The Weight of Anger (G)
Posted: Mon Feb 28, 2011 10:40 pm
Title: The Weight of Anger
Author: redwinter101
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own Moonlight or any of its characters
Note: I miss Moonlight every day, think about it every day, talk about it every day, but the edge has burned away from my yearning after so long. But then, every once in a while, it catches me. Today was one of those days. If you still feel the same, this is for you.
This is set during Click, between Josef's visit to Beth's apartment and Beth and Mick's dinner at the Arbor Bistro.
*************************************************************************************************************
--- The Weight of Anger ---
The tap on the door hid beneath the clack of her fingers across the keys. Focused on the story, her final story, nearly ready to file, she missed it.
Tap, tap.
So soft the everyday hum in her apartment almost covered it again, but she sensed it, sensed him, and paused.
Tap, tap.
Her head turned toward the door, cocked to one side, craning to hear.
Tap, tap.
A muffled brush of heavy cloth against the door, then a slow, soft step away.
Another.
A flicker of light against the spyhole as the hallway cleared.
By the third step she was at the door, flinging it open and stepping out to the light, airy space beyond.
"Mick?"
"Hey." He turned, a lopsided, shy smile as he pushed a stray curl from his eyes. "I didn't want to disturb you; I heard you working…"
He closed the gap but remained just out of reach.
"But you knocked three times." She dipped to catch his eye. "Is everything okay?" A cursory inspection revealed no obvious injuries but something was up. Something had brought him to her door this bright, May evening.
Mick nodded, "It's nothing. I just-" The questions froze in her throat; she waited. "I just wanted to stop by, that's all."
"Well, you'd better come in then." Beth stepped aside, her arm outstretched to rest against his shoulder, drawing him in.
Mick tried to hide his relief, the slump in his rangy frame as he nodded his acceptance and moved inside, but she saw it. It lived with him every day, she knew, but some days it gained a force of its own - the weight of too many disappointments, too much life half-lived, too much solitary sorrow. Today was one of those days, etched in the tired lines of his brow, the barely-there wisp of unshed tears in his eyes, the pallor of fifty years without a good night's sleep. The effort of easing off his coat and dropping it to the floor seemed to exhaust him and Mick slumped onto the couch, his gaze unfocused.
"Has something happened?" She sat beside him, turned in, her knee pressed against his thigh. She asked again, unsure if he'd heard her. "Mick, has something happened?"
"No. I… Not really. Just a long day, you know. I don't really know why I came, but…" He glanced down at his hands, working fingers over knuckles, lost in thought. "Can I just sit here for a while? Would that be okay?"
It was the first time he'd come to her in need since she'd sent him away, that terrible night, with words she couldn't unsay. Now he was here, needing her, needing comfort and in a moment of clarity she realised the cause didn't matter. The cause was detail. The cause was periphery. He was here and he needed her. There had been laughter since then, joy even, but the distance remained. Reaching out she placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling him tense under the unexpected touch.
"Of course that's okay, Mick." She wanted to push, not for answers this time, but for contact, for a physical manifestation of the tentative closeness that filled her home for the first time since Josh's death. Brushing her hand against his cheek she rose and headed to the kitchen, opening fridge and cupboards smoothly: three glasses; two for him, one for her.
"Here." She held out one glass filled with amber Scotch and one filled with scarlet life. "I got in some emergency stocks, just in case and you look like you need both."
To her surprise, he didn't protest, draining the blood and the whisky in quick succession, his eyes closing as he drank, setting the empty glasses down beside him and falling back into the chair. Beth sat on the floor at his feet and began to unlace his boots.
"What are you doing?"
"Take it easy, Mick. It's just us here, you're safe, and welcome, so you can relax a little, okay?" She eased his boots off and retook her seat next to him, a little closer, her hand falling to rest on his thigh. "Just relax."
Mick nodded. He tried to cover the strangled sob that forced through his defences, but he couldn't. His hand clamped over his mouth, desperate to keep it inside, all of it, overcome with a wash of regret that he'd come here, weak, defeated in front of the woman for whom he longed to be everything. Beth inched closer, never losing contact, stretching an arm around his trembling shoulders, holding him close. Holding, waiting, her breath heavy in the silence.
"I keep hoping it's gonna stop, you know. Just stop. Someday. I… I know that sounds pathetic when Tierney-"
"Mick, you did everything you could. It's not your fault-"
"But she's still dead and I'm still…" He broke off and pushed Beth away, more roughly than he intended. None of this was what he intended. He made for the door, his back turned toward her, thrusting his feet awkwardly into his boots in his haste. "I'm sorry. It's mine to carry. Mine. I don't want you in this. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come." He'd recovered his equilibrium now, his moment of weakness passed, fierce, still protective, little understanding how much it was he who needed her protection this night.
"Yes, Mick, you should," she reached him, hands splayed across his back, "This is where you need to be. I know whatever your burden is, it's yours to carry… but as long as I'm next to you, I can share the load, if you'll let me.
"Let me, Mick." She covered his hand on the door handle, careful, soft, soothing, stroking her fingers over his.
"Let me."
