Fic: Vocational Education
Fandom: Legends of Tomorrow
Category: Fluff, Humor, Domesticity
Characters: Mick Rory, Ray Palmer, mention of Leonard Snart
Summary: What Mick learned in prison
Author's note: Just a goofy headcanon that insisted on being written.
Mick stopped outside Palmer’s open door and wrinkled his brow at what he’d just heard. “Haircut? Did you just cuss?”
And it wasn’t just a bit of minor cussing like in an R-rated movie, either. This was prison-yard stuff. Mick was about to compliment him on it when Palmer stepped out, blood dripping down his neck.
“Haircut, what the hell are you doing?”
The Boy Scout stood there with a pair of scissors in his hand, looking embarrassed. “Uh, well, I actually need a haircut, and we never seem to have time for me to get one anyplace, so I…”
“So you were trying to do it yourself? You’re an idiot!” Mick strode into the room. “Gideon, shut the door.”
Mick dragged the stupid genius into the bathroom and grabbed a towel to wipe the blood away. He was relieved to see it had looked worse than it actually was; the moron had only given himself a slight nick that was already clotting over.
He wiped off the scissors with the bloody towel, then said, “Get your hair wet and then come back out.”
He grabbed another towel, then went to his room for the one other thing he needed.
By the time Palmer was back out of the bathroom, looking something like a wet puppy, Mick was set for work. “Siddown,” he said, motioning at the desk chair.
The other man looked uncertainly at what Mick had laid out on his desk. “Um, Mick, I really don’t want my head shaved.” His eyes bugged a little as Mick smirked at him. “Not that I think it looks bad on you and Snart! It’s just not…”
“Relax, Haircut. And siddown.”
“Oooohhhhkaaaay.” The Boy Scout settled into the chair, and Mick draped a towel around his shoulders. Then he picked up a comb and began to run it through the dark hair. “So, about an inch off all around?” Mick asked.
“Uhh, yeah.” Uncertainty in his tone.
Mick put down the comb, picked up the scissors and began to work, holding sections of hair between his fingers and trimming, the way he’d been taught so long ago.
Some things you never really forget.
“Uh, Mick? Where’d you learn to do this?”
Mick chuckled. “Prison. They wanted us cons to learn job skills or get educated so we could make something of ourselves when we got out. So I went to barber school.”
“They trusted you with sharp objects?” Mick couldn’t blame him for the tone of surprise, but…
“You’re trusting me with a sharp object, Haircut.”
Palmer snorted. “You have a point. But still…”
Mick laid the scissors down and picked up the clippers to start cleaning up Palmer’s neck and sideburns. “They only considered me a risk when fire was involved. So no restaurant work, no welding or machine shop work, no going on the inmate fire crews. And I wasn’t smart enough for some of the other vocational training they offered.”
“You’re not stupid, Mick.” The tone was kind, kinder than Mick was used to hearing from anyone.
“They thought I was,” he grunted.
For a moment, there was only the sound of the clippers. Then Palmer asked, “Did Snart get vocational training too?”
Mick laughed at that. “Oh, hell no. He was too smart for that. They put him on the GED track since he didn’t get a chance to finish high school. Not that he stayed in prison long enough to actually get that diploma. But they said he was college material, if he’d just stay straight. We all know how that worked out.”
He put down the clippers and swept remnants of hair onto the towel on Palmer’s shoulders before wadding it up so nothing would fall on the deck. He motioned toward the bathroom mirror. “Go ahead, take a look.”
The other man went to check out his reflection. “Wow. You know, I paid a guy in Star City 150 bucks to cut my hair, and he wasn’t half as good as you.”
“Really? Guess I’ll have to charge you $250. And not the counterfeit stuff from the Bank of Gideon, either.”
Haircut turned and grinned at him.
“I’m serious,” Mick insisted. He was always serious about cold hard cash.
A chuckle now. “Next time we’re in a place where I can get money,” Haircut replied. He turned back to the mirror, leaning a little closer for a better look. “So, did you ever do this for Snart?”
“Once,” Mick answered with a smile at the memory. “But I’m not too good with curly hair. After that, we agreed it would be best for our partnership if he just shaved his head instead.”
Haircut turned back to him with two raised eyebrows and a big grin. “Curly?”
Mick nodded. “He got his mother’s hair.” He raised a warning finger. “But if you ever say anything to him about that…”
“I know, I know. You’ll shave my head.”
Mick shook his head and walked to the door. “Not me. He will. And he won’t stop at your head.”
