A deep, rhythmic buzzing seeped into Ian's consciousness. His eyes felt as if they were swollen shut as he slowly came to. Too late, he realised it was his phone vibrating on the table next to the bed.

Swaying slightly, he reached towards it to see who had been calling and it started vibrating again. He grabbed the handset and tried focussing on the screen, just about making out the word "Lip" before dropping the phone on the floor and lapsing back into unconsciousness.

When Ian opened his eyes, the sun was streaming in through a gap in the curtains. He squinted away from it, making his brow furrow, which hurt his head. He tried to remember the last time he hadn't been drinking.

His phone buzzed once somewhere, and he looked towards where he thought it should be on the bedside table. After a moment, he was confused to find it on the floor, the screen reading

"4 missed calls. 1 new voicemail"

He leaned over and picked it up, trying to remember when he had missed any calls, then sagged back onto the bed, brain rattling back into place. He rubbed his hands over his face, and when he pulled them away, Vicki was standing in the bedroom doorway, with a mug of coffee in her hands.

"Oh. You're up." She didn't sound particularly pleased about it.

"What time is it?" Ian grimaced as he spoke, the words reverberating in his temples.

"A little after ten." She looked at the coffee in her hand, "I brought you this. A mug from a mug, I suppose." She set it down on the dresser by the door.

Ian sat up a bit. "Vicki! Don't-"

Vicki held up a hand to stop him talking. "I have to go to work." She started to leave, but as she reached the door, she spoke again, though she barely turned to look at him.

"I saw him, you know. Mickey." She almost spat the name, the disgust she felt evident in her voice. She did turn to look at Ian as she said, "Couldn't you at least have waited?"

And then she was gone.

Ian stared after her, open-mouthed. It was all coming back now, in waves. Like nausea. Oh no that actually was nausea. He ran to the bathroom and threw up until there was nothing left. Until he was just dry heaving into the bowl, throat sore and eyes watering, hugging the cold porcelain.

He'd forgotten Mickey was even there last night. Like a bad dream. He'd certainly not known that Vicki had seen him. He'd hoped their paths would never have to cross. Had they spoken? He couldn't even remember speaking to Mickey.

Oh God. What the hell had happened?

Pulling himself up on the sink, he ran the cold water for a moment then stuck his mouth under the faucet and took a few gulps. It soothed his throat, and he splashed some on his face too.

As the water dripped from his chin, he remembered the missed calls he'd been about to check, which, after that conversation, he was now nervous to find out who they might be from.

He sat gingerly back down on the bed, dialled his voicemail and was surprised to hear his brother's voice through the speaker.

"Ian, it's me. I got your message. I... I don't want to do this over the phone okay? Can we meet? Text me. Or call me or whatever. Tell me where to meet you. Not Fiona's and not at mine. I wasn't... I haven't chosen... look. Fuck. Let's just talk. Just text me."

And then there was a click as Lip hung up.

Ah. Ian suddenly recalled. The answer message. Shit.

An hour later, Ian was standing outside the Alibi Room. Mostly because it was central between his and Lip's houses, but also for old times' sake. Now, though, he could barely bring himself to step inside.

But he was already later than the time he'd told Lip in his text, so he took a deep breath, blew it out slowly and went in.

Wow, some things really didn't change. It still looked the same, the pool table in the same place, the TV on in the corner, the bums sitting in their usual places – although the bums themselves were different. Even the little green menus in their plastic holders on the tables were still the same. Ian glanced cautiously around, half-expecting to see Frank somewhere. No sign of him though, but no sign of Lip either.

He was deciding whether to sit down at the bar or leave, when he noticed Lip coming out of the restrooms, still pulling up his fly.

"Hello little brother." Lip said, smiling.

"Lip." Ian answered, not smiling back, but extending his hand.

Lip looked down at Ian's proffered hand for a moment, before taking it and shaking it once. "We on formalities now?" When Ian didn't answer, he made his way to the bar instead. "You want a beer?"

Ian pulled a face. "No. I'm hanging."

Lip clapped him on the back. "Come on! Hair of the dog." He gestured with two fingers to the bartender. "Two beers."

There was an awkward moment of silence, filled only by the sound of glasses being filled. Glancing in the mirrored back of the bar, Ian wondered why they had let things get to this point. And whether what he was about to find out was a part of it.

"So!" Lip started, cheerfully, "How's Vicki?"

"Cut the shit, Lip." Ian turned to face his brother. "You wanted to meet me. I want to know what the fuck is going on?"

Lip waited for the beers to arrive and took a great gulp from his glass. "Okay. I know. It's just. It's complicated."

"Well un-fucking-complicate it. What possible reason is there for Mickey to be staying with you right now?"

Lip was still not looking at Ian, so Ian watched him in the mirror as he spoke.

"Actually I guess, not that complicated. We've been sort of in touch since you left. We were sort of... well not friends, because who can be friends with a Milkovich? But we had a mutual interest in looking out for Mandy."

"Mandy? What does this have to do with her?!" Ian was confused.

Lip charged ahead, "Well, it doesn't. That's just how it started. I was sleeping with her-" Ian's eyes widened, but he didn't interrupt, so Lip continued. "and he wanted to make sure nothing bad happened to her. We just got... well we hung out I guess."

Ian was incredulous. "So what about after Mandy? Wasn't he pissed when you stopped sleeping with her?"

Lip shook his head. "Once you moved on, Mandy didn't want to sleep with me anymore, so there wasn't any bad blood. Plus, Mickey's always been able to get a hold of stuff for me. And I pay him. He never stopped working at the Kash 'n' Grab - 'cept when he was in juvie - so he was always on hand."