Author: redwinter101
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own Moonlight or any of its characters
Note: I miss Moonlight every day, think about it every day, talk about it every day, but the edge has burned away from my yearning after so long. But then, every once in a while, it catches me. Today was one of those days. If you still feel the same, this is for you.
This is set during Click, between Josef's visit to Beth's apartment and Beth and Mick's dinner at the Arbor Bistro.
*************************************************************************************************************
--- The Weight of Anger ---
The tap on the door hid beneath the clack of her fingers across the keys. Focused on the story, her final story, nearly ready to file, she missed it.
Tap, tap.
So soft the everyday hum in her apartment almost covered it again, but she sensed it, sensed him, and paused.
Tap, tap.
Her head turned toward the door, cocked to one side, craning to hear.
Tap, tap.
A muffled brush of heavy cloth against the door, then a slow, soft step away.
Another.
A flicker of light against the spyhole as the hallway cleared.
By the third step she was at the door, flinging it open and stepping out to the light, airy space beyond.
"Mick?"
"Hey." He turned, a lopsided, shy smile as he pushed a stray curl from his eyes. "I didn't want to disturb you; I heard you working…"
He closed the gap but remained just out of reach.
"But you knocked three times." She dipped to catch his eye. "Is everything okay?" A cursory inspection revealed no obvious injuries but something was up. Something had brought him to her door this bright, May evening.
Mick nodded, "It's nothing. I just-" The questions froze in her throat; she waited. "I just wanted to stop by, that's all."
"Well, you'd better come in then." Beth stepped aside, her arm outstretched to rest against his shoulder, drawing him in.
Mick tried to hide his relief, the slump in his rangy frame as he nodded his acceptance and moved inside, but she saw it. It lived with him every day, she knew, but some days it gained a force of its own - the weight of too many disappointments, too much life half-lived, too much solitary sorrow. Today was one of those days, etched in the tired lines of his brow, the barely-there wisp of unshed tears in his eyes, the pallor of fifty years without a good night's sleep. The effort of easing off his coat and dropping it to the floor seemed to exhaust him and Mick slumped onto the couch, his gaze unfocused.
"Has something happened?" She sat beside him, turned in, her knee pressed against his thigh. She asked again, unsure if he'd heard her. "Mick, has something happened?"
"No. I… Not really. Just a long day, you know. I don't really know why I came, but…" He glanced down at his hands, working fingers over knuckles, lost in thought. "Can I just sit here for a while? Would that be okay?"
It was the first time he'd come to her in need since she'd sent him away, that terrible night, with words she couldn't unsay. Now he was here, needing her, needing comfort and in a moment of clarity she realised the cause didn't matter. The cause was detail. The cause was periphery. He was here and he needed her. There had been laughter since then, joy even, but the distance remained. Reaching out she placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling him tense under the unexpected touch.
"Of course that's okay, Mick." She wanted to push, not for answers this time, but for contact, for a physical manifestation of the tentative closeness that filled her home for the first time since Josh's death. Brushing her hand against his cheek she rose and headed to the kitchen, opening fridge and cupboards smoothly: three glasses; two for him, one for her.
"Here." She held out one glass filled with amber Scotch and one filled with scarlet life. "I got in some emergency stocks, just in case and you look like you need both."
To her surprise, he didn't protest, draining the blood and the whisky in quick succession, his eyes closing as he drank, setting the empty glasses down beside him and falling back into the chair. Beth sat on the floor at his feet and began to unlace his boots.
"What are you doing?"
"Take it easy, Mick. It's just us here, you're safe, and welcome, so you can relax a little, okay?" She eased his boots off and retook her seat next to him, a little closer, her hand falling to rest on his thigh. "Just relax."
Mick nodded. He tried to cover the strangled sob that forced through his defences, but he couldn't. His hand clamped over his mouth, desperate to keep it inside, all of it, overcome with a wash of regret that he'd come here, weak, defeated in front of the woman for whom he longed to be everything. Beth inched closer, never losing contact, stretching an arm around his trembling shoulders, holding him close. Holding, waiting, her breath heavy in the silence.
"I keep hoping it's gonna stop, you know. Just stop. Someday. I… I know that sounds pathetic when Tierney-"
"Mick, you did everything you could. It's not your fault-"
"But she's still dead and I'm still…" He broke off and pushed Beth away, more roughly than he intended. None of this was what he intended. He made for the door, his back turned toward her, thrusting his feet awkwardly into his boots in his haste. "I'm sorry. It's mine to carry. Mine. I don't want you in this. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come." He'd recovered his equilibrium now, his moment of weakness passed, fierce, still protective, little understanding how much it was he who needed her protection this night.
"Yes, Mick, you should," she reached him, hands splayed across his back, "This is where you need to be. I know whatever your burden is, it's yours to carry… but as long as I'm next to you, I can share the load, if you'll let me.
"Let me, Mick." She covered his hand on the door handle, careful, soft, soothing, stroking her fingers over his.
"Let me."
Because nobody should have to live with that kind of pain alone.
Poor Mick. He carries so much -- anger, guilt, sadness -- and dares so little to hope for anything better. 
