Mickey settled back into the hospital chair and stared at Kara. She just looked like she was asleep, that was the part he couldn't get over. A part of him just wanted to shake her, to force her to wake up, but even Mickey wasn't that stupid. He didn't like doctors and he definitely hated hospitals, but he knew when it was just better to leave them the fuck to it.

He hated seeing Kara all hooked up with wired and tubes though, hated that the tube feeding her air was the only thing really keeping her alive. Kara had always been strong and he thought it fucking sucked that she could be reduced to this. He hated that it meant he could be to. And he hated that it sort of meant that Derek was winning.

Sure, Kara wasn't dead, but sometimes he thought that she might as well be. And then he hated himself more than he already did. Because that was the thing about Mickey that nobody seemed to understand. Most people hated him, even more people at least disliked him and he could count on one hand how many people had smiled at him and actually meant it. But no matter what Mickey did, no matter who hated him, nobody was ever going to hate him as much as Mickey hated himself. That was how it had always been, even before he'd known he was gay and his Dad and brothers had taught him to despise the very thing that he was, Mickey had hated himself.

He hated what being a Milkovich meant. He hated his lot in life. He hated that he was always going to be essentially a fuck up. But more than anything he hated who he was. Just fundamentally, he hated himself.

Kara had been the only one to ever call him out on that. Usually when she was high, she liked to tell him that he wasn't as bad as he was convinced he was. And sometimes he wanted to try and believe her; but Mickey had been hating himself for so long that he didn't remember how not to.

"She's dating a fucking Gallagher," he said, not sure whether he was saying the words more for Kara or for his benefit, "Suppose she could do worse, but the guy's a nutjob, K, seriously, he used to find peoples pets and like nuke them in the microwave or something."

He chewed on the side of his thumb and put his feet up on the bed next to her. "Least he's a Gallagher though," Mickey muttered, because for some reason he felt like he should back up his reasoning behind not just breaking Carl's kneecaps and being done with it, "And he does seem to actually like her, plus you'd probably just smack me around the back of the head and tell me to overlook the whole sociopath thing, so it's your fault this is happening."

He just thought she should know.

He leant forwards slightly and turned over her hand, pressing his thumb against the three birds tattooed on the inside of her wrist. He remembered when she'd gotten them, just after Derek had found them that time and her and Tegan had had to climb out of the window. She never said anything about them and he'd never asked, but he supposed it had something to do with the three of them always running. A bird for each of them.

Looking at them now he snorted, because he could remember being about eight and obsessed with birds. Not in the weird way that old people were so that they went bird watching. But he just thought it was amazing how they flew, how they were nothing more than bones and feathers, but they could always fly away from what was chasing them. If they were fast enough.

He remembered his brothers shooting one down, although Iggy hadn't been the best shot and had only clipped its wing. Mickey had found it before his brothers could and carried it to the vets wrapped up in his jacket. He couldn't even remember what sort of bird it was, but he didn't think it had been anything special. Either way, that had been the one good thing Mickey had ever done. He'd saved a bird.

And he'd been convinced afterwards that if that bird could fly even with a slightly damaged wing, he could fly himself. He'd been convinced that he could get away from his father, that he didn't have to run because he was better than his brothers, he was better than other Milkovichs. He'd been so sure that he was good enough that when he had to run, his feet wouldn't even touch the ground.

He'd been sure of that until his Dad had pitched him head first through a window for no reason at all. When he'd finally recovered from his concussion and his broken arm had healed, he'd realised that actually, he couldn't fly. He couldn't get away from his father or his brothers, or from Chicago, because Mickey didn't have wings and he was always going to be stuck.

That was when he'd figured that he wasn't really better than any of the other Milkovichs and so there was no point even trying to be. He thought maybe that decision had worked out to always be his downfall.

"Sir?"

Mickey snapped out of his own head and took his fingers away from Kara's wrist so quickly it was like her flesh had burnt him. He twisted around and stared at the nurse, trying to let himself seem calmer than the beating of his heart. He probably looked like a startled rabbit.

"Yeah?" he replied, looking at the woman standing there in her fancy white coat looking more clean than Mickey could ever be. She was shorter than him which he considered a good thing and her hair was a stupid shade of blonde that actually kind of made his eyes hurt.

