Chapter Text
He can’t believe he’s back here.
Well, he can… because he made it happen , but still.
It had to happen. Javier told him that the higher ups in the cartel were getting leery of Mickey. He said that they knew that he’d escaped from prison and that if he were to disappear, no one was going to be the wiser. Once he heard that, Mickey knew what he had to do. Even though the thought of coming back was awful, death sounded worse. So, he did what all Milkoviches know how to do, because it’s inherently in their DNA.
He survived .
He called up the DEA and worked with the agents to give up all the information that he had. He knew it was risky, but he thought he might be able to trade the information for a lesser sentence. After he gave all the information he had, he still had to help facilitate a DEA raid. If the cartel thought that the DEA had taken him back because he was an escaped convict, maybe they wouldn’t know he was the one who rolled on them in the first place. Mickey wasn’t sure it would work, but it was the best plan that he had.
After being booked back into custody across the Arizona border, the DEA called the Chicago P.D. and the District Attorney to try to foster a good-faith deal. The information that Mickey had provided--along with the raid--was more than they’d had on the cartel for a long time, and they were willing to make it worth his while. Eventually, the D.A. gave in and sentenced him to only 2 more years behind bars, which was more than generous considering that whole pesky prison escape thing.
In addition, they were going to move him to Beckman Correctional Facility, rather than M.C.C. Beckman wasn’t going to be easy to escape from, but it also wasn’t where his father was frequently locked up, so it was a bonus.
As they put him on the corrections bus from Arizona to Chicago, he couldn’t help his mind from drifting back to the redhead that he always associated with “home”.
His anger had long since dissipated with Ian after the border disaster. Once he got across the border, his situation was pretty grim for a while until he met Javier. That kind of uncertain and scary life would’ve wreaked havoc with Ian’s bipolar and he eventually was happy that Ian hadn’t come with him. All he’d ever wanted was for Ian to accept his diagnosis, take his meds and just generally be good . He’d proven that he’d done that with the EMT job and Mickey was proud of the work that Ian had undoubtedly put in to get there.
He always was a stubborn and determined motherfucker, Mickey thought.
While the anger had been gone for a long time, the pain of yet another rejection by Ian still simmered under the surface. He knew that Ian had made the right decision for himself, but the thought of him baring his soul-- again --and Ian leaving him-- again --was always just beneath his consciousness, waiting to come out at the worst possible moments. Mickey was used to being hurt by everyone, a product of a Milkovich childhood, but being hurt by Ian was completely different. He had never cared about anyone, never loved anyone, like Ian. Ian had wormed his way into Mickey’s heart and soul, taken up residence and claimed squatter’s rights for eternity.
He knew Ian loved him, he’d said as much.
It just wasn’t enough. It was never enough.
Mickey was never enough.
After coming out publicly, the shitshow of events that followed, prison, breaking out of prison, getting left at the border, falling in too deep with the cartel, partnering with the DEA to get himself out of the cartel, and now going back to prison--it was pretty clear to Mickey that he’d been right all those years ago in the dugouts.
He was 100% fucked for life.
fuck.
Mickey just laid his head against the window and closed his eyes.