infomodder | ic contact 2 mask or menace

[Aw, shit, that face Will makes... Mike was all for respecting Will's privacy, not sticking his nose in where it doesn't belong, but the Glum and the Grim all over and then just yeah, okay, boat tours... Shit. Will didn't just have to deal with the imPort equivalent of in-laws or a shortage of palm trees to use as Christmas trees or whatever over the holidays.

Mike watches him pour them coffee, appreciates that coffee is coming, but he says nothing. Nothing about boat tours, nothing about staying in one place not being appealing, not a damn thing. When Will turns to give him his coffee, surprise, Mike's not sitting anymore - no, he's standing right there, staring at him. And Will's not just being stared at, Will's being given the look. The flat, expectant, you're full of crap look.]

Somebody's gonna tell me what happened. I'll ask around. Somebody's gonna say—

[Little Fluffy Shithead bursts into the kitchen, makes a happy lap around their legs, and then runs back out again.

Mike looks away, sighs, looks back. Where was he? Oh, yeah.]

Somebody's gonna say what happened.

[Surprise indeed! Will shows it, too. Subtly, of course, but he clutches the mug a little tighter and his eyes widen a bit. Until Mike starts talking, at least, ridding him of any real physical surprise. No. He's too busy on the mental end, finding this brazen approach far more polite than it is rude, eyes narrowing not out of anger or intimidation but to return to something normal. Even Little Fluffy Shithead's appearance doesn't draw his attention away.]

So you can hear it from somebody else or get it from the horse's mouth, is that it? [Far, far too amused for someone who's offended. Will isn't, and he carefully puts that mug in Mike's hands.] That's good. The only other person who'd be able to talk about it is a deranged liar. Do me and yourself a favor, Mike.

[He smiles. It's as fake as a mannequin's hair.]

Stay away from Walter White.

[Will's not offended, but Mike's expression is suddenly guarded, anyway. How about that.]

Walt White.

[Walt? Walt. Who calls him Walt? People close to him in some capacity, in Will's experience. Perhaps Mike is just going for the easy nickname, but it still strikes Will in a manner quite unpleasant, and his face shows as much.]

S'what I said.

[Mike's upper lip twitches slightly and he takes a better hold of his mug of coffee. Wouldn't want to drop it, have it shatter on the floor.]

Well, what'd he do?

[Please don't. Will can't fix cups any more.]

You know him enough to call him Walt. [His voice is a growl, and he turns to grab up his own coffee like having something physical to do will keep this conversation from going exactly where he suspects it's headed.] What do you think he did, Mike?

[Mike flinches at that growl and backs up a step, clutching his coffee closer and looking for a moment like he expects to be struck.]

I don't know. He never told me anything, either.

[Sure, he figured White was crazy, maybe even dangerous crazy, but he never actually saw the dude do anything. He just talked that crazy talk a lot.]

[Serving as Will's cue to stay put, firmly grounded in place, his own mug held just as closely as Mike's. Getting closer or suddenly moving further away could be taken as bad signs. He doesn't enjoy people he actually cares about having that sort of fear about him (Hannibal being the exception).]

Some people like to pretend that if you die here, you'll come right back. Because it's happened to some of us. They ignore the fact imPorts have died and never returned. My home...has a bad track record with that. [Names aren't going to be given out, but he doubts Mike wants them anyway. Why care about people who are dead and gone, gone, gone?] Suppose that means I've broken the record, coming back from the dead. Not something I'd like to test out a second time.

[Mike goes on staring, still wary and increasingly confused. Will's talking but Mike can't be sure if he's telling him something or if they're just back to rotting until there's nothing left talk.

Maybe Will is trying to tell him what happened... in Will's own vague, complicated language. Mike goes with that theory and, after a moment, thinks he has the pieces put together.

Will died. Over the holidays. And White was the one who killed him. (Maybe in the study, with the candlestick.)

But Mike's not sure why that would bother Will so much. He already died once back home! Mike had kind of assumed after you've died once, future deaths are no biggie. Was he just worried he wouldn't come back, like the others from his world? Did it just hurt more?

Why would White kill him, anyway? Did Will do that cop thing and try to bust him? Mike doesn't want to ask, doesn't want to guess and be wrong and have Will that much more pissed at him.

Man, he shouldn't have pushed for an explanation in the first place...

