Chapter 26

"Y'should've le' me stab 'im," Mouse grumbled. She eased out a breath—it was shaky but much less than before—and brushed a hand by her eye. Squid noted the reemergence of her southern accent which had been tucked away so carefully over the years.

They sat behind the Wreck Room, backs resting against the wooden wall, sitting shoulder to shoulder, staring out at the vast expanse of desert ahead of them. In the distance, beneath the murky haze of dust, piles of dirt poked upwards, scraping against the underbelly of the slow purpling sky.

He watched out the corner of his eye as her hands came down to her stomach, drumming her fingers. It was the most she'd spoken since she finished unloading the truck.

The tension broke apart when kitchen staff showed up. Squid had to yank Zigzag away from Eagle before he found a way to rip off Eagle's head and shove it where the sun didn't shine (not that he didn't deserve it).

Mickey's attempts at an explanation fell on deaf ears; the staff couldn't care less about what the campers got up to as long as no one got seriously injured. Or died. Rather than continuing the drama, they waved Mouse away and relieved her of dinner duty. Eagle, still smirking, went back inside to work.

It wasn't much but it was better than nothing. So Squid took her away, finding as much space as possible to let her calm down. Surprisingly, a big empty stretch of desert could be smothering.

"Y'really think you woulda done it?" Squid asked.

She nodded. "Yeah." He hummed at her conviction. His Mickey wouldn't hurt a fly; in fact, she'd apologize for being in its way. Seconds passed. Her nose wrinkled, and her mouth twisted to the side. "Maybe." Her puckered eyebrows eased, she sighed, and her chin dropping to her chest beneath his weighted silence. "I wanted to," she mumbled.

"I know."

She snorted, giving her head a flick, shifting her hair behind her shoulders and shook her head. "No, you don't."

"Yeah I do." Squid turned his head, taking in her clenched jaw and steel-eyed gaze pinned to the horizon. Gone was the baby faced, wide-eyed, naïve veneer that had been carefully applied and molded beneath her mother's watchful eye. Simmering fury stared back at him; mirrors weren't allowed at camp, but he knew it was the same dormant anger sitting beneath the surface in him.

Wanting to hurt everyone else because the world hurt him first?

Yeah, he got it. He really got it.

"God! Why now?" Her hands unfurled from around her lifted knees and landed against the dirt with a muted thud. "I'm, like, six hundred miles away from Brett and yet he's still here. He's still messin' with me. He says hi, by the way." She let out a bitter laugh; the serrated edge cut him, made him wince. "That was th' message Eagle passed on, if ya wanna know why I tried t' hurt 'im. That Brett says fucking hi! Like…like I'm on some sorta vacation 'r somethin'!"

Her bitter chuckle turned into an almost hysterical laugh. "I…I can't get away from 'im! I'll never get away from 'im! He's…he's always gonna be breathin' down my neck." She looked at him; he gazed back into her blazing rage. "D'you even know the worst part?" He wasn't given time to answer. "The worst part is that I was actually startin' t' kinda like it here." He made a face and she nodded rapidly. "Yeah, I know! Sounds crazy, but I was! Up until Eagle and…and this. Because I didn't haveta think about takin' a different route to get from here t'my hole. Because I could see anyone coming from any direction; I didn' haveta look over my shoulder." She jabbed her finger at her temple as she spoke. "I didn't haveta think about how I'm talkin' t'someone, wondering if I somehow led them on. And this? This thing?" She grabbed the arms of her tied-up jumpsuit and gave them a shake. "This jumpsuit? I actually like it! I like that it's big 'n' baggy. I like that no one can see my body without my say so. And I like that it doesn' take me two fucking hours t'figure out what I'm gonna wear so I don' put out some signal that I'm askin' for it." Her finger quotes were so ferocious she could have clawed holes into the sky. "And now, all the way out here, he still won' leave me alone." Lips pressed together, a growl rolled in her chest. She blew out a breath, her chest deflating while her head tipped backwards, and she closed her eyes. "You should've let me stab 'im."

"You said that already," Squid said.

"Yeah, well, it bears repe'in'!"

The softened wood beneath his teeth separated and frayed when Squid bit down. Muscles in the corners of his jaw popped at the strain and a low ringing started in his ears. His fingers twitched, itching to sink his fists into someone's face, knock loose some teeth, rearrange some bones. The normal routine. At least then he could do something; that helpless feeling, the lack of being in control, rankled.

