Mickey only spent the day with Carl because the kid wanted to see what it was like breaking knees for a living. The guy was fucked up in the head, Mickey didn't think it needed much more explanation than that as to the reasoning behind why the hell Carl would want to come with him. But Mickey obliged because Tegan stared at him with wide eyes and fucking pleaded. What Mickey didn't expect was that the kid would actually be alright to hang around.
Once you got past the fact that he was more than a little bit unhinged that was.
The smirk fell off of Mickey's face as soon as they got near the apartment. The door was hanging off its hinges and Mickey felt like he was going to be sick at the possibilities of what he could find inside, but he never thought he'd moved so fast in his entire life. Not even when fire had been licking at his heels.
Inside everything was upturned and essentially ruined. There was a man slumped against the wall, Mickey didn't know him, but he recognised the knife embedded in the side of his neck. There was another knife in the doorframe and a row of bullet holes in the plaster of another wall. The sight of the dead man calmed him as much as it made him feel worse.
"Tegan!" he felt like his feet were made of lead as he walked further into the apartment, dread setting into his bones, "Kara!"
He heard the moan that was supposed to be his name coming from the bedroom and after taking just one more step he could see through the door enough to see Kara's feet. He found her sitting with her back against the foot of the bed, her hands around her middle and could safely say he had never seen her looking so pale before. He also couldn't ever remember feeling quite so powerless as when she met his eyes, hers red rimmed and defeated.
More than anything she looked tired.
Mickey wasn't the smartest guy in the world, but he knew enough to know that the amount of blood soaked into the carpet and trickling slowly through Kara's fingers wasn't good. And Kara knew that too, he could see it in her eyes and Mickey wasn't the sort to give comfort, but he would have willingly given her anything she asked for right then.
"He's got her," she said, her voice weak and strained, but she sounded determined to hang on for a little bit longer. The air rattled through her already damaged lungs when she breathed and she offered him a weak smile that didn't do anything to make him feel better at all.
Mickey nodded numbly, crouching down beside her and then crashing down onto his knees a few seconds later. He didn't even care that he could feel the blood soaking into his jeans. He didn't care about anything else but Kara in that moment and he didn't think anyone could really have begrudged him of that.
"Don't leave me?" Kara asked. She didn't bed, but it wasn't quite far off sounding like she was. Mickey hated seeing her like that. He hated that she'd been reduced to that. He hated that they both knew so obviously that Kara wasn't going to last much longer.
"I won't," he promised, because this was the only thing he could give her and Mickey forgot how to be a dickhead then. He sat behind her, his hands pressed over hers on her stomach and her head lolling back against his shoulder. It wasn't comfortable what with the bedframe digging into the base of his spine and one of his legs twisted up at an awkward angle to help support Kara, but he didn't even feel it.
Kara coughed and spat out some blood, which made him cringe and smile all at the same time. It reminded him too much of the first time he'd had a conversation with her, spitting out beer to get rid of the taste of weed from her mouth. "It was that guy Ian, wasn't it?" she asked randomly. The words sounded ragged, like they were being torn out of her throat. Mickey had to close his eyes. "The one you're still running from?"
He took his hands off hers and opened his eyes, fishing around with some difficulty in his jeans pocket. He pulled out the slightly bent joint and lit it up, only taking a small drag before handing it to Kara and pressing his hands back onto her stomach. The blood flow wasn't much anymore, but then he supposed she didn't have that much blood left in her. "If you're going to start trying to be wise," he told her, his voice only cracking slightly, "You might as well be fucking high."
And now that she was dying anyway, it didn't matter that she wasn't allowed to smoke. Of course, h didn't say that, but they both heard it anyway. He might as well have screamed it for how well they both heard it.
"So is it him?" she asked and Mickey could feel her smile even though he couldn't see it. He didn't particularly want to if he was being honest, because the Kara in his head didn't smile. She scowled and she cursed and she rolled her eyes.
"Yeah," he admitted begrudgingly, watching the smoke rise up into the air towards the ceiling.
