Note To Readers-This IS NOT, I repeat IS NOT chapter five. This is to fix an inconsistancy that I realized I had made. I actually planned on putting this in chapter one, but for some reason forgot to type it. I don't even know for sure if anyone noticed this inconsistancy but I did, so I'm going to fix this. So you can either view this piece as part of chapter one, of view it as if it is a memory of Mickey's. I will be putting the official chapter five up later tonight. Holy crap that was longer than I had expected. Anyway onto the missing piece.-Alayna

When Mickey had landed in Chicago and returned to the south-side, he was struggling to breathe; he felt like he wasn't really there, like he was floating away from himself. He needed something to reground him; he needed to know he was really there.

His entire body itched; he was craving something. He knew what his body wanted; he knew what his body needed. But that wasn't an option. His addiction was too far away.

He hadn't done coke in too many years; he didn't want to start that shit again. He didn't like constantly sniffling. He didn't like his nose feeling raw and burning; he loved the high the coke gave but it wasn't worth all the stupid shit.

He walked aimlessly around the south-side, cautiously.

Fire was burning beneath his skin; he needed to extinguish it.

He needed something to keep him from going insane; he was slipping away from sanity as the seconds went by.

He hadn't drank any hard liquor since the hotel with Ian before they were deployed. He wanted to get shit faced. He wanted to forget about his addiction; not remember anything.

He couldn't get shit faced though; this wasn't like when he was a teenager, he couldn't get shit faced and pass out under the El, or stumble into the Milkovich house at three in the morning.

He was a man now; he had grown up; matured.

He snorted at the thought. Mickey and mature just didn't sound right together. If Mickey was really mature he wouldn't have acted like a child and ignored Ian and acted like a dick to the kid. If he was mature he would have just told the kid how he felt. He would have told Ian about being worried. About thinking he was going to get hurt. He wouldn't have made the red-head think that he didn't care about him anymore.

Mickey needed something, anything to take the pain and regret and insanity away.

He wanted to get his addiction off his mind, he wanted a substitution.

He saw some kids smoking cigarettes as they walked past him.

That's what he needed; nicotine.

It wouldn't make him forget but it would dull the pain. It would distract him. He quit smoking with he went to basic. He hadn't smoked in a long time. He didn't even know if his lungs would accept the smoke. He'd force it if he had too. He needed this. He needed a distraction.

He continued walking, until he came across the little corner store where he used to buy cigarettes when he was fourteen.

He bought two cartons and a lighter; it was bright red. It reminded him of Ian.

Second Note To Readers-Alright there is the missing part. I realized that I had said Mickey regreted smoking when he was in basic training, implying that he quit smoking. And then all of a sudden I had him chain-smoking. None of you probably even noticed, and if you did, you didn't call me on it. Anyway I'll put chapter five up in a bit, as soon as I'm done writing it.-Alayna