And, Love

Part 39

Mikey's arm ached from holding the spray can. Still working slowly, steadily on the outline. So focused he didn't hear you approach. Didn't notice till you flicked a lighter.

"Oh." Finger released the nozzle as Mikey eyed you.

You nodded, taking a drag of the joint. "How's she coming?" Breath held as you offered him a hit.

"We're getting there." Mikey set the can down, pulled off a glove, taking the joint gladly - though he knew it wouldn't do anything for him. 

Something about being in an alley, surrounded by graffiti, the smell of fresh paint and Marijuana, and you with smoke rolling out your nose looking at him.

It rocked him back almost a decade. To that first chance meeting.

Mikey fell beside you, gloved hand in his pocket, head falling back as he welcomed the burn. The smolder. The smoke.

The memories. The easier times. Before Splinter was sick, before he'd made so many mistakes. When life felt newer, shinier around the edges and full of promise.

"You alright?" You took another drag, watching Mikey carefully.

"Yeah." He exhaled. Blinked, kept his eyes closed. "Splinter decided to do treatments."

"That's…" Mikey could feel you trying to test out his emotions on the decision. "Good?"

Mikey nodded, "yeah. Give us time to say goodbye. Make a plan."

"A pl-" realization dawned over you. "Oh."

"Yeah." Mikey couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice. "Can't exactly drop him off with a coroner at the end."

"Jesus fuck, Mike!" You snipped, the rest of your joint falling to the ground. "That's dark as hell."

"It's true." Face collapsed in a pout. "I know." He sank down to sitting, paying no mind to the wet and ice and snow. "I know that it would happen," he sat there for a moment. As emotions warned. Staring at nothing. "That eventually he would d-" swallowed hard, fingers tangling, head hanging. "But I didn't know. Not really. Not for real." He sniffled, leaning into your open arms as you sat with him.

"And I know I'm supposed to be enjoying every last moment and making the most of it-" Mikey hiccuped. "But I can't even look at him right now." A sob, a laugh. Wet and sickly. "He's my dad. He's dying. And I have the nerve to be angry. To be so sad I can't-"

"Shh, shh." You tried, rubbing the part of his shell you could reach. "I know, baby." 

Your head against him felt good. The heat of your body helped ground him. Mikey sighed, kicking his legs out.

"How's this?" You turned, crossing your legs as you faced him. "You fake it. You be as happy and loving and wonderful as you need every last moment with your dad to be, okay?" He opened his mouth, but you stopped him. "And I will too." Fingers pressed to your chest. "And then, when it's just you and me. Or just us kids-" Mikey frowned, eyes closing. "We'll all hurt together. Okay?"

Mikey tsked.

"Okay." You slapped his thigh as you stood. "Think about it. I have a job to return to. We will be going to the lair tonight for our Die Hard-"

Mikey protested as he stood slowly, but you spoke over him.

"Tradition!" You snapped, glaring up at the pouting, petulant mutant. "I will be bringing dinner, Wifey and Leo are grabbing snacks." You stepped forward, hands resting gingerly on Mikey's crossed forearms. "Splinter will be joining us." You captured his gaze. "You and I will sit beside one another." You walked him through your plan, and each word saw Mikey unwinding. "Tony will be sitting with the kids." You snickered, Mikey felt the ghost of a smile tug at his lips.

Till he looked at your beaming face. He couldn't help but return the grin.

"And if it gets too much, or if you need a break, just tap my hand three times-"

"Three?" Mikey couldn't help the tone.

"What?" You pulled away, shrugging innocently. "Leo's ticks can be our secret code. I deserve one!" You stomped a foot. "You guys do all your sign language stuff and different languages. I deserve a-"

"Okay." Mikey acquiesced, hand falling over yours, leaning down to kiss your knuckles. "Three taps."

"Good." You nodded, watching him rise only a little breathlessly. "I gotta-" you half turned, motioning in the general direction of the Cafe. "You know. Do things."

"Like work?" Mikey offered, bending back down to grab his paint.

"Damn boy!" You screeched, making Mikey startled. "Dat ass doe." A whistle peeled sharp and harsh out of you. "Show me what that mouth do later, Papi!"

Mikey snorted, waving you off as the cafe doors closed, nodding at the laughing patrons passing by. He looked up at the artwork, half done.

Feeling, for the first time in a long time, that it would be okay. Maybe not at first, maybe not in a while. But eventually it would be okay.