Ned

Ned likes minding his own business. He likes to keep his problems to himself and likes to not flaunt his preferences to anyone they do not concern. It didn't always work out for him so well, but Ned's pretty happy with his life. He might be divorced and not exactly on speaking terms with any of his children, but his career is thriving and he has plenty of young beautiful things to keep his company whenever he only just wishes so. So yeah. It's a quiet life, certainly more so than he once would've expected to have, but a good one. An honest one, at least, as far as his standards go.

Ned likes keeping things to himself — it's how he's managed to stay afloat through all those years of bullshit. But when he sees one painfully familiar face gawking through the window of an off-brand jewelry store on his way home, he simply cannot leave it be.

"Lookit here, Chicago's favorite fag beater! I thought you were locked up," he says with mock cheerfulness by way of greeting to one Mickey Milkovich who he hasn't seen in years. Mickey instantly turns on his heel to face him, surprise clear on his features like the light of day.

"Dirty Grandpa?" he asks, incredulous.

To say Mickey's happy to see him would be an understatement of the year. Well. Ned probably shouldn't be this amused standing eye to eye with a kid that used to bash his face in with vicious determination of a jealous bottom, but somehow seeing Mickey in a setting so far removed from the dirty alleyways of the South Side seems genuinely hilarious to Ned. Or maybe it's just his general good mood bleeding in on the encounter, but either way, he can have a conversation, right?

"Mickey Milkovich in the flesh. Never thought I'd see the day!"

"Fuck off."

Mickey's staring at him like Ned's a piece of filth stuck to the sole of his shoe, which might be fair, but it's also very different to the look he used to get from him before. And sure, time has passed, they both changed and moved on, but Ned knows Milkoviches aren't people that let grudges go, ever. Maybe not personally, but he heard enough tales from Ian to stay clear of this particular brand of trouble. Disdain's clearly there, but it's surprising that there is virtually no violent intent radiating off of Mickey and that's something.

But Ned wouldn't be himself if he didn't push a little.

"So, how's Red? You still see him?" Ned asks, genuinely curious, but mostly just to get a rise out of Mickey.

He doesn't take the bait, though. Instead, Mickey smiles, and it's not even close to that crooked smirk that would appear right before the punch — the only kind of smile Ned has ever seen him pull off before. It's sweet actually, and Ned would've never guessed Mickey's face could look this soft.

"We're married, actually," he says. There is a challenge in his voice for Ned to question him, to say the wrong thing and provoke some kind of reaction that will then be entirely on him, but Ned won't. He isn't gonna fancy having a shiner tomorrow at work, and besides, this is just too curious to give up on so easily.

"No shit?" he tries instead, and is wholly satisfied when Mickey sniggers and promptly flips him off. Only Ned quickly realizes that it's a wrong finger he's seeing, as the two metal bands shine across the dark outline of a 'U'.

"No shit," Mickey actually laughs.

And that's good, that's great. Ned never wished Ian anything but good fortune, even when he went off the rails and dragged Ned right along for a while, but if he's married now that has to mean he's better. From what Ned has seen of him — which, maybe wasn't much, but Ned prides himself on his people reading skills — Mickey Milkovich is many things, but pushover isn't one of them. So if Ian managed to lock his ass down, it must've been on a sober mind.

Ned smiles a little, drinking Mickey's confident, radiant stance in like a well-aged wine. As rough as these two might've been back in the day, high school sweethearts staying together and actually being happy together is much more of a legend that TV tends to make it these days. Ned knows something about it very intimately. Looking at Mickey, sticking like a sore thumb on a North Side street, he hopes they're really going to make it.

The moment is broken when a rig, all wailing sirens and blasting lights, speeds past them in the general direction of Ned's hospital and the sense of awkwardness that wasn't there before draws heavily on the silence.

"So uh. You still fucking teenage boys?" Mickey shifts uncomfortably, stepping closer to the display window and Ned wonders for the first time what is it that he's looking here for. He's not interested enough to ask, though.

"Well."

"Whatever, man. I don't fuckin' wanna know."

Mickey rubs his eyebrow irritably, the easiness from before all gone, and Ned knows he's going to scram any minute now. It's not like he doesn't understand the lack of need to chit chat with one's husband's geriatric ex. It was surprisingly good seeing him, though.

"Tell Red I said hi," Ned says, making an open gesture with his arms, readying himself to head home again.

"Yeah, ain't fuckin' gonna happen," Mickey scoffs in retaliation. For some reason, Ned doesn't believe him.

"Alright, easy," he allows with a little acquiescent nod to support his point. "Good luck, Mickey Milkovich. Please don't rob the store while I'm still close enough to catch complicity."

Mickey flips him off for real this time, but his gaze loses an edge.

"It's Gallagher now," he says in a way that's half-mocking, half-proud and Ned can't help but feel a little bit happy for him, too.

"Well then, goodbye… Mrs. Gallagher," he jokes when he's already passing Mickey on his way, but there isn't any bite to it, not really.

"Fuck you, doc. See you never!"

He can hear Mickey shouting behind him and then a happy chime of a bell of the jewelry store that he must've finally entered, but Ned doesn't turn around. He goes ahead thinking of the strange ways life unfolds, pulling and pushing at people until they land together in a perfect spot. Thinking about how happiness doesn't last forever, but how forever can be found sometimes in just one, special day. It's a nice thought to have.

Ned knows that everything waiting for him right now is an empty apartment and maybe a promise of a warm body later to sweeten his night, but it's his forever, too. Simple and quiet, true, but he's content with it enough.

Not everybody needs an epic love story to be happy. He's certainly happy enough knowing that other people are.

A/N: Out of all six, this one was actually the hardest piece to write, because I don't really feel Ned the way I do the others, y'know? So if I fucked up, go ahead and yell at me.

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