Chapter Text
Got to get out.
Got to leave.
It’s so dark. Cold.
I just want to go home.
Help!
“Someone help me!”
Ian bolted upright in bed, an agonizing shock jolting his body from sleep. His hands shot to his neck, clawing until he realized there was nothing there. His chest was heaving, his throat was dry, and he was drenched in sweat. Bringing a shaky hand up, he wiped the beads of sweat from his face, forcing himself to take some deep breaths before opening his eyes again.
3:44 AM the bedside clock flashed at him. He let out a puff of air, turning to lean his back against the wall, eyes focusing on the clock, but not really focusing at all.
3:45. I’m tired. 3:46. I should probably go back to sleep. 3:47. Maybe I should run away. 3:48. If I leave now, I could make it to the bridge and end it all before anyone even knows I left. 3:49. Not like anyone would care, anyway. 3:50. I don’t want to be here anymore.
Ian’s eyelids got heavier and heavier with every minute that passed. Exhausted with the thoughts that filled his mind. The next time he opened his eyes, the clock read 6:28 AM and the morning light was shining in through the dusty, broken window blinds next to his bed. He squeezed his eyes a few times to clear the sleep from them, dragging his palms over his face and through his hair.
The sounds of others doing their morning routines could be heard down the hall and down the stairs. Routines. God, he hated routines. He glanced at the clock, 6:30 AM on the dot, and… knock, knock, knock.
“Ian,” Fiona called gently through the plastic accordion door that was barely hanging on. “You awake? It's time for your meds.”
Ian rolled his eyes, meds. Of course. Meds. Routine. God forbid he was 5 minutes late getting downstairs to have her stare at him unblinkingly as he swallows a handful of pills and double checks that his mouth is empty before forcing a breakfast plate in his hands and seating him at the table like a child.
He reaches out, hitting his closed fist against the wall three times, his sign to everyone else in the house that he’s awake, dressed and they’re allowed to come in. She walks in with a breakfast tray in hand and gives him a smile that’s too bright for this early in the morning. He gives her a barely there smile in return, only to not be an asshole, and takes the tray when offered.
She grabs a little white cup from the corner of the tray and offers it to him. He nearly rolls his eyes again but stops himself, throws the pills in his mouth then swallows them with the plastic cup of orange juice. She looks at him patiently but expectantly. This time he does roll his eyes. Opening his mouth wide, sticking his tongue out, and lifting it, gives her a ‘you happy now look’. She puts her hands up in surrender and nods her head.
“Eat up,” She says, looking at the watch on her wrist, “You’ve got an appointment with your therapist today.”
Ian looked up at that, his heart giving a heavy thud in his chest. Therapy? It’s not Friday. He glanced at his clock. Yep, Wednesday, definitely not Friday. He looked at Fiona confused and she gives him a pitying look. He hates that look.
“I asked him to start seeing you twice a week—” Ian grunts, scrunching his nose at her. “He asked to see me, you, and Lip last Friday. Lip and I feel like you aren’t making enough progress with only one appointment a week. It’s been 8 months…”
Ian shakes his head. He knows how long it’s been. God, why couldn’t they just leave him alone? Why does he have to make progress according to their timeline? He wishes he could make them feel the pain he feels when he tries to speak. They think it’s so easy. This is exactly why he just wants to fucking run away.
Instead of having her give him his notebook so he could write her a nasty message he just give her an angry thumbs up.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it. We have to leave in an hour,” She said standing from the bed. “And Ian?” He looks up at her, a dead tired look in his eyes. That same pitying look on her face. “Happy birthday.”
Birthday. Right. He hadn’t even realized what date it was. Not like he cared much. He wouldn’t be doing any celebrating. What was there to celebrate anyway?
He frowns, picks up the plastic spoon from the tray and spoons up some eggs from the paper plate. Fucking plastic and paper. Like he’s gonna break glass and slit his wrist open like their mom did so many years ago the first chance he gets.
Maybe he would.