She shifted a little in front of him, no doubt trying to find a position that didn't hurt too much. Mickey closed his eyes again for a minute and grunted when she elbowed him in the nuts. She huffed out her apology on a weak, smoky breath.
"You know everyone has to stop running eventually, right?" she asked and Mickey knew she wouldn't be saying this if she wasn't dying. If it wasn't the only opportunity she had to ever tell him. That was the only reason he listened. "I wasted too much time running."
"You didn't have a choice."
He hated the resigned edge to her voice more than he'd ever hated anything in his life.
Kara laughed almost bitterly, except the sound was more of a stunted wheeze. "Maybe," she admitted and flicked away the end of the joint, her head falling back against his shoulder again as she stared up at the ceiling. Mickey knew she wanted to spit, but she didn't. He thought maybe like him, her mouth was too dry. Or maybe she just wanted to die with something other than the taste of blood in her mouth.
"But you don't have anything to run from anymore," she said, the words coming out forced, like she was trying to squeeze them past a blockage in her throat. Mickey felt sick. "You're Dad's dead remember, so don't be a twat and let him win by not even being gay at all."
For very little reason at all, Mickey felt his mouth twist into a grimace.
Kara didn't wait for his answer. She probably knew there wasn't going to be one and she didn't have time to just wait around in silence. Not anymore. Mickey felt like maybe they'd wasted too much time just sitting in the quiet, but then neither of them were much for pointless words.
"I need you to look after Tegan for me," she said and Mickey could feel her getting colder, weaker. Or maybe that was just his imagination. He prayed it was, even if he knew she didn't have long left. "And make sure she knows I love her."
Mickey pressed his face into the side of Kara's hair. "She already does," he said with absolute certainty, because it was true. He didn't need to say he'd look after Tegan, they both knew already that he would. He was going to get her back and he was going to guard her against the world.
"And I need you to do me one more favour," Kara said, her fingers sliding through his and squeezing weakly.
"Anything," he whispered with his face pressed close to her ear and his lungs filled with the scent of her shitty shampoo. He meant that. He meant that more than he could ever express. He'd do anything.
He had a feeling that Kara was smiling, but he was too afraid to look. Too afraid to move.
"Kill the bastard for me," Kara said, her voice no louder than a whisper. The words sounded like nothing more than a breath, but they echoed around him. They filled his ears and reverberated about inside of his soul. They meant everything, those words.
"I will," he promised just in time. He'd only just spoken the words, his voice a hoarse croak when he felt Kara's fingers spasm in his before lying still. And Mickey didn't cry. He wanted to, but he knew she would have kicked his ass if he did, so Mickey just bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to ground himself.
He only sat still for another minute or so before he laid Kara out on her side of their bed, her hands folded over the wound on her stomach, hiding it. He touched the tattoo on her wrist for no reason at all, but he was glad that he did because otherwise he never would have noticed the thing in Kara's hand. It was a packet of matches, crumpled and blood stained, but nevertheless the writing on the front was clearly visible. It was the sort of thing that was always in a motel bathroom along with the tiny shampoo bottles and soap.
Mickey breathed out a laugh and caught Carl's eye where he hovered in the doorway. Mickey had forgotten he was there, but then he didn't think anyone could blame him for that really. "I know where Tegan is," Mickey said, grinning because if he didn't he knew he was going to crack. It wasn't a pleasant grin though. It was all twisted by sadness and pain, but most of all by anger.
"How?" Carl asked, looking confused but pleased.
"Because Kara's a fucking sneaky bitch," Mickey said, holding up the matches, "And she's a damn good pickpocket too."
He touched Kara's face as he spoke and found that it hurt how relaxed she looked. She could have been asleep if Kara had ever even once looked that peaceful while sleeping.
"Mickey, I. . ." Carl trailed off, grimacing. He was no better with words than Mickey was and he definitely didn't find offering comfort any easier. But Mickey was oddly touched that he had even tried.
He nodded numbly, shutting his eyes for a second and steeling himself. When he opened them again, he knew his eyes just like his expression were hard. "Let's go," he muttered, shutting the bedroom door quietly behind him, leaving Kara to her peace.