"I just don't get it," she said, speaking up after a moment of silence. Her mouth twisted to the side and her nose wrinkled. "How do they even know each other?" Her accent had eased, fading back out.

Drawing a knee upwards, he rested his arm against it and pulled the remains of the toothpick form his mouth, flicking it into the dirt. "Maybe they're friends."

"But how? The only one he'd know about here is you. And me."

"And Eagle, apparently."

"You're missing the point." She swung her head towards him, casting that exasperated look he'd seen way too many times. "Has he ever written you?"

Squid snorted. "The guy could barely hold a conversation that wasn't about baseball, getting high, or scoring with chicks. Y'think he'd write a letter?"

"Squid!" Somehow, she managed to drag his name into a two-syllable admonishment.

He rolled his eyes and heaved an exaggerated breath. "No, he's never written me, Mouse. So what?" He scratched behind his ear. "I didn't talk to him much before I was arrested anyhow."

"Think about it!" Now she turned so she sat perpendicular to the Wreck Room wall, reaching forward to dig her finger into his arm. God, he hated it when she did that. He missed it when she did that. "If he hasn't written you, how would he know to contact Eagle here?"

"Arrests and sentencing are public record," he said, "anyone can find where anyone ended up. And there's a working phone in the office." But even as he spoke, her words placed a heavy load on his shoulders, and something niggled at the back of his mind.

Another poke; her fingernail pinched his skin. "Again, missing the point! If he never writes you, someone who he's hung around with and called a friend, how would he know who to contact here to get a message to Eagle? And even then, how would he be sure that the message would even get to Eagle? And why Eagle?" She barely let out a breath when she continued speaking, her words colliding in a hushed rush, "Okay, see, I think the camp is holding our letters so we can't tell people about what's going on here. And I think that something is going on with the judges all over Texas to bring people here."

"Okay, Zigzag."

"Squid, keep up!" She leaned forward, her round electric blue eyes wide and earnest. "I wrote you. A lot. When you were first arrested, I wrote you every day. And you didn't get anything. Right? That's part of the reason you were so mad at me, because you thought I didn't write. So we know they're keeping at least some of our mail. Which means they're in control of what comes in and what goes out. Which means, if Brett is keeping in touch with Eagle, then—"

Squid tuned out her rushed rambling; the thoughts running through his mind were loud enough. He didn't need an extra voice amplifying the ache blooming in his head.

Yes, he'd been angry about not getting a letter from her. Frankly, back then an equal part was angry at himself for giving in and trying to write her. For holding onto the hope that, after everything that happened between them, there was still a part of her that cared about him like she claimed. That there was a part of him that still cared about her. He'd never heard a word back, but he always thought it was Mrs. Mason, not the camp, hiding or holding her letters. Either way he finally let hope go.

Hope was for suckers and he was the biggest sucker in the world for thinking he could override the plans his life had for him. He switched out hope to dive headfirst into a sea of perpetual anger, giving in, sinking to the bottom.

Anger was easier to deal with. Hell, he could even claim he was born angry. He could mark the moment it first flared up, though he was too young to properly voice his thoughts and concerns when his father left. It was his first lesson that the world wasn't as sunshine and rainbows as Mickey seemed to view it. Or used to view it, anyway.

He'd do anything to get that back. She deserved it. And it had to be less exhausting than preparing for a fight at any moment.

"—nothing happens around here without some sort of trade, right? And Brett's rich but I think they'd notice if one of those armored trucks suddenly showed up around here. But then it makes me wonder what Eagle's getting out of it if not money."

"His rocks off?" His eyes rolled skywards when she slapped his arm with the back of her hand, her eyelids pulling down to an unamused look. "You saw that smug look on his stupid smug face. He enjoyed seeing you pissed. That's what he got out of it." But even as he spoke he didn't truly trust his own words. Brett wouldn't talk to him but he'd take the time to write to someone else? And for a significant amount of time? For no other reason than just to spit in Mickey's face? That was too easy, even for Brett…

"Maybe," she mumbled, a detached tone taking over her words when she added, "but that's probably not going to stop them is it?" Squid gave her a look. She nodded. "Thought so."

"We can do something," Squid said. He waited until he held her blue gaze, electric and curious, and continued, "You're one of us. You're D-Tent. We take care of our own."

