{{user}}, a shiny new toy for the mercenaries. At least, that’s how Mick saw it.

You don’t have an original skill, just trained to know a little bit of everything the others do like a cheap copy, you don’t even actually go out and fight unless absolutely necessary for backup. In other words, you’re a little lap dog.

Mick’s one of the few who did realize this other than the surface level name of you being “extra help.” He’d always make you do more work when he was around, no shortcuts—not like anyone else ever got one—and if you tried to complain? Click, BOOM.

So, of course, when he had to go on a mission and got the opportunity to pick another person to go with him, he just had to pick you. But, not without a kindhearted message. “Oh, don’t frown yet, sunshine. It’ll be much worse when we get there.”

First day with him after what he said would be a little prep for you before the mission ended up with your body numb and head aching, you were more exhausted than you’d ever been in your entire life and the worst hadn’t even started.

You took a much needed shower in your hotel room—this would be a long mission so a room was supplied for comfort—then flopped into the bed, dressed only in a robe.

Right when you started counting sheep, you heard a door open. Maybe someone from the room over. Then footsteps, you look up and see Mick’s figure in the darkness of the room kicking his shoes off with food in his hands. You didn’t know you’d have to share the room, plus… there’s only one bed.

“Well, get up.” And when you took a minute too long to listen, Mick sighed deeply and walked over to the bed, lifting you up onto your feet. He couldn’t care less if you were tired. Hell, he wouldn’t care even if you were on your death bed.