Okay, this is going up tonight because I won't be posting anything tomorrow. (kind of hard to do when I'm going to London) so please don't hate me and hopefully enjoy this. . .

Mickey's social skills were fucked, he could admit that. But he was pretty good at talking to people who were just as shitty at socialising as he was. He met Kara because she pushed drugs for the same guy Mickey broke kneecaps for. And it started off as the sort of acquaintance where he'd lend her a light if they were both standing around having a smoke at the same time, or she'd bring him a beer from the fridge in the backroom if it was as hot as fucking balls but Mickey was too lazy to get himself one.

He was twenty when he started working for Jackson and he'd been running from Chicago, he'd admit that to himself at least. He was running from his brothers, from his Dad and he was definitely running from some stupid little redhead who was determined to be a soldier and to make Mickey feel. Although, what he really told people was that he'd just had to get out of shitty Southside because it sucked some serious ass.

And not even in a good way.

Kara had called him out on that one immediately and that was when their acquaintance level got bumped up to maybe-friends. She'd been sitting on the wall outside the run down building Jackson used for his deals and his storage, so basically where Jackson lived. She had a bottle of beer swinging from one hand and a joint clutched loosely in the other.

"So whatcha running from?" she asked when he sat down next to her and plucked the joint from her fingers. Kara was nothing if not direct, but Mickey was used to that. Everyone was direct where he came from, that was the way it went.

He blew smoke out into the sky, thinking it was too hot to be sitting outside, but he was too fucking lazy to move into the shade. "What makes you think I'm running from something?" he asked, handing her back the joint after another drag.

Kara snorted, smoke coming out of her nostrils in a way he knew was completely deliberate. "Is this half empty or half full?" she asked, holding up her beer bottle.

He frowned not knowing what the fuck that had to do with anything, but told her, "Half empty," anyway.

She smirked, "See you're running from something, definitely."

"How the fuck can you work that out from a beer bottle?"

Kara shrugged. "Call me psychic," she replied, flicking away the end of the joint and taking a gulp of beer, swirling it around her mouth and spitting it out. "I fucking hate the taste of weed," she admitted when he raised his eyebrows at her, "Is that weird?"

"Yeah," he admitted, but then as far as he was concerned, she was fucking weird, "The fuck you running from then?" He didn't know why he was bothering asking, maybe because he was bored to fuck and it had been a while since he'd had an even mildly intelligent conversation. The guys around here weren't renowned for their brain cells.

For a second she didn't look like she was about to say anything, but in the end she just shrugged as if to tell herself, "Eh, what the fuck, I might as well.' She swirled her mouth out again with beer, like she thought the words she was going to say were going to taste bad, or maybe she just needed something to be doing. Mickey didn't know, he didn't particularly care.

"My ex," she said eventually and Mickey sort of figured it would be that, but he kept his face blank and neutral, "He's a bastard, used to bat me around just because he could and because he thought it was fun, but he didn't think it was so funny when I got pregnant and decided to run."

In some weird fucked up way, Mickey thinks that actually sounds pretty brave or noble or some shit, but he didn't know why and he wasn't about to fucking tell her that. "So what, he's following you?" he asked because that was the most obvious question.

Kara nodded and Mickey spat on the floor because at the end of the day, he was just as classy as she was. "He wants Tegan," she explained, but didn't look like she actually wanted to be saying the words. Like Mickey, she wasn't all that sociable. But he thought maybe that was what happened when you put two unsociable people together, sometimes they just had to get past it and talk. "He's been trying to find her ever since he found out she existed."

He told her that sucked and he thought he sort of meant it. He didn't not mean it anyway.

And that was how they became maybe-friends. Pretty much the first one Mickey had ever had if he was being honest, because Ian Gallagher didn't count and neither did his sister.

He met the kid when she was eight and found her sitting swinging her legs against the wall that he'd sat on that day with Kara. She watched and her mouth quirked up into a smile when he tossed someone out into the street courtesy of Jackson's instructions. And later on in the day she laughed when she saw Mickey break a guy's leg and he let the kid try a sip of beer because he decided that maybe she wasn't half bad. She had a good sense of humour at least.

Mickey usually wasn't one for favours or for pity, but the way Kara had looked at him when she'd asked for a favour, with wide fucking brown eyes that reminded him a little too much of someone he'd tried to forget. So he'd agreed to take the kid for a night, so long as he got paid in beer and pizza.

The kid was dropped off in grubby trousers that were rolled up at the bottom because they were at least three inches too long, a top that had a hole in the shoulder and she had a carrier bag clutched against her chest. She kind of reminded him of Mandy when she was actually still sort of innocent. That just sealed his fate really. She was smaller than Mandy had been though, scrawny and all wide-eyed and freckled with blonde-brown hair and kind of freaky blue eyes.

Her mum kissed her on the head and flipped Mickey off when he laughed at the face that the kid pulled. As soon as her mum had left, Tegan took an Xbox out of the bag she had clutched against her chest, which Mickey had been sure was supposed to be filled with overnight stuff – because yes, he'd been conned into letting the kid stay over. "You want to play?" she asked.

"Sure, whatever," he muttered, feeling awkward. He wasn't good with kids, he'd never been near them so he didn't really think it was his fault. But one thing he knew he could do was play Xbox. As long as the game wasn't anything stupid or girly.

