When Mickey crosses the Mexican border, all hopes of seeing Ian Gallagher fade away. He puts his foot on the petal and drives until the car runs out of gas. If every last part of his heart fucking breaks along the way, no one's there to watch.
He ends up near some tourist destination where rich people pay to have cheap beer served to them on half a mile of overcrowded beach. Mickey's not stupid enough to get within fifty feet of the place. But about two miles from the hotel, he finds a small town with a gas station. Most of the people work with tourists, so they speak enough English to let Mickey know there's an apartment for sale. He almost keeps driving, but the car is starting to give him a backache and the last thing he needs is to be caught with a stolen vehicle.
So he sells the car for a couple hundred dollars and uses the money to buy the crummy apartment. The last occupants clearly weren't big on cleanliness, so Mickey spends a whole day clearing out old clothes and garbage. He doesn't want to, but he keeps some the the clothes that don't smell like dope. He's not pressed for cash right now, but he doesn't want to dig into Ian's money anymore than he has to. It doesn't look like a fucking palace when he's done, but it's respectable.
On the fifth night he's there, Mickey hears some sort of commotion outside his door. He peeks out the window to see a group of men corning the drug addict that sleeps in the street. Some part of him must be feeling pretty fucking stupid cause he throws on a shirt and pants before stepping outside.
He approaches the group just as they release the man into the night. Mickey's aware he's venturing into dangerous territory. He could get beaten or shot or worse. But he keeps his head high and walks with confidence. He needs some source of income if he wants to keep his ass off the street, and this is just as good of option as any.
"You lost, amigo?" One of the men asks.
"You guys selling coke?"
"Why'd you want to know?"
"I'm looking to get in on the action."
The man laughs. "Go home white boy."
"Come on.. Bet I could sneak into that fancy-ass hotel and no one would bat an eye."
That's a fucking lie, but Mickey can't walk away now or he'll look weak. He holds his ground, refusing to let up eye contact.
The man eventually removes a small packet from his jeans. "Alright. If you can get a hundred and fifty for this, we can talk."
He tosses the packet at Mickey as the other snicker.
"You better have the cash by noon or we won't be so generous."
Mickey smiles. "Easy."
Mickey fills his sink with a bottle of bleach and ducks his head in. Fifteen minutes later his hair's mostly blonde, except for the obviously black roots. He looks fucking ridiculous, but at least now he doesn't match his mugshot. The hotel staff don't even bat an eye as he passes through the lobby, heading straight to the beach with a pocket full of coke.
Mickey only gets one twenty five for it, but he supplements the extra twenty-five with his own cash.
The cartel talks a big game, but Mickey quickly learns he's working for small fish. Their territory doesn't extend much farther than a thirty mile radius, and most of the income comes from passersby looking for a fix. Their leader, Bruno, never leaves his fancy-ass condo unless it's to get drunk at the local bar. If there was any real profit to be had here, the larger cartels would have crushed them long ago.
But Mickey's not about to complain. He gets paid enough to cover rent, and no one seems to notice he's pocketing a lot more of the cash than promised.
It's a nice arrangement. He buys a whole new set of furniture to replace whatever crap was left in his apartment, and he spends a nice portion of his day drinking alcohol on the beach as he sells coke to tourists. He even manages to befriend one of the baristas.
And he only thinks about Ian when he's forced to look at the bed that's too large for one person or when he wakes up in the middle of the night reaching for a tuft of red hair that's a thousand miles away. Mickey tells himself it doesn't hurt. Maybe if he repeats it enough it'll be true.
After six months, Mickey knows something is wrong. Just about everyone in the cartel is high out of their fucking minds all day. Maybe that's why no one fucking notices that Juan, the new guy running with Miguel, is a fucking DEA agent. Mickey notices though. The guy must be a newbie because he's nervous as hell and keeps scratching what is obviously a wire. He hides in the alleyway to take phone calls, and he's way too observant for his own good.
Mickey corners him one afternoon, and a couple of punches later, Juan admits that they're looking to bust the cartel. Mickey's not dumb enough to run. Juan's got all of them recorded and probably has pictures too. The last thing he needs is the DEA after him too.
So, he offers to snitch. He's not proud, but he doesn't have any loyalty to a bunch of coked up losers. It's not like anybody here has enough power to put a hit on him, and Mickey would much rather bargain with the DEA for some nice perks than get hard time.
One month later, when the DEA breaks into Bruno's apartment, Mickey's whisked away to write a statement and list everyone involved. He's careful about bargaining though. He gets them down to two and a half years with no penalty for escaping. They offer protective custody, but Mickey's not some delicate dandelion. He tells them he wants to be locked up in Chicago, where he's already established enough respect to feel comfortable (and where he's close to Ian, though he doesn't say that outloud). Apparently no one else is willing to throw the whole gang under the bus cause Mickey gets everything he wants.
Mickey can't watch as the bus transports him across the border. Every time he looks out himself in that car with Ian, dumbly thinking they were going to have a life together. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He doesn't hear about "Gay Jesus" until he's back in the States. When he hears his cellmate talking about it, he thinks it's a joke. But then he turns on the news one day and sees Ian surrounded by a crowd of rainbow flags and screaming teenagers. He almost pukes.
After a while he can't even watch the coverage. What happened to the EMT he left behind at the border? The one who had his shit together? The one with the boyfriend? Who was looking after him? Clearly not Fionia or Lip or Debbie or that fucking on-screen boyfriend.
But then, someone tells him that Gay Jesus is heading for prison, and Mickey's never been so happy in his fucking life. He knows he shouldn't get his hopes up again. Ian's left before, and there's no promising he still loves Mickey the way Mickey loves him. But he wants to try. He doesn't know if that makes him loyal or just fucking pathetic.
Ian's the prison's worst nightmare. A young attractive guy all over the news for gay rights is practically guaranteed to get jumped the first day. There are already talks around the prison yard about what people want to do to him when he gets here.
Mickey pulls every fucking string he has to get Ian as his cellmate. A few of the inmates that are tight with the guards owe him a favor or two, and he cashes all of them in. He even gets the feds on the phone and offers some more names and information so that they'll put in a good word for him. He tops it all of with perfect behavior for the entire length of Ian's trial.
The guards are clearly hesitant, but they must eventually decide Mickey can't be any worse than the other inmates. Mickey wakes up one morning to a guard telling him he's being transferred to another cell. He's on edge the entire day, nervously watching the entrances for new arrivals.
It's harder to pick out Ian in a crowd with that fucking mess of a hair, but Mickey knows him anywhere. He tracks Ian up the stairs and watches him through the hoards of people. Once Ian is in his...their cell, Mickey hurries up the stairs, pushing through the throngs of people.
He hesitates outside the door for a moment, watching Ian leaning against the bunk. He's been waiting for this for what seems like forever. And he wants it. He wants it so bad. But if he opens that door, and he's not what Ian wants, Mickey doesn't know what the fuck he's going to do.
"You going in or out, Milkovich?" One of the guards says.
"Give me a fucking second," Mickey snaps.
He glances around the cell block for a moment. He feels stupid for waiting out here like a scared girl. This is Ian. Maybe the world looks at him now like some sort of fucking celebrity, prancing around in rainbow tights. But to him, Ian is still just Ian. He's smart and kind and the fucking love of his life. Mickey knows Ian.
So, he takes a deep breath and opens the door.