A/N: Thanks muchly to my one reviewer. :)
Reviews make authors happy. They write well when they're happy.... just letting you know. ;)

2. Anger

Anger ventilated often hurries toward forgiveness;
and concealed often hardens into revenge.

He should have done something better by now. Achieved more. Got over things. He felt he should. Everyone else felt the same too. Felt he was stuck in a self-pitying mood and he could see that the sympathy for him was drying up fast.

He never wanted sympathy. Never. It's all he got. 'Poor Mickey'. They'd say. Knew the truth. Knew he been raped. So the pity came but he hated the pity. Hated it more than he thought he could hate anything. Hated everyone who turned up at his door wearing that look of sadness and guilt. But he knew that it was a mask and behind it they were just glad. Glad it was him and not them. Glad he'd left and they didn't have to deal with it.

It was always worse when he came.
In the days after it happened, he'd been there for him and in his grief and despair, he'd let him comfort him when he needed it the most, when he was too blind to see it was Jack, to see the truth. They might have been close once, but only through plotting and revenge. Not really through friendship. And it almost looked like friendship, but it wasn't.
He'd feel different if it was, he knew that. He'd never feel like he did now. He knew it meant something different to him that it did to Jack. Maybe he was just a good tool to use, because he'd have done whatever Jack wanted, he was stupid like that. And Jack knew it. So he used him. He was his tool. He was whatever Jack needed him to be. And Jack could keep his hands clean. And he knew it.
The alcohol in his system cleared his vision for the first time. Made him see Jack for what he really was. Because no one who was really a friend would ever make him feel so bad, never push him like Jack did.
And he hated him for it.

So his timing was bad.
Because if it was good, he'd never have been on that doorstep on that night.
And he shouldn't stagger towards it and open it, but he did.
And seeing him standing there just made him feel sick. Hatred. He didnt want to see him there.
But when he asked him if he could come in, he waved him through.
Didn't say anything and Jack knew.
Knew he was slaughtered.
Knew he'd been drinking for hours and the mess in front of him that swayed about was a result of that drinking. All he wanted to do was hurt him and he let him in to do that. Because he couldn't do it on his doorstep.

So Jack went through and saw the beer cans and vodka bottle that stood on his table. A couple had been knocked over by his stumbling about, but it didn't matter much. At all. Who cared.
His carpet was stained.... no one cared.
He was stained. Scarred. Something on him, in him.... it'd never go away. He'd never be clear, clean again. He was damaged forever.

And he was being talked at but he wasn't listening so he focused... looked. And the face was concerned and it made him feel sicker. It wasn't the drink.. it was Jack.

"How much have you had?"

His response was a shrug. Didn't care. If he could understand it couldn't be enough. Oblivion was not close enough to his grasp. He wanted it closer. He wanted to grip it with both hands and disappear into it until he was just... invisible. That'd work for him. No one could see. No one would see that damaged mess he was.

"Mickey, I'm worried about you."

Why should he care? He never cared before. Not really. "Why now?" He asked and he went to a chair and just slumped down. He was sat on something. It was uncomfortable behind him and something scrunched but he didn't care.

"I've always cared. I want to help you." If he wanted to sound reassuring, he failed and Mickey sneered at the attempt. And something on Jack's face changed. He looked.... worried, but in a different way. Not in a 'poor Mickey' way.

His eyes were heavy and he closed them. Just for a moment. A moment too long? Jack was shaking him awake, looked alarmed.

"Want that drink now?"

"What?" Jack asked. Close to him. Worried. Couldn't help himself.

"''member when me Mum died? We were gonna go for a drink."

"Yeah, I remember that. I don' think now's the time, do you?"

Smirked. He just didn't know. "Why?"

"You've had enough." Jack said.

Watching as he moved away and picked up some of the empty cans and bottles. He had no idea. "Int this just a pain tho'... bein' 'ere?"

Jack turned, confused. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be."

"it's jus......" He searched his mind for what Jack had said. Couldn't remember those exact words. "ain't this just a duty you 'ave to do? Like that drink wiv me? Didn't wanna do it, did ya?"

"I don't...."

"S'wat ya told Rachel.... said it was a pain.... goin' for a drink with me..." No denial because it was the truth. Looked for something but his face just said guilty. Smiling, he wanted to hurt Jack a little bit more. "The day I buried me Mum and I was a burden to you, yeah?"

"It wasn't like that."

"Oh... you needed a screw then, yeah?" Mickey pushed.

"Mickey..." It was a warning.

He didn't care though. He wanted to push him. Hurt him.

"You bastard. You lied right to me face, too. Told me it was over with 'er..."

"I was trying to keep you out of things." He waited, hesitated. Probably knew that now wasn't the best time to have a conversation like this. But he tried anyway. "Everyone knew, you know?" Jack said. He looked but didn't answer, waited for Jack to carry on. He sat down opposite, trying to explain. "They could see something even before I could. Knew that whatever it was between us was more than just colleagues at work. And I hated that.. hated that anyone could see anything. And I didn't want to admit it. Maybe that's why when you pushed for Rachel to be out the way I dug my heels in. You were looking out for me because you cared.." Caught Mickey's attention. "..and I didn't deal with that very well."

"It doesn't matter... I don't care anyway." A lie.

"Yeah, you do. Especially if it's been on your mind all this time. Look, Mickey, I really am sorry if you feel...."

"Jus' leave it. I don't wanna talk 'bout it."

They locked eyes. Sincerity was there. He didn't let Jack say it all, but he knew he would have, knew he felt it. Could see it.
And the anger ebbed away.