What's he even supposed to say now?

Mike's quiet for a second longer, staring down into his coffee. He can still see the general shape of Will in front of him, can still move if Will moves... Except maybe this is one of those cases where he should just lean in and take the hit? Hard to say.

Mike shrugs one shoulder, shifts his weight from foot to foot. Making up his mind, he looks back and puts his mug down, then reaches behind him for the gun tucked into his waistband. He ejects the magazine and checks to make sure there isn't a round in the chamber before kneeling down, setting the cleared gun on the floor and sliding it over to Will.

He won't kill you, bro.

He stands back up slowly, his shoulder to Will, his gaze pointed straight ahead at Will's lovely kitchen.]

Didn't know.

[Mike is not going to be hit. Will lifts the mug to his lips...and then Mike reveals he's armed. Instead of dropping it, though, that mug stays exactly where it is, an eyebrow lifting being the only sign he realizes what's going on. That there's a weapon in play now.

A weapon that Mike doesn't point at him—this is progress.

The eyebrow goes up higher when Mike goes about getting rid of the bullets, kneeling. As high as it can when it comes to rest at his feet. That's the only time he looks away from Mike, when he hears the clatter stop and takes a second to make sure that, yes, there is a gun resting near him. His attention is back on Mike by the time he speaks, and Will stands in complete silence with that mug at his lips, still not having taken a sip yet, for a few long seconds before...]

Didn't know you brought a gun to my house. [There's no offense or horror. Just flat fact.] You always keep one on you wherever you go, huh?

Kinda have to.

[That's his life. Even here. Have to have that gun to flash so people don't mess with him. Might have been different if he'd gotten a cool power like fire. Could have made little fireballs in his hand or something, warned people that way. That would have been badass. But nope. Turns into a dog, moves stuff with his brain, drives people nuts. All or nothing powers.]

Oh.

[He tugs the leash out of his pocket, tosses it over so it lands by the gun. You could probably kill a man with a nylon dog leash. Maybe.]

[Will stares (the answer is yes, death can be brought on at the nylon of a leash) at the new addition for a few seconds before he smiles. Not his strained usual, far more amused than that.]

But you don't have to do that. [He finally takes a swig before setting his mug aside so he can slowly, carefully, like an old man with many joint problems, start collecting Mike's tossed about things.] I'm...not gonna hurt you. Never had a reason to. Don't think you're gonna hurt me, either.

[Not at all a slight against Mike, not calling him a coward or anything negative. No. Just an observation because...]

Not gonna give you a reason to hurt me.

[Mike watches Will gather his stuff out of the corner of his eye and then faithfully goes back to giving eye contact to the kitchen appliances.]

Didn't mean 'cause of you. Meant 'cause of people out there. [He tips his head in the direction they came. Outside people.] Always keep one on me 'cause of people out there. And just didn't think to leave it in the car.

I wouldn't hurt you no matter what you did. Your family, either. [Well.] Except Jeff. I won't kill him, but I might bite him someday. You know, while I'm a dog.

[Will has just put things back on the counter in easy reach of Mike when the exception of Jeff hits. He actually laughs. Not at Mike, never. Amusement, he's in on the joke. Not really, he has no idea what's brought them together exactly, but. "In" enough to appreciate it.]

If Jeff comes limping back with a dog bite in need of treatment, that's all he'll get. [No secrets will be spilled, he's got Mike's back there. Assuming Mike hasn't been up front about that particular power with Jeff, of course. If he has been then. Well. Jeff will be singing a different tune when he limps back, no doubt.] I hope Jeff living here won't discourage you from stopping by more often now you know where to go.

[Where he can get away from those damn outside people.]

[Mike's a little relieved when Will laughs. So Will understands why a man might want to turn into a dog and bite Jeff Winger. He's aware of Jeff's... Jeffness. That's good.

But then it comes to the other subject. Mike scuffs his foot against the floor.]

I'm... gonna be busy for a while. Gonna... have a lot to do. [Can't stop by, super busy!!] What do you think about... lookin' after the dog for me?

[Pretends him walking out with that dog was ever an option in an attempt to distract Will. Look, Will, a dog in need!]

[Ah, Mike, and his mysterious super business. Will doesn't look put out or anything, but he has to wonder. What does it mean? What does the stopping by but then no he's too busy to stop by more often all mean? Does it go back to that time he impersonated Will while he was gone...? Hm.

