Chapter Text
None of the other siblings care very much about the fact today is the anniversary of Monica passing, shrugging and making passive comments when Ian brings it up that morning in the kitchen. He doesn't mention that when he bought his calendar for work this year, while flipping through, he’d briefly debated writing in the date before he’d even considered her birthday. He doesn't mention that every morning this month he's sat on the bed and stared at the wall; at the small white square that serves as a reminder about his mom, crossing out each passing day with a black x, which only got wobblier as they got closer.
None of them have any interest in going to her grave, which is fine, actually, because Ian doesn't want them there anyway. They don't appreciate Monica like he does. They wouldn't have anything nice to say, and they'd probably try to vandalize her grave in some way, an act of post - mortem revenge that would temporarily satisfy their bleeding hearts.
And if Ian lingers in the doorway, cautiously glancing over his shoulder and trying to will Lip or Debbie or even Carl (Liam's too young, barely has any memories of her, and has no interest due to his experiences with Frank) to change their mind last minute and tell Ian to wait up while they throw a coat on, it doesn't mean anything. If he does it, and no one even pays a glance in his direction, doesn't notice that he's trying to ask without actually asking, it doesn't matter. Because he doesn't care anyways.
He stops at the gas station for coffee, and to wait for Mickey. He was out with his dad again last night; never came home. It made Ian uncomfortable and upset in a way he couldn't form words for, despite how long it'd been going on. He knows he's not the hypocritical one in his family - that’s Lip - but it still irks him, tugs on the corners of his mind and puts him off. He wishes he could sever Mickey's familial connections permanently, do it quickly and cauterize the wound, and they could move on. Mickey could just elope with his household, but he knows even suggesting this would be like sticking his hand right down the throat of one of the angry neighborhood dogs. Mickey's family is probably in the top five of Things Ian Isn't Allowed To Bother Him About, even though with passing time it's made Ian's list of Things He Really Really More Than Anything Wants To Bother Mickey About. He just can't unless he's prepared for the next month and a half to suck.
Mickey is later than he said he'd be, which he almost always is for everything anyways, and looks slightly rougher around the edges. He grunts a hello to Ian, and steals his coffee, taking an overly generous sip, even for boyfriend privilege standards.
Ian frowns, swiping his thumb over a new scrape on the left edge of Mickey's jaw. His opposite hand has gone cold from waiting outside for him, the other slightly warmed from holding the coffee cup. He pulls his jacket around him tighter, notices how Mickey is only wearing a long-sleeved flannel and one of his many sleeveless jackets over that.
“No coat?”
“All business was in the house,” Mickey shrugs, taking another sip - more of a gulp, actually - Ian frowns again and takes it from him halfway through. “Don't be a dick. Go get your own. Use your new ‘helping dad’ money to get one.”
“You think my dad pays me that fuckin’ fast? If he pays me at all?”
Ian sighs, his eyes going skyward for a moment in exasperation before he hands the coffee back to Mickey, who raises his eyebrows.
“Hold it, jackass,” Ian says, reaching out to tug at and straighten Mickey's collar on the flannel, before moving on and smoothing his hands down over the front of his jacket and sleeves on his biceps, trying to tame the bunched up fabric. He sticks his thumb in the corner of his mouth and tries to wipe at some of the smudges on Mickey's clothes and face.
“Okay, okay,” Mickey says after a moment, grabbing Ian's arm. “The fuck? What gives? What're you buttering me up for?”
“I'm not.”
“Yeah, okay,” Mickey shifts on his feet and glances around. “What’s up with you today, Gallagher? Why'd you ask me to meet you here instead of just going back to the house? If you wanted a date you could've let me run back to change, I got a new suit last week.”
Ian huffs a small laugh, but doesn't meet Mickey's questioning gaze. He's noticed Mickey does that all the time to him; every moment he's being vulnerable, he can't meet Ian's eyes. Even after all this time, he's shy when he gets serious. And Ian just doesn’t understand that, yet here he is, scared of the same thing. And he’s not even the fucking Gallagher hypocrite. Mickey is still watching him expectantly, face pinched in confusion and what is beginning to fade into concern.
Ian hums, shoves his hands deep into his pockets and scuffs his shoe along the pavement. “ ‘S the anniversary of, ah, Monica. Dying.”
Mickey watches him carefully, nods slowly. “Okay.”
“And no one else wanted to go see her grave.” He says quietly. “They’ve like…all fucking moved on, I guess. They just don’t care anymore, glad to be rid of her, or something. I dunno. I guess they’re all…just done with that part of our lives.”
Mickey nods, taking a sip of the coffee again. He glances around, at the sky and the gross parking lot, and then down into the cup, frowning. “So…guess you need someone to go with you? Is that what we’re trying to get at right now?”
“Yeah, guess so,” Ian mumbles. “Only if you want to. I know you weren’t really her biggest fan either.”
“Yeah…that wild goose chase she sent you two on with her methhead boyfriend when you were fresh outta prison and the ward didn’t exactly put her high on my list of favorites, no, but y’know…I get it. ‘S yer mom,” Mickey scratches at his eyebrow as he speaks, suddenly very drawn to his own shoes as well. Mickey has some really terrible clothes, even by Ian’s own poor people, hand - me - down standards. He had to beg him to throw out some shirts and pants that were nearly entirely duct tape when he moved in with Ian. These shoes he’s got are the one thing Ian is still battling Mickey on; they’re nearly gray, and the pattern on the soles has been completely stripped away. The back left heel and side is completely covered in duct tape, and there’s some looped around the right toe. They were lace - up shoes when he first got them, but Mickey has since taped them closed, because he got sick of having to sit down and tie them; he was usually in a hurry or just couldn’t be bothered.
Ian stares at them with Mickey. He wishes he could get super rich one day and buy Mickey a million pairs of shoes, a million nice things, things neither of them could even dream of. He knows Mickey wouldn’t even like half of it, but it would make Ian really happy to just be able to do it. He wishes he could get uber rich for his family too of course, but that’s been a pipe dream shared since they were old enough to understand what poor was.
Mickey sighs, rubbing the heel of his palm into his eye. Ian watches him warily, nervous. He doesn’t know why he’s so scared, why he feels so vulnerable the second his mom gets brought up. It’s difficult to articulate. How she was a mother to five other kids, and yet he feels like he’s the only one of her children these days. How Mickey never says a single word about his own mother, yet he indulges in all of Ian’s odd hangups about his own, whom he resented and who was absent for the majority of his life. And is now gone for the rest of it.
Monica skimped out on almost all of Ian’s life when she was alive and he hated her for it, and now she’s dead and will never have the possibility of turning things around. And Ian’s not stupid, he’s not seven anymore, he knows that even if Monica was still alive he probably wouldn’t see her anytime soon or when it ever would actually matter, and if he did, he wouldn’t even have anything nice to say to her.
But still…
“Guess I should grab another coffee,” Mickey says. Ian stares at him, eyes wide and face soft; completely open. Mickey stares back, steps closer and squeezes Ian’s arm.
*
Monica’s grave is ugly, that’s Ian’s genuine first thought. It’s a shitty, cheap tombstone. Fiona wasted absolutely no expenses on making sure she got something pretty in the afterlife, and Ian can’t resent her for it. Except he kind of does.
He stands close to it, the toes of his shoes almost touching the edge. Ian knows it’s bad to step on the graves, but he bets Monica probably fucked someone right atop a grave once, or at least shot up.
He stares down at it long and hard, clenching his jaw tight enough to crack a molar without even realizing it. Stares down at her name, her date of birth. There’s nothing else to know about her - no other descriptions available. No ‘loving wife’ or ‘proud mother of six’, because she wasn’t, really. She was a bipolar junkie who squeezed the life out of her family with a big smile on her face.
Ian misses her so much he feels hollowed out.
He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Mickey reaches out to touch his face. He startles at the contact, jerking his head to look down at him. Mickey meets him with slightly frightened eyes, pulls back his hand a little and Ian sees his fingertips are wet. He blinks, and his vision blurs from his full waterlines.
“Oh,” he says. It’s all he can think of.
Mickey watches him through wary eyes, but stays quiet. He bought two more coffees, one for him and one for Ian, because he felt bad about drinking all of his and then finding out he was supposed to accompany Ian on his dead mom anniversary adventure. Ian loves him so much.
“Should’ve brought flowers,” Ian whispers, wiping the corner of his eye with his sleeve. More threaten to spill as Mickey reaches his hand out again and thumbs them away, and something about the action of Mickey doing it makes him start to actually cry. It really freaks Mickey out; his eyebrows shoot way up and his face has this utterly lost look on it, and really it’s pretty funny. Ian would probably laugh if he wasn’t crying, except he is kind of laughing about it as Mickey is reaching forward to wrap an arm around Ian’s shoulders. He has to stand on his tip toes to do it.
It’s really ugly - Ian’s crying. His face is red and he knows he’s getting snot all over the shoulder of Mickey’s jacket, but it’s okay because the weather today is disgusting too, dreary and gray with the usual faded atmosphere of Chicago. The sounds from the streets bleed into the silence of the graveyard, and it’s not as private as Ian wanted this moment to be. He wanted to come here and feel like he could remember Monica alone, like he could try and get her back for just a few minutes, but they picked the cheapest grave plot they could find and that happens to be pretty inland to the city.
Ian also knows Mickey’s clothes probably have years of layered snot and blood and whatever the hell else from him anyway, so that's one less thing to stress about.
Mickey is fervently rubbing his knuckles up and down Ian’s spine, rougher than anyone else would, and Ian just bawls into his shoulder for a moment more, before sucking in a huge breath and turning his face forward to bring his eyes back down.
Nothing has changed in the few moments that he squeezes his eyes shut. He bets he could come here years later and it would all look exactly the same.
“I don’t know why I’m crying, I’m sorry,” he says. Mickey snorts, pulling him closer. He tries to rest his head on top of Ian’s but he can’t quite do it. They end up just sort of heavily leaning into each other.
“Yeah, real mystery. Anniversary of your mom’s death at her grave, and you’re crying for some reason.”
“She was barely a mom, you don’t have to lie.” Ian sniffs.
“Eh, that’s your bitter ass brothers and sisters talking, she’s all you got. Go for it.” Mickey replies. He takes a sip from his coffee, but doesn’t lessen his hold on Ian. Ian shudders out a sigh.
“Y’know, even though Lip was her favorite,” he blurts, “sometimes I feel like I was her only kid.”
“Lip was not her favorite.”
“He was,” Ian nods tersely. “Fiona even agrees, she’s said it before. Monica liked them handsome.”
“Christ, Ian. You have an inferiority complex over a dude the size of a pea. It’s making me sad. Also no, Monica did not. She was fucking Frank her whole life.”
Ian laughs, but the cold breeze blows against the wet spots on his face now leftover from his crying, and it makes him grow somber again after a moment.
“I’m the only one who wasn’t Frank’s kid, I’m the only one who never was in on any of his schemes or bullshit. I looked the most like her, I’m bipolar. I’m gay,”
Mickey kind of laughs when he says that last part. “Was Frank a woman or somethin’ this whole time?”
“No,” Ian says, smiling a little, “when she came back that one time, trying to take Liam for her and her girlfriend.”
Mickey grunts in acknowledgement. Ian knows he remembers. Remembers him showing up at his doorstep and begging to see him. He remembers the way Mickey looked at him when Ian told him he had nowhere else to go.
That was the first time Mickey let him hold his hand when they fucked, though honestly, it barely counted - more of Ian covering Mickey's with his own and Mickey not shoving him off. But Ian’s nothing if not sentimental, so he does in fact count it.
“Really sucked that Kash caught us that time,” Mickey says, as if reading Ian’s thoughts.
“Pfft, yeah.” Ian huffs. “Sucks you got shot and I immediately had to go back to her and watch her defend ditching us.” He frowns, worries his lip between his teeth for a moment. “I don’t know. It’s just…I think I spent the most time with her - in the last few years, I guess. I still always kind of wanted her around even when everyone else was done with her. I mean, I called her up after the army thing and shit…and before when I ran away from them the first time, and then JimmySteve’s dad kicked me out. No one else even cared when she died. It was just me. They all fucking sold her shit. None of them wanted to keep anything or even -” He cuts himself off, feeling his eyes begin to drip again.
Ian can tell Mickey keeps glancing at him, but he doesn’t look away from the gray square at his feet. He kind of wants to sit down, but he doesn’t want to curl up at her headstone and cry like a little kid, even though he feels like one right now. He wipes at his eye again with his left hand.
“This one time, when I was about six - it was just me, Lip, and Fiona for a while, y’know? Debbie was a baby - Frank and Monica took us out and made us wait outside this drug den while they went inside. It was probably sometime in the winter, because when they left I started to freak out. Lip and Fiona were trying to get me to stop crying, but I was hysterical, kept saying I didn’t want them to go because I knew they weren’t going to come back for us. I think Frank slapped me, ‘cause I was making so much noise, but Monica got all mad at him and told him off.” He pauses for a moment, scrubs a hand over his face, which feels tacky now from his dried up tears.
“She pet me for a little bit until I calmed down, and promised they were going to come back. To prove it, I guess, maybe get me to just shut up, she gave me her jacket. I remember her telling me it was proof that they weren’t gonna leave us because it was too cold for her to go out that night without her jacket.” Ian laughs to himself as he gets to that part, feeling almost dizzy.
“Isn’t that fucked up? It was too cold for her to be out all night without a jacket, but it wasn’t too cold for them to leave their little kids out on the curb all night? Jesus.” He shakes his head.
Mickey stays quiet, fiddles with the paper cup in his hands.
“Well, anyway, I believed her.” Ian continues after a moment. “You can guess how the story ends. It really fucked me up.”
They stand there pressed together in silence. The wind is starting to gain a little, and with the weather already devoid of sun it’s beginning to grow too cold to stand here like this - especially for Mickey and his lack of a real jacket.
Mickey doesn’t say anything, and that’s okay because Ian thinks he’s spoken enough for the both of them during this whole trip. He doesn’t really have anything more to say at this point, other than recount more and more stories of Monica and Frank failing them or lying, or to just stand here and repeat that he misses her.
Ian almost forgets how bad it was when they were little. Before Carl and Debbie and the house, it used to be just the three of them versus the entire state of Illinois, it felt like. How many nights Fiona had to try and stall time in a store or library so they could stay somewhere warm for the night. How many times they all had to huddle together in a bus stop in the middle of the night, much before any of them became so goddamn cynical and stopped trusting their parents. Fiona realized it first, she always did, but he remembers she held out a little bit for Lip and Ian. There had been a time when Lip used to be the one begging Frank for something, to see a new movie or be taken to an event for his birthday. It made him sick to remember. He hates that he remembers Lip and Fiona like that. Just barely, but he does.
Debbie and Carl are too young to remember a time when Fiona and Lip used to beg for their parent’s attention, but Ian isn’t. He wishes he could claw his way back through time and save them all, cover their eyes from all the times they found Frank or Monica slumped against a wall with a belted arm or passed out in their own vomit. He wishes he could hold a tiny, sniffling Fiona or Lip in his arms and find a way to comfort them, buy them something nice.
Most of all, Ian wishes their mom loved them.
He could take or leave Frank.
