Chapter Text
"Mickey"
The voice comes from the other side of the…the small black square. What is it called again… ummm a phone!! He excitedly thinks.
He looks at the phone in his hand, the screen glowing. When did it ring? When did he fucking answer it? He is so fucking confused. He has been on a high or is it a low… whatever he has been on an amazing cocktail of drugs that has him fucked out of his mind for weeks or has it been months? He can't be sure…
"Mickey!?" the voice pulls him back from his scattered thoughts.
Fuck there is that voice again. His head feels like it has been filled with cotton wool. Body like it's moving through molasses. No sudden movements.
He focuses on his hands. It's holding something. Oh right, the phone. It was making a noise and he tried to make it stop. Why are his nails black? Black like the phone.
Are they painted? Did he paint them? Fuck that is fucking gay.
But he is gay. Right? He can't stop staring at his nails. Can't stop admiring them. They do look pretty cool. Oh fuck. He has something on his knuckles too. There is something black under the red. Blood maybe.
He tries to read what it says. U-UP.
Huh? That's weird…
"Hey shithead! Are you there!!?" The voice yells. It is loud. Why is it so loud?
"'Flea hill, Delaware' Mikey" the voice says again. But this time, this time , something about that phrase jolts his brain. Like a sharp hard slap in the face. It clears some of the brain fog.
Mandy.
That's their safeword. Danger. It screams danger. It's an SOS. Their code when shit has epically hit the fan. When the world is crashing down.
"Mandy?" He forces his un-cooperative mouth to form the word.
He needs something to make him focus. He scrambles around for some uppers knocking things about as he tries to and fails to sit upright. He needs something to unfuck his brain.
Coke. Coke that always fucking works. He tries again, he struggles up from his slouch and with no hesitation he snorts two lines of the white powder that is on the little table in front of him. He is almost 80% sure it's just good old Coke.
"No shit Sherlock. Did you just fucking snort something?? You dick" Mandy- yes Mandy says.
"I'm coming. Where are you?" He asks rubbing the bridge if his nose, sniffing deeply.
She says something, but his brain is not caught up yet. Still in the in between fucked state.
So he just repeats the question. "I'm coming. Where are you?" He says without mumbling. Well sort of.
"Massachusetts. Just fucking call me when you get to Massachusetts on this number. Don't fuck around Mickey. 'Fleahill'" and just like that the call disconnects.
Huh? What the fuck is Massachusetts? How the hell did she end up there? He grabs the warm half drunk beer and gulps the last bit down before tossing the can against the wall. He snorts another line and then He sits there for 10, maybe 20 minutes while his brain reboots.
As it comes back online he plays the conversation back in his mind. He never thought he would hear from her again not after she fucked off with Kenyata - the motherfucking fuck!!!
Her voice was small. Dull. Even though the words she spoke were in line with her usual hard ass boss ass bitch attitude the voice behind it was not.
After a minute he knows why. Remembers the other times she sounded hollow. Memories from their childhood thundered back into existence. Vivid flashbacks. Both hiding behind the couch from Terry. Mickey shielding her from his sight and later from his angry fists and pissed off boots. She was so small trembling next to him, and Mickey couldn’t be more than 8 at that time. He stood up and told his dad to go fuck himself. Calling the anger down on him. Only him. And Jesus it worked like a fucking dream. He pissed blood for weeks after that. But he protected her. His sister. To this day it still surprises him that he had the balls to do that, stand up for her against Terry when he could never do the same for himself or anyone else.
Those memories. Her voice an instant ice cold bucket of water being upturned on his head. Sobering. Terrifying.
What had she got herself into this time? He wonders as he grabs his duffel. He doesn't have anything else. The drugs he leaves. Not bothering to take it with or even chuck it. A happy parting gift to the next homeless fuck who decides to make this abandoned building his home. His escape.
Mickey doesn't look back as he walks away. Away from the South Side. Away from his history. Away from Ian -fuck. Actually Ian walked away from him, or rather ripped out his heart, crushed it and then sat watching as his crazy ass bitch of a half sister chased him down the road, letting bullet after bullet rip.
He survived. Just. He now sports a rather nice through and through bullet hole in his right shoulder. He always fucking survives. The Milkoviches are like cockroaches and like a cockroach he disappeared into the SouthSide only a few unlucky souls knew about.
