"Yeah." It's a quiet, huffed-out confirmation. Yeah, it's Mick. She wouldn't know yet why he needs to say it out loud, to make it real in this time and this place that he is Mick, but maybe he'll tell her someday. Not now, though. Now he has something else to tell her, something she already knows. Is it crueler to force it out, where it can't be ignored, or to keep silent so she doesn't need to hear...
"Len's dead."
It's just for her ears, and once he's gotten that much out, the rest gets stuck. He can't talk here, they can't talk here, not in here. This is their place. Len's regular table is even empty, like he might stride in at any moment and slide into the booth and give Mick that little stare that means Time's a-wasting, partner.
"C'mon," he says instead of explaining. "Can't drink here." Too many memories, too many ghosts.
They'd never been the type to hang off each other, but Mick slings an arm around her shoulders now, wild eyes staring a path between them and the door. He needs to get her out. He knows a place.
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"Len's dead."
It's just for her ears, and once he's gotten that much out, the rest gets stuck. He can't talk here, they can't talk here, not in here. This is their place. Len's regular table is even empty, like he might stride in at any moment and slide into the booth and give Mick that little stare that means Time's a-wasting, partner.
"C'mon," he says instead of explaining. "Can't drink here." Too many memories, too many ghosts.
They'd never been the type to hang off each other, but Mick slings an arm around her shoulders now, wild eyes staring a path between them and the door. He needs to get her out. He knows a place.