Ian shakes himself from those thoughts and begins eating his food. He really wasn’t hungry but the headache and stomach ache that came with taking his meds on an empty stomach just wasn’t worth it. So he pushes through and eats the eggs, bacon, and toast and drinks all of his juice. Once he is finished he pushes the tray to the side and grabs his therapy journal from the side table, stares at it for a moment before opening it.
He writes about his day yesterday, his nightmare, the suicidal thoughts from early this morning, his lack of appetite, and his conversation with Fiona. Soon though his mind drifts off as it tends to do these days.
Having therapy twice a week wouldn’t be so bad.
He likes his therapist, Mickey. Okay, so, he more than likes Mickey. He shouldn’t. Mickey was basically like a doctor and doctors aren’t allowed to date their patients, just like EMTs aren’t supposed to date people they tend to. But Mickey—Ian would still date Mickey in a heartbeat. He suspected the man felt the same way but he was too professional when they were together for Ian to really gauge his feelings.
But he was perfect anyway. Short and stocky, muscular in just the right way but not overly bulky. Close to half a foot shorter than Ian’s 6’0” height. The brightest blue eyes he’s ever seen and a smile to match. He wore his black hair short, sometimes slicked back with gel. And he had tattoos everywhere—or at least everywhere that Ian could see, considering they reach up to his neck.
His right arm is very light, covered in florals while his left arm is heavier, darker, and covered with skulls. His neck and the top of his chest are different floral patterns with a snake winding around the left side of his neck. He’s also fairly certain the man has his nose pierced but never wears a piercing to work. He told Ian he’s from the South Side, too, and has that rough accent and aura to prove it. He also has the fullest lips—Ian wonders often during their sessions what it would feel like to kiss those full lips.
He knows for sure Mickey is gay. It’s one of the first things that was established between them. He says he’s upfront about it for safety reasons. He wants his patients who are part of the LGBTQ+ community to be comfortable but he also has to be comfortable too. So presenting that as baseline information makes it to where he can gauge his patient's reaction and be sure it’s something they’re okay with. Smart , Ian thought when he had explained it to him.
He was broken from his thoughts when the sound of little feet could be heard rushing down the hall.
“Franny!” Debbie called out with a giggle.
“Uncle Een!” She screeches when she makes it to his door and sees him sitting there awake. “Happy birthday!!!”
He sits his notebook to the side and waves to her with a happy smile and she runs forward. He scoops her up to tickle her, the sounds of her happy toddler giggles instantly brightening his mood. Debbie walks in hugging him and telling him happy birthday.
After Franny is taken by her mom to go have breakfast Ian finally pushes himself out of bed and heads for the bathroom at the end of the hall. The first thing he does is pee then strips out of his boxers and tank top. He steps back and looked at himself in the mirror.
He was finally starting to get some muscle definition back. After months of hardly any nutrition or physical activity, he lost both weight and muscle mass. When he first got home he couldn’t even look in the mirror and all of his clothes practically fell off of him.
As part of his routine, fucking routines, he started working out again. He got himself eating properly and working out and his work was paying off once again. He always liked the way he looked when his shoulders were broader and his stomach was firm and filled out. It made him feel good, strong, and happy. He gave himself a small smile in the mirror.
Progress .
He looked at himself in the mirror for longer than 5 minutes and doesn’t feel disgusted or dirty. He would be happy to report that to Mickey today.
Flipping on the shower he sticks his hand under the spray and adjusts the temperature until he’s happy, just shy of too hot but not hot enough to burn his skin. He went through the motions, washing his hair and body. He considers shaving but remembers he has to ask Fiona or Lip for a razor and he doesn’t want to deal with either of them right now. Maybe Mickey would think his two-day stubble is attractive.
He stands there under the shower and lets his thoughts drift to the man in question. To a time in particular when he and Ian were talking during a session, Mickey had moved closer to Ian as he scribbled down his thoughts in a notebook. He was close enough that Ian could feel his body heat, and smell his cologne. He smelled so good that day.
