Below The Surface - A Lackadaisy Fanfiction

Heart Made of Glass, My Mind of Stone

The ride back was painfully silent: and the only things they left at the factory were dead bodies, and the taxi car Mordecai hijacked.

Mordecai kept his gaze turned away. He seemed to forget the words Rocky uttered to him back there.

Now his mind was muddled.

He didn't realize how much his head hurt now. How much the gunshot grazed on his forehead burned with each, light breeze caressing it. He bit back any and every hiss. He turned his head away, his ears flattening. He rolled his shoulders when Rocky put his hands on them, the tuxedo cat not wanting the physical contact. It was as if he had gone numb...

But good Lord...his heart felt like it was made with the most fragile glass at this second. The moments spent with Atlas, those good and bad days, the missions, everything together. Sure, Atlas was cold at times, but there was more than just that: he was a gentle soul when around family members, friends, those acquaintances.

Perhaps that's where Mordecai harnessed that cold demeanor: all from Atlas.

...great: his heart squeezed more. He didn't want to deal with this more. He let his eyes close, and he leaned against the car door. He needed a breather...

***

"What the..."

"Precious, isn't it?"

Set the scene: Atlas May's office: lavish, comforting, shielded from the cold winter outside. Mordecai was sitting right in front of Atlas, watching how he handled the Colt M1911 Pistol. It was grasped with such poise and care, that it made Mordecai's eyes spark.

"It would be a shame to say that I am retiring this weapon." Atlas examined the gun, tilting it around. His eyes had dulled considerably. He shed the cold demeanor, and it melted into something much kinder, much more...fatherly, almost.

"Oh?" Mordecai raised one brow, tilting his head to the side. "How come?"

"Well, considering how much you improved over these couple of months, I wanted you to have it." Atlas set the pistol down. He slid it gently across his desk, directly in front of Mordecai.

"...me?" He felt rather weak saying that.

"Given that this was meant to be Viktor's, I decided to hand it down to you. After all, his hands are much larger compared to yours." Atlas chuckled dryly, and Mordecai instinctively look down at his hands. He scowled, but the little facial expression made Atlas smile.

"...hm." Mordecai hummed. He felt the gun being placed in his hands gently.

"Keep it," Atlas told him, "you're gonna need it on your next mission."

...Mordecai was grateful to listen to what he had said.

****

That memory rewinding in his mind was enough for him to almost scream. He hated how much he loved that memory. Earning his gun, like an upgrade from the first one he was given. It was more refined, and he made sure to use it with care.

He felt Rocky slump against him in exhaustion upon riding in the car. Mordecai swallowed thickly. He stared down at him. He wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tightly, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face on the top of the tomcat's head.

Rocky could have sworn—despite his sleep–muddled brain—that he felt freshly fallen tears on his head: and that only made his concern grow.

****

"Why did you take me out here, Mr. Rickaby?" Mordecai had asked an overly hyper Rocky. Rocky swiveled around, spinning on his heel. He grabbed the tuxedo cat's hands tightly.

"Because! It's a good night for a little symphony! Over there is my violin!" He jerked his chin over to another spot on top of the roof. Mordecai frowned, an eyebrow now arched.

"Is that completely the truth?" He inquired.

"For the most part, yes!" Rocky grinned, his tail flicking around, batting against Mordecai's leg. Mordecai scoffed, almost pulling away...yet he was unfortunately compelled.

"Then do not waste my time upon such ridiculous antics." He told him curtly.

"Wow! You even remind me of dear ole Mrs. M!"

"I suppose I should take that as an insult."

"It's far from an insult."

Mordecai's mouth curled into a close lipped sneer. "I am sickened by your beaming energy."

Rocky gasped slightly. He held Mordecai's arms, bouncing a little. "Thank you!"

"That is not—" Mordecai was tempted to shove him away. He then groaned. "What do you want, Roark?"

"...to show you." Rocky's voice softened. He moved around, guiding Mordecai by taking his shoulders. Both of them stood against the stone banister. Mordecai's eyes lit up slightly at the sight of stars pricked across the ink black sky. A couple constellations were set in place, and he finally eased.

"This..." Mordecai trailed off.

"I wanted to show you how beautiful the night is." Rocky hummed. "Just like you, my friend."

"...like me?" Mordecai turned to him, a dumbfounded expression twisting onto his face. Rocky nodded.

"You're beautiful: even more dashing than this fine night." He smiled. Mordecai continued to stare.

"I..." He was at a loss for words, for once. He felt Rocky squeeze his hands. As he did that, the tuxedo cat felt his stomach twist into anxious knots...or was it anxiety? It may have been a sickness...he couldn't tell.

"I just wanted to let you know all of that, my friend." Rocky hummed again.

"...it is greatly appreciated, Mr. Rickaby." Mordecai nodded.

"Call me Rocky." Rocky insisted. When he pulled away, scooping up his violin to tune it, Mordecai let out a gentle,

"Alright...Rocky."

****

When Mordecai felt Rocky hug him tighter, all the tuxedo cat could do was let it happen, all while burying his face on top of his head, and letting those unbidden emotions to wreck him.