Chapter Text
Texas - 1963
It had been a few miles he had been walking the street in the dead of autumn, a cigarette lit between his lips, cowboy hat sitting lowly on his head to avoid communication. Mickey Milkovich was finally going to have a decent job for the season, it'll keep his fiancee happy at least, who was at home pregnant with a baby he didn't want. This job would be good for him, too, he could finally get away from her.
Of course, when he showed up no one was there yet. His new boss, Aguirre and whatever partner he'd be stuck with were late, but he knew that he'd be alone for most of it anyway, in total solitude. Just how Mickey liked it.
He mindlessly paced, as he did, stepping on his finished smoke, pulling another one to put between his cracked lips but paused as he saw a busted, faded, black truck drive over the lonely rocky road, huffing and puffing it's guts out. It parked to a perfect stop. Mickey tried not to stare, he really did, but then he saw the man with glowing ginger hair get out of the truck. He was clearly younger than Mickey, maybe 18? He couldn't really place it.
The red head ran his hand through his scruffy hair, putting his black hat, similar to Mickey's beige one, on his head. He glanced at Mickey, catching his bright blue eyes. Mickey was secretly groaning, able to tell this kid was going to piss him off big time. So he looked away, igniting his lighter for the long awaited cigarette that lingered his fingers and sat on the steps. trying to keep himself looking at the ground. He could tell that kid was still staring at him, eyes burning through him, why wouldn't he stop? What the fuck was wrong with him? Who the fuck stares at someone like that. Awkward, tall, good looking boys shouldn't be looking at fucked up, even more awkward, short boys like that. Mickey swore he was seriously going to punch him right in the jaw if he didn't quit it out.
Lucky for the red head, Aguirre pulled up at exactly the right moment. Mickey flicked the burning cigarette from his fingers, exhaling the smoke through his nostrils, moving to let the slightly overweight man who reminded Mickey of his own father make his way through the door, not looking at either Mickey or the red head staring from the distance. Mickey tried to follow him, but the door shut in his face, his cheeks flush red, stepping down, swearing he could hear a chuckle a few feet away. He swore he was going to hit the kid in the face. Seriously.
The door swung open, Aguirre nodding at the boys, his heavy Texan accent spoke.
"You kids gettin' your scrawny lookin' asses in here or what?"
Mickey took off his hat to reveal his raven black hair, going inside to the office made mostly of dark wood, smelling of tobacco. He leaned against a windowpane, he could feel the warmth of the red head more than a few feet away. He better keep it that way, he thought.
The heavy man coughed, sitting at his desk.
"Up on Brokeback, the Forest Service has got designated camp sites on the allotments. Them camps can be three or four miles from where we pasture the woollies."
Mickey listened carefully, understanding the heavy accent as Aguirre continued telling him his job.
"Bad predator loss if there's nobody lookin' after them at night--Now, what I want is a camp-tender, to stay in the main camp where the Forest Service says, but the herder, he's gonna pitch a pup tent on the q.t, with the sheep and he's going to sleep there"
Mickey already shotgunned the camp site in his mind. He'd get paid for cooking and eating, basically. The red head could deal with the annoying sheep and sleep in a tent, surely.
"You eat your supper and breakfast in camp, but you sleep with the sheep" Aguirre continued directing "100%. No fire, you don't leave no sign. You roll up that tent every mornin' in case Forest Service snoops 'round."
The phone rung and Mickey felt like he could finally breathe after listening to his frank instructions, consuming each bit to make sure whatever he did, he did the right thing, he took a glance at the boy standing a bit further away from him, looking just as bored as he did.
"not in your fucking life" the older man yelled, slamming the phone down, looking at the boys who looked bored out of there fucking minds.
"you got your dogs, your 30-30, You sleep there"
He was pointing at the red head now "last Summer I had goddamn near 25% loss. I don't want that again"
"You" he pointed at Mickey now, getting up from his chair, grabbing a wrist watch
"Fridays at noon, you be down at the bridge, with your grocery list and mules. Somebody with supplies will be there with a pick up" he threw the watch to Mickey who thankfully for his luck, caught it.