Ian had been pretty upset that day, writing so fast and hard that he ended up ripping through the paper of his notebook. Mickey had reached out slowly so as not to startle Ian and once he had his attention he rested his tattooed hand on Ian’s, stilling his hand. Ian looked up, his green eyes meeting Mickeys blue, their gazes intense and unwavering. Mickey’s hand moved feather light to Ian’s wrist, fingertips lingering on his skin and squeezing. Comforting. Reassuring. Ian wishes he would have kissed him that day. He likes to think Mickey would have kissed him back.
Kissing Mickey. He wants to kiss him so bad. Knows those plump pink lips would feel so good against his own. Wants to feel them on his skin on other parts of him— oh.
Ian's eyes open slowly at the thought, feels the tingling in his lower belly, the twitching in his cock. Fuck . He looks down, watches his dick that’s at half mast, and frowns. This is the first time he’s been hard in—well, in a long time. He considers this. He wants to touch himself but worries it will trigger memories for him. But maybe not if he doesn’t think about anything bad. Maybe if he only thinks about Mickey— Fuck, Mickey. He groans internally when his dick twitches.
He impulsively grabs his cock, strokes it twice and gasps in pleasure. Ian leans forward, braces his forearm on the wall, let’s the warm water cover his body. He strokes himself again, base to tip and back then again. He’s breathing heavy, letting out little gasps, fuck it feels good. His mind wanders back to Mickey.
He wonders what the man looks like naked. Is he toned everywhere or is his tummy soft? Wonders what those gloriously thick thighs look like without dark material covering them and what’s tattooed on them—if anything. He wonders what noises Mickey would make with those thighs wrapped around Ian’s head, if he would tangle tattooed fingers in red hair.. He would kiss those thighs, lick them, bite them, dig his fingers into the muscles and leave his bruises for Mickey to admire later. He imagines for Mickey to be so gently spoken all of the time that he would make an exception in the bedroom. Whimpering and whining, moaning Ian’s name. A gasp rips from Ian’s throat at that thought, his body tensing, his hand moving over his cock, rubbing at his slit and he’s cumming.
Fuck, he’s cumming.
It’s intense. It’s intense to the point of pain. He stumbles, his back hitting the opposite wall of the shower and falling onto his ass. His body is shaking with sobs but no sound is coming out. His chest hurts and he feels like he can’t breathe.
Panic attack . He thinks vaguely. He pulls his knees up to his chest and drops his head between his knees forcing air into his lungs, the hot water still raining down around him. He feels the tears on his face, nose running from crying. His body hurts now. Why did that hurt so bad? Fuck. He’s gonna have to tell Mickey about that.
He’d leave out the part where he was jerking off to the thought of Mickey’s thighs around his head though.
“Ian?!” Fiona’s panicked voice called outside the bathroom door. “Are you okay? Do I need to send Lip in?”
Ian banged his fist against the wall twice this time, his I’m fine but leave me the fuck alone sign, and hopes they get the point.
“Are you sure? We heard you fall—” Ian cuts Lip off, pounding his fist against the wall twice to get his point across. Leave me alone! He wants to scream. “Alright, come on, he wants to be left alone.”
Ian sighs, leaning back in the tub, letting the water cover his body completely once again, his chest jumping with uneven breaths. He feels his face twist up, his mouth quivering and the tears are falling again. 8 months and he feels like he's back at square one.
He doesn’t know how long he lays there. The water starts to run cold and his skin is covered in goosebumps. Eventually, he sits up, shuts the water off, and stands up. He pushes the shower curtain open and steps out, not caring that he just soaked the old bath mat. He grabs a towel and dries off his hair and body roughly before wrapping it around his waist. He brushes his teeth quickly and heads to his room.
He doesn’t miss the fact that his breakfast tray is gone or that his bed has been made. He pulls his towel off and throws it on the bed, walks to his dresser and pulls out a pair of dark blue boxer briefs, and decides on a pair of dark wash jeans, his olive green v-neck, and black converse. He runs his fingers through his short hair to tame it a bit, not needing to do much with it at this length.
After dressing he grabs his therapy journal, tosses it in his backpack with his phone, and heads out of the room. He kisses Freddie on the head who is in his high chair in front of the TV eating Cheerios and banana slices. The little boy gives him a gummy smile and makes grabby hands for him, Ian doesn’t pick him up but grabs a slice of banana and flies it around while making the best airplane noise he can before dropping it in his little mouth. That seems to satisfy him and he turns back to his cartoon.
