Chapter Text
Mickey could barely keep his eyes open when he stumbled off the bus. He didn’t even know where the fuck he was. Maybe jumping on the first damn bus out of Chicago wasn’t the best plan, but anything was better than fucking laying in the street and dying, like he felt like doing after Ian fucked off. Again.
Again.
Fuck how pathetic was he?
How many times was he going to let Ian Gallagher destroy him?
Well, he looked at the big blue signboard in front of his bleary eyes, no time like the present to make a change.
Hopefully Gotham was ready for Mickey fucking Milkivich.
Finding a hole to hide in was a little harder than in south side, mostly because here in Gotham, apparently all the fucking holes were taken.
It wasn’t like the homeless or squatters were unheard in south side, but they definitely didn’t have the same population as this city did. People were packed into alley ways practically on top of each other, with trash cans holding fires surrounded on nearly every corner.
After backing out of the third shithole looking abandoned building Mickey decided it might be time to regroup somewhere and figure out some next steps. Maybe call Iggy.
A bar called Notch caught his attention, being the first thing he saw that looked brightly lit and open. The bar top looked just as sticky as the Alibi, it was a nice shitty piece of home for him. Even the drunks on either end of the long wooden divider looked the same as back home. Something’s just didn’t change, people drinking away their paychecks was a universal truth.
“A cold one” is the only thing he said when he sat down, tapping a cigarette out of the pack one handed, pulling his cellphone out with the other.
Seeing no notifications makes the ever present urge to text Ian itch at him.
He almost scrolls back up.
But the bitter determination that drove him all the way to the bus station kicks him in the ribs again and he presses Iggy’s name.
Just as his dumb ass brother answers, Mickey feels someone settle on his left, a little uncomfortably close for his tastes, so he leans almost off his stool in the opposite direction and says “Back up bitch”
“What the fuck” Iggy’s response cuts across anything the douche without respect for personal space might have to say.
“How many times have I told you to answer me? You didn’t even call me back, like for all you know I’m dead in a ditch cause you couldn’t be fucked to answer me”
“Calm down Mick. Jesus, I’ve literally been running the business you dumped in my lap yesterday without any warning.”
Mickey was having some trouble concentrating on what Iggy was saying because mister friendly neighborhood asshole was moving into his left side again.
“When are you going to be home Mick? Cause I’m not gonna lie I don’t know shit about fees and one of the girls was-“
Mickey cut him off before he could really get into his complaining, while also shifting onto his feet to move a little further down the bar.
“I’m not. Coming home that is. I fucked out of Chicago and I don’t plan on coming back. That’s what I was calling about. Business is yours. Run that shit into the ground for all I care. Listen I need you to get Svetlana to take my calls, we need to get something worked out for Yengie.”
Shit. The asshole was following him.
Reasons began racing in his head.
All the things a guy like him, all alone in a new city, could have happen to him. All the things he would’ve done to such an obvious outsider back home.
Fuck, stop.
It didn’t matter why he was following him, the only thing that mattered was that he was following him.
Iggy started going off in his ear, but he tuned him out. The man following him shoved another guy into the wall as he followed Mickey around the edge of the room to the door. Clearly he was more worried about following Mickey than being stealthy.
He tried to angle his head so he could see the guys face but all he could see was a dark blur out of the corner of his eye.
He needed some kind of plan.
He didn’t look like he any more money than anyone else stumbling around this trash pile of a city, probably less than most honestly, so, doubtful the guy was gonna mug him. What did he think he’d get? His cell phone if he was lucky and didn’t break it in the process.
Maybe it was the Chicago accent? Out of towner vibes?
Didn’t matter, this motherfucker could eat lead.
The only good thing about a gun was how much it evened things up.
Without bothering to say good bye he hung up on Iggy’s screeching and turned to head out the side door near the bathrooms. If it didn’t lead to a shady ass alley he’d be shocked. That’s just how these places were, seedy fucking bar, shady fucking alley.
The creep followed him immediately. Any hope it was just a rush to get to the bathroom died then.
Mickey was sort of offended anyone could look at him and think easy mark. He’d have to prove how wrong that was.
If this was how Gotham rolled he’d have to make his name a hell of a lot faster than he had thought. Guy can’t even get a courtesy nights sleep before this city fucked him.
As soon as he hit the door he was moving to the side and pulling his gun from his waist band, waiting on the dumb motherfucker to follow him.
The man stepped into the murky alley and Mickey used his shorter size to slide right into him with the tip of his Glock pressed right up to the guys carotenoid.
“Well hey there big boy, what did a girl like me do to pull a guy like you?” Mickey said jumping straight to irreverent.
Being audacious was pretty much the Milkovich brand at this point, might as well lean into it in the big bad new city.
The guy looked like a literal dirty sponge, wrinkled brown skin and yellowed hair. Dirty brown trench coat to tie it all together.
As soon as he registered Mickeys gun he started sweating.
Pathetic.
He didn’t answer just tensed up.
Mickey ran the nose of his Glock under the line of the man’s jaw, a sharp mockery of a lovers caress.
“T-th-thought yous with Hood, Black Mask has a 2k a head out on any uh of his uh g-guys.”
Well. Look at that. All kinds of useful. He didn’t have to move the gun when he asked his next question.
“Who the hell is ‘hood’ and why’d I look like one of them?”
The response was prompt this time.
“Red Hood, he’s, he uh runs Crime Alley now, has for a while, and uh his guys, they just look, they look like dirty gutter punks but they ain’t afraid. And that’s uh what I thought…”
“Honestly I’m flattered, you wanna little kiss too?”
Mickey was trying to process his next question when he heard foot steps behind him in the alley. Heavy boot thumps like the guys at the steel mills wore, coming up slow and steady.
He still didn’t move his gun hand, no matter how much he wanted to point at the new guy, turning away from the known danger was just stupid.
The half light of the alley and busted street lights fogged over from the haze of pollution made visibility absolute trash, but Mickey still saw the brilliant red shine of a chrome helmet covering a man’s whole face.
He was built like every wet dream Mickey had ever had, with thighs like fucking logs. And he was strapped as hell too. The guns he could see, and at least one k-bar on those thick thighs, were worth more than he could ever afford, he was definitely jealous.
“Well howdy citizen” a mechanicized voice came from the helmet. And the guy finally grew close enough for Mickey to see the bat on his chest.
“Fuck me” he finally let the gun drop and felt all the blood drain from his face.
He remembered Gotham now, they had a giant fucking mask community. The Batman and a bunch of other furries no one would name on live tv.
He’d some how managed to land himself in an even shittier town than the one he’d left, with a lot more danger and a lot less forgiveness.
“Not on the first date sweetheart.” The mechanized voice almost made him drop his gun altogether when he spoke again.