Chapter Ten: Ready Aim

When Mickey had first left his hotel, the time had been noon. By the time he had left the store, it had been one in the afternoon. As he had sat his things on Ian's counter top, Mickey saw that the clock said one thirty. And now, as his phone rang and he was pulled away from watching Ian fire the reassembled revolver, Mickey looked at the screen and saw Rex was calling him for a third time today, this time it was at four o'clock in the afternoon. The temperature had dropped enough that Mickey had put his coat on. Ian hadn't, and Mickey could see the gooseflesh on his arms as the redhead aimed for the marks Mickey had drawn onto the upturned mattress beneath the El. He answered his phone, still staring at Ian's arm from behind.

"Okay, Mickey this girl is too serious about hiring you," Rex said before anything else, before Mickey could even comprehend. Rex expressed his concern over the issue.

Plopping down on the ground beside of the remaining liquored up drinks he and Ian were working on, Mickey ground his teeth. His knees were arched. He looked up at Ian again, just as Ian lowered the gun and turned around, looking downward, puzzled at Mickey. The kid's eyes were glazed over. His cheeks were flushed.

"What's the problem?" Mickey asked, averting his eyes from Ian and licking his teeth into the phone. He belched. He was slightly tipsy, if he was being honest. Ian had brought an eight pack of Joose out not even an hour ago, and that shit had kick to it, being as it was part energy drink, part malt liquor. Not to mention the two of them had been pounding back the cans like water. Started with eight and had only two now. Mickey was a big drinker, but even he was loose at this point. And Ian was right there with him on level of sloshed. Mickey picked up the bottle by his feet and took a swing. Decided he should start slowing down before chaos happened. Mixing energy drink and liquor actually now seemed like a bad idea to him. Right after he finished this can he was going to call it a day.

Rex sighed on the other end. "Are you drunk?" he asked flatly.

Mickey shook his head even though Rex couldn't see. Realized the flaw in his behavior, and corrected it by actually speaking.

"Damn, you're wasted," Rex growled. "I'll just have to talk to you later." He hung up in Mickey's ear.

Scowling at the phone, Mickey shoved it back into his pocket. "Fucker," he mumbled, taking another drink.

"What's wrong?" Ian asked, bending down to pick up his own can. He tipped his head back and finished it off.

Mickey shook his head, pulling a face. He smoothed out his features soon after and pointed over to the dingy mattress covered in black Xs in Mickey's sloppy scroll. "Nothing," he dismissed. "Did you hit it?"

"Most of them," Ian said, that stupid grin on his face again.

Mickey burped again, hit himself on the chest once with a fist. Cleared his throat and began standing. His world dizzied. He sat back down and stilled, eyes wide, blinking a few times. "The fuck is this?" he asked, looking at the tall can in his hand angrily. Legitimately pissed at his current sate of drunk.

Ian laughed. "These things are kicking your ass," Ian mused, watching Mickey's face too closely. Then added, "Mine too."

Mickey wondered if he also had a dopy look on his face. Probably. The idea frustrated him. He rubbed his lower lip, staring back up at Ian. The gun Mickey had reassembled right outside, on Ian's front stoop, was working perfectly fine. He'd shot it himself a few times before handing it off to Ian for reloading and whatnot. Ian had it dangling by his side. Mickey examined the gun, looking away from Ian's intense gaze. He scratched his head and wrapped his arms around his knees. Earlier he hadn't wondered why Ian needed the gun. Now that he was buzzed, more than actually, he did wonder. Nodding toward Ian's hand, Mickey asked why.

Ian crunched his can and tossed it away. He lifted the gun up, holding it with both hands and staring at the weapon thoughtfully. His lips parted slightly, brow knitted. "Just my mom," he said reluctantly, "she's home again and in trouble." He sighed. "The usual."

"This have to do with that pimp?" Mickey asked, suddenly needing to piss horribly. He looked around for a spot.

Ian nodded and dropped the gun back to his side.

Mickey stood up and walked over to the mattress, facing the wall. Unzipped and relieved himself. Over his shoulder, as he shook off, he asked, "You plan on killing him?" Like he had asked what flavor ice-cream Ian favored.

"No," Ian stuttered a little, shocked. "It's for self-defense."