There was no need for goodbyes. He had no one. Not anymore. Nothing tethering him to this place anymore.
'Good fucking riddance' he thinks as he slides into the seat of a South Side special. Hot wired and stolen so many times it practically chokes to life by just looking at it.
As he starts his journey to Massachusetts. To Mandy. He makes a promise to himself. He will never set foot back in this shit hole. He would rather fucking die.
*** Two years later ***
"Lily!" Mickey calls as he stuffs some nappies, wipes, a change of clothes and a couple snacks into the backpack - correction it used to be a backpack now it's nothing but a glorified fucking diaper bag.
"We need to go kid. The fucking ducks aren't gonna wait all day for you to feed them" he lies, huge fucking dopey grin on his face as Lily runs -a bit unsteadily towards him laughing like a loon.
"Ucks! Ucks!"
"Yeah yeah the fucking Ducks" he agrees lifting her up in his arms and perching her on his hip as they head to the car. They have shit to get done today.
They already had breakfast, a pop and two arguments about which socks were okay to wear today with the pink fucking tutu dress. Hers, not his, thank you very much. He might be gay but he is not that fucking gay. The matt black nail polish he continued to wear since that day two years ago may have gotten a sparkly upgrade on the thumbs but that was purely because he got conned by the kid. He tried to resist. Stay strong. But fuck those blue eyes of hers would not take 'I don't wear glitter' as an answer. He did talk her down from the bright pink polish and after hours and a near tantrum (not going to reveal who's) he relented and they settled on the sparkly glittery black polish. It still looks pretty badass and the way she carefully touches the nail and says "pretty" well he definitely doesn't hate that.
He too has won some battles. She is currently rocking a black custom made "Fuck U-UP" bodysuit with her pink tutu. He tries to gloss over the fact that it is written in a pink glittery scrawl with a gold princess crown on the 'F'. Didn't want to offend every other fucking mother at their weekly play group. Yup he does that now too. The kid needs other little freaks to run around and not play with every now and then.
Their tunes were blaring out the sound system as they sang along until they reached the park. The kid clocked their location as soon as they pulled into the parking area and started clapping her little hands together excitedly.
"Ucks! Ucks!"
"Yeah yeah let's go get the D ucks their bread" he tries to calm her as he grabs her, the bag and the Baby Bjorn - he is not fucking around with a pushchair when the kid gets tired. Not today. The campus way to many fucking stairs.
The ducks get fed almost a whole loaf of bread within their first 10 minutes at the park but they end up spending an hour just watching the ducks and the kid chases other birds around the park.
Slowly they make their way to the swings where they stay until Mickey's arms get tired of pushing the giggling loon with her 'FUCK U-UP' outfit and two pixie stick ponytails on top her head. Poor thing was not blessed with an abundance of hair at birth. She was basically bald until a few months ago when the soft wisps of dark hair got a bit of length and other than cutting it this was the only way to keep the hair out her eyes.
The days are getting a bit cooler and the leaves more and more orange so they trade in their usual ice cream and frappuccino for a double pump caramel latte and a baby chino for the kid at their regular cafe just a short walk from the park. They also end up sharing a flakey pastry as his sweet tooth needs to be indulged. Little eyes start to droop and that's his signal that they need to move on. They are down to one nap a day now but after a particularly shitty night last night the kid is flagging a bit faster than usual. And he does not want to attempt to push it until the drive back home. He learnt his lesson previously and is in no fucking hurry to go though that cluster fuck of a situation again.
He clears up. Gets the Baby Bjorn carrier strapped to him and the kid to it knowing the rhythmic swaying will have her in dreamland in only a few minutes.
As she snoozes he walks towards the campus. He has an appointment to discuss starting up his studies again after…
After.
Professor Sinclair is a stuffy old broad that should hate everything about Mickey. What he represents but she doesn't and he doesn't hate her. He suspects she has a myriad of tattoos and piercings hidden under her old lady blouse and tweed jacket. She has that vibe about her. Like she used to fuck back in the day.
"What can I do for you Mr Milkovich?" She asks looking up at him over the rim of her glasses.
"I want to. Need to. Get back into shit. The kid is finally fucking sleeping through the night and-"
"Language Mr Milkovich" she chides him "your lucky I'm all about numbers" she teases lightly "others wouldn't accommodate your colourful vocabulary as I would"
Yeah he likes her.