“You ready?” Fiona asks as soon as he walks into the kitchen. He nods, gesturing to the coffee pot, walking over, and pouring himself a to-go cup. “Lip, you ready?”
“Yeah. Debs is gonna watch Freddie until Tami gets here,” He answers, pulling his flannel on over his white t-shirt. “Happy Birthday, man.”
Ian gave him a small smile, he still didn’t care at all about his birthday but whatever. Knowing his siblings they were gonna throw a party this evening even if he doesn’t want it. Fiona was soon ushering them out the front door and into her car. The drive to Mickey's office was 20 minutes away and Ian was eager to get there. He always feels better after seeing Mickey.
“Ian, good morning!” Mandy greeted him from her place at the front desk when he walked in. He waves to her and walks straight to her desk, Fiona and Lip close behind him. “Mickey is already ready for you, he told me to send you straight in. He also asked to see you alone first and then he would call your brother and sister in after the two of you talked.”
Ian looks back at his brother and sister, Fiona giving him a small smile and nod. He turns back, giving Mandy a smile before walking around the desk and down the small hall towards Mickey's office. He gets to the closed door, reaches out, and knocks on the door. He hears a “ come in” , and opens the door.
Mickey is behind his desks, standing up immediately when he looks up and spots Ian, smiling big and bright as he walks around the desk. “Happy Birthday!” He greeted both aloud and signs, and okay maybe he didn’t mind that it was his birthday after all now. “Facial hair, huh? That’s a new look, looks good on you!”
Ian smiles back in greeting and leans in to hug Mickey to hide the flush in his cheeks, he hoped Mickey would like the facial hair. He wonders if it’s normal to hug your therapist in greeting but he doesn't really care. He likes being close enough to Mickey to smell him. He loves the way the shorter man smells.
“Thanks,” Ian responds, signing the word easily, as it’s one that they practiced early on.
“Alright, come sit,” Mickey said, gesturing to the couch. “Any special plans today?”
“I don’t think so,” Ian signs slowly, still not 100% confident in his signing but by the look on Mickey’s face, he thinks he did pretty well.
“Why not?” Mickey asked, his face a bit more serious and Ian shrugs. Mickey raises an eyebrow and Ian can practically hear his usual ‘shrugging isn’t an answer, Ian.’
Ian grabs the dry erase board Mickey keeps on the table, not sure of his signs, and decides to just write. “Nothing to celebrate.”
Mickey frowns, his eyebrows drawing together, sadness but not pity filling his eyes. “You’re here, Ian. That’s a reason enough to celebrate.”
Ian’s chest shook with the breath he pulled in and let out. Mickey just always had to say something that made him feel emotional. He fixed Ian with a look, scooting to the edge of his chair, and rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.
“What’s going on?” He asks gently.
“Bad morning,” He signed, feeling his eyes tear up, knowing Mickey could see that—glancing at the man then away again.
“Want to talk about it?” Mickey offers and Ian nods, swallowing thickly. He’s beyond the point of hiding things from Mickey during their meeting.
“I wrote some of it down in my notebook. But something else happened,” Ian wrote on the board, letting Mickey read it before grabbing his notebook from his bag.
Mickey takes the book, nods, opens to the most recent entry, scans it, and looks back at Ian. “Okay, we’re gonna talk about this later,” He says gesturing to the book, “What else happened?”
“Embarrassing,” Ian signs, looking away from those intense blue eyes.
“Hey,” Mickey calls gently, pulling Ian’s attention back to him. “You can tell me anything. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” He promises earnestly.
Ian blows out a breath, wiping his palms on his thighs nervously, glancing at Mickey, away and back again. He erases the board and uncaps the marker. He scratches at his eyebrow, glancing at Mickey once more who gives him an encouraging nod.
Fuck, how does he even write this?
“Tried to jerk off in the shower this morning,” Ian wrote simply before showing the board to Mickey, realizing too late that that was nearly enough information.