One of Ian’s coworkers, once, had told him about their grandfather who had just died, and said that the worst part about all of it was the realization that she was never going to see him again. She had processed his death, but kept coming back to the small detail that she was never ever going to physically be in the same room or lay eyes on him ever again, never be around him. That wasn’t what kept getting Ian about Monica. It’s difficult to be messed up about the death of your always disappearing mother when you spent the last few years of her life not seeing her, it’s that Ian knows she’s not out there. That there is no corner of the earth now and forever that will ever have Monica hanging out on it.
Mickey heaves out a heavy breath, breaking Ian out of his thoughts. Mickey reaches his hand up from Ian’s torso and scratches through his scalp, pressing a quick but chaste kiss to his temple.
“I love you.”
Ian blinks back more tears. It’s like Mickey’s opened something raw and tender, but it hurts less than anything else has today. In fact, it’s a good, smooth feeling. Mickey very rarely says ‘I love you’ without prompting, and in the moment it might just be the most touching thing he’s ever done. He has a habit of tapping or squeezing Ian or a nearby surface three times, instead. Ian finds it rather endearing, but he can’t lie on how good it feels to actually hear it.
“I love you too,” he rasps, “I really do.”
“I know.” Mickey knocks his head lightly against Ian’s. Ian is thoroughly impressed by how much public affection Mickey has willingly displayed today. Perks of not being able to move on past your dead mom, most likely.
“We should probably get back, hm?” Ian mumbles. He really doesn’t want to leave but he knows Mickey won’t start complaining about losing the feeling in his toes today, and that there’s nothing he can do here that he hasn’t already. Mickey shifts beside him.
“Whenever you wanna.” He says. Ian smiles stiffly, wraps his arm around Mickey’s shoulders.
“I’m okay,” he says, even though he’ll probably begin tearing up again when they settle down for bed tonight.
*
There exists a picture of just him, Lip, and Fiona with their parents. He likes to hold and stare at it for hours on days like this. Fiona didn’t keep it - despite how many times she told Ian and Lip how cute she found them in that picture - because she hated any pictures of their parents. Lip didn’t keep it because he would never bother for something like that.
Monica had gotten the idea in her head that they should get their pictures done at the mall for Christmas. Fiona says that Frank had been really pissed and argued that it was useless, for they didn’t have anyone to even send the pictures to, which was of course true, but after a few nights of screaming he had relented, and Monica had fancied them up and dragged them all to the mall. Lip claims she bought them candy canes afterwards, but Fiona says Frank dug them out of the trash to shut them up. Lip, if you ask him, still swears up and down he remembers watching Monica pay some guy for them while Frank was in the bathroom, clearly trying to get more than just the candy out of him. Ian doesn’t remember any of it and can’t vouch for either, on account of the fact of being four years old.
But he’s the only one who still has the picture - he’s managed to keep it mostly intact with minimal creasing all these years, via being kept inside various books over the years. When Monica left, he used to stare at it most nights, debating if he should shred or burn it. He did this again after his diagnosis, and once more after he got back from him and Monica’s bipolar road trip.
These days he does it when he’s feeling sentimental. He now debates cutting or blacking Frank’s face out. He knows he’ll do it again tonight, and that the photo will probably be slipped back into whichever book holds it now, still untouched.
It's a cute photo. Lip has a bow tie on, his two front teeth gone. The tags are still visible on Fiona’s dress and Frank’s pants, but they’re all smiling at the camera. It’s special to Ian because while Fiona and Lip sit in between their parents, he’s being held by Monica. She has her arms wrapped tightly around him, her face pressed to his, and their outfits are matching. Like they’re in some secret club the other three weren’t aware of or allowed into.
Ian knows it’s because he was so little at the time and because she was manic, but he likes to believe it’s because Monica loved him the most.
But that’s really fucked up, and he doesn’t think he could ever bring himself to speak that thought out loud ever, even to Mickey on a miserable graveyard afternoon like this.
*
“Your mom is probably doing so much coke with mine right now,” Mickey snorts suddenly, as if the thought had just now occurred to him. Ian stares at him for a moment, before he even realizes what Mickey has just said.
“Your mom is dead?” Is the first thing he finds himself blurting out. Mickey pulls Ian in closer to his side as they walk down the freezing sidewalk. Their breath is starting to become visible in the air.
“Oughta be,” Mickey sniffs. “Don’t think there’s anything better for her to be up to these days.”
Ian blinks, trying to figure out if this is Mickey being vulnerable, or just trying to make him feel better. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to stick his fingers inside this and crack it wide open, now that Mickey’s been the one to bring it up, but he figures even if Mickey doesn’t want it dissected, he’ll give Ian a pass due to him bawling at his fucked up dead mom’s grave a few minutes prior.
“Do you remember her? Your mom?”
“Not really. She was like, a fuckin’ middle schooler when she had us, man.” Mickey wrinkles his nose. “Can you imagine that shit? Being a druggie teen, and with my fuckin’ dad? God, her life sucked.”
“That’s really sad,” Ian nods. Instinctively he thinks about Fiona, even though she’s never had any kids. Probably never will now. He thinks she could’ve made a really cute one if she ever wanted to.
“Are you sure you and Mandy aren’t twins?” Ian blurts out, unsure what else to say. He’s always kind of secretly wondered about this, though. Mickey gives him an incredulous look.
“Just ‘cause your mom died doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you start talking nonsense.”
Ian rolls his eyes, extends his hand down low to clasp with Mickey’s. If they walk close enough together they might be able to get away with it. Mickey’s short, calloused fingers intertwine with Ian’s, which are long and cold. It makes Ian smile. A small victory from today.
“She was Ukrainian as fuck.” Mickey blurts out suddenly, as if it had just occurred to him.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. She made me the lucky winner of carrying that shit down, with the name and all,” Mickey really hates to be called or even reminded of his legal name. Ian would guess it’s probably because he can’t remember how to spell it. Ian thinks it’s sweet, really. He wishes his name was cooler instead of just the three letters. He’d love to have the special name from Monica, too. Ian, secretly, loves Mikhalio. He’s always thought it’d be kind of a sexy name to get tattooed somewhere on him.
“I always thought that was weird; that you have the super Slavic name but none of your siblings do.”
“Ignatius isn’t Slavic?”
Ian shrugs, swinging their hands a little. Mickey makes a dismissive noise. Neither of them would actually know.
“She’s the one who signed me up for baseball, too.”
“Where you got kicked out for pissing on first base?”
“Where I got kicked out for pissing on first base.” Mickey grins.
*
“Nice touch,” Ian says, gesturing vaguely with raised eyebrows to the makeshift fireplace that Lip has somehow installed.
Lip snorts beside him. Ian can hear the soft movement of a cigarette box. He glances over to Lip, surprised to find him lighting up in the middle of the living room.
“Tami just about skinned me for my pelt,” He says, about the fireplace before Ian can question him. He takes a drag.
“Tami’s pissed at you for a probably illegal fireplace and you’re smoking in the living room?”
Lip sighs and waves him off, but they move towards the back porch, Lip shuffling around some boxes and junk that’s on their back porch before they can sit down. There’s two chairs with a small pile of stuff in between them, but the chairs don’t look used. Something about them seems really lonely and sad to Ian.
The chairs are chilly against his spine and backs of his legs, as is everything else outside in the Chicago fall. Ian wishes he had brought a little more than just a hoodie, but he doesn’t bitch.
“I got these chairs from that old lady four houses down - Marsha, remember? She used to give us either fifteen or sixty bucks for mowing her lawn and we could never tell which it was going to be? - cause I thought, um…Well I thought it’d be nice to sit outside with Tami and drink coffee in the mornings, or somethin’. I don’t know. Maybe it was too romantic. She hates being outside here; says she hates ‘being reminded of where she lives now’.”
Ian is silent for a moment, letting Lip ramble; wax miserable poetic about his life. Ian misses when they were younger and would lie awake every night in their room whispering about their days or who they were fucking or what they heard a school. He misses when him and Lip used to fight about the black eight ball t-shirt and who got to wear it that day. He misses when it was him and Lip against the world, so much sometimes that he thinks he’ll choke on it one of these days when he tries to swallow it down.
Sometimes when Ian thinks about that, though, his mind travels to that time at Lip’s college, when Lip said he thought he’d earned the right to his own space and that Ian couldn’t stay with him for more than a day or two. Mickey said once he doesn’t think Ian will, ‘ever fucking get over that one’, and Ian secretly agrees.
They’re silent for a moment. Ian wishes they had brought the cigarettes outside with them so he could have his own.
“You and Tami doing okay?” He asks, but he feels stupid even bothering to.
“In a way.”
“So, no?” Ian smiles when he asks it, and Lip laughs, but both feel hollow.
Another pause. “You love her?”
Lip makes a face. He raises his eyebrows, drops them. Opens his mouth, closes it, tilts his head to the side. Ian watches him fumble for a minute, faintly amused.
“Okay, so no.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“If you can’t answer ‘yes’ within a few seconds, I think that means you don’t.”
“Jesus,” Lip sighs, waving Ian off with a weird hand motion, “You think you’re some expert on love because you and Mickey have been together…how long, actually?”
Ian scrunches up his face. He won’t tell Lip but that is kind of a sore spot for him. “First of all, it’s not that I think I’m an expert at relationships, because I got told I was a victim of domestic violence by the other two guys I dated; it’s just that I love Mickey. If someone asked me, I wouldn’t do this,” he mocks the expressions Lip pulled a few moments earlier. Lip flips him off. “And second, I don’t know. We don’t really have an, um…anniversary or anything. A set date, y’know.” He stares hard down at his pants, picking at one of the spots where the threads thin out. He can almost spy a freckle through them. “I mean, do we count the friends - with - benefits - time when we were like, fifteen? When Mickey couldn’t even admit he was gay and I was fucking him at the store? Or do we start at when I got back from the military?” He sighs loudly. “I don’t know.”
Lip lets out a whistle, nodding slowly as he continues looking out over the porch, beyond his rotting yard and to the endless rows of shitty houses. At least the sky is nice.
“That is tough.”
“Yup.”
*
“I think Lip made a huge mistake with Tami.”
Mickey grunts in response, which is about all he ever gives when Ian starts rambling about Lip. They spend most of their nights like this; Ian jabbering about something from his day that had bothered him, Mickey noncommittally being the second party while usually playing some mindless game on his phone. Ian was used to staying up late every night and talking with Lip before either of them drifted off, so when he and Mickey started to shack up, he'd continued to do it. Actually, he'd been doing it long before their rooming. Ian remembers a sweaty, much younger Mickey, muttering at him to please shut up after their fast hook - ups in the Kash N Grab fridges. Ian couldn't help it. He liked Mickey so much, he just wanted to tell him everything.
Mickey and Mandy aren’t really talkers, at all, but that’s fine because Ian thinks he’s probably told Mickey every single thing that’s ever happened to him since he was born.
It took a long time for Ian to realize that Mickey was even listening to his word vomit. Mickey never really said much in response - a high contrast from Lip, who had (usually negative) opinions on almost everything - mostly laughing or scoffing at whatever Ian said, so he assumed Mickey was tuning him out for the most part. Randomly, however, Mickey would say something relative to one of Ian's late night rambling sessions, and Ian would realize that Mickey had retained everything he had said. Mickey remembered a lot of minute details that even Ian had forgotten.
So this is what they did every night. It was one of Ian’s favorite parts of loving Mickey. He made mental lists each day of everything that happened around him so he knew what to inform him of that night. Mickey acted like he could give less of a shit, but Ian knew that behind that thin wall was genuine nosiness. They both very much enjoyed staying out of, yet discussing everyone’s business.
Mickey just doesn’t care very much when Ian worries about Lip. He’s only interested in topics relevant to Lip if it’s something he can make fun of him for.
“I mean, it’s too late now though. They have Fred, they can’t just go their separate ways.” Ian continues.
Mickey is sat up against the wall within their pillows, tapping away at something on his phone. Ian is on his back lying in between Mickey’s legs, head hanging off the edge of the bed and his ankles propped up on Mickey’s shoulders, his heels touching the wall behind him. He’s too tall for this bed, and Mickey enjoys gnawing on the thin parts of his calves, or really anywhere he can reach. Ian doesn’t understand why he would enjoy that because in the last few years he’s grown so much hair in every imaginable place that he’s begun to resemble Garfield, but he’s all too happy to oblige for any acts of affection from Mickey, regardless of how bizarre they are.
“Well, I guess they could. Co - parenting is all the rage. But I bet Tami thinks that would mess Fred up. Man, I can’t believe the shit Lip has gotten her to be okay with. I think Tami knew we were white trash when she got pregnant, but I bet she never thought it would get this bad.”
“Shoulda aborted it.” Mickey says, rubbing his incisor across the bone of Ian’s ankle. Ian twitches at that, the action tickling him.
“Nah, Lip would’ve freaked. I know he said he didn’t care and that it was Tami’s choice, but honestly I think he was just saying that to get her to stop yelling at him. He would’ve been devastated if she had killed it. Or given it away.” He thinks about Karen, about how utterly destroyed he had been upon the discovery that the baby wasn’t his. “Lip’s always really wanted a baby, actually.”
“Foster system probably has us on a list, man,” Mickey snorts, “I bet they’re keeping tabs on all of us so that even if there’s a chance at a new pregnancy, they can find a way to bar another one of us entering their fucked up system. Bet we’re gonna get a record for only people in the world to get banned.”
Ian snorts at that, despite how true it most likely is. “Fred is a pretty cute kid though, really. I’m glad they didn’t abort him now that I’ve got to see and hold him.”
“Got all of Tami’s genes, clearly.”
“I mean it though, Mick. Have you ever seen how he talks about her? He doesn’t love her.”
Mickey makes a noise. “I tune the world out every time your queer of a brother enters the room.”
“I went over to their place on Thursday, and Lip does all this shit for her - he installed a fireplace in the living room. How the hell did he know how to do that? I know it’s not up to code, but it’s a sweet gesture. But then we went outside to smoke and started talking, and…jeez, the way he talks about her.” He pauses, lifts his head to peer at Mickey, who’s scowling at his phone in his hands. They’re both in just their boxers.
“If you ever start speaking about me like Lip does with her, I’ll kill you.”
Mickey’s scowl deepens. “Don’t ever fucking compare me to Lip again, the hell?”
“I mean it.” Ian says, knocking the side of his face with his foot. “They’re going to end up miserable if they stay together. Those shitty ass parents who argue and fight nonstop but they stay together for the kids, or some bullshit. It’s terrifying.”
Mickey gives no response, besides reaching his hand up and running it down Ian’s fuzzy shin, past his knee and up his thigh. Ian sucks in a breath as Mickey darts his hand under his underwear, close, but still on his leg.
“You know I wouldn’t do that. Also, we’re bonded for life. If you start hating me you better learn to shut the fuck up, cause I ain’t going anywhere.”
Ian smiles, sits up. Brings his ankles down to the sides of Mickey’s hips. Mickey doesn’t look at him, but keeps his hand down on Ian’s thigh.
“You are so romantic, you know that?” He pauses, blowing out a heavy breath. “I’m just scared they’re going to end up like our parents. That’s the worst thing I’ve ever said, jeez. Please don’t tell Lip I actually said that.”