Mickey turned around, straightening out his jeans. Didn't miss the look of dawning on Ian's face even through the drunken state. Opened his mouth to say something, then heard an echoing slap and the sound of a woman begging. His brows went up and Mickey looked in the direction of Ian's street, where the noise was coming from. Ian quickly tucked the gun down the back of his pants, eyes wide, and walked forward, now standing beside of Mickey, alert. The woman's voice was far away, so her words were lost to Mickey's ears. So was the voice of whoever was tormenting her. At first Mickey wondered if he was overhearing a rape. And Mickey could understand a lot of things, but not rape. Could overlook anything but that, in fact. So he looked over at Ian fast, reached out his hand, shook it impatiently, and told Ian to hand over the revolver. Ian's eyes went wide as he looked at Mickey. He mouthed something, but Mickey was too drunk to read Ian's lips. The voices grew closer. The woman was being dragged along. The man's voice was becoming more understandable. Mickey thought he recognized it from somewhere. He shook his hand at Ian again, glaring at the redhead in annoyance. Ian shook his head, a look of shock and realization overtaking his freckled face as he started walking forward, toward the voices. Mickey's heart jumped. His eyes widened and he started to go after Ian. What the hell was this kid thinking? Ian couldn't handle something like shooting a man. Mickey knew because he could always tell by looking into someone's eyes what the person was capable of. For instance, when he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw the devil. When he looked at Rex, he saw utter apathy. When he looked at Shatera, it was cowardice and sadness. And when Mickey looked at Ian, he saw naivete and innocence, yet a determination to prove himself. A horrible combination for a situation such as this. He took only two leaps forward, grabbing hold of Ian's elbow before the fighting pair came into view. Some blonde woman and Rodney. Ian jerked free and dashed forward. Mickey swallowed his stomach.

Yet, much to Mickey's relief and at the same time fear, Ian didn't pull out the gun. Instead he got in Rodney's face while grabbing hold of the blonde woman being dragged along the street. Her knees were bleeding. Mickey could see this even from the distance. Ian lifted the woman up, wrapping his arms around her and turning an angry glare to Rodney, who was standing a few steps back and chuckling. Mickey frowned at the scene, walking forward more to get a close look at the older woman in Ian's arms. He stopped walking when her face was in focus. Brows raised, Mickey blinked at the shattering similarities between the blonde and Ian. There was no doubt this was Ian's mother. She was lovely, save for looking methed out and freshly slapped around. Mickey's mom had been pretty, too, when she wasn't drunk. Mandy had looked like her. Mickey hadn't. Mickey looked like his father. And Mickey didn't know what Ian's father looked like, but figured Ian must have gotten lucky in the gene department because the punk was handsome. Even with the twisted look of fury and fear marring his face right now, the kid was all right looking.

"You look like I just kicked a puppy!" Rodney roared with laughter.

Ian's mother, whose name Mickey knew he'd heard but didn't remember, cried into Ian's shoulder, knees bleeding pretty badly. Ian pursed his lips and dug his hands against his mother, into her hair and on her shoulder, eyes set on Rodney. Full of fire. "I told you I would pay for what she took," Ian growled.

Rodney's laughter simmered. He wetted his lips and looked over at Mickey. Their eyes met for a second. And for that split second, Mickey felt his stomach bubbling over with anger that wasn't personal. One he hadn't felt in years. For a slit second, Mickey almost walked over and headbutted the guy. But he didn't. Because this wasn't his business and Mickey didn't want it to be. Rodney went back to pulling a disgruntled face at Ian and the mother. He pointed. "And you're late on making my run," he said to Ian evenly. "You quit taking care of your mama's debt and your mama has to pay up, boy. This world's not kind to thieves," he threatened. "I expect what's owned to me in a timely fashion, Ian Gallagher," Rodney spat.

"I have fucking bills to pay," Ian hissed, voice slurred only a little, overshadowed by his rage. "I can't go around pulling bullshit errands for you twenty four seven." His mother begged for Ian to shut up. Ian scowled at her, still holding on, and gave her a silencing stare. He then looked back at Rodney and said, "I always pay back my debts and I won't treat this differently. Unless you keep fucking with my mother."

"A you threatening me, kid?" Rodney asked, lowering his voice, serious. Face darkening.

Ian perked up, finally showing that fear Mickey knew was hiding under that hardening exterior. The blonde starting crying louder, this time begging Rodney to leave Ian out of this.

Rodney pointed at Ian, wagging his finger, face twisting. His face turned a darker shade of red, veins popping out around his neck. And when he barked out a string of curses, spit flew from his rabid mouth. "Your son put himself in this, Monica! And if he thinks he's big enough to make fucking decisions," he bellowed, eyes bulging, "then I'm going to treat him the same as I would a grown ass man."