“Okay, and why was that embarrassing?” Mickey asked, the question genuine not teasing.
“After I got off I broke down crying. Had like an anxiety attack or something,” Ian writes, showing the board to Mickey again.
“Oh, Ian,” Mickey breathed. Ian turned his eyes to the man, not expecting that reaction. “That’s not embarrassing, man. That’s normal.”
Ian scoffs and shakes his head but before he could write anything Mickey is speaking again. “Hey, look at me. I’m serious. That’s normal.”
“How is crying after jerking myself off normal?” Ian wrote, glaring at the board as he did.
“Are you comfortable giving me the details of what happened?” Mickey asked and Ian’s cheeks immediately flushed. “You don’t have to—”
Ian shakes his head as he erases the board again, and holds the marker in his hand for a moment before writing. “I was in the shower, thinking about a guy I’m kinda into, and got a boner. I was surprised and caught off guard because I haven’t had a boner in a long time. I was worried about jerking off at first—thought maybe it could be a trigger. Thought if I just didn’t think about anything bad, about what happened, that I would be okay. And I was the whole time, I just thought about this guy. But once it was over like I don’t know, as soon as I came I didn't know I just lost it and started crying.”
Ian read it over a few times cringing internally before handing the whole board to Mickey to read. Ian watched him, trying to see any reaction, thinking he saw a bit of pink tinting those lightly freckled cheeks.
“Thank you for sharing that with me, Ian,” Mickey starts, and Ian can’t help but wonder if he'd be so calm and collected if he knew ‘the guy’ was Mickey himself. “I still have to say it’s normal. I know you hate when I say this but it’s a normal response to the trauma you went through.” Mickey explained handing the board back to Ian.
“I see many patients who have been assaulted who struggle with sex or masturbation after the assault has occurred. On top of that, the arousal hit you out of nowhere, you hadn’t even thought about sex of any kind since you were rescued, let alone sex for pleasure for a long time before that. Did you enjoy it?” Mickey asked, and Ian nodded, licking his bottom lip in an attempt to not look Mickey up and down like a snack. “Enjoying it and then experiencing anxiety or panic after the climax is normal even if you weren’t thinking about the bad things, does that make sense?”
Ian nods his head and grabs the board. “How can I fix it? I don’t want to be scared of sex.”
Mickey read the board and nodded, “It’s important to not rush yourself, it is no different than your speech. You can’t force it when there’s trauma involved. However, you can practice. Touch yourself. Re-learn your body. Set up an environment you can relax in, like a warm bath, the next time you feel aroused. And don’t do anything irrational like go out and immediately have sex with someone just to prove something to yourself. This will take time like anything else.” Mickey explains and Ian could feel his own cheeks were completely flushed, hearing this man, the center of his arousal, talk him through touching himself, it was doing things to him.
“Okay,” Ian signs, nodding his head. Green eyes met blue and Mickey paused. Ian wasn’t imagining it, he saw the heat that quickly passed through Mickey's eyes and disappeared just as fast. Always professional.
“If you have any more questions on that topic, feel free to ask,” Mickey says, standing from his seat and Ian has to fight not to check him out. “I’m going to go ahead and have Mandy send back your brother and sister so we can all talk together.”
Ian nods his head, melting under Mickey’s touch when he mats Ian’s shoulder, his hand lingering longer than necessary as he walks past. Once he reaches his desk he grabs the phone dialing a number before speaking. “Mandy, send the Gallagher siblings back please.” And just a few minutes later there was a knock on the door.
“Fiona, hi, it’s nice to see you again,” Ian looks back to see Mickey shaking his sister's hand. “And you must be Philip. Lip?” He corrects himself as he shakes Lip's hand.
“Lip is fine. It’s nice to meet you as well,” Lip nods before the three of them make their way over.
“Alright, have a seat and we’ll get started,” Mickey gestured to the couch before grabbing his clipboard. “I’m glad the two of you could join us today. Why don’t we start with you two telling me some of your concerns?” He spoke as he wrote on the clipboard.