Mickey sniffs, shy all of the sudden after Ian calls him romantic. Ian watches the back of his phone for a minute, trying to get a peek into what he’s playing. Mickey downloads almost every single clicker ad he gets. “I don’t tell Lip shit unless it’s telling him to get out of my way, you know that.”
“Is it bad if I say that I kind of hope him and Tami separate?” Ian asks after a moment, hesitant. It feels wrong to say it out loud, but he’s been thinking it for days, and he already blurted the comment about Frank and Monica, might as well just go all in, he supposes. If anyone would care the least, it’s Mickey, who is thankfully the only person Ian even wants to tell. Besides maybe Fiona.
“Who gives a shit? Your brother threw his whole life away for no damn reason about four times, he doesn’t get a say anymore. And if it’s bad, I’ll say it for you. Tami and the kid should ditch him and go live a good life somewhere far the hell away from him.”
“Lip would never let her go far with Fred.”
“Tough shit,” Mickey says, “shoulda knocked up someone he actually likes.”
“Tami has a good family too, y’know. I don’t understand why she’s so okay with everything Lip is doing. She had a good life before him.” Ian keeps trying to find ways to imply that Lip has ruined Tami’s life without actually saying it, because he just can’t bring him to, even though he knows it’s true. He thinks about the glimpses he caught of Tami’s family’s house when he was helping them move. Polished floors and clean counters; it wasn’t anything to marvel over, but it was clear Tami’s life was comfortable. And now she lives in a shitty, broken down house in the worst part of town with Ian’s dropout brother and their kid, after previously living in an RV on their property. It depresses the hell out of him, it really does.
He looks up at Mickey again, whose face is still pulled into a deep scowl, illuminated by the glow of his phone.
“I think if we lived in an RV, I’d be okay with it.”
“Is that supposed to mean something? Is this your way of telling me you want me to get one?” Mickey scratches his temple. “I could…” he muses. Ian snorts.
“No, I’m just telling you. If you made me move out into an RV on someone’s property I’d be okay with it. Not thrilled, but okay.”
After a moment, he adds; “But only if it wasn’t on your family’s property. Our living spaces suck enough as is.”
“Shit, I don’t hate myself near enough to ever do that,” Mickey actually glances up at Ian as he speaks, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ nightmare. We’d have to live in bulletproof vests. We’re better off shacking up in a trap house. Or maybe an active war zone.”
“We should get our own place.” Ian says.
Mickey freezes. “Like, now?”
Ian shrugs, running his hands over Mickey’s smooth knees. “Nah, doesn’t have to be now. Just sometime in the future. It’d be good for us. I think I’m becoming too codependent for my own good the longer I stay here. Being codependent with you is fine, though.”
“I don’t know what that word means.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ian says, leaning forward to crawl over Mickey. He ducks underneath the hand holding up his phone, settling over Mickey’s chest and wrapping his arms around him, peppering kisses over Mickey’s neck and collarbone. Mickey makes a monotone noise, but wraps an arm over Ian’s waist and settles lower to make them more comfortable.
“We’d have to figure out where to go though, and that would suck.”
“Hate to break it to you but that’s the point of moving, Gallagher.”
“I just mean, would we stay in the South? Or would you want to go somewhere else?” Ian watches the game on his phone for a moment, something mindless with flashy graphics and colors. He squints. “Think we could fit in on the West Side?”
“You know I hear they offer jobs at the radio station for people who tell jokes, don’t waste ‘em all on me now.” Mickey huffs in response. Ian swats at him, Mickey grumbling and shifting them around a little to swipe back. Ian’s too lazy to actually put up a fight though, and ducks his head against Mickey in retreat.
Mickey is so goddamn warm, it’s like sleeping with a furnace. He often bitches about how they always get the thin blankets, but the truth is that Ian purposefully takes them because he can’t stand sweating five pounds off every night. There used to be winters he would have to wear sweats under his jeans and a jacket to bed, tucked on his twin mattress near the window back in his old room. Hasn’t been a problem since he got Mickey to start staying in the house with him.
“I mean it. Don't you want something nicer?” Ian says quietly.
“Everything in this room is nicer than anything I ever had growing up,” Mickey replies with a shrug, jostling Ian’s head. “I’m easily impressed. We can get a house anywhere and you can decorate it however you want. You’re gay, you know about that kind of stuff. I’ll be happy as long as we have food and shit.” He sniffs, then scratches a hand through Ian’s scalp. “I’ll build you a better fireplace than whatever bullshit Lip is doing for Tami. I’ll build you a million fuckin’ fireplaces.”
Ian smiles, pressing his face into Mickey’s collarbone. “Will they all be up to code?”
“Probably not. Actually, only if we live somewhere shitty. If we get a nice place in the nice part of town, I’ll build them as far off from code as possible.”
“Yeah,” Ian laughs, “stick it to the man, Mick.”
*
“What was your mom like?”
Currently, Ian is harassing Mandy at work. She got a job at the diner that’s close to the EMTs, which she swears was just coincidence. Ian puts up the facade of believing that, and comes in most mornings for coffee and to chat. Mandy usually lets him leave without paying, but occasionally he feels guilty and makes sure he does.
She raises a sharp eyebrow, and stares at Ian through her dark eyes. Her and Mickey look so much alike sometimes, it spooks him. Jolting to see his boyfriend’s eyes in a woman’s face. He doesn’t know why Mickey thought asking if they were twins was so outrageous; him and Mandy look so alike, whereas their two other brothers look different as can be, even between each other.
“Excuse me?”
“You and Mickey’s mom,” Ian says, “you guys have the same one, right?”
“I think Colin has a different mom, actually,” Mandy muses, dropping her gaze back to the plates she’s loading atop the bar counter. “Might explain why he’s so extra ugly.”
It honestly could. Ian doesn’t want to give Mandy too much of an ego, but it’s genuinely surprising how lucky Mickey and her got considering their family. They’ve got some really nasty mugs amongst them.
Mickey is without a doubt the most beautiful person Ian knows. He thinks Mandy is beautiful too, but it might help in Ian’s eyes that she’s the most Mickey - like of all the Milkoviches.
She pauses what she’s doing to look at him again. “Why?”
Ian shrugs, tapping his fingers on the counter, his attempt at being as casual as possible. “Mickey said something about your guy’s mom the other day, and I’ve never heard any of you say anything about her before. So I wanted to know.”
“Why?” Mandy repeats dryly. “Is one shitty drugged up parent of ours not enough for you?”
Ian waves his hand at her in a way to tell her off. She laughs lightly at it. The truth is that Ian had secretly kind of hoped that Mandy would sit down and tell him about a kind, round - faced woman who had doted on her and Mickey as little kids, or something. He was holding out for the idea that Mickey and Mandy had at least one positive influence as kids, but the reality is remaining just as grim as it first appeared.
“Look, there’s nothing to really say about her,” Mandy shrugs. “She had Iggy, Mickey, and I for sure, that’s all I know, and that she was like thirteen when she did it. Iggy and Colin remember her more than Mickey and I, but fat chance you’ll want to ask them about it.”
Ian makes a face, agreeing with her sentiment on the other two brothers. “Thirteen?”
“Mhm,” Mandy hums, looking thoroughly uninterested, “not sure how old dear old dad was when he knocked her up; was probably twenty eight or something. They ran in the same circles; fucked a bunch, took a break and went their separate ways, but once he figured out they had the two kids, he came running back - would never ditch an opportunity to have extra hands around. Afterwards they were kind enough to come back for round two for Mickey and I.”
Ian blanches at her, his eyebrows high. She remains noncommittal to Ian’s presence and keeps moving behind the counter.
“Is she dead?”
Mandy shrugs. “Could be. She’s either buried in the backyard or floorboards, or she’s halfway across the country with a needle in her arm. Who’d fuckin’ know? It’s probably the first, Terry never liked it when people tried to separate from the family. I know she helped him move drugs for a bit, probably why he kept her around long enough to pop out all of us.”
Ian feels a nervous pang skitter down his spine, not really wanting to explore whatever all of that entails. “Yeah, Mickey said the same.”
He watches Mandy collect more plastic, greasy menus and stack them, her thin hands hopping across the shiny surface area of the bar counter. Second to Mickey, Mandy is probably his best friend. Second to Mickey, third to Lip. Ian counts each of them in separate categories, because they’re all wildly different people. Mickey gets the boyfriend pass - of course he’s Ian’s best friend. Lip gets the brother pass, he doesn’t think he’d have survived his childhood without him. Ian often ponders if he and Lip would’ve been friends if they were strangers in school. Lip says probably not because he’s not gay and Ian isn’t friends with any boys unless he was trying to get in their pants. Ian is still on the fence.
That leaves Mandy, his only normal friend without any precursors such as the first two. So naturally, she is the owner for official title of his best friend, technically. Ian remembers all the nights they had spent walking up and down the grimy streets laughing and talking, holding sweaty hands, all the movie theaters they had snuck into and restaurants they’d dined and dashed at.
Him and Mandy had spent so much time just sitting on the couch or bed listening to music. There wasn’t shit to do unless it was something vaguely illegal, and both of their households fucking sucked (Mandy’s moreso than Ian’s). They’d spent so much listless teenage youth listening to Jack Off Jill and Beastie Boys CDs. He misses it. It’s never just them anymore, never really can be like that again. Ian doesn’t ever feel like any time at all has passed until he’s staring Mickey or Mandy or one of his siblings in the eye and suddenly he realizes he’s not that kid anymore. He’s not the lowly extra employee at the Kash N Grab waiting for Mickey to come in and pretend he doesn’t even know him while moving towards the freezer. He’s not skipping classes to smoke in the bathroom with Mandy and Lip, letting Mandy intertwine their fingers and pull him into slobbery kisses in the hallways, later muttering to her that she doesn’t have to play it up that much and Mandy only responding with a giggle. He’s not just another small body in the kitchen, trying to help Fiona and her dark circles that seem to grow each passing morning with getting ready for school.
“How’s Lip and that baby?” Mandy blurts out suddenly, breaking Ian from his only slightly miserable nostalgia run. He blinks, sizing her up curiously as she continues to move behind the counter. It doesn’t escape him how she suddenly won’t tilt her head up to make eye contact.
“Oh. Um, well it’s Lip. He’s alright, so far,” He says after a beat. He honestly has kind of forgotten Mandy and Lip’s odd teenage affliction. Mandy was shut off about a lot of things, but her relationship with Lip was one of the few things Ian was never allowed to even mention unless he wanted to get punched in the throat. Lip never had much to say about it, because he’s an asshole and can’t seem to ever actually pull his head out of his ass and reciprocate to any well - meaning and loving girl he somehow is always finding.
Mandy certainly wasn’t the nicest girl Lip had ever gotten himself wrapped up in, but secretly Ian thinks she was his best. Again, it’s probably his own bias.
“I think he’s more scared than anyone else, with the baby, y’know,” Ian continues. “Tami had a rough birth, she’s still in the hospital right now. It’s just Lip and Freddie.”
Mandy looks up once he lets it slip about Tami in the hospital. Her mouth is slightly open, and her eyes wide, but she does her best to maintain a portrait of indifference. Mandy’s always had eyes that can pierce right through you; both her and Mickey always seem to look straight through you, like they can’t actually be bothered to be interested in anything they see. But when they want you to know they see you, it’s fucking intense - especially Mandy.
“Is she alright?” Mandy asks, tucking some of her hair behind her ear haphazardly. Ian wonders if he’s saying too much. Mickey gets mad when he tells Lip too much, and vice versa with Lip. He assumes that rule applies double to Mandy, considering their history.
“Yeah, yeah, she is,” he says, “she should be getting discharged in a few weeks but…well, I don’t know. It’s like Lip is on suicide watch right now. We’re all kind of on edge with him, you know how he is. Needs help but would rather stab himself and throw his guts at you than ask…” he kind of ends up mumbling the last part, because Mandy’s face has gone a bit slack. She holds an empty cup someone had slid across the counter towards her, her knuckles going white around it.
“He must be really worried about Tami.” She says quietly after a moment. Ian wants to laugh. It's not that he doesn’t think Lip isn’t worried about Tami, it’s more like the reason. He knows Lip cares about Tami, but like all of Lip’s relationship pursuits, it’s to an extent. Like he’ll assign them a certain value to him, and after that it’s shit out of luck.
“Something like that, yeah,” is what he settles on saying. Mandy makes a face, and for a brief moment Ian wonders if she’s going to lunge across the counter and riddle him for details. Before she can, one of her coworkers tells her there’s a group of people who need seating and menus. Mandy’s interest in whatever else Ian could tell her becomes fleeting, and she shuts everything out for her mediocre job so she doesn’t have to think about anything she’s just been told.
It hurts a little to watch, if he’s being honest.
*
“Who was your first kiss?” Ian asks the next night. Mickey doesn't react, distracted by his phone, and Ian has to shove his leg a few times to get Mickey to actually look up.
“What?”
Ian frowns at him, leaning forward on his elbows. He's on his stomach with his feet in the air, which usually prompts Mickey to laugh at him when he lies like this.
“Your first kiss. Tell me about it.”
Mickey fixes him with a ridiculous look, and seems to hold back a laugh. “What? Fuckin’ why? Is this story time at the sleepover?”
Ian rolls his eyes, sitting up a bit to grab onto Mickey's leg, resting his chin right above his knee. “I'm curious. I want to know everything about you. I'll tell you mine.”
“You told me yours already,” Mickey says passively. Ian knows he did, but he's just trying to weasel an entrance for Mickey opening up. It seems like everything he’s learned about his boyfriend has had to be pried out with bloody knuckles and scabbed fingers, or it was offered up so casually he almost forgets it's important.
The truth about this one however - and Ian doesn't really want to tell Mickey this because he'd throw a fit - is that Mickey is a bit bad at kissing. Not in a way that's not enjoyable, and he's definitely improved over the years, but to be honest, Mickey was awful the first few times they made out. Ian is no stranger to an old guy who kind of just slobbers into his mouth, but he's never had someone who uses so much teeth. Their first few times had Ian walking away with a bruised smile. Even now, Mickey still holds his mouth open weirdly, like he’s unaccustomed to the task. And honestly, the notion that he’s never really kissed other people makes complete sense in Ian’s mind. Sort of makes him happy in an evil way as well.
“Why are you putting up a fight about this?” Ian asks. “Was I your first kiss?”
Mickey scrunches his face at that, jabs Ian’s side. “I’m not putting up a fight, you whiney animal, I was just messing with you.” He sets his phone down, scratching his temple. “I’m not hiding anything, it’s just that it wasn’t interesting. I was nine and one of the hookers my dad had in the house caught me staring, so she started fucking with me and kissed me.”
Ian stares at him, his entire body going stiff. It feels like the whole room has just gone cold. “What? Are you serious, Mickey? Nine?”
Mickey shrugs. “You know how it was with my fucking house.”
“She fucked you?”
“What the hell? No.” Mickey seems to realize his poor choice of wording once he catches Ian’s horrified expression, and doesn’t chastise Ian for being annoying or stupid for misunderstanding as he usually would. “No, sorry. I meant like, she came over and started to kind of poke fun at me. She kept asking me all these questions about sex and whatever, and I didn’t understand ‘cause I was so young. She asked if I’d kissed anyone and I said no, so she kissed me.”