"Tomorrow morning, we'll truck you up to the jump-off." He mumbled, now grabbing a cigarette to place in his mouth, striking a lighter to begin the burn as he sat down. The boys stared at Aguirre till he raised his telephone, looking up at them as if to say 'fuck off'. The both of them quickly got their hats on, heading outside.
Mickey closed the door behind him, watching the younger boy light up a cigarette as he placed that overused watch on his wrist, doing it up. Swearing to himself that the boy was still looking at him.
"Ian Gallagher" He spoke, introducing himself. The thing that shocked Mickey was the fact that he didn't have a Texan accent like the rest of the assholes in this town. The voice was familiar, it sounded like home. South Side Chicago.
Mickey still turned to shake his hand, firmly grabbing it, trying not to think about him--Gallagher, all that much. He for sure had a good hand grip.
"Mickey" he replied, seeing a slight smirk appear on Gallagher's face. Maybe the South Side were apparent on him too?
"You just stop at Mickey?" He asked, smug little bitch "Milkovich" he told him, playing with the new watch that was far more interesting than this joker.
"Well, nice to meet you Mickey Milkovich" he smirked again, pulling the cigarette to his lips. He exhaled and Mickey didn't look at him. He frankly didn't want to. "You sound like you're from Chicago" he pointed out. Congratu-fucking-lations.
"Yeah, South Side born and raised" he nodded
"I lived on Wallace Street" He smiled fondly, as if Mickey were to know who the fuck he was--but that's when it clicked. He almost laughed.
"Gallagher, like Lip right? He your brother?"
"yeah!" he smiled "you know Lip?"
"I beat him up after he fucked around my sister but yeah, we go way back" The last bit was a touch sarcastic, a way he thought Ian wouldn't understand, but he did. He even laughed.
"Sounds like him. Hey, wanna grab a drink?"
Mickey raised his eyebrows
"Get to know each other" Gallagher added "Before we spend months together on Brokeback?"
"if you're payin'" Mickey told him, grabbing out a cigarette, Ian offered his lighter, stepping on his cigarette that burnt to it's core. Mickey wondered how many smokes he's wasted from talking too much before Ian escorted him to his truck. As if he had no fucking clue how to get in a truck.
The bar was only a bit down the road, but Ian wanted to park his crap-load in front just in case. Who knows in a town like this.
They stayed pretty quiet, well Mickey doesn't talk much unless he's spoken to and Ian could easily sense that. There was something about Mickey, like something really unusual. He could tell he was bitten by the South Side good. Ian got out when he got a chance, Mickey looked doomed to be here.
He ordered a second round, Mickey mainly focused on his third cigarette since they've been in this joint. Ian took a swig of the fresh cold beer, clearing his throat.
"This is my second year here" he told Mickey "Last year a storm killed 42 sheep"
That easily caught Mickey's attention, he raised an eyebrow at the Gallagher who nodded, agreeing with his shock.
"I thought I'd asphyxiate from the smell. Aguirre got all over my ass like I control the weather. But, hell, it's better than working in Chi-town putting up with my mental mom and drunk father"
Mickey nodded "yeah"
"what about your parents? you run away or?" Ian dragged, Mickey shifted, uncomfortable as he licked his bottom lip.
"uh, no. My uh, mom died about ten years ago. Dad's a dick--He made me move here with my Fiancee to live"
"Fiancee? How old are you?"
"nineteen, twenty next April" Ian nodded, shying his eyes to his drink
"She pretty?"
Mickey laughed slightly "on the Russian whore scale, yeah"
Ian furrowed his brows, looking at the Milkovich.
"It's forced--look man, bottom line is that she's pregnant. Someone's pregnant, someone gets married"
Ian's lip twitched, as if it were typical South Side "Russian though?"
"yeah, illegally" he brought his voice lower "dad sold her for 200 bucks"
"Jesus" Ian muttered, taking another swig, Mickey now putting out his burnt away smoke. For once, he wasted a cigarette.
"Yeah, going back home next Spring for the wedding. Dads planning the whole thing--How about you, got a girl?"
Ian just laughed, a bit louder than some would consider normal "no" was his reply, which made Mickey just huff, taking a swig of his drink. Strange kid.