“What do you mean our concerns? He’s still not talking,” Lip says. Ian turns his head to his brother, gawking at the rudeness in his tone, then looks at Mickey who had stopped writing and looked up as well.
“It’s only been 8 months-” Mickey starts but Lip cuts him off.
“Exactly. It’s been 8 months and he’s not making any progress,” Lip says, the harshness causing Ian to flinch and shrink in on himself. He knows Mickey notices but he looks away.
“It’s only been 8 months,” Mickey corrected calmly, and Ian slowly looks back at him. “It could take him 8 more months. It could take him a year. What your brother went through was traumatic. And as for your statement of him not making any progress—I completely disagree. Communication in any form is progress. Just because he’s not completely verbal in a way that you see fit doesn’t mean he hasn’t made progress.” Mickey explains firmly and Ian feels himself melt just a little at the way Mickey is standing up for him—the way Mickey understands.
“What can we do?” Fiona asked, her concern sounding genuine in a way Ian feels like he hasn’t heard in a long time. Mickey lets out a breath and turns his gaze to Fiona.
“Well, I think two appointments a week is a good idea for now. I would like to start having the two of you come in with Ian on Wednesdays and we can start working on their forms of communication so that you all are not relying solely on verbal communication. And then I will see Ian one-on-one at our regular Friday sessions,” Mickey spoke, jotting a few things down before looking back at the siblings.
“Other forms of communication?” Lip asked, “Like the notebook?”
“Communicating in a notebook is good, yes, but it’s not practical. Ian tells me you all also communicate via text quite often. That’s great as well. But if your standing face to face, if you’re in the same room, face to face with someone, writing and texting just won’t convey the feeling and emotions a person may need to express—”
“Oh, he expresses his emotions alright,” Fiona adds lightly and Mickey chuckles a bit, catching Ian’s eye.
“I’m well aware of how well he is at expressing his emotions without a voice to do it,” Mickey agrees with a smile that makes Ian’s stomach flutter. “However, consider how frustrating it is for him—he can still hear you clearly, so while you’re speaking to him and making your tone of voice match your feelings he cannot do that. He’s having to write down his thoughts and hope that his facial expressions tell you how he feels, does that make sense?” Mickey asks, looking between Lip and Fiona who both nod slowly in understanding. “I think learning sign language would be very beneficial to this situation—”
“Isn’t that for deaf people?” Lip cut in again, his voice borderline snarky and Ian glares at him. Wondering how Mickey is so patient. Mickey must have seen the frustration on his face because he gave Ian a small smile before turning his attention to Lip.
“ASL or American Sign Language is primarily used in the deaf community, yes, however many other people use it for many other reasons. Such as those who are autistic, those with apraxia or aphasia, and those with cerebral palsy, or Down syndrome. Those with anxiety and other mental and health disorders that cause verbal communication to be hard. There are people like Ian who have suffered trauma and people like you who have a loved one that can’t speak. They all highly benefit from learning sign language,” Mickey explains patiently. Fiona and Lip both nod again in understanding, staying quiet for a moment. Lip glances at Ian then at Mickey.
“You keep mentioning trauma, what does him being locked in some freak's basement for a few months have to do with him not talking?” Lips asks, Ian flinches again, the casual mention of what happened to him shocking his brain. Mickey fixed Lip with a surprised look, his eye darting to Ian who wouldn’t look at him then back at the siblings and again at Ian.
“You haven’t told them?” Mickey asks gently. Ian looks at Mickey through damp eyelashes and shakes his head. Mickey sighs with a small head shake, rubbing his thumb across his lower lip.
“Told us what?” Fiona asks, turning to Ian but when he doesn't answer she turns back to Mickey.
“Ian, they need to know in order to understand why your speech progression could take a long time to complete,” Mickey spoke, his gentle voice drawing Ian’s eyes back to those baby blues. “Would you like me to tell them?” Mickey signed silently. Ian nodded, signing back yes.
“Okay, before I begin I would like the two of you to understand that certain things can horribly trigger your brother. Saying things like “being locked in some freak's basement” and “what does that have to do with him not talking” is both triggering and invalidating to his trauma. We can talk more about that later and how to identify possible triggers,” Mickey explained firmly before turning to Ian. “Ian, would you like to step out of the room while I talk to Lip and Fiona about what happened to you 8 months ago?”