Ian imagines his face has to resemble that of some kid who just watched his puppy get maimed because Mickey keeps talking, clearly trying to blow past this really fast.
“Look, she didn’t bend me over or anything, what’s with the look on your face? It was a kiss, I’m fine, Jesus.” He has suddenly become very intensely focused on his nails, which is one of his most obvious tells because Mickey never even picks at or bites them, he just stares.
“I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that, ‘s not like yours was anymore romantic there.”
Ian didn’t realize he was gripping Mickey’s knee so tightly until he sees Mickey flinch. He relaxes his hand, but doesn’t take his eyes off Mickey.
And, okay. Ian isn’t stupid - he knows how horrible Mickey and Mandy’s childhood was. He was there for the half of it. He knows all too well about their dad beating on them without reason, about him forcing them into terrible situations with drugs and creepy older people; that their house was something more of a cesspool of fucked up animals than an actual home - really, he knows that. He remembers all the black eyes and bloody noses he would see them walking around with, the rumors about their family and the things he glimpsed from just outside the house, and especially inside once Mandy started bringing him over. But it’s different when they start talking about stories from when they were younger. Ian doesn’t think he’s in the wrong because he doesn’t want to hear about the most important people in his life telling stories like this when they were so young their ages were still in single digits.
“That’s horrible, Mickey.” Is all Ian can offer in response. Something in Mickey’s face tightens, and he shrugs again. Ian watches carefully, his own face burning. He feels bad bringing this up now. He knows Mickey isn't going to say or even think that this is messed up, because to him it doesn't even register as a truly terrible thing. But still after a moment Ian says, “Sorry I asked.”
“It’s fine, Ian. Doesn't bother me.”
“It should.”
“You were humping guys Frank's age by fourteen,” Mickey says. Ian sits up, crossing his legs and fully invading Mickey's space. He doesn't get pushed away, but even when Mickey does get huffy and tries to throw him off, he never puts in enough bite to truly mean it. And Ian would know - he's been socked by him more times than he’ll ever be able to count.
“Yeah, fourteen. Not nine. It's normal to do that at fourteen. I wanted it.” Ian begins poking Mickey; just an excuse to touch him and to gauge how perturbed he actually is.
“I hear you can’t actually consent to that kind of stuff till you're eighteen.”
“Then me and you must've been men possessed,"
Mickey chuckles at that. Ian stares down at Mickey, who's gone back to being absorbed by his phone as a means of putting distance between them.
“What about your second kiss? Was that one me?”
“No,” Mickey sniffs, “was one of the neighborhood girls I was fucking. They always wanted to kiss, it pissed me off. Just greedy, man. I'm already in ya.”
Ian can't help but laugh at that. He's amused by the fact it clearly still bothers Mickey even though they’re long past the days of Mickey fucking random women. He’s also secretly smug regarding the fact that he and Mickey have gotten to the point where if Ian didn't kiss him during sex, Mickey would genuinely eat his liver, he thinks.
“So, what? You were just nice enough to comply?”
“Fuck no. She grabbed me and stuck her tongue down my throat. I didn't let any of them afterwards even try that shit.” Mickey seems genuinely annoyed by this, way more than the fact he got kissed by a prostitute at elementary age. Sometimes Ian thinks Mickey is the funniest person in the entire world, really he does. He just wishes so many of Mickey’s jokes weren’t based in his fucked up ass life.
“Why did you do that?” Ian asks suddenly. It's always bothered him, this fact about Mickey's promiscuity with women. Not in a way that makes him think Mickey is actually straight - just why he did so many of the girls around. And made such a huge deal about it every single time. “You were always going out and fucking girls in the neighborhood. You made such a big show of it, even once we started fooling around. Why? You didn't even like it.”
Mickey scratches his eyebrow, huffing. “Same way I did everything else when I was younger. Turned my brain off. ‘S easy.”
“For you, I bet,” Ian snickers. He watches him for a moment, mostly just an excuse to stare at Mickey.
“Man, shut up. If I had been conscious for half of the shit I did as a kid, I'd be fucked up in the head, like you are. Just needed to keep my dad off my back, man.” Mickey sighs. “Was an easy appearance to keep up. It's like jerking off with a few extra steps. Whatever.”
“It's really not.”
“Totally is.”
“What about your third kiss?” Ian asks, tapping his fingers on Mickey’s sternum nervously. At this point, he’s a bit worried for this answer.
Mickey looks down at his hand on him.
“That was you.”
“Really?”
“Mhm,” Mickey nods. Ian watches his entire face and neck grow red. It amazes him how shy Mickey truly is even after all this time. He has zero problems talking about all the horrible, vulgar things that took place in his house right in front of him, all the fights and dirty shit he used to do or was forced into. And yet the second he has to acknowledge anything about him and Ian, he starts mumbling and blushing.
Ian can’t comment on it because Mickey fights the vulnerability so hard he almost ends up strangling himself every single time, but he finds it so cute. Mickey still struggles to make eye contact when he’s doing anything that involves opening himself up, so Ian really can’t chance it. But it’s true. He thinks Mickey is so, so sweet.
“That’s nice. Cool.” Ian rubs his hand over Mickey’s sternum, pushing hard in the way he knows Mickey likes. Mickey likes it a weird amount when Ian puts his full body weight on top of him, or grabs him really hard. Mickey just likes pressure, which isn’t all that weird, considering his affinity for always bottoming.
“I don’t even need to look at you to know you’ve got a stupid ass smile on your face right now, man.”
“Come on,” Ian laughs, wrapping his arms around Mickey to pull him in closer to him. Mickey squirms and lets out a big huff, but Ian holds him; squeezes his arms and noses at the side of his face. “Can’t I be happy about my boyfriend getting to finally kiss someone he liked?”
Ian feels warm remembering the kiss - the way Mickey had looked ducking back into the shadow of the van so quickly, how fast he’d ran into the house afterwards. Ian had traced over it time and time again in his mind after it had happened, trying to remember every single detail possible. He still thought about it sometimes, the chasteness and simplicity of it. He used to think he’d have to severely drug Mickey, and maybe then after that pull a few teeth to get a kiss from him during sex, only to be shocked at him doing it so easily, in that small corner of their world.
The aftermath had been less than appealing but all that mattered was he got what he wanted in the end, especially now.
“Jesus Christ, ya homo,” Mickey huffs with a grin, turning over in Ian’s arms to press his face into the dip of his collarbone. “You embarrass the shit out of me every single time you talk, you know that?”
*
Lip calls Ian on Saturday, the ringtone waking him up. Ian answers the phone with a loud breath, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets to try and wipe some of the sleep from them. He doesn’t even register what he’s really doing until he hears Lip’s voice.
He tells Lip to slow down, and sits up in the bed. Mickey is gone; had to help his dad again fucking early as hell in the morning. He was in a bad mood because of that actually, but can feel it melting away as he hears Lip’s voice begging him to come over and help him with the baby. And it kind of scares Ian, the weird pitch Lip’s voice cracks at. He’s never heard Lip like this before. Lip was always the one who managed to stay stoic through it all - even when he had his heart broken by Karen, he’d told Ian about it through glassy eyes but a monotone voice. Lip never cries, and if he does he does it quietly, and where absolutely no one could ever catch him.
To hear Lip plead for Ian to come over and help him is so foreign, Ian briefly wonders if he’s dreaming. Lip says his name when he doesn’t respond after a moment, and snaps him back to reality. His awake reality.
“Sorry - you woke me up. I’ll be there, Lip. I’m coming.”
“Okay,” Lip says, so meekly that Ian can barely recognize his voice. “Thank you, Ian.”
*
Lip doesn’t lock the front door, even in the new house. That kind of surprises Ian, but at the same time, he’d bet good money that Tami drills it into him every day to do so, it’s just that Lip ignores her.
“Lip? I’m here, hey.” Ian calls, kicking his boots off at the front door, for Tami’s sake. He’s wearing his same clothes from yesterday, just picked them off the ground quickly in his rush over. He wishes he’d grabbed a warmer jacket - the house is chilly, autumn pressing hard against the walls and leaking in at an alarming rate. He wonders if Lip left all the windows open or if the house is just one of those old ones with no insulation. God, he’s seriously impressed Tami hasn’t come after his brother with an axe.
He calls Lip’s name one more time before finding him crouched on the bathroom floor. He can see Lip’s legs tucked under him, the rest of his body out of his view from the half - closed door. Ian hesitates for a moment, before gently nudging it open.
Lip is curled up on the tiles, in just a pair of boxers he stole from Ian last time he was at the house. One arm is tucked under his head, his other reaching out halfway to Freddie, who’s squirming around on a towel. Lip doesn’t even look up as Ian steps in, his eyes lasered in on the baby.
“Jesus,” Ian sighs. He squats down beside Lip, and quickly looks Freddie over. Lip didn’t say anything was wrong with him, but he checks just to make sure. After securing the baby, he turns his gaze to Lip, who remains motionless. Tentatively, Ian brings his hand up and rests it on Lip’s hip. His brother flinches at the contact but still won’t look at him. His eyes look red, with deep dark circles underneath. If Ian didn’t know any better, if he was an EMT called to this house, he’d say Lip had been crying.
“Lip.”
“He’s not hurt.” Lip croaks out.
“I know, I see that.”
“I’m going to though. I’m gonna fucking drop him, I think. Or I’m going to swing his head into something, close the door on his hand, I don’t know. He’s so fucking small, man.”
“He gets that from you,” Ian says, dropping to his hands and knees to lean down closer to Lip, try to get him to fucking look at him.
“If I hurt him, Tami will kill me. I mean it.”
“You should give her a gift for not doing it already,” Ian sighs. “Lip, what’s going on? Why’d you call me? Are you okay?”
Lip swallows hard, Ian can see him tightening his jaw.
“I can’t do this, Ian.” He whispers it like he’s ashamed, like if someone hears him they’ll thump him. “I can’t fucking raise a baby. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. I can barely stay sober or keep my fucking girlfriend to stay with me, and now I have a baby. I mean -” Lip chokes up, huffs halfway between a laugh and a sob. Ian watches tensely, afraid if he moves Lip will completely butcher himself.
“This kid is so, so fucked. I can’t believe it.” Lip continues. Ian wants to reach his hand out and clamp his mouth shut because he’s not sure how much longer he can stand this, but he doesn’t move.
“I wanted to do better. I really, really wanted to do this one right. Just once, help a kid with no fucking Frank influence. But man -”
“Stop it,” Ian cuts in, grabbing Lip’s wrist. “Just shut up, Lip, Christ.” He licks his lips, glances back at Freddie. “He’s not even crying, Lip. Relax. He’s just wiggling around on a towel, stop ranting about how you’re killing him.”
He waits for Lip to snap back, but he doesn’t. He just flexes his fist under Ian’s grasp, and clenches his jaw again. Ian sighs, jostles Lip’s arm softly.
“Hey, I’m going to take Freddie out into the living room and give him some clothes, why don’t you shower or something. Lip, please,”
He watches the rise and fall of Lip’s sides, and exhales sharply. He reaches forward and swaddles Freddie within the towel, scooping him up and close to his chest.
“I’m not fucking around. Brush your teeth at the very fucking least. I can handle a baby, Lip, remember Yevgeny?”
Lip snorts. “You stole Yevgeny and got caught by the police in another state.”
“Kept him alive and unharmed though, didn’t I?” Ian sighs. Freddie grasps at the material of his sweater. Ian looks down at him, feels himself smile at the gurgling lump in his arms.
“You made a cute baby, Lip. Also in case you haven’t noticed, there’s no car for me to run off in.”
Lip makes a noise beneath him. Ian kicks his thigh a few times until Lip groans, curling in on himself tighter. Ian frowns down at him, pressing the corner of his jaw to Freddie’s soft head.
“Lip.”
After a moment, it becomes clear that Lip isn’t going to get up. He’s going to be as difficult as possible because there’s nothing Lip loves more than wallowing in how own misery, and if that means spending all day on the floor like this, it’s what he’ll do. Ian brings a hand up to run through his hair, exhaling hard. He ducks out of the room to get Fred set up in a cradle that Lip has haphazardly assembled in the living room, eyeing it carefully as he dips Fred down inside. He presses a quick kiss to his nephew’s head before lowering him, then sheds his jacket to tuck around him once he finds no available blankets nearby.
With an air of finality, Ian marches back into the bathroom and tries to think of this as an on - call situation at work; like he doesn’t know the man currently huddled on the bathroom, like he didn’t get half - raised by him, like this isn’t literally his brother and best friend.
He grimaces, reaching down to hook his hands under Lip’s armpits.
“C’mon,”
“What the fuck, Ian,” Lip grunts, weakly moving his arm like he’s going to fight back. He doesn’t.
He allows himself to be dragged out of the bathroom, Ian having to pause and place one foot on the mat so it doesn’t drag along with Lip into the hallway. He pulls him to the far back, gently kicking open the door to Lip and Tami’s room.
“Do you ever close any doors in this house?” Ian grumbles, trying to keep himself focused. Lip makes a noise beneath him. Ian can’t tell if he’s annoyed by that or not.
He debates hoisting Lip up onto the bed, but he’s much heavier than he looks, so he leaves him on the floor. Lip’s head drops with a thunk that’s only mildly amusing. Ian wastes no time, flinging closet doors open and searching for something for Lip. He finds endless rows of Tami’s clothes. There’s very little evidence that Lip even lives in this house, he’s seeing.
“What are you thinking to wear?”
“Just leave me alone.”
“I think we should go for something easy,” Ian continues, moving over to a dresser in the corner of the room where he only has to pull open a few drawers until he finds Lip’s clothes. All of them look like he grabbed them out of the dryer, balled them up, and tossed them into whatever drawer was open from across the room, which he most likely did. Ian sighs, digging through and trying to find something that smells the least used. The thing about Lip, is he will wear the same thing over and over. It used to drive Fiona up the wall. It’s a weirdly Frank - like habit of Lip’s.
“Where did you put my kid?” Lip mumbles from the ground. “Did you leave him on the floor?”
“I didn’t, he’s in the cradle. When was the last time you did laundry?”
“God,” Lip groans, pressing his face into the rug he’s currently sprawled out on. “You and Tami about the fuckin’ laundry, I swear to God. Something about you guys…”
As he digs through these drawers, Ian briefly entertains the idea of doing a load of laundry for Lip, but ultimately decides against it because he’s annoyed and upset enough as it is, and he doesn’t think Lip deserves all that from him. It isn’t something that Lip is genuinely struggling with and needs some form of outside help; it’s purely some Lip bullshit that Ian is sick of dealing with from their entire childhood. He’d always leave clothes in random places and get mad if you moved them, because he was leaving them there to ‘wear again later’.
“Alright,” Ian says, holding up a white tank top and blue shorts. “Arms up.”
“Hey, Mrs. Doubtfire, aren’t you fucking done wasting your time?”
Ian fishes around one of the bottom drawers for a pair of socks, but tosses those onto the bed decisively. He doesn’t think his time is worth wrestling socks onto Lip’s feet. He turns around to Lip, pointing his head to stare down at him. Lip remains looking like roadkill on the rug, almost underneath the bed.
