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“How’s your hand doing?” Mikey asks, if only to fill the silence between them. The mood isn’t awkward, in fact it has been pleasantly comfortable up until now but Mikey knows himself well enough to sense when his anxious thinking starts kicking into overdrive.
MW takes a moment to respond, lost in bliss under Mikey’s attentive hands.
“It’s gettin' better. Barely even hurts." He mutters. "Fuck, Mikey. When did you learn how to do this?"
Mikey laughs, a mix of self conscious and pride swelling up in his chest. "Michael taught me."
"Is there anything that cowboy can't do?"
"Actually, yes, a few things. But he's annoyingly more competent than any of us."
They're sitting in the bath together at Base, the luxurious home having a tub large enough to fit two grown iterations (and more whenever Mike and Michael want to join). The water is comfortably warm between their bodies.
Mikey is sitting behind MW, his hands slathered with shampoo and working it into MW's scalp in slow, soothing motions. It feels good to touch him, to have him back.
Mikey doesn't have to say it, he is sure MW knows why he's being so clingy, using any excuse to touch MW or remind himself that he is really here and alive.
It's only been a couple of days since Michael executed him in their kitchen in the Latvia apartment. The air at home has been tense and mistrusting, filled with righteous anger towards Ty Betteridge for messing with their partner.
MW's death had hit them all hard, Michael especially, and they decided to come back to Base for a few days to clear their mind from the tragic event.
Mikey presses himself closer to his iteration, resisting the urge to kiss his soapy neck. He settles from squeezing his legs around MW instead, a lazy version of a hug.
"I'm alright, Mikey." MW says, patting his knee. His eyes are still closed, head leaned back to avoid the soap from sliding into his face.
"I know. I just...I was so scared." Mikey mutters. He feels bad for bringing it up but he knows he won't be able to think of anything else until he talks about it. His fingernails scratch lightly along MW's scalp, who lets out another happy sigh, melting against him.
"It'll be okay, Mikey. Ty can't...he won't succeed. Whatever he does."
"I know."
He continues working and silence falls over them again. Once he's done, he grabs the showerhead and turns it on.
"I can do it myself-" MW starts but Mikey just shushes him.
"Let me take care of you, Em."
"Fine, fine." There's a smile in MW's voice and Mikey can see the blush crawling up his neck. He smiles as well, but doesn't point it out.
The warm water runs through MW's hair, rinsing the shampoo off carefully as Mikey holds him close. He takes his time with washing the suds away so he can be pressed up to him for longer - more time to be assured of his safety, more time to spend feeling him breath against Mikey.
A sudden longing overtakes him and he drops the showerhead into the bath so he can hug MW tightly. He feels his iteration startle a little but Mikey's already pressing kisses to his neck and shoulders, everywhere he can reach.
"I'm fine-" MW starts reassuring him again. He is cut off by lips against his, warm and desperate. He turns his head to deepen it, moaning softly into Mikey's mouth.
He'll be alright, he realizes. As long as he has Mikey, Mike and Michael around him, there is nothing Ty Betteridge can do to destroy him. They'll take care of each other and no one will take that away from them.