“Yes. I’ll wait in the hall. Thank you,” Ian signs, it’s slow and a bit sloppy but the way Mickey's eyes light up is worth it and the smile he gives Ian makes his stomach twist up in the happiest way.
“Your signing is getting better!” Mickey signs as he speaks aloud. “I’ll come grab you when we’re done here.”
“Thanks,” Ian signs again as he stands up.
“You two have already started the sign language?” Fiona asked, watching Ian leave the room.
“Yes, a few weeks ago. He said he tried to get you two together but that you didn’t seem interested in learning,” Fiona’s face fell and Lip rubbed his hands over his face roughly at Mickey's disapproving tone but neither of them spoke.
“Well, I think think it’s fair to warn you that this news may be upsetting,” Mickey continued, looking between the two people before him, “And I think it’s safe to say this information should not be shared with anyone, especially your younger siblings.”
“Of course,” Fiona says and Lip nods in agreement.
“The man who took Ian, whose name is one of Ian’s biggest triggers, did in fact keep him locked in a basement, naked and chained to the wall with an electric collar around his neck,” Mickey began. Fiona let out a small gasp and he could see the way their faces had changed. “Not only did he sexually assault Ian on multiple occasions but anytime Ian would speak, scream or make noise of any kind he would shock Ian with the collar.”
“Oh god,” Lip muttered, allowing Fiona to grasp his hand.
“He endured this treatment, most likely, every day of his captivity until his brain and body realized that in order to not get shocked he had to remain completely silent. He had to learn to be extremely quiet in everything he did. His not being able to speak is a learned, conditioned, trauma response,” Mickey continued to explain, fighting to keep his voice even and calm. It wasn’t easy to explain, but it wasn’t easy for Ian to live through either, so he pushed on. “Every time he tries to speak he feels an agonizing shock through his body that causes him physical pain and I cannot promise you that he will ever verbally speak again. He has made some progress; moans, grunts, sighs, hums, and they’re all good signs but speaking aloud after so long coupled with that conditioning it could take years.” By the end of his speech Lip looked nearly horrified, eyes bloodshot and Fiona had tears filling her eyes. Mickey grabbed a box of tissues, offering them to her as the tears fell down her cheeks.
“Why—why wouldn’t he tell us?” Lip asks, voice thick with emotion, Fiona continues to wipe her eyes and nose but looks at Mickey for the answer.
“My guess is he didn’t want to burden you further than he feels he already has,” Mickey offers, shrugging casually. He hadn’t talked to Ian much about that, he thought the siblings knew what Ian went through.
“A burden? He’s not a burden,” Fiona spoke fiercely, a natural mama bear reaction Mickey thinks.
“I know that. You know that. But he doesn’t. He feels like his getting kidnapped and now his not being able to speak is a burden for you. Not for himself,” Mickey spoke, pausing for a moment before continuing.
“Take this for example, when he tries to do things alone; taking his medicine, going to the store for groceries, helping with the younger children in the house, and getting irritated or frustrated when someone steps in. It’s not because you are doing something wrong. It’s because that’s him. He’s independent and he’s a helper. He feels like that’s been stripped away because people are coddling him and treating him like he can’t handle things. He’s still a fully functioning, grown adult, just with a little extra trauma. He’s not broken. He doesn’t need to be fixed. He doesn’t need to be treated like a patient. He needs to be treated like Ian,” Mickey expressed, it was important for them to understand why Ian is feeling the way he feels currently. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah,” Lip and Fiona respond, nodding their heads.
“Okay, good. Now that you know a bit more in-depth I hope you can be a bit more patient and understanding with Ian and his progress,” Lip and Fiona both nodded eagerly. “I’ll give you two a moment to collect yourselves, take some deep breaths, and then I’ll bring Ian back in. I would like us to begin some basic ASL today if you’re up for it?”
“Okay,” Lip nodded, grabbing a tissue from the box on the table.