“Lip, come on. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”
“I didn’t ask you to do any of this shit,” Lip growls. “Just go feed my fucking baby, Ian.”
“God, Lip,” Ian seethes, reaching down and tugging Lip up by his arm. Lip makes an annoyed sound, shifting away, but Ian tightens his grip, squatting low so he can begin to force the tank top over Lip’s head. Lip decides to be extra annoying and fights it, jerking around unnecessarily and sticking his arm and head through the same hole. Ian yanks him the entire way, gripping his head with his whole palm like a basketball and moving it around, scowling. Halfway through, Lip gets really mad and goes completely limp just to make it even more difficult, so Ian has to hold him upright while also tugging the shirt down. He thinks about murdering him the entire time he does it.
“You are the biggest bitch in the entire world.”
“Why don’t you go play house with Mickey? Doesn’t he like it like that?” When Ian doesn’t respond, Lip tilts his head, glaring at him. “Remember that? When you were free childcare for him and his Russian whore wife? Probably why he liked you so much.”
“You should’ve been taking notes from me during that,” Ian sighs, refusing to take Lip’s bait, despite how badly he wants to kick his teeth in. “Can you move your fucking legs?”
Lip continues to make himself nothing but dead weight, much to Ian’s displeasure. He finally bites the bullet and hoists Lip up onto the mattress, where he immediately falls onto his back, his legs hanging off the edge. Ian rolls his eyes and starts to slip the shorts over his ankles.
“Whoa, fuckin’ watch it.” Lip yelps. Ian ignores him, rolling his eyes, tries to remember he’s a real EMT, even though there’s no situation he’d ever have to do this on a call. Probably.
“If you’re not going to put these on, I will. Just keep doing whatever the fuck you’re doing, Lip, really.”
He reaches up to grab Lip’s shoulder to try and lift him up a bit to shimmy the shorts on the rest of the way, but when he grabs him, Lip turns and bites the meat of Ian’s forearm. Ian shouts, and in a knee - jerk reaction, swings at him. His fist cracks against Lip’s cheekbone, making a nasty sound.
“Fuck!” Ian tears his right arm away, holding it with his left and staring down at the puncture from Lip’s teeth. He can already tell it’s going to bruise like a motherfucker. “Fuck you, Lip! Fuck! What the fuck is wrong with you!”
Lip is holding his face, turned over on his side again, half on his stomach, his knees beneath him and his shorts halfway around his knees. He looks ridiculous, and like he’s in pain, which Ian at least appreciates.
Ian glowers, flexing his fist and feeling the small sparks of pain shoot up his wrist. “God fucking damnit, Lip. If you want to piss everything away, that’s fine, do it. Rot on your floor for all I care. But don’t call me over for help and then fucking bite me when I try to, bitch.”
*
After clothing Freddie and getting him all happily swaddled, Ian makes coffee and eggs in the kitchen. The eggs come out at a level of ugly and depressing that’s a bit embarrassing for how old he is. It's likely due to the slight trembling in his hands that’s begun since he arrived here. Seeing Lip on the floor like that made him want to burst into tears; he wishes he could get that image out of his head. He wishes he could forget the way Lip sounded both here and on the phone. He wishes Mickey was here so he could hold Ian as he sniffled about it for a bit.
Mandy used to bug him all the time - tell Ian he needed to grab Lip’s hand and force it to sign the papers for college if he had to. Ian never took it too seriously, but secretly he agreed with Mandy. God forbid he ever actually say that to Lip, however.
It may not bother anyone else, but Ian will always feel minorly slighted by the fact Lip’s dropped out and isn’t going back. It just itches him nonstop whenever he remembers it. He and Fiona for years had tried so hard to get him to apply, but Lip had none of it and told them off while getting angrier and angrier. Then he suddenly relented and went, just to give in immediately and ditch. He knows Lip never wanted it, that he couldn’t stand the idea of being the rich, flashy asshole who looked down on everyone in the neighborhood - as if any of them would think him like that, or Lip would even let himself become that.
Ian hated him sometimes, he really did.
Lip was the cagey one who freaked if you even suggested separating them, ever since they were young. Like he couldn’t swallow the idea that someday all of them would all be their own adults and independent people. The idea of someone leaving the house had always sent him into a frenzy. When they were younger Ian found it nothing other than incredibly irritating - how furious Lip had first been at the idea of Ian joining the army, which was of course halfway across the world. Then the way he’d regarded JimmySteve after he’d left Fiona. He always got over it eventually, but in Lip’s eyes, choosing to walk away from them meant a permanent statement of saying you loved them less. Ian supposed that was a direct result of their parents.
Lip pads into the room softly, startling Ian when he turns to find him there. Lip, like Mickey, stomps everywhere he goes. To find him so silent is freaky.
Ian watches him for a moment, remembering the sting that’s currently going through his right arm from him just moments earlier, before he holds the pan out to him, which jitters due to his hand.
“Eggs?”
Lip blinks, somehow making the action scathing. “Did you make them look shitty on purpose?”
Ian rolls his eyes and swats at him, but is secretly pleased at the fact that Lip is well enough to joke now. He smiles when his back is turned to Lip, scooping the eggs onto a plate. He sees that Lip has sat down almost directly across from Freddie. He sits there, curled in on himself, just staring. Freddie makes no motion to notice his dad is now here and continues to babble nonsensically.
Ian watches him warily, unsure of what he’s supposed to do. Lip isn’t physically injured, so there’s nothing he can do regarding that. He feels restless just sitting here at the table, sedentary against this rushing mess he’s stumbled into. He gets up after a few moments and starts prepping some baby food for Freddie. He keeps glancing over at Lip as he does so, finally cracking and beginning to speak up.
“Where’s Tami?”
“Still in the hospital.”
“When’s she going to be released?”
“Oh, I don’t fucking remember,” Lip mutters. “Who gives a shit?”
Ian flinches, turning around.
“Don’t say that; you do.”
Lip snorts, which makes Ian uneasy. He tries to focus on feeding Freddie, which proves difficult because Freddie barely latches onto the bottle, and even then it’s only for a few seconds. He keeps opening his mouth and pulling away, dribbling milk across his face. Ian groans, but doesn’t want to upset Freddie and make him cry by moving him around to try and fix it. Ian figures if they throw a crying baby into this situation, Lip might very possibly turn into the Joker. He wipes the drops off Fred’s face with his sleeve, sighing sadly down at his nephew.
“You take Fred to see Tami in there?”
“Yeah.” Lip replies dryly. “She only asked me a million times. And to bring her a bunch of shit too.”
Ian turns his head towards Lip, his face pulled into a tight scowl. “I’m serious, Lip. Knock that shit off. Tami is the mother of your kid, she just had major surgery. If there’s ever any time you should back the hell off, it’s here. Have some decorum, you dick.”
Lip actually looks up at Ian once he speaks, glaring at him, but it doesn’t hold. His face drops back down, and he brings his hand up to his eyebrows.
“I was going to anyways, y’know. Visit her and shit.”
“Sure,” Ian says exasperatedly. He doesn’t feel like arguing anymore with him; everything about this is already making him sick with how bleak it is. He didn’t see that Lip’s life was so…terrible. And the worst part is it seems to be mostly because of him.
Ian turns to stare at his brother, as Fred squirms in his arms and jiggles the bottle. Ian just doesn’t know how to save Lip from himself.
“So what now?” Ian asks, against his better judgement most likely. “Are you guys finally going to get hitched once she gets out of the hospital? Saving up for a nicer house in a better neighborhood?”
Lip’s face tightens, squinting at the table as Ian speaks. He reaches a hand up to drag over one of the deep scratches - Lip had gotten it someplace for free, and neither Tami nor Ian had even wanted to know how or where. He digs his nail deep into the score.
“I’d rather get sentenced to lethal injection than marry Tami.”
“I told you, Lip, knock it off. I’m not kidding.”
“Neither am I.” Lip continues staring down at the table as he speaks, his face completely slack. Ian watches him through a hard frown, nervous. “I’m not going to marry her. Don’t want to.”
“You two have a baby, Lip. And a house, now.”
“Sure do,” Lip shrugs. “But I’m not marrying her. Sometimes I can’t stand her. Like I really, really hate her. There’s all these moments where we fight or she asks me to do something, and that’s all I think when I look at her. That I just fucking hate her.”
He glances up at Ian, taking in his shell - shocked expression at the counter.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. Like she even likes me.” He pauses, his eyebrows knit together in agitation.
“Sometimes I feel bad for her. She got pregnant with this kid, so she’s stuck with me forever. Now we’re both fucked, no escape. But it’s kind of her fault too, you know? She chose to keep it. Her family bothered the fuck out of me, I feel like I fought hell just to know if she was even having him. Christ. I barely knew her and suddenly her whole family was attacking me at work. She was kind of annoying, but I always kept thinking of her…”
He scrubs at his face with nothing behind his eyes, zombie - like at his ugly kitchen table.
“Whatever. We made a huge mistake, but she won’t actually admit it for years. Or until the next time she gets fed up with me. But I have Fred now, so it’s cool.”
Ian chews his lip, watching his brother as he holds the baby in his arms. Freddie is warm, soft, and incredibly tiny. He feels little again, when he and Lip had to help Fiona with Carl and Debbie when they were babies. Carl had puked a lot. Debbie cried a lot. Liam had been a good baby; really sweet and always smiling. He wonders what kind of baby Freddie is going to be.
“Why are you doing this, Lip?” He asks after a moment. “Why did you agree to stay with Tami if you don’t love her and you don’t want to marry her? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Lip purses his lips, seeming kind of impressed that Ian would actually ask all that. Ian almost thinks he isn’t even going to respond after he lets the silence drag out for so long.
“I don’t know. I like being with her. She’s funny. I never said I didn’t love her.” He glances up at Fred in Ian’s arms and adds, “And y’know. My baby.”
Slowly, he reaches his hands out in request to take Fred. Ian stares at him from underneath long eyelashes, letting out a heavy sigh. He thinks about all the times that Lip got himself into something truly fucked up, before weasling himself out last minute with incredible timing and ability. And all the times he didn’t make it out, but somehow bounced back impeccably. Ian thinks if Lip wasn’t so out of it, and Ian wasn’t holding his very freshly born baby, this probably would’ve ended in him and Lip beating each other up. But at the same time; Ian can’t remember the last time they did that. They’ve grown up, abandoning age old habits without Ian even realizing it.
“Eat your fucked up eggs and have some coffee, then you can hold him, chief.”
*
Ian stays a few more hours, hesitant to leave Lip again so soon. Despite the short distance between the houses, he feels like he needs to make sure everything is stable before he departs.
He gives Freddie to Lip after he eats a bit. Ian makes the same comment that Fiona used to as he clears his plate, telling Lip he ‘just picked at it like a bird’, to which Lip doesn’t find amusing.
Out of the corner of his vision, Ian can see Lip with Fred, the sight pulling something heavy inside his chest. Lip seems just so genuinely marveled at Fred's mere existence, watching him with sparkling eyes and a quiet expression. He's almost never seen Lip so subdued, all his cards laid out on the table completely. It makes Ian misty - eyed as he watches something so tender and bleeding. He wishes he could take a video or a picture of this scene, so he could remember every detail of it for the rest of his life. To show Fred when he gets older, point at how sweet his dad had been, how much Lip had truly doted on him. But he wonders if it wouldn't mean as much to him without the prior knowledge of younger Lip.
Ian makes them coffee, and together the three of them sit on the couch and pretend to watch a movie that Tami told Lip she saw on the hospital TV and really liked. Ian thinks it’s kind of sweet that Lip suggested it, but the fact that the bar for Lip is so low that him watching a movie she likes being enough to impress Ian is ridiculously depressing. Ian mostly sits on his phone, while Lip sprawls out on his back and holds Fred on top of his chest, staring almost unblinkingly at him. Like he’s afraid if he lets Fred out of his sight for just a moment he’ll disappear.
“I started a college fund for Fred.” Lip blurts out after almost half an hour of silence between them. Ian glances over at him soberly. The spot on his face where Ian hit him is beginning to form a nasty bruise.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.” Lip nods, petting the top of Freddie’s head, stretching the skin of his face back and exhaling a soft laugh. “Not a lot to put in there yet, but I want him to have something.”
“That’s really good, Lip.”
Lip nods and hums again. Ian watches him play with Fred some more as he begins to drift off into sleep, his round face mashing against Lip’s chest. He thinks about sneaking a photo for Fiona, or maybe even Mickey, but Mickey wouldn’t really care that much and would probably say something rude.
He thinks about sneaking a picture for Mandy, but something about that seems insidious.
After a few more minutes of silence, Lip asks Ian to tell him what he’s been up to. Ian laughs and says there’s not much that Lip doesn’t already know, but Lip insists. He asks Ian to tell him a bunch of small details from the last few days; just simple, minute things - anything. And Ian says okay.
He tells Lip about a call he took last week, where a lady cut the tip of her finger off making dinner for her kid who was coming back from college, and how she had bawled her eyes out to Ian in the back of the ambulance about how stressed she was from everything with her work and her husband. He tells Lip about a new cafe he and Mickey tried and really liked, and the fight they got into later that day that got so bad that Ian ended up trying to choke him out which caused Mickey to grab him by the collar of his shirt and smash his head back into the wall. He tells Lip how pissed Fiona had been about it because it left a small dent in the wall, and that she threatened to make them do some trust exercises in the backyard if they didn’t knock it off.
Lip really likes that story; laughs at it so hard he almost wakes Fred up.
“Jesus,” he huffs, “you and Mickey really are never going to change. That’s awesome.”
Ian rolls his eyes at that. He wants to chew Lip out and tell him that actually, him and Mickey have come really, really far, and he thinks with each passing month they get to a newer and more exciting level of relationship that impresses Ian every day. But that’s too sappy to admit to Lip - even Mickey would have a laugh at it - so he keeps his mouth shut. Lip closes his eyes and waves his hand, as if to motion Ian to keep talking.
“All I’ve done the past two weeks is take care of my baby and visit Tami in the hospital. Give me something.”
Ian scrapes his brain for anything else. He tells Lip about a new song Carl showed him, and a new recipe Debbie tried on Thursday that turned out pretty good. He tells Lip about a funny story of Mandy’s work she told him - where a guy came in and angrily asked her and her coworkers a bunch of questions and was overall just generally degrading towards them, but upon leaving he had told them, “Okay, well thank you. Good bye, I love you.”, and walked out.
Ian thinks that one is really, really funny, and Lip laughs for a moment, before his face scrunches up and he seems to hold his breath for a minute.
“How is Mandy doing?”
“Oh my god,” Ian groans, dropping his phone onto the cushion and covering his eyes with his hand. “Lip, don’t.”
“What? Fuck you, man, I can’t ask about someone’s well - being?”
“Shut up. You know what I mean.” Ian sighs, prying open a few fingers to stare down at Lip through that gap. “You have another woman’s baby asleep on you, and you’re asking about your ex - girlfriend from high school.”
Lip is silent for a moment, frowning in a way that seems almost contemplative. Ian eyes him warily.
“ ‘S my fuckin’ baby too.”
“You know what I mean, Lip.”
“Just humor me, Ian,” Lip eventually sighs. “How is she?”