The woman smiled at him, obviously thinking the scene was quite sweet or something. "You're Mr Milkovich, yes?" she asked, looking own at her clipboard and then back up at him, still smiling. It made Mickey feel sick, because doctors always smiled right before they delivered bad news.

"Yeah, that's me," he replied, fidgeting in his chair and picking at the side of his thumb. He didn't know why he was nervous, it didn't make any sense, but he was.

"And this is your wife?" she asked him, glancing at the clipboard again like she had some sort of twitch, "Kara Milkovich?"

He nodded, remembering which name they'd given the ambulance crew when they'd booked her into the hospital. It solved any problems with them trying to work out what to do with Tegan if people just believed they were married. It wasn't any skin off his teeth and it made his life easier so he didn't complain. Besides, he already knew the people in this hospital were to fucking lazy to try and check up on whether or not they were telling the truth.

"Well sir, my name's Dr Rush and we performed some tests on your wife earlier today to determine whether or not her condition was improving," the doctor said, "Her lung capacity needed to improve considerably before we could even consider removing her from the induced coma and off the ventilator."

Mickey stared at her, deciding that if for no other reason, he hated doctors because they never just came out and said what they knew. They always had to tiptoe around the answers. "And is it?" he asked, trying to keep the harshness out of his voice because that wouldn't have helped matters at all to piss the doctor off, "Is she improving?"

The doctor gave him a weak sort of smile, obviously thinking his hopefulness was endearing or something. Which was ironic, since Mickey had never been hopeful or endearing before in his entire life. Hope was for people who could afford it as far as he was concerned. "Well as you know she stopped breathing once not long ago and we thought perhaps that would mark a deterioration in her condition," she explained and Mickey kind of wanted to hit her with something to get her to talk, "However the recent tests showed that she is steadily beginning to improve."

Mickey didn't let himself smile, but he thought maybe he wanted to. "So you're saying she'll probably be fine?"

"I'm saying there's a strong possibility with the way things are looking," she said, smiling enough for the both of them, obviously pretending to give a shit, "However if your wife does recover enough to be taken off the ventilator and eventually discharged, her lung capacity will never be what it once was and things such as smoking would not be advised."

He snorted before he could think to stop himself. "That's going to go down well," he muttered and the doctor laughed under her breath, her head tipping back and her stupid hair swishing in the quiet of the room.

She left not long after that and after allowing himself to smile at Kara since no one could see it, Mickey didn't hang around either. He made a quick stop to someone who owed him a favour since they'd been sixteen and then ended up knocking on the Gallaghers front door of all places.

They threw parties for no fucking reason whatsoever. But they were the sort no one knew about unless they were personally invited, not like the parties the Milkovichs had always had where it was just a free for all.

He'd been asked to this one twice. First time was by Mandy and he'd affectionately told her to fuck off because there was no way he was going into a house that Ian had once lived in, that was probably stuffed full of shit that would remind him of Ian. Of course, he didn't say that last part, he just said no. The second person who asked him was Tegan, because of course she'd been invited by Carl and she'd never been to a party before because they'd never relaxed enough to have friends. And she was nervous, so she wanted Mickey to go with her, so of course Mickey took one look at those wide eyes and caved.

Of course, Tegan didn't actually say any of that. She just asked him to go. The reasoning was written all over his face though for him to see. For anyone to see if they'd actually bothered to learn Tegan's mannerisms.

"Thought you weren't coming?" Lip said when he answered the door, smirking at the same time as he frowned, which just looked fucking stupid. Not that Mickey said that of course.

"A guy can change his mind," Mickey replied, shouldering past him and into the house.

He tried not to breathe in through his nose after the first time because somehow, the smell of the place reminded him of Firecrotch. It was stupid and made him want to gouge his eyes out with a spoon, but there wasn't a lot he could do. Especially not with the grin Tegan gave him when she spotted him from the other side of the room.

She was standing by Carl, his arm looped around her waist and she was talking to Fiona, but it was obvious she was only half-interested in the conversation. He thought that it was weird watching her attempt to be polite, because with anyone else Tegan would have just walked away already.