"Whatever. I want to up my modules and try get it done within two years-"
She sits back in her seat studying him for a long moment. "Okay but you can't so this solo like you have done all the others. Evening classes twice a week supplemented by a one on one session with myself another evening that suits. Can you make that work?" She asks, looking at Lily strapped to his chest fast asleep with a small smile she quickly wipes away.
Mickey chews the inside of his mouth, he knew this was coming but it's still terrifying as fuck. He has not spent anytime away from Lily since the day she was born. Not even a couple hours. But he needs this, needs to do it for her, for himself. He got so caught up on his thoughts of being away from Lily that he glossed over the one on one sessions.
"Wait. What? One on one?"
"Yes Mr Milkovich. If you want this done within two years with a little one to look after you are going to need all the support you can get."
"So can you make it work?" She asks again.
Tsk "Yeah, I'll make it work" he says a bit reluctantly. At least he has a couple weeks to make a plan before the fall semester starts. "Would you be able to give me the list of all the books I'm gonna need? Might as well go get them now while she is still asleep"
Rifling through one of the drawers she pulls out a bit of A4 paper. "You know this is all online right? The book lists…everything-"
"I'm not all big on all that tech sh- fuck. Sorry." He tries to clean up his language but for him it's almost an impossibility. Too deeply ingrained. It's part of his fabric.
"At least sign-up to the campus intranet and message boards. You might be able to find a reasonably priced babysitter for your little mite on there. We do have some early years educational students about that could be a good fit" she explains. Once again giving him more than she should. He is forever grateful that she never asks for more of him, and demands more detailed explanations for anything really. She just takes everything he gives her at face value. She barely even blinked when he showed up back on her office with a kid strapped to him after almost a year of nothing other than an email saying he had family shit come up and would be back.
"Thanks" he adjust the backpack back up on his shoulder after stuffing the book list in it. Careful to not bump the kid. And with a small nod goodbye he leaves her office making his way to the campus bookshop. Dropping a small kiss on the kids head as she turns her head and snuggles back into his chest.
A sad smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Fuck he loves this kid. Would do anything for her. He just fucking wishes-
"Do you need help carrying those sir" asks the very confused bookshop teller interrupting his thoughts. Mickey scoffs. Poor kid. Can't blame him he currently is a walking contradiction. Sparkly black nail polish. Threatening knuckle tattoos, a walk and attitude that screams trouble meshed with the Mr Mom vibe he has going and not to mention the shit ton of textbooks he just dropped $800 on.
Yeah right, this guy is going to carry all these books for him across campus to the park car park.
Tsk "no man, I got it" he waves the guy off as he grabs a bag in each hand. Thank fuck he went with the more expensive canvas bags as they are heavier than he expected. Fuck.
He'll just count this as his weights routine for today, maybe the whole fucking week he grouses as he makes the long fucking walk back to the car.makingbsure not to disturb the kid. He needs her to have at least another 20 min kip if they are going to survive the rest of the day without drama.
The kid wakes up just as he loads the books onto the front seat with an adorable little yawn and stretch. "Finally awake from your Uber nap kid?" He asks softly as he starts to unclip her and him from the carrier.
She just smiles up at him and pats his cheeks, over his shoulder she must have spotted the play park as she squeals "'ings!!!"
"Okay. But only 5 mins. Deal" he looks at her with mock seriousness "we still have to go get stuff for dinner and for the rest of the week kid" she nods her head just as seriously in agreement before racing him to the swings on her little legs. He lets her win.
5 minute turned into an hour when one of the kids' mates showed up. The mom was cool, Anna, she also did the whole single parent thing. So they chatted a bit in between running after the kids pushing them on the swings and making sure they didn't kill themselves on the jungle gym… especially Lily - the little daredevil.
After that it was to the shop and after a long ass day for the kid he counted his lucky stars that he only had to manage one meltdown in the jello / fruit cup isle because he wouldn't let her have the strawberry flavour because she fucking hates it, she only liked the picture and he wasn't gonna deal with that series of meltdown for the next week.
After packing all the groceries away. After making and eating dinner. After getting the kid bathed and dressed for bed. After bedtime stories and good night songs, cuddles and kisses he fucking collapsed on the sofa exhausted like he does every evening.
He just sits there for a few minutes with his eyes closed, head hanging back breathing deeply. The breathing is supposed to help with his anxiety, he has been told.