As it turned out though, he didn't actually have to worry, because the kid pulled out COD and that was something that Mickey knew how to play without a doubt. Mindless fake violence in the form of a videogame was Mickey's form of entertainment, second only to mindless violence in real life.

They played COD, gorged out on Jell-O and played more COD until the kid started nodding off while holding the controller. Mickey gave her one of his old shirts that was big enough to fit her like a nightdress and dug a spare toothbrush out from somewhere and she'd smiled at him sort of dopily, which he supposed was fair enough since she was eight and it was one in the morning, almost.

She curled up in his bed after complaining in a low mumble that the mattress was lumpy and two beers later, Mickey had passed out on the couch. But that wasn't after deciding that maybe he wasn't half bad that the whole babysitting shit. It wasn't that hard, but he was glad he didn't have a womb or want to fuck anyone with a womb, because he definitely wouldn't want a kid full time. Ever. He couldn't imagine that you could raise one on Jell-O and Xbox alone. Although he supposed it would be fun to try, but it would probably turn out as thick as a plank and with a lazy eye like his brother Iggy.

The problems only actually started in the morning, when Mickey decided that the shit had well and truly hit the fan. And it wasn't that Mickey was being a good person or anything and he certainly wasn't suddenly growing a soul, but he didn't really like the prospect of a battered woman sitting on his doorstep. It'd only wind up with someone calling the police and he tended to avoid those.

Half of Kara's face was swollen up when he carried her inside and put her on the couch and she had a black eye and a split lip. Also, he was betting the judging by how she was clutching her side, she'd broken a rib or something. But she was scowling and she was awake, so he figured that she couldn't be that bad off.

"The fuck?" he asked quite simply, because Mickey wasn't really one for full sentences.

She pulled a face at him, "Get me a fucking icepack or something and I'll tell you."

In the end she settled with a bag of frozen peas Mickey had never had any intention of eating against her side and a bottle of beer in her hand that she kept pressing to her swollen cheek whenever she wasn't drinking from it.

"Yeah so he found me," she said, smirking a little and then wincing when she shifted on the couch.

He wanted to say no shit, but he figured that might be counterproductive and she just might hurl the beer bottle at her head, so instead he asked, "That why you leave the kid with me last night?"

"Nah, that was just good fucking luck," she muttered, taking a large mouthful of beer and pressing the bottle back against her face immediately afterwards. "So what the fuck are you running from?"

"None of your fucking business," he replied levelly, not knowing why or how the hell the conversation had swung around to him. He didn't like the focus being on him, but with the way Kara was staring at him, he figured chances were she wasn't going to let this one drop until she knew.

And he was right.

"Why, I fucking told you my story," she retorted and the winced when the face she pulled didn't help the bruising.

Mickey tried to stare her down for a minute at the same time as he tried to work out in his head how much he could actually get away with telling her. The only problem with Kara was that she was the time to try and worm the rest of the story out of him if he even gave her a little bit. Which was why he didn't quite know why he sighed and gave in. Maybe it was because of those goddamn fucking eyes that were looking up at him and seeming so familiar. "My Dad and brothers," he admitted eventually, rubbing his bottom lip with a finger, "Dicks want to see me dead, chances are they'll make it happen."

"You steal from them or some shit?" she asked, fidgeting a little bit, her breath hissing through her teeth when the movement didn't agree with her damaged ribcage.

"No."

"So why they want you dead?" she pressed, her gaze unwavering as she stared at him and right then he was thinking of so many colourful ways he could kill her. Because he didn't like people trying to worm their way into his head and under his skin. Only one person had tried that before and Mickey had gone and broken their fucking heart as well as his in the process.

That was why he told himself never again.

"Nosey bitch, aren't you?" he snapped, but it kind of ruined it that there was the beginnings of a smirk tugging up the corner of his mouth.

She just shrugged and then repeated, "Why they want you dead?"

And he wasn't going to tell her. He didn't actually even consider telling her for even a second. Because that was his business and it wasn't the business he went around sharing. He'd rather have danced around in public naked if he was being completely honest. But somehow the way that she was staring at him with those eyes made him say, "Turns out they don't really appreciate having a fag in the family."

"Holy shit, seriously?" to say her expression was incredulous would have been an understatement and Mickey didn't know whether he was supposed to be insulted, relieved or just freaked out, "I did not see that one coming."

He snorted, "Good to know I hide it well then."

Out of all things, what calmed him down was the way that Kara smirked at him before taking another mouthful of beer and dropping the now-empty bottle down onto the floor behind the couch.

"So come with us," she said suddenly, the idea obviously just having occurred to her, "We can watch your back and you can watch ours."

He scowled, he couldn't help it. He put it down to the fact that he didn't like the fact that he liked a dick up his ass to suddenly mean that he couldn't take care of himself and needing protecting or some shit like that. "I'm fucking fine on my own," he growled out through clenched teeth, looking away from her and towards the door, almost like he expected someone to burst through at that very moment.

"Yeah but we're not."

The only thing that stopped him from blowing up straight away was the fact that he could tell that it took a lot for her to admit that. But that still didn't make Mickey a good or considerate person, but he figured it had to count somehow that he didn't shout at her, just said kind of harshly, "And what makes you think I have any fucking desire to be your knight in shining armour?"

"Because you know the longer you stick around here, the higher the chances are he's going to find you."

And that was how that all started and he supposed that he'd probably have the bump Kara up in his mind from maybe-friends to friends.