Ian chews his lip for a moment, before he relents. He feels incredibly guilty; as if he’s just shattered something genuine.
“She’s fine, Lip. I don’t know. She’s working at a cafe by the EMTs so I see her often. She has her own place, Mickey and I go over on Thursdays to have dinner with her. She seems content, but I think she could get a lot more out of herself if she really wanted. Her and Mickey both.”
Lip is silent for another long pause - this conversation could easily be wrapped up in about thirty minutes, but Lip has managed to draw it out to at least an hour with his own difficulties.
“Didn’t know Mandy cooked now. She only able to on Thursdays?”
“Mickey and I usually bring over pizza,” Ian admits, quiet. Lip chuckles at that but it sounds strained to Ian’s ears.
“Yeah, that sounds like Mandy.” He says in a weird tone. Ian can’t quite place it. “She seeing anyone?”
“Christ,” Ian exhales. “No, she’s not, Lip.”
“All I wanted to know,” Lip retorts back, before he shuts up completely. Ian watches him go back to slowly petting Fred.
To Ian, that being all he wanted to know is maybe the worst part about all of this.
*
Mickey is already in bed when Ian makes it back to the house. As soon as he opens the door to their room, Mickey’s eyes are on him, tossing his phone to the side. Ian is so honored he gets full Mickey - in - bed - time without the catch of some stupid mobile game that he just collapses right on top, without shedding any of his sweaty clothes. Mickey makes a noise as Ian ragdolls onto him, but quickly wraps himself around his boyfriend, tucking his face into Ian’s neck. Ian has noticed he always does that; settles his nose right into the soft part where his throat meets his collarbone. Mickey nips at it lightly, smoothing his hands down Ian’s body. Ian melts into the touch, curling an arm around Mickey’s shoulders and waist to pull him in impossibly closer.
“G’night,” he sighs. Immediately, Mickey is unhappy.
“Fuck no, don’t go fall asleep. I’ll kill you.”
“‘M not,” Ian mumbles, his eyes fluttering closed. “I’m saying like, ‘good morning’. ‘Cept its night, so I have to say good night.”
Mickey chuckles at that, indulging him and pressing another kiss to Ian’s skin. He trails up Ian’s throat, fisting a hand in the back of his shirt.
“Where the hell were ya? Came back to an empty room. I got stuck in a conversation with Debbie for like thirty minutes.”
“Oh poor baby,” Ian groans. “Why does the world keep letting this happen to our wonderful Mickey?” He presses an obnoxious kiss to Mickey’s cheek with a loud smack.
“Yeah, yeah,” Mickey scoffs, still alternating between biting and pecking Ian. Ian secretly loves it when he does it, even if it does give him a bit of a battered look. He pauses for a moment to hold Ian’s chin with one hand, his eyes searching over Ian’s face with a fond look. He drops his hold on Ian’s face and reaches that hand out to instead smooth back Ian’s hair.
“Look at this, yer all ruffled now. And look at these eyebags…” He grins, his eyelids heavy. “What were you up to today, man?”
Ian rolls his eyes, smiling into Mickey. He lets out a full body sigh, settling. “Lip fucking bit me.”
“What?”
Ian shimmies his arm out, pulling his sleeve up. Mickey curls back his upper lip when he sees the bite, grabbing Ian’s arm and squinting at it.
“Holy shit. Is he a fucking dog?”
“He…like, lost it today. I woke up to him calling me and begging me to come over. It was so fucking weird, Mick. I’ve never heard him sound like that. He bit me because I dragged him into his bedroom and started forcing him to get dressed and, well…fuckin’ hurt.”
“He okay?” Mickey asks, almost sounding like he actually cares. “Baby alright?”
“Yeah, Freddie’s okay, nothing happened. He just… I dunno. Psyched himself up so badly he couldn’t function.” He chuckles a little. “He was like me in an episode. All spazzed out on the floor motionless when I got there, muttering about how he was fucking Freddie up. I shouldn’t laugh, I’m sorry, he said he just once wanted to raise a kid without an evil Frank influence and shit. That wasn’t very funny.”
“Ouch,” Mickey says. Ian nods into him.
“Yeah, it kind of hurt to hear.”
“He’s okay fucking you guys up but not his own baby?” Mickey makes a clicking sound. “ ‘S messed up, man.”
Mickey keeps chewing on Ian’s shoulder, and Ian knows he should tell him to knock it off or else he’s going to walk around looking like he just lost a fight with a vampire for the next couple of days, but he’s so comfortable right now and he loves Mickey so fucking much. He’d let Mickey fucking eat him right now, or any time, he just doesn’t care.
“And then he started asking me about Mandy -”
“Oh god,” Mickey groans. “Keep him the fuck away from her. Not this shit again.”
“That’s basically what I said. I told him off but he asked if she was seeing anyone and was all fucking weird…” He sighs. “It pissed me off.”
Mickey mutters a few curses and agreements under his breath, making Ian chuckle. But he still has an aching sadness pestering at him.
“That’s just such Lip bullshit, y’know. He told me the only thing he’s done for two weeks is watch his newborn baby and visit his baby momma in the hospital - where she almost died from giving birth - and then I tell him a story Mandy told me about her work, and suddenly he’s asking if she’s single and shit.”
“I couldn’t make up something to make him look that bad if I tried,” Mickey replies. Ian exhales a small laugh. He holds Mickey tightly for a few more moments before he continues, quietly.
“You know what else he said?”
“Obviously not.”
“I kept asking him, how it was with Tami, how she was doing. The mother of his child who is recovering from this horrible birth, and I asked when he was going to visit her next and - you know what he just…blurts out to me? That he never wants to marry Tami.”
Mickey pauses his gnawing to say, “Yikes.”
“I know. God, it was horrible. He just kept shaking his head and saying he could never do it; kept saying he hates her sometimes. That he made a huge mistake but he loves Freddie.” Ian shivers just from the memory of it. The way Lip had said it so definitively; the look he had in his eyes as he did so.
“I didn’t know what to say. I think it’s one of the worst things I’ve ever heard in my life.”
“Lip’s fucked up a million relationships before,” Mickey says. “That’s like, all he does, man. Ruins his life and then runs to tell you about it.”
“Yeah, but we’re not kids anymore. This isn’t some girl he’s been involved with for months and suddenly it crashes because he’s seventeen and a dick. He has a fucking baby, and - and a house with her. He’s an adult with a job, he’s recently sober, and he has a whole child. That’s his entire life now and forever, is raising this baby. And he’s still fucking it up. He acts…I don’t know, like we’re still teenagers.” Ian pauses a moment to collect his thoughts, trying to think about what he’s getting at. He presses his knuckles deep into Mickey’s back.
“I never, ever want to end up like that. I never want to be at a point where we talk like that.”
“We won’t,” Mickey says, no hesitation. Ian pulls back, disentangles himself from Mickey and presses him into the bed, Ian holding himself above him on his hands and knees. Mickey grumbles at the sudden separation.
“Mickey, I’m serious,” He says quietly. “I don’t think I could live with myself if we became that. Lip is ruining his life, and I can’t help him.”
“You’re not supposed to,” Mickey shrugs. He frowns up at Ian.
“Ian; Lip and Tami were fucking for like, what, a week before she got pregnant? I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but that can’t exactly happen to us, and we’ve been together for way fuckin’ longer.” He fixes Ian with a really serious look on his face.
“You spend all this time tensing yourself up so badly about shit that happens to other people and convince yourself it's gonna be us or something. Why?”
Ian keeps an unwavering gaze down on Mickey, worries his lip between his teeth. “Well, you kinda sucked when we were younger.”
“Yeah, that was my bad,” Mickey rolls his eyes. “Fuck ya want me to do? Go back and maim seventeen year old me? You held out though.” He reaches up and pats Ian’s cheek. Ian leans into the touch and feels himself smile.
“You were so mean, I don’t even know why I liked you that much.”
“Sex was just that damn good,” Mickey says proudly. His face softens suddenly, and he pulls his hand down from Ian’s face to squeeze his bicep, thumbing it through the sleeve. “Ian, you know I would never do that to you. If I hated you, I’d have no problem fucking off. Same goes for you, y’know?” He wets his lips, blinks quickly. “You start even thinking of me like that, fucking tell me. We’ll work it out. Fuck it out, shit, I dunno. That’s their problem, man. They wanna live with each other and be miserable, what the hell, y’know? Doesn’t say or mean shit about us. I'd do a suicide pact with you if you asked me to.”
Ian makes a face at that last part, yet feels his chest bloom with Mickey’s words.
“Suicide pact? Seriously?”
Mickey nods casually. “Like, we both get unhappy over something we can't fix, we'll just blow our brains out together.”
“I think it's supposed to be that if one of us dies the other kills themselves too.”
“Well, we can do that too. Was already kind of my plan, actually.”
Ian laughs lightly. “I’m just scared, I guess. Lip was the toughest guy I knew when we were kids, you know? He was the closest we ever got to a dad; he was my best friend. He was always going out and doing stuff for us, helping Fiona keep us afloat, and now…I don’t know. I feel like I’m not allowed to have a good life now that his is falling apart.”
Mickey sighs, looking up at Ian with shining eyes. “Man, you keep thinking like that, and I will fucking kill you.”
Ian rolls his eyes, but Mickey presses on. “I’m serious, Gallagher. I’m going to marry the fucking shit out of you and get a nice house and praise the shit out of you every single day, so your faggot ass brother can see how much he’s missing out on.” He stares up at Ian softly for a moment, wetting his lips with his tongue.
“Lip’s life isn’t over. He has time to save himself.” Mickey sighs. Ian nods, sensing Mickey’s quiet request to drop the topic. Ian could probably spend the next few weeks milking this, working himself all the way into an episode all over his day with Lip, but he doesn’t want to do that with Mickey. He has Fiona for that.
“Y’catch that?” Mickey raises his eyebrows. “He has time to save himself. Not Ian has time, ‘cause he doesn’t.”
Ian laughs, moving his hands to thread with Mickey’s fingers. “I don’t?”
“Nah, man. You got an actual job. And I’ll keep you busy when you’re not at it.”
Ian thinks his face is going to permanently stretch from how hard he’s smiling. He leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to his mouth. Mickey eagerly presses back, his hands lowering to Ian’s hips.
“If I coulda got you pregnant by now, I would’ve.” Ian says. “Like, a million times. Planned Parenthood would stay in business from us alone.”
“Jesus,” Mickey breathes, his pupils seeming to widen at that comment. “Yeah, I believe that shit. You fuck like a dying man.”
“What does that even mean?” Ian scoffs. “You like it like that. You encourage it.”
“Fuckin’ right I do,” Mickey nods, leaning in for another kiss.
They roll over in the bed onto their sides, making out for a while until Ian gets too tired and starts to peel his clothes off. He feels like a wrung out towel from everything today, and falls asleep the second he presses himself against Mickey's back, after a few kisses to his shoulder.
*
Ian has to take the late shift on Sunday to cover for someone on his team, which he bitches about the entire time but is secretly glad to have something to distract him from everything that happened with Lip the day before.
He trudges home well past dark, his hair a mess and his face slack. He can feel his dark circles, ugly and pressed deep within the lines of his face. He haphazardly throws all his stuff down in the house, knocking over multiple coats in the process of trying to hang his up. He lets out a defeated sigh as he layers them all on top of the hook. Kicking off his shoes, he makes his way up the stairs and into him and Mickey’s room. He expects Mickey to be asleep, or perhaps watching something contentedly on their laptop, but instead he hears muffled music as he nears the door. He opens it with a frown, to discover Mickey standing in the middle of their room, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, and a pair of Ian’s boxers pulled up over his hips. The laptop is propped open on one of their pillows, Born To Quit by Smoking Popes playing, one of the many albums Mickey only likes because Ian and Mandy showed it to him years ago.
Ian stares for a moment, before laughing softly. Mickey seems startled at Ian’s appearance, but his face softens when he sees him.
“Goddamn, Gallagher. Workin’ hard or hardly working?”
Ian makes a noise, tossing his bag at the foot of their bed and allowing himself to collapse on top of the mattress, his face smushing into the comforter. He hears the sound of Mickey padding over to the bed, standing over Ian curiously.
“You good?”
Ian groans into the mattress, rolling over onto his back and staring up at Mickey, one of his eyes fluttering shut against the bright glare of the light behind Mickey. Mickey frowns down at him, holding his cigarette between his fingers and extending it down to Ian. He takes it gratefully, slotting it inside his mouth and closing his eyes as he takes a drag. Mickey and Lip are the masters of never getting smoke in their eyes. Ian, not so much, squeezes his eyes tight.
“I’m so fuckin’ tired. All this shit with my fuckin’ brother, and then I have to go in to work on the weekend…fuck. I don’t know. Just exhausted.”
Mickey nods, leaning down to brush his hand over Ian’s forehead. Ian plucks the cigarette out of his mouth, blowing a plume of smoke out of his nose and smiling affectionately up at Mickey. He holds the cigarette loosely in his hand, hanging off the bed as Mickey leans down to kiss him, biting at his lower lip. Ian reciprocates, but not as heatedly as Mickey. The passion is there, but the effort is lacking on his part. He pauses, his empty hand sliding up the back of Mickey’s thigh, up his boxers and palming his ass.
“Mickey, know that I love you more than anything in the entire world, but all I want to do is go to bed. I’m sorry. I love you, I do.”
Mickey snorts, amused. He reaches back to circle his tattooed fingers around Ian’s wrist like a bracelet, just to feel him. Ian squeezes him back.
“Alright, grandpa. Let’s get you to bed.”
Ian groans lightly, as Mickey moves off of him and pulls him up to a sitting position. He pats the top of Ian’s head. “Arms up.”
Ian laughs softly. “Fuck you. Are you doing what I did to Lip?”
“Don’t insult me like that ever again,” Mickey shakes his head. “Now c’mon, man. Arms up.”
Ian complies with a gentle smile, holding his hands up. Mickey unbuttons his shirt, which should feel really sexy, but something about it isn’t. It feels tender, something quiet that Mickey has volunteered to do without Ian even asking. He was half ready to roll over and just go to sleep in his work clothes, but Mickey is taking the time to undress him. He watches him fondly, as Mickey pulls his shirt off his shoulders. Ian slides the cigarette back between his lips so it doesn’t catch on his shirt. Mickey tosses the clothing aside, before reaching down and unbuttoning Ian’s belt. They snicker like middle schoolers as he does it, and again when Mickey unbuttons and unzips Ian’s pants.
Mickey reaches his hand down and presses lightly against Ian’s dick, enough to make Ian’s breath hitch at the pressure. He exhales smoke through his nose again, sighing. Mickey motions for him to lift his hips so he can shimmy Ian’s pants off, throwing them across the room as well.
“Fuck, man. You’re gonna wrinkle all my clothes.”
Mickey sends him a look, a frown deep on his face. “Really? I just undressed you, prick, and you’re gonna complain?”
Ian smiles, blowing out a small laugh. He removes the cigarette from his mouth, reaching up to wrap his arms around Mickey’s neck and pull him down as he leans flat on his back. Mickey squawks as he falls down on top of Ian, but they fit together comfortably on the bed. Ian closes his eyes, breathing out a heavy breath as he relaxes.