She peeked at him through a squinted eye; gold melted over the camp, as if a spotlight had been turned on them. The bright dying light puddled in the dip of a dimple appearing along her half smile. Her sun-born freckle dotted nose wrinkled as her smile grew and her gaze shifted down towards her fidgeting fingers. The once tangible air, alive and crackling, settled like rough waves easing after a storm.

"Thanks." The word, so soft, came as tender whisper, as if speaking any louder would make the word break. "I appreciate it. But I need to do this on my own. For…I don't know," her shoulders bounced in a shrug, "peace of mind or something. To know that I can do it. That I finally have—"

"Your control back?" Squid supplied. He hadn't even realized he'd spoken until she hummed, a confused look in her eye quickly shifting over to understanding.

She pointed at him. "Exactly." Dragged a hand through her shaggy, uneven hair, Mouse tugged it over to one side. Clearing her throat, she said, "Anyway, there's something weird going on here."

"You probably shouldn't be talking about that out loud"—he wiggled a lazy figure in the air—"with the cameras and everything."

"Nothing's happened so far."

"Doesn't mean it won't."

"Fine. Then I hope Eagle falls in a hole."

Squid snorted. "Come on, now, you can go bigger than that."

"Bit by a rattlesnake?"

"Bigger. Think about when you hated me. Didn't you ever wish something bad would happen to me?"

Mickey blinked. "No. Never." As if it were obvious.

Her brutal honesty rocked right through him, as it always did. She'd had that advantage since she was a kid, that disarming vulnerability she barely batted an eyelash about. Her emotions and thoughts, threaded together, sat right beneath the surface, on full display through the windows of her electric eyes. His liked to hide, sink down in the darkness pooling in whatever crevice it could find, huddled and rounded and protecting itself with its back against the world.

He grunted. "I'd probably deserve it."

"Well, then, that puts us in the same boat, doesn't it?" He licked his cracked, dry lips, turning his squinting eyes off to the distance. It hurt worse to look at her understanding face than to stare straight into the sun. "Think we can fit? In the same boat I mean."

He blew out a breath and messed with his hat, lacing his fingers behind his neck. "If we can figure out how to survive in a desert without killing each other, I think I can share a boat without wanting to throw you overboard."

"Wait a second!" she held a finger in the air as if pressing an invisible pause button. "Who said anything about throwing me overboard?"

Squid gave her a look. "It's my boat."

"So you'd just throw me to the sharks? Just like that?"

He rolled his eyes. "You're more likely to be flattened by a vendin' machine than you are to be eaten by a shark."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize vending machines were plentiful all the way out in the ocean."

"Just hope it aint that one from the hotel in Dallas."

A shit-eating grin burst on his face when she pushed at his arm. "That was not funny! My arm was stuck for two hours because of you! I almost missed my competition!"

The memory unfolded in front of his eyes like it was yesterday: eight-year-old Mickey all dolled up for a competition, hair pulled back into an insanely tight bun, sprawled on the floor in front of the hallway vending machine, a pout curling her lips with her arm bent at an odd angle inside the machine, clutching a Snickers bar. Mrs. Mason nearly tore them a new one for almost missing her cue. Mr. Mason found it hilarious.

He wouldn't have even been at that competition if it weren't for his mom disappearing the night before. He'd called Mr. Mason, asking him how to use the gas stove; he wanted something more than another can of cold Spaghetti-o's for dinner but didn't know how to turn it on for the pancakes he'd prepared. Mr. Mason had asked him where his mom was and he replied, honesty, that he wasn't sure; that she'd gotten dolled up earlier and he hadn't heard a word from her since. Mr. Mason's voice got tight in the way it did when he needed to be direct and understood: in no uncertain terms he told Alan not to turn on the oven, to pack a bag, and wait for him by the front door. He did as he was told, packing some clothes, grabbing Mittens, and waiting. Mr. Mason came by fifteen minutes later in his new Lexus, a step up from their old beat-up Pinto, picked him up, and announced that he was sleeping over and going to the competition with them the next day. When he got back his mother returned a few hours later.

She didn't even notice he was gone.

"You didn't have to do it," Squid said, smile still affixed to his face.

"You triple-dog dared me!" Mouse shot back with shut grave insistence it made him laugh all over again.

"Yeah but I never thought you'd actually do it." Of course, he did: no one turned down a triple-dog dare; they didn't have the guts.

