Mandy didn't come to see him often and when she did, they didn't actually do much more than talk about random shit and pull faces at each other through the glass. He thought it was weird that she was coming to see him now, he was out in a week, so there was no fucking point really. But still, there she was, sitting on the other side of the glass, waiting for him to be led out.

He'd served three years already for GBH, a sentence which hadn't been helped by the fact Mickey's only statement was: "The stupid prick deserved it." He'd sort of made a name for himself on the inside, which coupled with the fact he was a Milkovich and jail was like their territory or some shit, he was treated like a fucking King. Or at least like a King that everybody avoided. Plus, it wasn't so bad because the doctor who ran the little shitty infirmary attached to the jail was as much of a fag as Mickey was; so he wasn't even going without while being in jail.

It all would have been great if he'd actually been able to think of the guy he was fucking while he was fucking him. No, instead Mickey kept thinking about some stupid guy he hadn't seen in what like six years.

"The fuck you doing here?" he asked, throwing himself down into the shitty plastic chair and holding the receiver against his ear.

His sister looked like shit. She had huge bags under her eyes and she was paler than usual. She was also missing the usual rubbish she plastered on her face. He wondered if it might be the pregnancy, but he didn't think so.

"I just needed someone to talk to," she said, her voice low, her eyes pleading and even Mickey wasn't that much of a dick to turn his own sister away when she obviously needed him.

"What's up?" he asked, rubbing his bottom lip with a finger, "Lip being a tool or something, cause you know I can't rough him up from the inside, you'll have to wait a week."

Mandy offered him a weak smile, because they both knew sticking up for Mandy was the only reason he was in this shithole in the first place. That was why the prick had deserved it. Nobody broke his baby sister's heart and got away with it. He supposed it had all worked out for the best anyway since she'd now ended up with Lip. And Mickey may have something against all Gallaghers, at the moment, just because, but he knew the guy really liked his sister, so he could tolerate it.

"We're just all kind of stressed out at the moment," she said, shrugging, but that didn't stop him from noticing the depth of the pain in her eyes, "Because of what happened to Ian, you know?"

That made him scowl, because his heart wasn't supposed to trip up in his chest. "No," he heard himself saying, his voice dead, "I don't know."

"Oh," she didn't look like she wanted to tell him, but Mickey was going to find out whether or not he had to throw himself through the glass and throttle it out of his sister, he was going to find out, "Well someone kind of tried to kill Ian because he was gay and Lip had to hit them in the head with a baseball bat to get him off of Ian."

She looked like she was about to cry. Mickey didn't think he could breathe.

"And now Ian won't leave the house because he's too scared and he's freaking out because one the guy's jaw heals, he's going to have to testify and he really doesn't want to," Mandy explained and Mickey thought he was going to be sick.

"What's the guy's name?" Mickey heard himself ask, his mind moving at a thousand miles a minute, his thoughts tripping over each other. Because if this guy was waiting to testify until he healed up, Mickey knew where he'd be and that was something Mickey could work with.

"Ray Newland," she said, looking at him strangely, "Why?"

Mickey just shrugged, "No reason."

Nobody could ever say Mickey didn't have a talent, because two hours later, he already had the whole plan figured out in his head. And add an hour onto that and he already had his fuck buddy backed up against the wall of his office. The excuse as to why Mickey had check-ups every two days was because his leg was playing up, the one he'd been shot in so long ago. Nobody even suspected a thing.

Including, his fuck buddy's wife. And really, it was just so easy to blackmail him into getting what he wanted. It turned out Mickey was right as well, which was a new thing if he was being honest. The guy, Ray Newland was in the room over from Mickey at that very moment, handcuffed to the bed with screws in his jaw to keep it in place while it healed. There was only one room in the infirmary, so that made Mickey's plan even easier.

His fuck buddy looked at him like he'd lost the plot when he told him what he had to do, but Mickey just shrugged. He thought he'd probably lost it a long time ago. It was a Milkovich thing. "I really don't give a shit, you gonna help me out or what?" he asked and the 'or what' bit was definitely, do you want me to rat you out as being a fag. And this guy had a wife and three kids, so he definitely wasn't going to do that.

"Yeah," he grudgingly admitted, "I'll help you, but I just don't understand why you'd want to do this, you get out in a week!"

Mickey shrugged, "He hurt someone I owe something to."

Which wasn't strictly true. Mickey didn't technically owe Gallagher anything, except actually, he maybe sort of did.

"An ex?"

Mickey scowled, but didn't hit him because that wouldn't have helped out his plan. "Never got that far," he replied, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. He didn't like talking about Gallagher, didn't like thinking about him, but it always seemed to be unavoidable.

His fuck buddy – Lewis, Mickey didn't know his first name and didn't particularly care either – wisely left the conversation at that and called the guards back to take Mickey to his cell again. He behaved for the rest of the day, not wanting to do anything to fuck up his plan. He thought it was a pretty amazing plan, one of the smartest things he'd ever come up with if he was being honest. Then again, Mickey didn't exactly do many things that were smart, so there wasn't much competition.

He traded two packs of cigarettes for a razorblade and trapped his last cigarette between his lips as he settled himself against the back wall of his cell. He sucked on it almost frantically, but it wasn't because he was scared. No, Mickey wasn't scared, he just thought it was fucking stupid that he was here because of Ian Gallagher. He'd actually already sort of accepted that he'd felt something for the guy once upon a time, because sometimes Mickey could admit things to himself. Especially when he was sitting alone in Isolation with nothing to do but think. He'd never admit to having feelings, he liked everyone thinking he was soulless, but still, he hated moments like these when he realised that for some reason he still gave a shit.

He flicked what remained on the cigarette away and his hand didn't even shake as he took the razor blade, holding it so tight his knuckles turned white. He'd timed it out. He'd worked out that he had about four minutes until his cellmate came back to the cell for lights out. He figured that was long enough to not bleed out completely.

Slitting his wrists fucking hurt, there were no two ways about it. It felt like his arms were burning and it was horrible because once he'd slit the first one, he knew he had to do the second as well. But he was a Milkovich and he wasn't some fucking pussy, so he just gritted his teeth and did it. And then there wasn't much else to do but sit there and hope he didn't fucking die before he got to the end of his plan.