Across the Border

Chapter One

165 days, 7 hours and 43 minutes since Mickey Milkovitch had crossed the border. 165 days, 7 hours and 43 minutes since he'd left the man he loved and started a new life on the run. It wasn't his choice to go it alone into the next chapter of his shitty, fucked up life. But Ian made his choice and now Mickey was alone.

The first few months were the hardest. He chewed up the cash Ian had left him in a matter of days and had resorted to stealing to cover the rent on a small, rat infested room upstairs in the only bar in town. He'd ditched the stolen car in a ravine just outside El Espia, using tree branches to disguise the vehicle. So living inside a car wasn't a viable option. He'd had to hitchhike just to reach the town he now resided in, Charcos de Risa, which was a four and a half hour drive north from San Pedro. Luckily for Mickey, or so he thought, his unsavoury talents of fighting and thieving were discovered by a man known as Alejandro, a local gang leader of the towns biggest gang. Mickey agreed to join rather quickly, having no other alternative than to join as only moments before he'd finally been kicked out of the room in the bar due to not being able to make rent.

More months passed on, joining the gang had given him something to do as opposed to drinking himself to sleep every night. It also meant he had very little time to think about a certain redhead which of course had been the reason for his unnecessary day drinking. He kept his sexuality a secret amongst the gang, knowing very well he could be beaten or worse if they ever found out. His kind weren't welcome around here. His job as part of Alejandro's gang consisted of drug deals and beatings of people who didn't pay up on time. And as time moved on he was able to distance himself from the terrible things he did to survive. But what was worse was that he began to distance himself from who he was, and completely undoing how far he'd come. He had never been a good person and never would be. He would always be Southside trash after all. But during the long days he was the same Mickey he had been years ago. At the end of the day when everything fell silent, a vastly different world to the one he'd grown up in, he couldn't escape from himself. Things began to catch up to him at night, his mind drifting to the subject of Ian Gallagher until one night he found himself standing in front the mirror in the bathroom as angry tears stung his eyes. "Fuck you." He swore, hands balled into fists like a cobra about to strike. "Fuck you for leaving! Fuck YOU!" His fist struck out against the glass, shards falling into the sink and all over the floor. Beads of red welled up against the tiny cuts on his hand and he angrily rubbed at his eyes.

After that night and as more time passed his anger boiled down to a simmer just below the surface. Instead he threw himself into his work, gaining more and more respect amongst the gang. Eventually this led to a promotion, his new job being one of Alejandro's inner circle as they realised how valuable the thug's skill set really was. Of course, with his ascent up the ranks, his work became darker and far more dangerous. Mickey's new job sent him spiralling out of control and without anyone to stop him he lost more and more of himself. He never recognised the man staring back at him in the mirror anymore. The only thing he still had from his past life were the words 'Ian Gallagher' tattooed across his chest. Well, it would be Gallagher but of course just his luck to spell it wrong. Looking at that name was the only time he allowed himself to feel something. He was still so angry, even after all this time. But he still missed the redhead in more ways than one. Mickey managed to find someone to fuck every now and then, sometimes resorting to women. Not that he ever got off. The closest thing he came to it, so to speak, was when he managed to find a redhead about three months into his stay. She was just passing through on vacation and with an exchange of names they hooked up in the local bars bathroom out the back. He ended up returning to his room after the fact and finishing off himself, using a photo he'd kept of Ian to do it. He felt pathetic afterwards, just as he had when Ian had left for the army. But at least it was easier to get a lay back in the States. Mickey quickly shook off his self-pity and pulled out a smoke instead.

…

Mickey woke up on the 166th day of his new life in Mexico and reported to Alejandro just as he did every morning. He was a robot, a machine used by the gang to get what they wanted, when they wanted. They didn't care about Mickey. He was merely a pawn in their game and he knew it. But what did it matter anymore? His care factor of being reckless had always been minimal, so as time passed his concern over getting caught by the law began to fade.

Mickey walked into the gang lord's office, ready for whatever the man threw at him. He idly wondered what job his boss would give him today and when he was told they'd caught a man that had been looking for him he balked, his blood running cold. They'd found him. After all this time the police had caught up to him. As Alejandro continued to speak he learned that the job Mickey had been bestowed with was to take him out. The thug's expression remained as cold as stone even if he was panicking on the inside. There was no other way out of this, not if he wanted to stay undetected. Besides, there was no way he'd ever be able to back out of a job. It'd be the last thing he ever did. So with a nod he left the room, making his way towards the basement with clear instructions. Beat this guy until he spills his knowledge on an opposing gang that were planning to come after them and then kill him.

Mickey swallowed thickly as he descended the stairs, the guy standing guard at the bottom opening the door for him. He cracked his knuckles both to prepare and look tougher than he felt only to come face to face with the one person he never expected to see again. The person before him had a face that was bloody and bruised. His hair was mattered with blood and his head was lowered but he knew him. He knew that orange fiery hair and the sight before him reminded him of another time. The time his own father had started a brawl at the Alibi because his son came out as gay.

Words evaded him as he stared soundless at the redhead, thankful that the door had been closed behind him. The head slowly lifted and for a moment the world seemed to stand still. Recognition flashed in the redhead's eyes, not quite believing what he was seeing. "Mickey?"