*
Fiona comes home late Monday night, her hair a mess and her face almost gaunt in the pale kitchen light. Ian is looking over some patient paperwork from work when he sees her stumble in, dropping all her bags and her coat and shit on the floor by the washing machine. She makes a weak noise in her throat, and runs a hand through her hair as she turns to the fridge.
Ian watches her for a moment, before calling out a greeting. His sister jumps about a foot in the air with a thin gasp and nearly drops the beer in her hand. Ian watches with wide eyes.
“Sorry, I thought you saw me.” He says meekly once she regains her composure.
“You're fine,” Fiona sighs, her knuckles white. “I’m just high strung tonight.”
“I think you’ve been high strung since you were born,”
Fiona smiles grimly at that.
“Well, look at what’s been mine since.” She lifts the bottle to her mouth, and comes over to lean against the other side of the counter, looking down at Ian’s work.
“You’re not supposed to see this; patient confidentiality,” Ian says, making no move to cover it up or hide it. Liam could bring it to show and tell for all he cared.
Fiona hums, resting her elbows on the messy surface. She watches Ian scribble in one of the boxes, and shakes her head.
“God, Ian, when did you get so smart?”
“I’m filling out paperwork,” Ian snorts.
“EMT paperwork.” Fiona says. “You’re in the medical field. I’m so fucking proud of you, I think about you out there every day, you know that?.”
Ian looks up, miffed at Fiona’s sudden earnestness. She keeps her eyes down on the paper, takes another sip from her beer.
“Are you drunk?”
“Gotta be to work this job,” She says. “But I’m serious. I’ve been meaning to tell you, I just never have the time.” She works her nail against the bottle’s paper logo, trying to peel it off. Ian watches her. The bottle has begun to sweat, the pads of her fingers coming away wet.
“I’m glad I did something right with you. Can’t figure out what it was, though.”
“I’m the slutty, gay, bipolar, red headed middle child. I think your expectations might just be low.”
Fiona laughs loudly at that, rubbing a hand against the side of her face. “Predetermined factors, you can’t hold them against me.”
“Sluttiness really is a passed down gene with us, isn’t it?” Ian smiles. Fiona makes a face. “Shit, yeah. Look at all of us. You’re doing fine though, you and Mickey are practically married. ‘S cute.”
Ian glows at the comment. All he’s ever really wanted is for everyone to like and include Mickey, so each time Fiona makes a positive comment about him, Ian all but jumps up and cheers. He remembers the sting from the few times Fiona had implied her dislike of him. He thinks she’s begun to turn around ever since Ian has started manhandling Mickey into doing chores. He swears up and down that Mickey’s the best one to clean the shower drain because he has the smallest hands, and each time he does it pisses Mickey off to hear like you wouldn’t believe.
He watches Fiona for a second, trying to gauge the best way to approach the topic of Lip. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about everything that happened on Saturday. He just can’t get the image of Lip curled up on the bathroom floor like that out of his mind, the tone of Lip’s voice as he spoke all day. He’s seen Lip go through almost every imaginable scenario but he’s never heard him sound like that. Like a kicked dog.
“What do you think of Lip and Tami?” He blurts out.
Fiona glances at him. “Huh?”
“Lip and Tami - like, their relationship; what they’re doing. What’s your opinion?”
“Well, Lip’s a big boy now,” Fiona says slowly, “he’s got his own house and baby.”
Ian chews the inside of his cheek. “I don’t think he’s handling it very well.”
Fiona is quiet. Ian wonders if he’s throwing too much at her while she’s drunk and still coming down from work. He feels kind of bad now.
“You think he’s relapsed?” She asks. Ian shakes his head.
“No, or at least not yet. I don’t know, Fi. He um, he called me on Saturday, and asked me to come over and help with the baby. I found him on the bathroom floor, and he just…went on this rant about how he’s messed up his life and he’s going to ruin the baby and he doesn’t know what he’s doing.” He feels like he’s going to cry explaining it this time, and he doesn’t even know why. It was one thing to tell Mickey, but it bothering him enough to bring it up to Fiona, it makes him feel so juvenile. Like he’s fifteen and angry again, and wants Fiona to comfort him but doesn’t want to ask, so he stays up late on the couch until she finds him and prods him to spit it out.
Fiona looks like she’s seen a ghost when Ian looks back up at her. He just stares back helplessly, opening his mouth to try and say something but nothing comes out.
“Sometimes I hate him for dropping out of college.” Fiona whispers. Ian doesn’t move.
“Me too.”
“It’s not his fault - you know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Ian says, but he doesn’t really. Lip was always the smart one, the one who was supposed to make it out. And he quit the second it got difficult. And maybe Fiona can give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe Fiona will always have a soft spot for all the siblings.
Even though, really, Lip was never the overachiever at school. He only showcased how smart he truly was when it benefited him. Ian remembers how many classes Lip had failed only because he genuinely could not have brought himself to care about it, no matter how much Ian or Fiona nagged him about it. Lip has all these abilities, but no motivation or ethic, unless it’s something profitable. Or something to amuse him. He remains his own worst enemy.
“I did that a lot,” Fiona says.
“Dropped out of college?”
“Don’t be a dork,” she flicks Ian on the forehead. “I mean - cryin’ on the bathroom floor, say I couldn’t do this and I ruined my life. I did that all the time when you guys were little. I didn’t know shit either.” She raises her eyebrows quickly and adds, “Still don’t, really.”
“At least we weren’t actually your kids.” Ian points out. Fiona shrugs.
“Sure felt like it, especially with Carl, Debbie and Liam. You two were always my brothers though, I could hang out with you guys, y’know.”
“You smoked too much with us,” Ian smiles. Fiona grins back. She drags a hand down her face, making a quiet noise. “I think Lip is past the point of you saving him, Ian. You can’t bail him out of this one.”
Ian stares down at his papers. “Yeah, Mickey said the same thing.”
“Well,” Fiona sighs. “I’ll help Lip whenever he needs it, he knows that, but there’s no way for us to lift him out of this hole he’s dug. He’s his own man now, and if this is how he’s gonna do it…”
Ian feels nauseous, presses his palm over his mouth and rests his chin on it.
“It’s kind of funny, isn’t it? Lip was always the one helping you the most when we were little, and now he’s all grown up and suddenly can’t do anything himself.”
“It’s catching up to him,” Fiona mumbles ominously.
“You like Tami?” Ian asks, genuinely curious. Fiona finishes her beer before answering.
“Of all the girls Lip’s chased, I can’t say I ever expected her to be the one to stay.” Fiona laughs a little, fumbling for the trash. “She’s too cool for him. I miss when she would berate him over every little action.”
Ian sighs. “Should’ve shacked up with that professor instead, gotten someone who’d mother him and keep him in line.”
“The old guy he was obsessed with?”
Ian raises his eyebrows. “That’d be interesting. Can you imagine? I meant that one he got caught having sex with, though. The blonde lady.”
Fiona makes a face before saying, “Oh, don’t say that. Don’t remind me of that.” She groans, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her hand against her face, as if she’ll manage to force all the alcohol and sweat and work grime out of her system by doing so.
“Bedtime for Fiona?” Ian chuckles, watching her. Fiona laughs, but it sounds a little hollow.
“It was Fiona’s bedtime hours ago. Shit.”
Before Ian can make any jokes about carrying her up the stairs, Fiona leans way over the counter and pulls him forward to press a wet kiss to the top of his head. He blinks, perplexed. He watches her trapeze over to the stairs with a huff. She peeks her head over her shoulder as she mounts the steps.
“For the record, I’m still incredibly proud of Lip. I’m proud of all of you guys. I always will be. I hope you guys know that. I really do.”
*
Ian dodges a Liam chasing Carl in the halls, ducking quickly into him and Mickey's room, pinching the towel at the corner of his hipbone to keep it up around his waist. Once he pulls the door closed behind him, he lets go of the towel, which hangs loosely at his hips. It threatens to fall, but he doesn’t care because the only other person in this room is his boyfriend.
Mickey lies on his stomach sprawled out on the bed, watching something on the laptop. Or at least he was; Ian can feel his eyes burning holes into Ian’s spine as he watches him hungrily from the mattress.
He hears Mickey push himself off the bed, and creep over to him quickly. Mickey presses a chaste kiss to his lower shoulder blade, biting slightly. Mickey has a real thing for biting, which has never once surprised Ian, and he’s sure it wouldn’t be enough cause for any other person alive to even raise their eyebrows. He just really has the look. Ian is pretty sure Mickey would use him like a genuine chew toy if he allowed him, which he sometimes does.
He turns around and leans in for a kiss, but Mickey swerves out of the way and instead grabs a handful of Ian’s chest. It immediately pisses him off, and Mickey knows it will because he does it all the time and Ian gets mad every single time.
“Hey tits,”
“Fuck off,” Ian groans, shoving Mickey roughly. Mickey cackles, stumbling back. He shakes his head, falling back down onto the mattress, continuing to watch Ian dry and dress himself through hooded eyes.
He won’t say anything to Ian, because it’s a bit of a touchy subject, but Mickey is really into this whole filling out thing Ian has been doing for the past few months. Like, really really into it. He remembers the months post - Boystown, where the whole mentality of the place had kind of fucked with Ian’s head, left a permanent smudge on his brain that Mickey couldn’t rub off for a long time. Ian joked that he left because he was sick of all the coke and skipping meals he had to do to fit into the shorts, but even when he was long out of that place, Ian was weird with food. Randomly skipping dinner or sometimes making himself puke after long days. Mickey had only caught him doing the latter a few times, and he’d practically lost it on him. He’d amped up the coffee drinking, saying he was weaning himself off from the coke, but it was mostly an excuse to not have to eat some days. Then there were the random nights Ian would almost eat Mickey or his family out of house, and then beg Mickey to run to the gas station or fast food places with him so he could keep going. It was disturbing to watch, despite how casual the action of it actually was.
It had been hard watching Mandy do it when they were younger, and it was hard watching Ian do it when they were older. Both of them were so stubborn and determined, Mickey swore he was gonna snap one of these days and shake them for hours if he had to, until everything in their brains had settled into fucking place.
But now Ian’s big; thicker around the waist and arms and…well, everywhere. Ian’s always been pretty, but now Mickey feels like he needs to chain himself up sometimes from just jumping Ian everywhere at all times - though that isn’t anything new for them. If they couldn’t get arrested for it, they would most likely fuck everywhere from crosswalks to the DMV waiting rooms.
He eyes the soft sides of Ian’s torso, thinking about how the flesh there feels between his teeth.
“Well?”
“Huh?” Mickey blinks, trying to remember that Ian’s eyes are up there. He scowls at Mickey, and shakes his head as he pulls his socks on.
“Carl. Fiona needs us to take him to go get school supplies. Are you going to be able to handle that or do I need to take him myself?”
“Carl’s still in school?” Mickey scoffs disbelievingly. He sighs when Ian pulls a shirt over his head, turning the lights out on his really nice view.
“‘S his last year,” Ian says, though he sounds a bit unsure if that’s true or not. He might still be a junior.
“Hey, that’s kind of embarrassing, eh?" Mickey says. Ian raises an eyebrow.
“What is?”
“That Carl was the one to finish school, not you.”
Ian scowls, blindly searching for his belt. Mickey rolls his eyes and goes over to grab it off the closet doors and tosses it to him. Ian politely thanks him, and threads it through the loops of his jeans before he points out that Mickey didn’t finish highschool either.
“Well, yeah, no shit. Look at my fucking family. I’m surprised I’m as well functioning as I am right now. It’s a miracle I can walk and talk and all that shit.”
“Come on, Mick, you’re smarter than you give yourself credit for,” Ian says, walking over to him.
“Yeah,” Mickey scoffs, “that’s what everyone tells me.”
“Stop it,” Ian says, nudging his ankle with his toes. “I mean it. You figure shit out all the time. And you retain way more shit about movies than anyone in this house.”
Mickey makes a face up at him as Ian continues to crowd closer into his space. “Yeah, they’re going to put me in the leagues with Nietzsche because I can remember the actors in all the fuckin’ cop shows your sister watches.”
“See what I mean? You know Nietzsche. That’s fucked up, Mick. If you had made it past the seventh grade, you’d probably be dominating crazy college classes right now.”
“Fuck you, I made it to ninth grade,” Mickey corrects, but his scowl lessens.
Ian waves his hand, walking off a few steps. “I’m just saying. I don’t have any reason to lie to you, you already sleep with me.” Before Mickey can reply, he glances over his shoulder at him. “You didn’t answer my question, though. Are you coming with me to take Carl to the store?”
“Little shit can't take himself? There some injury I wasn’t aware of from last Wednesday or somethin’?”
“Fine,” Ian says exasperatedly, turning away, “I'll take him. Do you need anything while I'm -”
“Fuckin’ relax, Gallagher, Christ. I never said I wasn’t going. I’m just giving your gay ass brother a hard time.” Mickey grunts, rubbing a finger over his eyebrow.
Ian grins, darting his hands out to cup Mickey’s face and firmly press a kiss to his mouth. Mickey squirms in his grasp, pretending as though this is an action he finds pesky. “I thought Lip was my gay ass brother you gave a hard time to.”
“Not fair if I just exclude some of you. You know how it is with me - equal rights for everyone”
*
Carl takes his sweet time to actually join Mickey and Ian, causing Mickey to mutter under his breath for a good while. When he finally trots in, Ian does a double take. After a few moments of squinting, he snaps his eyebrows up fast in surprise.
“What the fuck, Carl? Did you cut the fucking sleeves off of Lip's Far Side shirt?”
“Yeah,” Carl says plainly. Ian stares bug eyes at him, wondering how hard it is and if it’s even possible to reattach short sleeves. “He's going to kill you.” Ian says. “He loved that shirt.” He stares at the cow graphic, crumbling and wrinkled after all its years of abuse. It had been one of Lip’s favorite shirts when they were little. Him and Lip used to read all the comics in the newspaper out loud to Fiona all the time. Even to him, this shirt was something sentimental.
“He hasn't worn it in years! Doesn't even fit in it anymore!” Carl protests. Ian shakes his head, turns away.
“You know how he is, man. Better not let him catch you with that when I'm home. Not in the mood for a Lip meltdown.”
“Fuckin’ amen,” Mickey sniffs beside him.
Carl rolls his eyes, but Ian knows he's just as aware as him about Lip's ticks like that; his odd and seemingly unpredictable possessiveness towards things. It’s like he spins a wheel for certain things to decide how he’s going to react to it each day.
“I’ll bet you twenty bucks that he’s going to come home soon and ask for the shirt, like, as a gift for Fred.” Ian says.
“Fred is like, a foot long.” Carl says, scrunching up his face. “Give it a few years, man.”
Ian rolls his eyes, but makes a note to remember this bet in ten years, give or take. He beckons Carl to join them outside the fence. As they start to walk down the street, Carl pipes up again.
“Why is Mickey here?”
Ian and Mickey both turn to give him nasty looks.
“Fuck you asking it like that for?” Mickey bites.
“What kind of question is that? He goes where I go,” Ian says at the same time.
“I just didn’t think he cared about my education, excuse me…” Carl mumbles. Mickey mutters that he doesn’t.
