Mickey felt like he was going to be sick. Things weren't happening the way that he wished they would, the way he thought they would, but that didn't mean he was at all surprised. Everything just seemed to happen all at once. The moment that Tegan took a bullet for him, things just seemed to start happening, like a chain reaction. It was like that hard started a ball rolling and Mickey couldn't work out how the hell to stop it. He didn't completely even know if he wanted to stop it, he just knew that it freaked him the hell out.
The police took his statement while Tegan was in surgery getting all the bullet fragments out of her shoulder. He told the truth only for the reason that the cop Tony or whatever who'd been there at the time vouched for him that none of it had been Mickey's fault. He'd even been praised on blowing out the wheels of the vehicle.
Mickey thought that had been a pretty damn good shot as well if he was being honest, but of course he just scowled at the compliment and asked if he could leave, because he wanted to be there when Tegan got out of surgery, or at the very least when she woke up.
Carl and Ian were already in Tegan's room by the time that Mickey got there and he tried not to look at either of them beyond acknowledging their presence. He didn't feel comfortable having them there, especially not the redhead, but he also knew he didn't really have all that much of a viable reason for kicking them out.
Lying in the hospital bed, a bulky bandage on her shoulder, Tegan looked more peaceful than he had ever seen her and he knew that was because she wasn't dreaming. He dragged a chair up beside her bed and touched her hand briefly for a moment, considering holding it but then deciding that that wasn't really something he was completely comfortable with. So instead he just sat there, watching her sleep.
Nobody said anything, although he could practically feel himself being weighed down underneath the weight of all of Ian's questions. He felt like he was being bent double by them and matters were only made worse when the doctor walked into the room.
She smiled at him when their eyes met, because it was Dr Rush, the doctor who treated Kara and Mickey hated that she recognised him for no reason whatsoever. "Mr Milkovich, you're actually saving me a phone call," she said and Mickey forced himself not to scowl because he didn't have any reason to. Although he supposed the fact that he was stressed out beyond belief would be a godo excuse.
"Oh?" he asked, toying with the edge of the blanket covering Tegan.
"Yes, I'm sorry about what's happened to Tegan here, but the surgery went well and as soon as she wakes up I don't see much reason to keep her in for any extended length of time," she said, "Which is the first piece of good news I have to deliver to you today actually."
He scrubbed a hand through his hair, feeling older than he actually was all of a sudden. "Good," he muttered, "We could do without any more massive hospital bills."
"No doubt," Dr Rush said laughing, her eyes lighting up in a way that would probably make her really pretty if Mickey had batted for that team, "Now, the other piece of good news is regarding your wife."
Mickey was all too aware of Ian tensing up on the other side of the room at the word wife. He probably thought Mickey was some massive coward or something. But Mickey would be damned if he reacted or gave any sort of shit about what Gallagher thought. He had bigger things to worry about.
"I tried calling you earlier, but for obvious reasons you didn't answer," she continued, motioning to Tegan, "We took your wife out of her induced coma earlier today and I'd fully expect that she wake up within the next few hours, which is why I would suggest that you try and stick around to help keep her calm when she wakes."
Mickey exhaled loudly and almost smiled. He'd been waiting for that news, he thought it was just typical that it came when Tegan had been fucking shot. Kara was going to kill him. "Of course, your wife will still have to remain in the hospital for a while to ensure her lungs keep healing, since the damage done to them by the fire was quite considerable," she explained, which for some reason didn't burst Mickey's bubble at all. He'd known that. He was just glad she was waking up. He was fed up of watching her sleep.
"She'll be pissed when I tell her she can't smoke anymore," he muttered.
"Who can't smoke?"
They all jumped when Tegan spoke and Mickey could feel himself actually smiling when he turned to her, skimming his fingers over her forearm and watching as Carl lurched forwards to grab a hold of Tegan's other hand. He didn't think he could find any reason to disapprove of that relationship anymore, which pissed him off a little for no logical reason.
"Your mum's been taken out of her coma," Mickey said, his voice rough from the stress and from emotions he refused to let show, "She should be waking up in a minute, but because her lungs are fucked, she ain't gonna be able to smoke."
Tegan snorted, "That's going to piss her off."
Which was an understatement.
"How are you feeling?" Dr Rush asked, standing at the foot of Tegan's bed and smiling at her.
"Like I got hit by a fucking truck," she muttered, lifting a hand and touching the bandage on her shoulder. She pulled a face. "And how the fuck am I supposed to make this go with any outfit?"
Mickey flicked her on the cheek, "Your priorities are fucked up."
She flipped him off while still keeping her fingers knitted with Carl's. Mickey didn't know why he noticed that.
At the foot of the bed, Dr Rush smiled at the interaction, obviously thinking it was sweet or some shit. Mickey ignored that fact for his own sanity. "Also, Mr Milkovich," she put in, obviously remembering, "I've scheduled a check-up for you later on in the week because I had an opening and we need to see if it's necessary for you to keep using that cream."
Mickey grimaced.
"It is," Tegan commented, "He bitches without it, like in a majorly whiney way."
That time it was Mickey's turn to flip her off, but she just stuck her tongue out at him. Mickey chewed on his bottom lip as he realised that this conversation was happening with Ian listening all too intently. He wouldn't give a shit, but he wasn't comfortable with people finding out about his scars. He didn't know why. He'd always hated the bullet wound on his leg, but the burns up his legs were far much more dramatic. Mickey hated calling anyone's attention to him and he hated people pitying. Having burnt legs like he did was just a really easy way for both of those things to happen.
It was the reason he was suffering through wearing jeans or slacks in the hot weather they were having instead of wearing shorts like every other sane person in Chicago.
