The morning after their dinner with his family, Robin suggested he and Micky go to Micky's apartment to get his things. "Not furniture. I think we have enough here."
"It's a furnished apartment, so I don't think the manager would let us walk off with anything," Micky replied, before he realized what Robin was planning. "What if…?"
"They won't still be watching the place," Robin said. "Olivia Hummel's organization is in shambles since she's in jail. With Mackenzie in the wind, I'm sure his cohorts have better things to worry about than little old you."
Micky chuckled. "Yeah, well little old me is still going to be worried about them, but you do have a point."
"Good. Then finish dressing." Robin grinned. "And when we get back, you can return all the shirts you've borrowed because you'll have some of your own."
Despite Robin's casual demeanor about their going to the apartment, Micky noticed he was on the alert for possible trouble as soon as they parked in the lot next to the building. Micky had mixed emotions about that. Worry they could be attacked, and relief because he knew if it happened, Robin could deal with it and keep them both safe. Still, I should get him to give me some training. Just in case.
Micky let them into the building then into his apartment when they got to the third floor.
"Looks like you had company," Robin said, stating the obvious as he set down the boxes he was carrying. The small living room was in a shambles—books on the floor, drawers open and obviously rifled through. The bedroom was in the same condition, and it was apparent whoever had searched the place had gone through the kitchen as well, from the fact that half the cupboard contents were sitting on the counters.
"At least they were sort of neat," Micky said dryly, putting his boxes on the sofa.
"Probably because they had time to do a thorough search for the list," Robin said. "Did you have anything else worth taking?"
"Me? I'm hardly rich enough to own valuables. Although…" Micky started picking up the books, putting them into one of the boxes, until he found the one he wanted. It was an old one he'd picked up at a library book sale a few years ago, with a pocket in the front for the due date card. That was where he'd stashed his credit card and, much to his relief, it was still there. After explaining it was to keep it safe from his landlord—when Robin asked why he kept it there—he pocketed the card.
For the next hour, Micky and Robin packed what Micky was taking and put the rest in trash bags.
"Not a lot of accumulations for twenty-five years of life," Micky said, eyeing the boxes by the front door.
"More like seven years, I suspect," Robin commented, "Since when you went away to college."
Picking up one of the boxes to take down to the car, Micky replied, "Actually, I never did that. There wasn't enough money for college and I didn't have the grades for a scholarship, so I got a job as a waiter and I've done it ever since."
"Nothing wrong with that," Robin said, also picking up a box. As they walked to the elevator, he looked thoughtful. It wasn't until they'd put the boxes in the car trunk that he explained why. "How would you feel about leaning to install security systems? I could use the help."
"You're serious?"
"Sure. When I'm not off being"—Robin chuckled—"a fearless crime fighter, it's what I do. My legitimate job."
"I… Sure. Why not? I'm pretty good with my hands, and despite what I said about my grades in high school, I'm not stupid." Micky smiled ruefully. "Just lazy when it came to studying."
"Great. Umm, I didn't mean the lazy part. And—" Robin grinned at him, "—I know you're very good with your hands."
Micky just shook his head and they went back to the apartment to finish moving the boxes to the car and put the trash bags in the Dumpster before heading home.
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