I don't own Shameless.

Alcohol and Bandages: Chapter 2

There was almost a month that goes by between the night Mickey is arrested and the time someone visits him. Not that he's surprised by that. In fact, he's more surprised someone is visiting him at all. Mandy didn't like dealing with the guards, his dad was back in prison, and his brothers could care less. The only person who ever visted him the first time around was currently in New York; learning how get his ass shot off in a pointless war.

"Milkovich, you've got a visitor," a guard called to him from the doorway of the weight room and Mickey let the bar he'd been lifting drop. He didn't ask who it was, although he didn't have a clue who it could be. He stopped short, cocking his head to the side when he saw Lip sitting on the other side of the glass. He licked his lips, adverting his gaze before finally flopping himself down in the chair and grabbing the phone.

"What are you doing here?" He mumbled, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. A new kid, one that reminded him way too much of how innocent Ian used to be, had moved in the day before in the cell next to him. The kid had cried the entire night. Mickey didn't know why but it made him think of Ian, which caused him not to sleep.

"Ian's wrote you a couple times, but he's been sending them to our house because he doesn't know where you are. And the guards are less likely to read your mail if I bring it to you than if he sent it here…" Lip trailed off, flicking at his nose. Mickey swallowed thickly, turning away.

"How is he?" he asked quietly.

"He seems to like it; It's a lot of work and shit, but that's what he wanted. It's a sure ticket out of this hell hole." Lip was quiet for a moment, chewing on his lip. "How long this time?"

"Two years," Mickey whispered into the receiver, the regret clear on his face. "God, what was wrong with me that night?"

"Besides being drunk off your ass?" Lip asked, raising an eyebrow. "Your…. Let's call him your best friend for a lack of a better term. Your best friend just left for a year. And in a year he'll come back for two weeks and leave for another year. And it's going to be a ridiculously long process that can very well end in him being killed. And this was his choice. You're upset; so am I. And you had every right to be made at him. Destroying government property, however…Well there might have been a better way to show your anger than that."

Mickey let out a small laugh, the first smile he'd had in days crossing his face.

"I gave to letters to the guards and they'll give them to you after this. I put some money in your commissary fund, too. I'll be back next week if you have anything to send to him…Fiona's getting a bunch together and sending them at the same time…" Mickey nodded, holding his head in his hand.

"Yeah, thanks man. Really." Lip nodded, patting the table before getting up.

The letters had been thrust into his hands once he was back in his cell, the envelope still sealed. He opened them both, not sure which came first and searched for the date. The shortest one was dated August 16 and he let out a shaky breath as he read that one first.

Mick,

I hope every things okay. I know things were pretty rough that night and I'm so sorry I just left. I couldn't be caught with you though; not if I still wanted to go to West Point.

Things are nice here, though. The campus is beautiful and I've met a lot of cool people. Reception Day was hell, but thank God we worked out together so much this summer or I'd never have lasted in Basic training, which we call the Beast. I was one of the few who passed all the sections with exceeds expectations.

Classes start tomorrow and it's going to be a long day: Eight hours of classes and four hours of training. But it'll be worth it, you know? I just wish I could see you, or that we'd had a better goodbye.

I'm sending this to Lip because I don't know where else to send it. No one's really let me know how your sentencing went. I hope it's not too long.

Be good. I miss you. I love you.

Ian

Mickey read the letter twice, smirking at the way Ian made his small a's backwards; a trait he knew drove Lip mad. With a sigh he folded the letter back up and opened the other. It was dated a week later.

Mick,

It's been a long week and I'm exhausted. All of Fourth Class Cadets (freshmen to civilians) have to take the same classes; chemistry, physics, psychology, geography, a foreign language. I don't know if you knew this, but I took French in high school. So I'm trying to go on with that and hopefully learn a third language. I'm not sure what.

We don't get to pick our major until we go into our junior year, and to be honest I have no idea what I want to do. How can I possibly pick something that I'd want to do in the military and then keep doing once I'm out? I guess that's why they give us two years to decide.

Even though their challenging, I like more courses. I know, that makes me a total nerd and if you were here you'd kick my ass. I've made a couple new friends, too. One guy is named Jason and he's from some small town in Ohio that I can't remember the name of. The other guy's named Alex and he's from Texas. He has the craziest accent and it makes me laugh. You probably wouldn't like them; far too clean cut for you. They keep asking about what Chicago's like, but what am I supposed to say? I live on the poor side of town with a drunk for a dad and a mom who ran off so my sister has raised me since I was 15? I've just been lying and making stuff up. I mean I've been to the North Side enough times to figure something out, and it's not like I'll ever bring them home with me.

I'm going to my first college football game next Saturday; once again, not that you would care since you've made it clear that you hate all sports. But I'm kind of excited. Steve was going to take us once, but right after he made his promise me and Lip were arrested and he had to flee the country so it never happened. I'll admit, I don't really understand the excitement over college football; I've always been a baseball fan. But everyone else is going so why not? It'll just give me something to do to keep my mind off home.