"You fucking try being in my position," he griped at her, refusing to meet anyone's eyes and instead finding the blanket on the bed extremely interesting.
Tegan understood anyway and squeezed his wrist for a second in a way that was strangely comforting, even though he couldn't explain why for the life of him. "No thank you," Tegan said, a little too chirpily.
"Surprise, surprise," Mickey muttered under his breath and rubbed at his bottom lip as he looked Tegan up and down. He was guessing that it was because of all the painkillers they'd obviously shot her up with as to why she didn't look in pain, so he thought that maybe meant she'd be okay to move.
He pulled his shirt over his head, knowing that she wouldn't give a shit about the blood on the front. Across the room he knew that Ian was looking at him oddly, but he didn't give a shit. "Put this on," he said, because there was no way he was letting her walk out of there in nothing but a bikini.
She grimaced at him, but that could have been because she sat up a little more then. She took the shirt from him anyway. "Everyone clear out," he said pointing to the door, "Including you fuck head, I need to talk to you."
Carl looked up at him in surprise, but just nodded. Ian's expression was blank.
"I'll get the papers you need to sign to discharge her," Dr Rush said, smiling at Mickey and he had a horrible feeling she was checking him out. He didn't particularly care all that much if he was being honest, he felt like he was dead on his feet.
Outside the room Ian wandered off to get a drink, knowing better than to try and be a part of the conversation he wanted to have with Carl. Mickey wondered why he was sticking around though, he obviously wasn't comfortable being there. He thought it probably had something to do with the questions that Ian obviously wanted to ask. It was a damn shame he wasn't going to get answers to them. He didn't have anything to do with any of Mickey's business anymore. Although it was something at least that the redhead seemed to remember him. Mickey had been convinced that he wouldn't do.
"What?" Carl asked, folding his arms across his chest and as polite as ever. He almost reminded Mickey of himself, a scowl permanently on his face and more attitude than he knew what to do with. The difference was, Carl was a sociopath and Mickey felt like he was fucking broken. Carl was still whole and complete and Mickey hoped to fuck he stayed that way, because nobody wanted to be where Mickey was right now.
Mickey pulled out his wallet and fished out a picture from the inside flap. He carried it around with him just in case he ever forgot who the fuck he was trying to avoid. "You ever see that man," he said, handing the photo to Carl and then pulling the gun out of the back of his trousers. He couldn't keep it there now he was shirtless and this part of the hospital was pretty fucking deserted, so he wasn't going to get arrested for having it. "You fucking shoot his ass dead."
He handed over the gun and he thought Carl was about to smirk, except Mickey knew his expression was more serious than it had ever been before. "Why?" he asked eventually, his eyes locking on Mickey's and for once Mickey didn't look away. He didn't know what Carl saw, didn't know what the kid was even capable of seeing, but for once Mickey wasn't afraid to let someone see it. He thought maybe it had something to do with the fact that nobody listened to a fucking word Carl said anyway.
"Because he wants Tegan," he explained, cracking his knuckles and then trying to shake some of the tension out of his arms, "And if you give a shit about her, you'll kill the bastard on sight, understand?"
And he knew that Carl cared. He could see it in the guy's eyes. He had definitely been able to see it when Carl was holding Tegan after she'd been shot. Carl cared. That was all Mickey needed to know.
"Who is he?"
"Her Dad," Mickey explained, rubbing the back of his neck and then rolling his shoulders. He felt on edge, but completely strung out all at the same time. He didn't know how to cope with it. "And trust me, he'll do whatever he fucking can to get her, the bastard's the reason Kara's in a coma."
Carl looked down at the gun and back up at Mickey, a small frown puckering the skin between his eyes. "Prove it," he said cautiously, "Prove you're not just having me on or something."
And Mickey wanted to ask why the fuck he would make this up, but he didn't want to know how the hell Carl's thought process worked, so he just rolled up the leg of his slacks and showed Carl the burns marring the skin up to his knee. He knew they were horrible from the look on Carl's face and Mickey felt a twist in his gut, because he hadn't shown anyone those before. But Carl wasn't the type to pity, he just swore low under his breath and looked away.
Mickey let the leg of his trousers drop, relieved when Carl nodded his consent and put the gun into the deep pockets of his swimming trunks. They didn't have time to say anything else though because Ian arrived right at the same moment that Tegan opened the door. She looked fucking stupid in nothing but Mickey's t-shirt and a pair of bikini bottoms, but it was better than nothing.
She was walking slowly, her face knitted into an expression of pain and Mickey reached out and touched her arm gently with his fingertips. He wouldn't hug her, they didn't do that, but he supposed that simple touch wasn't too bad or anything. He knew it had somehow helped when Tegan's expression smoothed out and she offered him a small smirk that in their book passed for a smile.
"Everything always has to fucking happen at once, doesn't it?" she asked as they stepped into Kara's room. The two Gallagher brothers followed them, Tegan sitting on Carl's lap next to the bed and Mickey and Ian bother hovering around a little awkwardly. Mickey didn't know how the hell he was supposed to act with Ian here. He didn't know how he wanted to act. A part of him wanted to make Ian leave, because he had nothing to do with Kara. But at the same time, in some sick sort of way he was actually getting some sort of comfort from having him there.
It felt like his two worlds were colliding, the world in where he'd always been orbiting around Ian like the guy was his fucking sun, when everything had been simple and easy and Mickey's biggest concerns had been if his dad would find out and whether or not he was going to Juvie again. And then there was the world where he was constantly on the run, constantly looking over his shoulder and caring about two people more than he should care, more than he cared about himself.
"That's the way it fucking goes," Mickey muttered back eventually, no doubt when she thought he wasn't going to say anything. In his chest, his heart tripped over itself when Kara's eyelashes fluttered.