Still a Better Ending than Shameless?

Part I

I do use trigger warnings (though not for language - including slurs), but it's not something I'm particularly versed in, so if you want something added let me know.

T.W. Canon-typical violence.

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Mickey sighs at his reflection in the mirror, before knocking back another shot of tequila and reaching for his purple eye shadow. He's not sure what he expected Mexico to be like, but he couldn't have imagined this. His life seemed to read stranger than fiction sometimes and apparently fate was not done toying with him yet.

He turns towards the spandex.

Emiliano sticks his head around the door.

"Diez minutos, cabrón."

Mickey gives a curt nod of acknowledgement, but doesn't look up and Emiliano remains hovering by the door. He sniffles a bit and advances into the room instead.

"Here, Zacatecas' finest."

Mickey looks over as he places a large glass ashtray on the dressing table and heads out. He's glad the greedy fucker has saved some powder for him tonight.

"Thanks man."

Emiliano shoos it away with a wave of his hand over his shoulder, without looking back. Mickey carves out a little line for himself and snuffs it up, before turning his attention back to the rail of spandex, picking out a sparkly silver number encrusted with diamantes. He smiles in spite of his mood, marveling at the fact that he's worn a dress almost every fucking day since that time he put-on-a-dress-and-swore-it-was-a-one-time-thing.

Needs must.

Fucking Gallagher.

He needs another line.

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His first day in Mexico had passed in a haze of dissociation. He didn't know where he was going, only some vague notion of a beach. Atlantic or Pacific? He wasn't sure yet, he just drove, choosing forks and exits at random. By nightfall he was exhausted and he pulled into a quiet street in the next town he came to. There, in the back seat of his stolen wagon, he quietly fell apart - still wearing that fucking dress.

He awoke the next morning to an alien Mexican chorus - dogs barking, horns blaring, voices busy. He was curled fetally in the footwell of one of the seats, his ears throbbing from those stupid clip-on earrings and the pattern of the floor mat imprinted on his cheek. He needed to get out of this dress. As got out of the car however, another need overtook him. He looked around for a spot to piss and selected a tree about 20ft away. To his horror, mid-stream, he saw several men running towards the car. Tottering back (as best he could in those damn heels, with his dick only half contained by the pantyhose) he managed to reach the car before they could take off. He wrenched the driver's door open and hauled one culero out by his shirt. Evidently the lack of keys had thrown them for a loop and they'd not yet figured out the car had been previously hotwired.

"Motherfucker!" Mickey screamed, punching him repeatedly in the face. The guy in the rear seats sprang out to come to his friend's aid, but Mickey was expecting it and swung round to aim a good kick with his boot, straight to his abdomen. The man doubled over in pain, snatching at Mickey with his hands as he went down, but he only succeeded in snagging the wig and dragging it off Mickey's head. Somehow, this enraged Mickey further. He returned to his original victim and smashed his face into the windscreen, smearing his blood and features across it and temporarily stalling the third man, who'd moved into the driver's seat and was desperately scratching wires. Unfortunately it wasn't enough of a deterrent and the engine sprang to life. Suddenly all of Mickey's money and possessions were screeching down the road in a twice stolen vehicle. He might even have chuckled at the irony were it not for the white-hot anger coursing through him. He took his frustrations out on the second man, who was just recovering from his winding, by kneeing him in the face and following through with a left hook as he went down. Both were now unconscious. Mickey snatched his wig up from the ground before he stiffened at the sound of clapping to his left.