He took the shot that she held out to him and wondered how long she'd been holding it, waiting for him to arrive. He pretended that he hadn't seen the nervous look on her face before she'd spotted him. He knocked back the shot, pulling air through his teeth in a hiss at the taste. "She's improving," he said by way of a greeting and Tegan's face lit up like a fucking Christmas tree, "Slowly, but she is improving."

"All the more reason to get drunk then," she said, beaming and Mickey snorted.

"Thanks for offering, I'd love a beer," he said and she swatted him on the arm, but went to get him one anyway.

Although as soon as she'd gone, he thought maybe he regretted that she had, because he was left standing there with Carl who freaked him out because he was unhinged mentally and Fiona who freaked him out even more because she was looking at him like she was expecting something. She looked confused, but still expectant at the same time.

"What?" he asked eventually, trying not to glare at Fiona when he looked at her, but not really succeeding. He couldn't help it though, despite himself, he was nervous. And he knew that was stupid, because Mickey had never needed anyone's approval. But for some reason he found himself thinking that maybe getting a Gallagher to actually tolerate him wouldn't be such a bad thing, because it would lead to Firecrotch maybe tolerating him eventually.

He felt like punching himself in the head for those thoughts, because it wasn't like he even wanted Firecrotch to fucking tolerate him. He didn't need him to. He didn't need anyone to. What he needed and what he wanted was for Derek to take a fucking bullet to the head, Kara to heal and wake up and for them to be able to get the fuck out of Chicago.

He supposed that even if just one of those things happened, he'd be happy.

"Just trying to work out how the neighbourhood thug managed to become an actual responsible human being," Fiona said, her tone light and not at all sarcastic, which confused him. But then he didn't know a lot about Fiona. He just knew that she'd stepped up to the plate when her mother had left and had pretty much single-handedly raised the Gallagher kids. He knew Ian had adored her and looked up to her and that the redhead hadn't known where the hell any of them would have been without her.

Probably in foster homes all around the fucking country.

Mickey had never had anyone give that much of a shit about him. None of his brothers had tried to raise him or Mandy when their mum left. His Dad certainly hadn't given a shit, kind of like Frank. No, it had been Mickey who'd had to shoulder more of the responsibility, even though he hadn't really done much of a job. He'd looked after Mandy, protected her, made sure she actually turned out better than the rest of them. But he'd never openly admitted to filling that role.

It had been more of a subtle sort of thing.

"Yeah well," Mickey replied, rubbing his bottom lip, "Things change."

People changed. But then Mickey didn't think he actually had. He just happened to have found two people who were just as fucked as he was and they'd clicked. He'd say he'd taken them under his wing, but it had probably been more the other way around.

"Well good for you," Fiona said and reached out to pat his shoulder which made him cringe a little. Not because of the touch, but because the smile on her face when she'd done that had reminded him far too much of Ian. He didn't like being in this house, he'd already worked that much out. He felt awkward and out of place, but at the same time it all felt too familiar. He'd only been in the Gallagher house once and that was when Ian had assured him they were home alone and they'd had a quick fuck upstairs. It wasn't much of a story and Mickey had seen much of the house, but it was still enough for him to know that the air still felt the same and it still reminded him too much of Ian for him to be even remotely comfortable.

He just grunted, relieved when Tegan reappeared and handed him a beer. He drained half of it and she laughed at him, the sound slightly harsh, but it was still more like she was laughing with him than at him. "Shuttup," he muttered, flicking the neck of the bottle she was drinking from.

She choked and spluttered and glared at him, but all he did was throw his head back and laugh. She only pretended to be pissed for all of few minutes. Mickey didn't know how to feel about the way that they all seemed to stare at him when he picked Tegan up to carry her home when she passed out on the couch. He'd be damned if he was letting her stay here because he knew Ian was due back the next day and Mickey wasn't going to be coming by to pick her up. Except if she stayed, he knew he would. Of course, the excuse he gave was that he wasn't having her sharing a bed with fucking Carl like would have happened if she'd stayed and people actually seemed to accept that pretty quick, which said something about how obvious it was that Mickey cared for Tegan.

He didn't know whether or not the fact it was obvious was supposed to piss him off.