After a few more minutes he forces himself up, grabs the laptop from the coffee table and does the next thing on what feels like an endless list of chores and responsibilities. Now isn't that a complete mind fuck. Him Mickey Milkovich having chores and responsibilities that does not involve running guns, selling drugs and beating people up.
Eventually he manages to find the campus notice board and makes the two posts he needs to make.
Babysitter required 3 nights a week (6-10pm) starting week of fall semester for 18 month old. Right person will be generously compensated.
Double room with ensuite and study available. Reasonably priced and open to negotiation. Viewing by appointment only.
Fuck it. That will just have to do.
With a heavy sigh he pushes himself off the sofa and cleans the kitchen. Then he heads downstairs to the laundry room to do a load of washing, fold yesterday's load and takes it upstairs to pack his stuff away and leaves the basket with remaining clothes outside the kid's room. Then a quick check on the kid before it's back downstairs to do a quick hoover, dust and tidy all the kids toys away. Then before he heads back up for the night he sits out on the step having a smoke and planning what he still needs to do tonight. After his smoke he checks all the doors and windows, making sure everything is locked up. Safe.
Taking the laptop he heads upstairs for the night to pay a couple bills, do some budgeting in bed before falling into a deep dreamless sleep.
Rinse, repeat and start all over tomorrow. This is his new normal. Even though it is the hardest thing he has ever done in his fucking life it is still a million times fucking better that who and what he was in SouthSide.
***
It only takes a couple days for him to be inundated with requests to view the room and to interview for the babysitting gig. Being a glutton for punishment he decides to get it all over and done with in one day. He alternates, where he can, between the viewings and the interviews. Making sure to leave decent gaps for snack breaks for the kid and afternoon nap. His life revolves around the kid and he needs to make sure who ever gets the fucking room is crystal clear on what he will and will not tolerate in his home. He fucking hopes some of these will be half decent human beings.
The day finally arrives and him and the kid are not fucking impressed by the calibre of applicants. He might even go as far as literally blowing his brains out if he has to listen to one more pretentious, snot nose shit or whatever complain about every fucking thing. Fucking bunch of douche nozzles. He already had to kick 3 people out for pulling a face when they realised there was going to be a toddler living in the same house. Two more that gave him a once over and thought he was being ironic with his whole 'look'.
The babysitters were only marginally better. He would rather someone from the SouthSide look after the kid than these delusional wannabes. The kid could even tell how full of shit they were and screamed blue fucking murder when they tried to get near her.
"That's it kid. No more fucking applicants or interviews after today" he complains to Lily as he opens her a box of well deserved fruit snacks.
"Anna might be an option. What ya think?" He asks the kid rubbing the bridge of his nose. Lily just ignores him, focusing fully on her snack.
"And it's not like we have to rent out the room" he continues through a mouth full of his own snack " it's more like a precautionary need. Just someone to know we exist and that would check we are both alive once a day." Okay so he may be a bit paranoid that he is going to keel over or injure himself someway and that it would take days for anyone to find him, Lily is fucking clever but even she wouldn't know how to call for help. Yet. Training in progress.
They have one more person to see, or actually looking at the time someone had to see. A no-show, already 30 minutes late. He ain't gonna complain. He is so done with this day. Only three more hours to go before the kids bedtime. Then he could collapse on the sofa and not move for the rest of the night - everything else could wait until tomorrow. "Nana" Lily asks pointing to their empty fruit bowl. Little frown on her face. "nana?" she says again, a bit more of a question this time.
Fuck that is what they forgot to get earlier the week. More fruit. "Okay munchkin, give me time to have a coffee and we'll go get some fruit from the shop to have after our Spaghetti" he reassures her.
Getting up to make said coffee there is a knock at the door. "Oh hell's no!" He huff's angrily looking at his watch. 40 minutes late is just too damn fucking late. Walking towards the door he is ready to tell whoever's there to fuck is there - can't remember the person's name off the top of his head - to fuck right off. Whoever the fuck even has the audacity to knock again 10 seconds later.
"Hang the fuck on man!" He shouts aimlessly towards the door. He opens the door forcefully, primed, ready. Then he fucking freezes.
"I'm sor-"
On the other side of the door is someone he never ever thought he would see again and definitely not here in Boston Massachusetts.
"Mickey?"
"Lip!?"