Rating: PG-13. It gets a bit dark this chapter, but remains well within the PG designation.
AN: this is the second chapter of Summer (title still tentative). The idea of this multi-chapter is to present the story as a series of vignettes, each placed within six months from each other. This way, some chapters will be Summer, and some will be Winter.
AN2: thank you very, very much for Redwinter101 and Hydriotaphia at the Writer’s Workshop thread for their incredible advice. I love it when you two nitpick
.Chapter Two
Winter
Six months later
The sun set, golden streaks of day running past as they drowned, limp, in the horizon. Street lamps flicked on with the afternoon and struck light into the recesses of the city, deep inside the concrete and dirty glass.
Mick slept with his jaw clenched and shoulders hitched, dreamed of Beth, her, those precious moments of memories that ached and tore him and filled him all at once. Too soon, though, he forced himself awake unkindly, with a shudder and spilled words at dusk. For a few precious seconds he let himself linger inside the cold and think of her. But he only ever allowed himself a moment.
He cracked the freezer door open, a grimace twisting his mouth as warmer air washed over him, only to put it out of his mind as quickly as the complaint came. Mick erased the twist of his lips and made his way to the kitchen in stumbles and blind corners, his thoughts trained on the hidden refrigerator and the vials of blood inside. The syringe shook in his grasp when he filled it and he had to steady his grip to slide the needle deep into the crook of his arm. The blood felt good coursing inside him despite the cold of it, direct into his veins and through his eyes and out with his gasp. He let his arms and gaze rest on the metal counter, where the reflected light stung his eyes.
He leaned away from the counter, stumbled back up the stairs, moved to get ready. An ice cold shower to wake him and clothes to hide his hard skin, a harsh comb of his hair without looking in the mirror. He scratched his stubble; too long, but he left it for tomorrow.
As he attempted to close his shirt, his fingers wouldn’t cooperate and refused to loop the small buttons properly. In the end, frustration won out and he donned a gray t-shirt instead with his oldest pair of jeans.
He stepped barefoot to the hallway and paused before the stairs, breathed in deep again. He had company. Decay, cologne, whiskey, iron and wine, and salt. Women, starch.
Josef.
Mick blinked but continued, eyes on each step and ears trained to the sound of tinkling glass. He found Josef sprawled on Mick’s couch, alone this time. Good.
“Mick, how wonderful to see you, and after such a long time, too.”
He greeted Josef with a sigh and went to pour himself a glass, gulped it with tongue tucked under teeth and the taste of the blood denied. He drank again and finished it, slammed the cup against the metal. The bang surprised him and he snapped his eyebrows together. He hadn’t meant to break the glass.
“Why, Mick, is than any way to greet your best friend of decades?”
“Josef, I… have work to do.”
Quiet creaking and soft footfalls as Josef rose from the couch and stalked closer. Mick felt Josef’s light hand on his shoulder and whirled away. His throat hurt, ached with the tightness of sorrow. Stop, Mick thought, stop. Don't think of it. He swallowed and looked up at Josef.
Josef’s eyes were blank, careful. He lowered his hand to his side like molasses through air.
“Maybe you should come out with me for a while, play some golf, get drunk, beat a bad guy up, you know, a typical day in the life of an avenger,” Josef said.
Mick sighed. “Not tonight.”
“When was the last time you got out of your apartment for something that wasn’t a case?”
Mick shifted his weight and crossed his arms, attempting to keep the spark of guilt out of his eyes. He knew when he had last gone out. It had been three days ago. He had gone to her.
“Man, do you know how to carry your women around. First Coraline, now Beth,” Josef said, taking a step closer, mouth and tongue still formed in the aftermath of her name as he reached out for him again.
At the sound of her name, Mick rippled like whiplash, muscles snapping and stretching with tension. A creak as the metal under his hands protested. Grinding as his jaw clenched to chip his teeth.
“You should go,” Mick said.
Josef hesitated, hand held out inches from Mick's shoulder. In that small pause, Mick remembered the first month after his big blow-up with Beth. God, it hurt to even think her name.
Josef had come those first weeks, snark and edges as always, but bearing gifts. First he had brought whiskey. Josef had no doubt hoped to burn the scent of her away, but Mick could still see the shards of glass from the bottle embedded in his wall, too deep to just clean; he'd have to take pliers to it. It was just another task to be left for another time.
Then it had been freshies tossed into his lap, bleeding and giggling and warm arms winding around his neck. Mick didn’t particularly care to remember his reaction to that.
And then, Josef’s desperation had won over common sense and he had sent Mick call girls. Three at a time, none of them blond. Josef had made sure of that.
Anger shivered up Mick’s spine and his attention snapped back to Josef, who was waxing lyrical about the beneficial qualities of heavy drinking and fresh air with a fanged friend.
“Josef. Go.”
Josef hesitated once more, his glance flicking, taking in the tumbled books, stained walls from the broken bottle of whiskey and needles strewn on the counter like crushed centipedes.
“Go! Now,” said Mick, anger getting the best of him. He knew it was ridiculous but he couldn’t stop himself from lashing, just as he couldn’t stop his dreams and mumbled words during his sleep.
Josef sighed and cast one last careful look at Mick and then he turned to the entrance, hands straightening clothes, and opened the door, stepped outside.
“I’ll call you later,” Josef said quietly and closed the door.
Nice job 
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