Prologue: Happily Ever After

Prologue: Happily Ever After

A take in Mickey's stream of consciousness in 7x11. This is a prologue to a series of chapters I'll (hopefully) be writing near the future about Mickey's life in México. This particular scene is important, and I don't think I need to explain why, as there are a lot of reasons story wise and production wise (what could've been the definitive end to Ian and Mickey). I hope I conveyed Mickey's thoughts/actions in the most In-Character way I could muster. This wouldn't be possible without the many insightful posts I read in Tumblr and the many conversations (rants!!!) I've had with two lovely people I met there. They've shaped my thought process. I hope you enjoy!

-> read full thing in AO3

-> sneak peek:

Sit.

Finish the disguise. Fix the hair. Lover sees you. Tackle automatic gear shift. Hands on the wheel. Pass by your Lover. Your eyes crystalline. Avoid your now Half's muddied green stare. It's too painful to bear. It almost looks like the dull grass around you. On the other side, too. There's too much grass. Your stubble doesn't matter. Sport it with your broken heart.

Drive.

You're leaving all behind you. All. A Half and a lifetime of stars, of dreams, of sun. The bare confession from last night is now stored in the glove compartment. Drive. Don't look back. You aren't the one now. Not anymore. You can't let Him look. Dissociate. Drive. Automatic gear shift. Automated motion.

Dissonance.

Automatic drive. Automatic. Gas pedal, automatic drive. Automated thought. Drive up the road. Get to the gate. Automated. Brain muscle memory. Focus on the straight lines. Drive straight. Look straight. Straight ahead. Automatic shift. Your brain becomes the pedal.

Look through mirrors. The rearview mirror. Figure out blind spots.

Don't look back. Only ahead. You'll crash if you don't.

Up ahead is the law. Play it cool. Build the facade.

Cops draw closer. But you don't fear them. What are you to them? A crossdresser trying to cross. A convict across the border? No, that's what you hope they don't see. Sugar them. Use your piercing blues. Or don't. Don't acknowledge them. Hope they'll let you slip to the other side. Away. Away from Pain. Away from home. Home. You're leaving your Home. But that shouldn't scare you more than the cops. Focus on the day.

Today is dry, but you need wiper blades for your eyes.

Hey, look ahead. Wipe, or you'll crash. Tears are your blind spot.

They can't see you. They can't see Mikhailo Milkovich, only Mickey.

What does your fake ID say? Do you see? A double-edged sword, your name. But what can they see? What facade can they see? The hair or your five-o'clock shadow? The bracelet or your sturdy hands? The dress or your hidden chest? When does the crimson in the clothes blend with your seething blood? You focus on the sharp grip of the wheel. Bold ink against the pallor. Drive. Automated thought.

We agree that it's canon that Mickey MELTED the Limp Bizkit CD's right? I'm taking 24/7 listening to them in his angsty dirty raccoon phase

I have this theory that even if you roll on a cartel, using your testimony as leverage to request serving your time in not just the same prison, but the same cell as a specific prisoner (who has recently become a highly controversial politically aligned public figure) with no proof of association beyond previous prison visits and the same childhood neighborhood is going to raise some eyebrows. This theory contends that the DOJ could easily believe that you're pretending to roll on your cartel so you can be placed with this guy because the cartel wants him taken out or something. Maybe a powerful anti-lgbtq+ group is paying the cartel to send someone in to assassinate him. Maybe a powerful PRO-lgbtq+ group is paying the cartel to send someone in to associate him because they resent his plea. There are so many possibilities that are more likely than the truth.

I therfore posit the following scenario: before agreeing to the deal, the prosecutors demand a reasonable explanation otherwise, and demand details to prove its truth. This results in a HIMYM-esque telling by Mickey of the entire Gallavich story so far. It starts with just him, his attorney, and the prosecuting attorney in an interrogation room, but every time we flash back from a previous Gallavich scene to the present, more and more people are gathered around listening to this complicated and inexplicably beautiful romantic backstory. The prosecutor agrees to place them together (by this point Mickey is sitting in the middle of the bullpen, Styrofoam coffee cup in hand, wrapping up the story as the entire station - uniformed officers, other defense lawyers, even a few arrestees in the holding cell) and everybody cheers. Nobody acknowledges that the telling of the story involved confessions to multiple other felonies. Nobody cares. All anybody cares about is that this great love story continue and that it continue by placing the two boys in a holding cell together.

We agree that it's canon that Mickey MELTED the Limp Bizkit CD's right? I'm taking 24/7 listening to them in his angsty dirty raccoon phase

homesick. 

And when the world needed him most he vanished (referring to season 7 Mickey)