How's jail? Sorry for the bluntness, but I'm pretty sure we're past the point of tiptoeing around the subject. Do you think it'll be like last time? Like if you're good and don't stab anyone with plastic forks that they'll let you out sooner? I'm not sure when I'll be home next summer; it'll just be for a week or two. But it'd be nice if you were out by that time.

Be good. I miss you. I love you.

Ian

Mickey let out a shuttering breath, smiling slightly at Ian's 'be good. I miss you. I love you' mantra. God he missed his ginger. He folded the letter up and stuck it and the first letter in his small locker in his cell. He climbed to his feet and went to the door.

"Can I get some paper?" He asked the guard who was standing nearby. The man raised an eyebrow at Mickey but nodded, leaving and returning with a stack of lined paper and a pen. Mickey sighed as he sat down on his bed, trying to decide what to say.

It took all week, but finally the night before Lip showed up, Mickey decided what to write.

Ian

I'm back at Juvie, the same branch as last time. Nothings really changed, really. It's the same guards, some of the same kids. The guards call them lifers and claim they'll be in real prison by the time they actually turn eighteen. Much to my surprise, I don't fall in that category with them. Looks like maybe someone other than you has faith in me, too. Weird, huh?

They brought in a new kid last week that reminds me so much of you. He's about your age; bright blue eyes and red hair. He doesn't belong in a place like this. I've heard that he was driving drunk in the accident that killed his girlfriend and they got him for second degree manslaughter. He's cried every night he's been here. I'm sure you're thinking 'why the hell is he telling me this?' But I have a point. You mentioned when Steve got you and Lip arrested that winter. I hadn't been here long and I think that's the only time Mandy came to visit. She was so upset that you'd been arrested and there was a chance you'd end up in here with me. I was sick to my stomach just at the thought. People like you aren't meant for a place like this, Ian.

I screwed up and I know it. I was an ass to you that last night, and I'm sorry. As the day went on I just kept thinking about how you were leaving and that you were going to go off to West Point and forget about me. I didn't mean to be that drunk when you showed up, I didn't mean to hurt you in bed (even if you won't admit it, I know I did), and I didn't set out with the intention to get arrested that night, either. You've got enough on your plate to worry about without my drunk ass fucking up, and I'm sorry to make more things complicated.

I'm glad things are working out there. I'm glad you're making friends and that you like your classes. And you're right, I hate sports. But if you think football might interest you, then I guess have fun. Don't spend all your time in the library or working out or whatever it is you can do there. Have a life. Have fun. Just don't forget about me.

It's supposed to be two years. But I'll be on my best behavior. I make no promises, but I'll try to be out when you get home.

I'll wait for you, if you wait for me.

Mick

It was probably the most heartfelt thing he'd ever said to Ian Gallagher, and Mickey blamed it o the fact that he hadn't had any alcohol or pot in the last month. In fact, that was the gayest thing he'd ever done, which was saying something considering the fact he'd had Ian Gallagher's dick in his ass more times than he could count. With a shaky hand Mickey placed the letter in an envelope and with his messy script scrawled 'Ian' on the outside.

Ian sunk onto his bunk with a tired sigh, his muscles screaming in agony. He ran a hand through his hair as he let his physics book and the thick envelope from home fall down on the bed next to him. These were the first pieces of mail he'd gotten and he had been waiting for them.

Slowly, Ian tore open the envelope and went through the letters, trying to judge who they were from by the hand writing. The one top was from Fiona; he could tell by the way she made her a's. They were like a box, a small tail on them. He sat it down and picked up the next one, easily identified by Debbie's. Being in middle school they still required them to write in cursive, all her letters running together. There was one from Mandy, a big E scrawled on the front of her own envelope; her secret nickname for him. Carl had wrote his on a sticky note, two lines only: Miss you. Come Home. –C. Ian laughed, shaking his head. There was one from Lip, his messy hand writing hard to read. It was the last envelope inside that made him stop.

Ian read Mickey's letter four times, his smile growing bigger each time. He liked this side of Mickey; it was one he rarely saw. Not that Ian would want him to be this sweet all the time, it was just nice sometimes to see it.

He read the rest of the letters, smiling at Mandy complaining about Mr. Rogerson looking down her shirt in history and Fiona complaining about Carl trying to blow the house up again. He bit his lip when Lip told him Karen had been pregnant, but because she wouldn't stop partying she had lost the baby. While Lip was devastated, Karen had already moved on, fucking some other guy under the El.

Ian had just put don't the last letter, one from Debbie telling him about her plains for the middle school's student government when his roommate, Alex from Texas, stuck his head in the room.

"Gallagher," he drawled, his southern accent thick. "Time for PT."

Ian groaned, folding the letters up. He stuck all but one back into the big envelope they'd been sent in. They last, the letter from Mickey, he stuck under his pillow so it's be close at night. That was, after all, the time of day when he missed Mickey the most.

AN: I hope you liked it. Please review. All facts about West Point came from their Wikipedia page.