Ian couldn't believe what he was hearing. "So he was – is – your dealer?!"

Lip turned his head ever so slightly and looked at his younger brother out of the side of his eye, "In... a manner of speaking. And then the store got torched and he needed somewhere to stay. I guess it made sense to have him close by." He took another swig.

"And you didn't think about me at any point in this scenario?" Ian bit out, anger twisting his voice.

"Jesus, Ian." Lip slammed his glass down on the bar so hard that beer slopped out over the top. "Not everything is about you. You were the one who fucked off with some woman. I assumed you and Mickey were done. I didn't know you still gave a shit. You barely even talk to me anymore."

Ian stood up, his bar stool tipping over behind him. Nobody turned to look though. Typical.

"Some woman? You mean MY WIFE? And for your information, Mickey 'fucked off', as you so delicately put it, long before I did. He left me. I didn't ask him to go."

"And fucking off with some woman is how you deal with it? Running is just Mickey's default panic setting. I thought you loved him?"

Ian saw red. He didn't stop to think before he his fists were curled tight, knuckles white, and punched Lip in the face. Lip fell backwards off his chair, narrowly missing smacking his head on the table behind him.

"Hey!" The bartender was moving out towards them.

"Don't worry. I'm leaving." Ian reassured him, throwing a $10 bill on the bar before turning away from his brother and walking towards the door.

"Ian. Don't. Don't go like this." Lip was shouting through a now-blocked nose. "I'm sorry!"

Ian was shaking with anger though, as he stepped outside. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a tremendous drag, the nicotine coursing into his lungs making him feel better, albeit slightly dizzy on top of the hangover and the lack of food.

Once he was able to think clearer, he started to wonder whether he had punched Lip because of how he was talking about Vicki or because of the frank reminder that he'd not stopped to give Mickey a second, well third, chance.

He flexed his fingers and walked in the direction of God only knew where. He just had to think.

Two weeks earlier – Mickey POV

Mickey took a deep breath and knocked on the door. He wasn't exactly looking forward to this. Milkoviches don't rely on other people, but fuck it. Where the hell else was he going to go?

He was expecting Lip, so when Reese answered the door, he wasn't quite sure what to do. He took the cigarette from his mouth and flicked it into the yard.

"Oh, hey. Um. Is Lip home?" He inwardly cursed himself for sounded like a kid asking is friend was coming out to play.

Reese was as pleasant as ever. Her happy smile almost made Mickey want to go and pick up his cigarette butt from guilt. What the hell?

"Hey Mickey. He's just out at the store. He'll be home any minute. Want to come in and wait?" Mickey had to breathe in to avoid her bump that stuck out as she stepped back to let him pass.

He walked into their living room, and stood there like an idiot as she waddled gracelessly in behind him.

"How are you?" she asked, smiling.

His eyes kept drifting back to that fucking huge baby bump, "I'm okay. I... what about you?" He managed to look at her face then at least.

Reese positively beamed. "We're great." She nonchalantly rubbed a hand across her belly and Mickey tried not to look again. "Tired, but that's to be expected I guess."

"Mickey. What are you doing here?" Lip interrupted them then, walking in with his arms full of grocery bags.

Mickey hadn't even heard the front door. He stood up quickly though, glad of the distraction. "Lip. Hey man. I have to ask you a favour."

"I thought we were all done and dusted, Mickey?" Lip paused en route, looked confused, and slightly angry.

"I know. But, you heard about the store right? I didn't know where else to go." The desperation in his voice made him angry, and he thumbed the corner of his mouth.

Lip kicked open the door to the kitchen, raising his voice as he shouldered his way through it. "Yeah, I heard about it. And your old man. But I don't get why you're here?" He walked back into the living room carrying a can of beer, popping the tab.

Mickey started pacing. He needed to calm down, and he didn't really want to start yelling in front of Reese, but Lip wasn't getting this.

"So you heard. Did you know I was in there too? That my dad fucking burned the place down with me in there? That he tried to fucking kill me?"

Reese let out a gasp of shock and Lip sat down on the arm of the chair next to her.

"What?! It didn't say any of that in the papers?"

Mickey shook his head incredulously. "Of course it didn't. He kicked me out of the house a couple of weeks ago because... well you know what for. I was sleeping at the store. Only Mandy and Linda knew I was there, but he must have found out. Probably forced Mandy to tell him. And now I can't go home, and I got nowhere else."

Lip put his can down. "Well, you can't stay here, Mickey."

"Come on, man. You fucking owe me." Mickey didn't want to lose his cool and his last chance at somewhere to stay. He forced his feet to stay where they were even though every part of his body was trying to make a move towards Lip.

Lip stood up though, and squared up to Mickey. "Hey fuck you! We don't owe you anything. We had a deal. And that deal is done."

Reese put a hand gently on Lip's arm and Mickey threw his palms up to placate him.

"No, no. You're right," Mickey mock-laughed. "It's not exactly like I can take it back either is it?"

After a moment he tried for less threatening and added, "Maybe we could change the terms a bit? I could give you some of the money back? Pay rent? Something? Please. Come on man, don't make me fucking beg."

Lip let out a sigh, deflated his chest a little. "It's not just up to me." He turned to look at Reese. Mickey looked at her – expectantly, hopefully - too.

"What do you think, babe?" Lip asked.

Reese glanced between the two men, then smiled. "I really don't think we can say no, can we? Not after what Mickey did." She got slowly to her feet, and moved towards Mickey. "We'll come up with something until you're sorted, okay? You can have the couch."

Not wanting to show how grateful he really was, but not knowing the proper thing to do in this situation, Mickey just nodded and muttered, "Thanks. Yeah, thank you," making a mental note to really thank them later. Somehow.