathological liar.”
“I’m sure you are,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him, before settling back into his seat. “So are you going to talk to me now, or are we going to dance around each other a little more. Not that it matters, really. We do have all of eternity.”
Mickey paused for a moment, before smirking slightly and leaning back into the couch. “Well, I did always like to dance.”
806 words