Mickey gave them a nod, writing down some notes before standing. “I'm gonna go grab him now.”
Opening the door Mickey's eyes fell on Ian who was a bit to the left of the door where there was a large window. He shut the door gently and then walked over to Ian, being sure his footsteps could be heard. Ian turned his head when he heard footsteps approaching and gave Mickey a half smile.
“They okay?” He signed simply and Mickey nodded.
“They are. They both cried a little but now that they have a bit more understanding. I think they can have a bit of patience when it comes to your progress,” Mickey spoke, signing slowly, knowing Ian picked up signs easier when Mickey used them in conversation. “You ready to get back in there? We’ve got a little less than an hour left of today's session and I’d like to get them to learn a bit of sign.”
Ian stared at Mickey with big eyes, god he just wanted to kiss this man so bad. Mickey stared back, head tilted up to properly meet his eyes. Ian loved their height difference.
“Come on,” Mickey spoke gently, gesturing with his head for Ian to follow him. And he did.
The rest of the session was really great. Ian was worried that with Lip and Fiona knowing more details that he would receive that pity look he hates so much more often but he surprisingly hadn’t seen it once. They spent the rest of the session discussing triggers and sign language. It was a relatively nice time. There were some laughs shared and the last 10 minutes were spent with just Ian and Mickey again discussing his journal.
However, it never fails that therapy took all of his energy, and the second they got home he went upstairs and passed out. He was in and out for the rest of the day. Waking up for lunch when Fiona brought him a sandwich and a Gatorade. He took the time to strip down to his boxers and climbed right back into bed.
He was right, his sibling had thrown him a birthday party. Thankfully it wasn’t anything huge like the normal Gallagher parties, just his siblings and Kevin and Veronica. Kev made burgers and the girls made him a cake. He got a few small presents and that was it. And in his opinion it was perfect. He wouldn’t have wanted a huge shindig anyway. At 7 he had to take his meds and at 7:25 he was in bed falling asleep.
Later that evening he woke up around 9 to a buzzing on his nightstand. He reached out to grab his phone seeing a missed call from Mandy. That was surprising, a text from her popped up almost immediately and under those two notifications were three messages from Mickey. Ian immediately clicked the notification, pressing his passcode in to open the message.
Mickey (9:05 PM): Hey, I know it’s kind of late but I just wanted to tell you Happy Birthday, again and I hope you found a way to celebrate today.
Mickey (9:06 PM): I hope it’s not weird, but I was wondering if you’d want to go out for coffee sometime?
Mickey (9:07 PM): Normally I wouldn’t ask to see a patient outside of work, so if you feel it’s inappropriate in any way just disregard that last message.
Ian was smiling, his chest shaking with a silent laugh as we read over the messages that read almost like rambling. Mickey wanted to meet him for coffee, he hoped that meant what he desperately wanted it to mean. He tapped the blank space to message him back.
Ian (9:20 PM): Thanks for the birthday wishes, Mickey😎 And I would love to grab coffee one day, just name the time and place and I’ll be there!
He watched the message go through, staring at it a moment before backing out and clicking on Mandy’s messages.
Mandy M. (9:15 PM): OMG Happy Birthday Ian! I wish I would have known I would have told you in person when I saw you today! I hope you had a great day!
Ian (9:21 PM): Haha, no apologies necessary, thank you, Mandy!
Before he could click his power button his phone vibrated with a message from Mickey again causing another smile to stretch across his face.
Mickey (9:23 PM): There’s a little café called Brewing Beans about 10 minutes outside south side. Banana pancakes are an absolute dream. Sunday 11 am?
Ian (9:24 PM): I love banana pancakes🤤 I’ll be there!
Mickey (9:25 PM): Awesome! See you then, have a great night Ian. I hope you enjoy the rest of your birthday.
Ian didn’t respond, there wasn’t anything else to say, and honestly, if Ian replied he would start to wax poetic about how blue Mickey's eyes are and how much he wants to kiss him. So he clicked his home button and then the power button.
He lay there in the dimly lit room from the light post outside his window and smiled up at the roof. Falling asleep happily for the first time since his never-ending nightmare began.