Then there's a dog in need and yeah, that gets his focus.]

I can do that. [As if there was ever a question whether or not Will would take in another dog, pssh. Mike could stop by once a month with a new dog and the answer would be the same.] We got plenty of room. Food and all that. No problem, we'll take her as long as you want us to.

[Forever? Forever is good.]

[Forever and ever.]

Thanks.

[He points back to the map and all its red circles.]

Money. If you're ever in a tight spot and need some cash.

[Just go digging around in Virginia. One less mystery.]

[Will looks from Mike's finger to the map. Then back, like he's clearly missed where he's pointing him to. Like he has trouble believing what he's hearing. Not because Mike is a liar, no, just...the idea of it. Does he want to know where the money's come from? Probably not.

After a few moments of confusion wherein Will obviously has no idea what to say, he defaults to this little thing known as politeness.]

Thank you. [Quiet, genuine despite the wondering why behind it all.] Little Fluffy Shithead help you dig holes?

[It's a cute image, okay.]

[Maybe dog catching became a super lucrative business all of a sudden!!!

Mike nods the customary you're welcome nod.]

Nah. She watched me some, but I kept her tied up to trees away from the holes 'cause I didn't want to fill up a hole and then not be able to find her and have to dig up the hole again to make sure she wasn't in there.

[He says it so seriously. Like, yeah, accidentally burying the dog and not knowing he'd done it was a real concern.

Mike reaches not for the gun or the leash but the coffee he set aside.]

I lied to you before.

[Truth-telling hour.]

[Good God, that's a horrifying thought. Accidentally burying the tiny princess, Mike no. Will's muted horror shifts into something like surprise, eyebrows lifting as his lips purse.]

...lied to me about what?

[Sincerely curious, nothing else. No offense, no anger. And judging by the otherwise relaxed body language, none of that is to come.]

[Nonchalant coffee sip.]

My death. It was a one. No shootout, no car chase, no explosions. Guy I'd been friends with since we were kids drove me out into the woods and killed me.

[Hopes Will feels better about his four. And... whatever number the latest death gets...]

[...oh.

Will lowers his cup first, giving Mike his full attention. Once the real horror of it all sinks in, he sets it back on the counter and runs a hand over the back of his neck as a hamster in a rodent ball joins them. The hamster will roll right into Mike's feet, bounce off, and then continue out if Mike leaves him be.]

Christ. [When words fail, swear. Mike understands that sort of politeness.] How do you figure that classifies as a one?

[Since it sounds like a damn horrible nightmare to most people, doesn't it? Childhood friend murdering them? That's sheer terror.]

[Mike's eyes follow the hamster. That sure is a fuzzy rodent thing in a rolly ball. Will gets an extra look. Why this, Will? Why is your house like a clown car, only with a wide variety of animals instead of clowns?]

It's definitely not a cool death. [Dumb to cool, getting murdered by your bro in the woods is solid dumb. But...]

Maybe a two. Could have been more dumb. Could have been like a dumb accident. Trip on somethin'... [Maybe a fuzzy rodent thing in a rolly ball.] ... Fall and die.

[Yeah, that's less cool than death by friend hug.]

[Because April was sad one day so Will bought her hamsters. This was the most rational and romantic thing to do, obviously.

Dumb. Mike considers his death dumb, just a step above falling down the stairs or passing out in the bathtub. For a man who made his last act one of the most anticlimactic murder/suicides he could think of, that gets at him. Under his skin. Will hadn't minded dying in ways that people could look at and go "okay?" And he doesn't consider that sort of betrayal dumb at all.

He's been on both sides of it.

Will glances at the hamster after Mike does, worries his bottom lip between his teeth a few seconds after Mike finishes, and nods his head once.

Then he goes to the fridge and withdraws a nice beer, pulling out a bottle opener from the drawer next to it. Not gas station or convenience store beer, something a step up. Didn't cost an arm and a leg but it ain't cheap shit.

The lid pops up in a fluid, polished movement. Will has opened beer bottles before.

Without asking or any hesitation, he extends that bottle directly to Mike.

Drink to his death, drink to the truth coming out, doesn't matter.

This calls for a Goddamn drink.]

ic contact 2 mask or menace

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