He snickered at the subdued “oh” behind him.
Category: Fluff, Humor, Domesticity
Characters: Mick Rory, Ray Palmer, mention of Leonard Snart
Summary: What Mick learned in prison
Author's note: Just a goofy headcanon that insisted on being written.
Mick stopped outside Palmer’s open door and wrinkled his brow at what he’d just heard. “Haircut? Did you just cuss?”
And it wasn’t just a bit of minor cussing like in an R-rated movie, either. This was prison-yard stuff. Mick was about to compliment him on it when Palmer stepped out, blood dripping down his neck.
“Haircut, what the hell are you doing?”
The Boy Scout stood there with a pair of scissors in his hand, looking embarrassed. “Uh, well, I actually need a haircut, and we never seem to have time for me to get one anyplace, so I…”
“So you were trying to do it yourself? You’re an idiot!” Mick strode into the room. “Gideon, shut the door.”
Mick dragged the stupid genius into the bathroom and grabbed a towel to wipe the blood away. He was relieved to see it had looked worse than it actually was; the moron had only given himself a slight nick that was already clotting over.
He wiped off the scissors with the bloody towel, then said, “Get your hair wet and then come back out.”
He grabbed another towel, then went to his room for the one other thing he needed.
By the time Palmer was back out of the bathroom, looking something like a wet puppy, Mick was set for work. “Siddown,” he said, motioning at the desk chair.
The other man looked uncertainly at what Mick had laid out on his desk. “Um, Mick, I really don’t want my head shaved.” His eyes bugged a little as Mick smirked at him. “Not that I think it looks bad on you and Snart! It’s just not…”
“Relax, Haircut. And siddown.”
“Oooohhhhkaaaay.” The Boy Scout settled into the chair, and Mick draped a towel around his shoulders. Then he picked up a comb and began to run it through the dark hair. “So, about an inch off all around?” Mick asked.
“Uhh, yeah.” Uncertainty in his tone.
Mick put down the comb, picked up the scissors and began to work, holding sections of hair between his fingers and trimming, the way he’d been taught so long ago.
Some things you never really forget.
“Uh, Mick? Where’d you learn to do this?”
Mick chuckled. “Prison. They wanted us cons to learn job skills or get educated so we could make something of ourselves when we got out. So I went to barber school.”
“They trusted you with sharp objects?” Mick couldn’t blame him for the tone of surprise, but…
“You’re trusting me with a sharp object, Haircut.”
Palmer snorted. “You have a point. But still…”
Mick laid the scissors down and picked up the clippers to start cleaning up Palmer’s neck and sideburns. “They only considered me a risk when fire was involved. So no restaurant work, no welding or machine shop work, no going on the inmate fire crews. And I wasn’t smart enough for some of the other vocational training they offered.”
“You’re not stupid, Mick.” The tone was kind, kinder than Mick was used to hearing from anyone.
“They thought I was,” he grunted.
For a moment, there was only the sound of the clippers. Then Palmer asked, “Did Snart get vocational training too?”
Mick laughed at that. “Oh, hell no. He was too smart for that. They put him on the GED track since he didn’t get a chance to finish high school. Not that he stayed in prison long enough to actually get that diploma. But they said he was college material, if he’d just stay straight. We all know how that worked out.”
He put down the clippers and swept remnants of hair onto the towel on Palmer’s shoulders before wadding it up so nothing would fall on the deck. He motioned toward the bathroom mirror. “Go ahead, take a look.”
The other man went to check out his reflection. “Wow. You know, I paid a guy in Star City 150 bucks to cut my hair, and he wasn’t half as good as you.”
“Really? Guess I’ll have to charge you $250. And not the counterfeit stuff from the Bank of Gideon, either.”
Haircut turned and grinned at him.
“I’m serious,” Mick insisted. He was always serious about cold hard cash.
A chuckle now. “Next time we’re in a place where I can get money,” Haircut replied. He turned back to the mirror, leaning a little closer for a better look. “So, did you ever do this for Snart?”
“Once,” Mick answered with a smile at the memory. “But I’m not too good with curly hair. After that, we agreed it would be best for our partnership if he just shaved his head instead.”
Haircut turned back to him with two raised eyebrows and a big grin. “Curly?”
Mick nodded. “He got his mother’s hair.” He raised a warning finger. “But if you ever say anything to him about that…”
“I know, I know. You’ll shave my head.”
Mick shook his head and walked to the door. “Not me. He will. And he won’t stop at your head.”
He snickered at the subdued “oh” behind him.