Mickey shook his head, having heard enough of this. Rodeny was killing his buzz. And frankly, Mickey's day had been so shitty up until the point of Ian and his shooting at the mattress, that Mickey felt a little offended at Rodney pulling this stunt. Now this did feel personal. Probably only because of the way Mickey's fucked up mind worked. But still. Now that he had taken it personally, Mickey thought he had good enough reason to act. So he did. He reached down, picked up a full can of Joose, popped the cap, and then dug through his pocket for the matches Ian had given him earlier. Fast, while the three were squabbling, and before they noticed, Mickey grabbed a random piece of clothe laying about under the El, stuffed it into the can, and lit it on fire. Face calm, he tossed it at Rodney's feet. The man yelped, jumped out of the way, then turned crazed eye in Mickey's direction.

Monica squealed at the explosion that went out quickly, burying her face against Ian's neck. Ian just stared, mouth agape.

Rodney glared at mickey and took a few step toward him. "You're a dead man," he seethed.

At this, Mickey chuckled, lips going up in a cruel yet amused smile. "I'd stop approaching me if I were you," he told Rodney, laughter in his voice, "I'm extremely drunk and surly right now."

"I don't give a fuck!" Rodney yelled. "No one does that to me," he said, "especially a prepubescent looking motherfucker like yourself!"

Mickey snickered to himself.

Rodney made no pause to step up to Mickey. He stood several inches taller than Mickey, which was common for everyone. Yet he had a look on his middle aged face that said he thought Mickey would find the height difference intimidating. Mickey didn't. Smiling up, head tilted, Mickey chuckled. His vision was fucked because of his intoxication and honestly so was his balance. Which were the only reasons Rodney got in a pretty powerful headbutt. Powerful but off-course. He ended up hitting Mickey in the forehead instead of the nose. Because of that, Rodney fell back on his own ass, holding his head and groaning. Likewise, so did Mickey, sans the agonizing moans. It hurt, yes, but Mickey chose to laugh it out while quickly trying to stand. It helped that he was drunk to at least numb him up. So he actually had an advantage here. Or would have, if Ian hadn't rushed over and grabbed Mickey under his arms, pinning him back from Rodney. Rodney rolled over front ways, propped up on his knees and elbows like a dog, eyes squeezed shut tightly. Monica had finally gained enough sense about her to duck behind the mattress Ian and Mickey had been shooting holes through.

Still holding onto Mickey, Ian began shouting out a stream of what Mickey recognized as either an apology or a taught. Mickey wasn't certain, but though the comment might have been both. Ian's grip on Mickey's armpits tightened when Rodney pushed himself to a hunched over, standing position. The pimp held his head, scowling at the pair before him. Mickey figured his face matched Rodney's now that he had gone from humored to pissed off. Party because he had been stopped from assaulting the pimp while he was down, partly because Ian was pressed so close against him without permission. Had in fact touched Mickey. Mickey didn't do unnecessary touching. Fuck's sake, Mickey didn't even shake hands. The only time he didn't freak out over someone laying their hands on him was when Mickey was fucking. And even then he was apt to keep touching to a minimum. He jerked free of Ian's grasp, startled the youth. Rodney had turned his attention to Monica, asking her if she knew what the repercussions of this incident would be.

Finally freed, Mickey pivoted his arms, glaring at the redhead behind him. Ian searched Mickey's face, looked guilty. Didn't make much of a difference as far as Mickey was concerned. He was fucking livid with Ian. And by now, his intoxication level had risen even more. Mickey had never been a friendly drunk. Had in fact put a man in the hospital while too drunk, the last time. Fortunately the man hadn't pressed charges. Probably because the guy had been terrified. Probably because the guy had been Rex. And Rex was a glutton for punishment. Rex had gotten the brunt of Mickey's rage more than once. The first time had been the most brutal though. Rex had told Mickey later, after his jaw had healed and he'd been released from the hospital, that Mickey became possessed when he was drunk. And maybe Mickey did. It was a good thing Mickey wasn't entirely gone yet; he still had enough wits about him to recognize his coming fit, and shoved past Ian. Ian huffed out as Mickey hit against his chest when passing. Then the kid turned fast, face wide and hand out. Mickey stopped walking long enough to look back at Rodney and send across a death glare. Told tell the pimp that the bastard was real god damned lucky that Mickey liked Ian's face too much to rearrange it. After he'd left the scene, barely about to walk without tripping over his own two feet, Mickey thought he hadn't worded his threat quite right in many ways. But Mickey was too dazed to think much. And now his head was starting to really ache. He stumbled back into his hotel room, passing out at the foot of the bed, not quite all the way in it.