Mick realizes something odd about Prophet and tries to get to the bottom of the mystery.

I haven't had a lot of writing time lately, but CM: SB is still in my brain, and since I had some character backstory I never got to use in Red Cell One (that happens to me a lot, actually, since having even made-up backstory tends to help me with a character's personality even if I haven't got a place for it in the current story) and there was a comment left on Night Flights that got me thinking, I decided to put some of it here. I'm expecting this to be a three-shot starting sometime after Two of a Kind and ending immediately after Here Is the Fire...the last part will definitely end there, even if it runs longer than I plan.


Mick glanced over as Prophet came up beside him. "Hey. I take it I'll be finding my own way back to my flat tonight?" He'd ridden the bus to work this morning and then caught a ride with Prophet to the bar afterwards…none of the others had been interested in coming along, but there was a bus stop just across the street so it wasn't a big deal.

"Hm?" Prophet shook his head. "Oh, no, I was just going to tell you that I think I'm about ready to head home. Do you want a ride back to your place, or are you going to stay a while longer?"

"Uh, no, I'm ready to go too," Mick said after a moment, more than a little surprised. As last he'd seen, Prophet had been getting along pretty well with the blonde who'd taken the seat just down the bar from them—well enough that Mick had moved in the opposite direction a bit to give them some privacy, despite the fact that tonight definitely hadn't been his best night when it came to the ladies and he'd spent most of his time with his eyes on the one screen in this place showing actual football—and he wasn't sure what had changed.

Prophet didn't seem to have anything else to say, though, he just nodded and then shrugged his jacket on and turned for the door.

Mick glanced around quickly, but the blonde was gone as well, and after a moment he tossed a couple bills down beside his empty glass and hurried to catch up with Prophet. "What happened, mate?" he asked as they exited the bar. "I thought you and…it was Kristen something, right?...I thought you and Kristen were getting along pretty well."

"It was Kirsten, and we were." He shrugged and turned down the side street where his car was parked. "She's a nice woman."

Mick shot him an exasperated look. "'A nice woman'? Really? Come on, old man, you've got to be able to do better than that."

Prophet shook his head and gave him a half smile but didn't elaborate further as he unlocked the car doors and got in.

Mick frowned as he opened his door. He knew that expression—it meant that whatever had been said really was all that Prophet planned to say on a given subject—but thinking back, he realized that this wasn't the first time that he'd seen Prophet leave a bar alone when he'd been expecting the opposite. In fact, Mick couldn't actually remember a time when Prophet hadn't gone home by himself. And it wasn't because he couldn't find company either. He wasn't anywhere near the extrovert that Mick was, granted, more often than not he was the one who ended up with his eyes on a game while Mick chatted up someone he fancied, but he was perfectly capable of engaging in conversation when he wanted to. And if he could be talked onto the dance floor, he never lacked for partners. Of course, getting him out there usually required a few drinks and Gina forcing the issue on the grounds that at least she could trust her teammates not to go putting their hands anywhere uninvited, but still.

"Hey, what's up?" Prophet asked, leaning over to look out at Mick. "Did you forget something?"

"What? No." Mick shook his head and got in quickly, pulling his door shut as Prophet turned the car on. "Did you at least get her number? I mean, come on, man, she was hot." And sometimes the differences in his and Prophet's backgrounds, or at least in the ways they'd been raised, showed up at the oddest times. Prophet never said anything when Mick joked about his late nights, mostly he just shook his head and smiled, but maybe this was one of those instances.

"No."

Mick considered for a moment. "You do like women, don't you?" He'd always assumed so, but he didn't think he'd ever actually asked before.

"What?" Prophet gave him a strange look. "Yes, I like women. How much have you had to drink?"

"Not that much, but I'm having a hard time figuring out what your problem is with picking up women in bars. Or why you don't date, for that matter, because now that I think about it, you don't seem to do that either." Granted that he'd only really known Prophet for two years—which was kind of weird when he thought about it because he was closer to Prophet than pretty much anyone else in this country except Coop—but surely Prophet should have run into someone that he was at least a little interested in in all that time.

Prophet shook his head again and flipped the radio on. "You need to get some sleep, brother."