"You said it ate your dollar."

"It did but I was gonna ask your dad for another one. I just wanted to mess with ya."

She snorted. "You and everyone else in the world, apparently."

The smile slid off his face and the nostalgic jubilation fizzing through him settled at her sobering words. Rubbing his palms on the knees of his jumpsuit he cleared his throat. "Yeah, well, not anymore. No one fucks with my girl and gets away with it."

"Present company included?" She continued on in a rush, slightly stumbling over her words, "I don't care if you make fun of me or tease me, I think you'll actually die if you don't"—he hummed; she wasn't wrong—"but if whatever this is"—she motioned her finger between the two of them—"is going to work—"

"I told you: you're D-Tent." He reached out, pressing his finger to the spot between her eyes and pushed her head backwards. "I got your back," he said, snickering at her smacking his hand away from her face.

"And I have yours." For a moment they sat, smiling at one another, settling into their little pocket of seclusion, and then she tilted her head back and heaved a large sigh. "I'm hungry," she mumbled, glancing over her shoulder. "Think dinner's almost ready?"

Squid's eyebrow rose. "You want to go?"

Facing him, she mimicked his gesture. "As opposed to, what? Eating my arm?"

"Figured you wouldn't want to be there."

"No. I need to be there." Mouse's eyes hardened, much like her stiffening jaw. Something flipped in his stomach, he waved it away as hunger. "I won't let Brett win."

He couldn't wait to see it.

a/n - wheeeeeew this chapter took much longer than I wanted for it to be posted (blame work, Christmas is our busiest season and I've been so drained after working long days lately). I was originally going to add the dinner scene but this, I think, is the perfect come down from how charged the last chapter was. Squid and Mickey are finally on the same page! I love writing these two, it's not even funny. Speaking of which, if you haven't read it yet, I have a one-shot up showing Squid and Mickey's relationship pre-CGL if you want to check it out. It's called 13 6 11 8 15. Let me know what you think!

And, just in case I don't manage an update before Christmas, happy holidays to you all! I appreciate each and every one of you, more than you know.

Review Replies

Lunilai - Hey Zigerss! Thanks for that, I do sometimes worry that the backstory thrown in isn't always interesting but I can say that it's definitely needed! I'm happy to know you think it shines on it's own. Actually, Squid wasn't going to art school but Mickey was paying for him to take photography classes (shit I wish she were my friend, I need a hypeman like her!) And no, that's not his secret talent. He has another one which he doesn't want anyone to know about (though Mickey knows...and you might...;)). I can with confidence say that Squid didn't do it; he wouldn't be so adamant about getting her to believe him if he did do it. Thanks so much for the support!

Shawny - Getting told people's reactions to the things I think up is one of the best thing I an ever recieve as a fanfic writer because it means that my writing is connecting with someone and that's all I really want; to know that what I've written is connection with someone somehow that they have some sort of feeling towards it (hopefully not boredom! lol). I don't only want to be sensitive to people who may have been in their situation but I want to be sensitive to them too, rushing them to get to the point where I want them wouldn't do them justice. Right? Right!? That's why I'm so torn on what to do, I love them so muuuuuuch! And regarding your diabetes comment months back, I'm so happy you commented and corrected me. As I've said, I try hard and do a lot of research in topics I bring up in my fics whether I've experienced them or not and the last thing I want to do is offend someone. I appreciate that you took the time to tell me why I was wrong. And of course I went back to fix it! Fanfics are escapism and can have reality handwaved but I don't want to contribute to false information that could actually hurt someone out there! Don't be embarrassed at all, please! I would much rather people come to me with their concerns than let me continue being wrong.

Guest - Ahhhh, thank you so much! If you still want to know a little more about their backstory, I do have one-shot up that fills in a few more blanks with them and how their relationship worked pre-CGL. You and I feel the same about Eagle, but don't worry, he'll get what's coming to him! Thanks for the review!

Lisa Zimmermann - I mean they do clearly love each other, otherwise why else would they put up with so much shit they've slung back and forth at one another? But yeah, there is a lot of tension building between them isn't there...? :) We shall seeeeee!

10945 - HOPE THIS HELPED!

LittleBlueSweater - Oh don't you worry, shit will indeed be hitting the fan. I have so much shit woven together that, in the next chapter even, it'll all finally come together. Just keep this one word in mind as a hint: baseball.