“You guys can’t do anything on your own anymore, you realize that? You’re not handcuffed together, y’know. Fiona asks one of you to do the laundry, I come down the stairs and guess which two people are both by the laundry machine. Debbie says she needs something from the store, guess who volunteers for it and who follows them without saying anything? Liam needs picking up and everyone else is busy? Suddenly it’s a two man job.”
“What the hell is your problem?” Mickey says. “Are you that fuckin’ pissed because Ian said that shit about the shirt?”
“I’m not pissed,” Carl counters. “You got a problem, man. I’m not even raising my voice. Every time someone talks loudly or for more than thirty seconds, you think they’re pissed.”
“We just like being around each other, Carl,” Ian says before Mickey can say something in response to that. “It’s nice to have someone always in your corner.”
“Must be, since it’s all you two do. I’m surprised Mickey doesn’t hang out in the ambulance at work with you.”
“Are you going to fight us the entire time we take you to the store?”
“I’m not arguing!” Carl exclaims, throwing his hands up. “I know Mickey’s excuse for thinking that but what’s yours? Goddamn, you two rub off on each other too much.”
“I wish I was rubbing off on you right now,” Mickey mutters to Ian. Ian whacks him on the back of the head while Carl mimes throwing up beside them.
*
Carl didn’t bring a list of things he needs, and Ian and Mickey are two dropouts. He’s really not sure why Fiona picked him for this, but he suspects it’s because she holds a similar view to Carl and thinks him and Mickey spend too much time together and are missing out on key moments of familial togetherness.
“Hey, there’s a buy one get one free deal on number two pencils.” Ian says, pointing at the small yellow sign taped on the shelves. Carl waves his hand dismissively.
“Nah, don’t bother. I always lose those within a day. I just use the passing periods to search for ones left behind in the halls.”
“Alright,” Ian says, exasperated. So far all they’ve actually picked out is a two - pack of composition notebooks and one of those really expensive Texas Instruments calculator, but Carl took the liberty to rip it out of the plastic and shove it down his pants, so now Ian’s just holding one of the store baskets with notebooks in it like a fool. Mickey called him gay the second he picked it up when they first walked in. Ian keeps telling him to knock it off because they’re starting to get dirty looks for it in public. Mickey defended himself by saying he’ll just start grabbing Ian’s ass after he says it each time to clarify. Carl asked them to stop talking.
“Do you need any books or anything?” Ian wonders aloud as they move through the aisles. Mickey snorts at that but doesn’t say anything. Ian gives him a look, but Carl must not have noticed because he just shrugs.
“Nah. If they want me to read anything, they’ll give it to me there. I only have like five classes this year.”
Ian doesn’t even know how that works but he doesn’t ask, because Carl probably doesn’t either.
Carl disappears behind one of the shelves, so Mickey and Ian browse through the books - or at least, Ian reads the titles while Mickey stands to his side looking incredibly disinterested. Ian doesn’t really know why Mickey always insists on joining him for these kinds of things because he looks utterly bored out of his mind every single time.
“Damn, look at the size of this fuckin’ thing,” Ian says, pointing at a huge gray book. Mickey makes a face, reaching out to pick it up as Carl walks back over to them.
“Hey Carl,” Mickey snickers, holding the book up. “You need some summer reading material that's not a Playboy caption?”
Carl turns to look at Mickey, and frowns. “I read that.”
“Uh huh.”
“Fuck off, I did. I never returned the book to the library ‘cause it took me too long. You can see for yourself if you really need, it's still under the bed.”
Ian stares. “You read Anna Karenina? Like, the one by Tolstoy? This one?”
“Yeah. I can fucking read, you dickheads.”
“But since when do you read shit like this?”
“Some teacher at school told me I'd never be able to; said I was too stupid. I just wanted to prove her wrong.” Carl explains, still glaring at them for implying he can’t read. Like that’s even their fault. Ian had spent almost two decades convinced Carl was going to end up somewhere along the same path everyone had been expecting of Mickey; not reading huge translated Russian novels with hundreds of pages.
“So you fucking read eight hundred and sixty four pages?” Mickey scoffs, pausing halfway through his sentence to thumb through the book and check the count. He seems miffed at the actual number even after he says it, still stopped and staring down at it with his eyebrows raised. “Just for fun? Seriously?”
“Yeah, and it was fire, actually, I hella liked it.”
Ian and Mickey glance at each other, letting out quiet laughs at the fact that Carl can apparently read books like this and still say things like that. Carl sighs and flips them off. “Whatever, guys. I get it, I know, nobody knew I could read. Ha ha, very funny.”
Ian turns back to Carl, reproachful once he hears his brother’s voice. He doesn't even know why Carl is so defensive about this, as if Mickey’s reading comprehension is higher than a third graders.
“Hey - I’m sorry. I think it’s actually really cool, Carl. Honestly. I never would’ve expected it of you. Lip didn’t even do shit like this in his prime.” He raises his eyebrows, staring back down at the rather brick - like book in Mickey’s hand. Carl actually sat down and read each and every page in there. Ian thinks if he tried to do that, he’d end up making himself manic.
“How long did it take you? Does Fiona know?”
“Months,” Carl admits, almost shy. “I had to look up a lot of words and some chapter summaries, but I would just read a little bit before bed every night. I was too embarrassed to keep going back to the library and check out the book over and over so I just pocketed it. Also no, why would I tell her?”
“You know you can renew your check out on a book, right?” Ian says. Mickey at the same time adds, “You know you can just buy books?”
Ian jabs him and rolls his eyes. “You should tell Fiona, Carl. She’d be so excited to know you have that in you. Plus, she loves romance stuff like that, she just refuses to admit it.” He thinks about his conversation with her in the kitchen a few weeks ago - when Fiona said she was always going to be proud of all of them.
“It’s not a romance novel.” Carl says. “But, if you think I should, okay.” He still has a bashful look on his face, but since Ian said it was impressive, the corners of his mouth have been perked up in a small smile. Ian watches him and finds himself smiling too after a moment.
Carl, his baby brother, who used to electrocute bugs and take bats to people’s knees; who got kicked out of several parks and birthday parties for attacking and biting the other kids and would melt his action figures in toasters. Carl, who always offers to hold Freddie, who hovers by Tami’s side more than Lip most times. Carl, who still says, “I love you” to Fiona every night before bed; who wants to become a cop.
Carl, who read Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, because his teacher said he was stupid, and he wanted to prove her wrong.
“Should we buy him some ice cream for this?” Ian whispers to Mickey.
“We should buy ice cream because I want some.” Mickey replies.
*
“Do you guys ever regret dropping out?” Carl asks while they’re waiting for the teenager behind the counter to scoop their ice cream. Mickey’s like a fucking dog - just about presses himself against the glass while drooling as he watches. Ian wants to tell him to knock that shit off because he’s always doing it every time they go out to eat.
He quickly snaps to face his brother. “Fuck no, you are not dropping out your last year.”
“Wasn’t gonna.” Carl crosses his arms. “I’m just asking, sheesh. I can’t believe I’m finishing high school but you and Fiona didn’t.”
“That’s what Mickey said,” Ian sighs. Mickey glances at them when he hears his name spoken, also much like a dog would.
“What’d I say?”
“That you can’t believe Carl’s going to graduate and we didn’t.”
“Oh. Yeah, I did say that.”
“I know, that’s why I told him you did.”
“You guys are embarrassing,” Carl says. “This is like being out with the old home folks. Also no offense, but I can believe I graduated and Mickey didn’t.”
Mickey flips him off but doesn’t care enough to argue because the employee is sliding one of the cups across the counter. Ian frowns.
“Since when are you out with senior citizens?”
“I had to do volunteer work,” Carl shrugs. “It was easy. You tell them you stayed up past ten - thirty and you have three old guys chuckling and telling you stories about their ‘wild days’. I can’t believe how much coke they did everywhere in the eighties, man.” He looks up at Ian expectantly all of the sudden. “You didn’t answer my question, though. You okay with it?”
“Yeah,” Ian shrugs. “I mean, it kind of sucked when I had to get my G.E.D. when I was applying for my EMT shit, but I can’t say I was really doing much before that. I skipped a lot of classes to smoke in the bathrooms with Mandy and Lip. Or chase people down with Lip.”
Carl giggles like he’s really reminiscing about this. “Hey, I remember that. When I got to aim a bat at the knees of that one football player that broke into our house? Man, why don’t you guys ever do anything fun like that anymore?”
“‘Cause we’re adults and our lives are boring as fuck now,” Ian sighs, grabbing the other two cups off the counter, nodding a thank you to the teenager. Mickey’s halfway done with his already, but Ian ordered more than he actually eats because he knows Mickey is just going to steal some anyways. They move to go sit down at one of the steel tables and chairs.
“I think all of that still really bothers Fiona,” Carl says, spooning ice cream into his mouth. Ian frowns.
“Lip getting hunted because of the SAT stuff?”
“That, and you two not finishing high school. Debbie tried to drop out last year, and Fiona nearly beat her with a belt.”
“Well, it’s important.” Ian says, knowing how he sounds. Carl rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, cause Debbie’s making a difference in our community.”
“Her welding shit is cool, man, be nice.” Ian chastises. Carl makes a face but doesn’t say anything. Carl and Debbie have always been closer with each other than the other siblings - it’s kind of like him and Lip. Ian wouldn’t necessarily say they’re best friends like him and Lip, though. But something in that realm of being the closest in age and scheming the most together.
“Fiona’s always going to be bothered by anything we do that falls short of a normal path,” Ian says. “Doesn’t mean she resents us for it; she just wants us to use the opportunities she never had.”
He looks up to see Mickey and Carl giving him incredulous looks.
“What?” He frowns.
“Nothing,” Carl says. “I’m listening, mom. Keep going.” He snickers as Ian flips him off. He finishes his ice cream and reaches across the table to put his cup and spoon (and the napkins Ian made him grab because he knows these two) inside of Mickey’s also empty one. He gets up and starts to walk over to throw it away at the same time Mickey begins pawing at Ian’s hands, trying to subtly ask for his. Ian slides it over to him, but side - eyes him as he does it.
“You’re always hoarking that shit down like everything is your last meal,” he scoffs, watching Mickey.
“Fuck you. ‘Hoarking’? That’s really the word you wanted to use?”
Ian is about to give a snippy response when Mickey pauses, and stares ahead. Ian’s eyebrows knit together as he stares at Mickey, before turning and following his gaze.
What he finds is Carl is standing by the trashcan, hands in his pockets and talking to another boy who’s suddenly appeared beside him. Except it’s weird. And not in the way Carl’s friends usually are.
The dark - skinned boy - who doesn’t look like any of Carl’s usual buddies, with bleached blond hair that falls in careful dreadlocks down to his shoulders, and a generally clean, calm look to him - is standing needlessly close to Carl, and keeps smiling at him even when Carl isn’t looking. He laughs loudly at everything Carl says, and Ian knows very well that Carl’s funny, but surely not that funny.
He turns to Mickey to double check that he’s seeing this too, even though Mickey’s the one who looked first, when Mickey smacks him on the arm and jerks his head back in Carl’s direction. Ian turns to see the boy now has his hand on Carl’s arm, just resting there.
Ian stares, floored.
“Since when the fuck is he gay?” Mickey huffs.
*
Ian runs through a million and one different ways to approach this topic within the few seconds it takes for Carl to come back to the table, after the boy gives his arm a squeeze and a shy smile before parting.
“It’s like watchin’ you with me.” Mickey snickers beside him.
“Excuse me?”
“When we were younger,” Mickey says, scraping the sides of Ian’s ice cream cup like he’s some starving man. “You were like, undressing me with your eyes every single time I was in the room.”
“I still do that,” Ian murmurs, watching Carl as he casually walks back. He sits back down in his chair and glances up at Mickey and Ian after wiping his palms on his jeans, and raises an eyebrow at them.
“What’s with the faces?”
Ian swipes through a million different things to say. He doesn’t know if he should ignore this and wait until later to ask about it, or if he should say something now. Luckily, Mickey is there.
“So, like, you switching sides now?”
Ian glares down at Mickey, who unsurprisingly still hasn’t looked up from his cup. Carl stares at him blankly from across the table.
“Huh?”
“That guy over there who was petting you,” Mickey says. “Or are we pretending that didn’t just happen?”
“Petting me?” Carl still looks lost. He glances over his shoulder, and Ian spots the boy sitting at a table a few rows down…with a girl. They seem to be engaging in a quiet conversation. He can’t read anything off of it. Maybe him and Mickey fucked up. That’s so embarrassing if they did. How are they gay yet unable to recognize other gay people?
“Oh. You mean Mitch?”
“What the hell, sure,” Mickey replies, already seeming thoroughly disinterested in this conversation. Ian drags his hand over his face, currently lost as to why he even likes his boyfriend. Carl continues to just sit across from them with a truly puzzled expression on his face, which only makes Ian sigh louder. Mickey shoots him a look, and Ian refrains from thwacking him on the head again.
“Okay,” Ian finally says, trying to be gentle, “Carl; we’re gay. And that guy over there talking to you, that was gay. So what Mickey and I are trying to ask,” he shoots a look at Mickey, who flips him off without looking. “Is…are you gay?”
“You guys think I like dick because I had a conversation with one guy from school?”
“We think you like dick because you were letting him rub your arm like that,” Mickey says. Ian could kick him under the table, but it wouldn’t even do anything in making Mickey nicer. He does it anyway.
“Um,” Carl says while Mickey throws a small fit. He stares blankly at the wall behind them, his eyebrows raised as if he’s suddenly rethinking several memories. As Mickey and Ian bicker, an odd expression dawns on his face. He wrings his hands on the table, and makes an odd, high - pitched noise.
Ian glances over at him, concerned.
“There’s nothing wrong with it, Carl. Obviously.” He feels the need to say.
“I think I need to stop hanging out with you guys,” Carl says quietly. “You guys are, like, making me gay…”
“We’re not making you anything,” Mickey scoffs, but it’s clear he’s amused. “Man, this is crazy. And Ian thought he was the only gay one in the family. I bet you’re pretty pissed you’re not special anymore, huh? Better hope you or Liam doesn’t develop bipolar now. Hey, what’s that statistic about how one in how many people are gay?”
Ian ignores but elbows him, feeling like he’s fighting against every single odd just trying to continue the conversation with Carl, who is beginning to look a little sweaty.
“Carl, you know we don’t care if you’re gay, right?”
“I’m not gay,” Carl says, sounding genuinely concerned. “I’ve had girlfriends. I like girls…or at least I think I did…is it possible to be completely manipulating yourself into that kind of thing?”
“You could be bisexual,” Mickey shrugs. Ian frowns, which makes Mickey grin wryly. “Oh, yeah, sorry. I forgot you were against that shit.”
“What?” Carl asks.
“Ian doesn’t think bisexuals exist because he met so many guys who used it as an excuse to cheat or deny their gayness,” Mickey snickers. Ian makes an annoyed noise and shuffles around, hoping Mickey isn’t too loud and going to get them some dirty looks from the people around them.
“I’m just saying,” Ian grits out, “I had a lot of bad experiences. But Trevor kept telling me he knew plenty who weren’t like that, so I guess, yes, Carl could be.” He pauses, staring at his brother for a moment. “You did like a lot of women…”
“Who the fuck’s Trevor?” Mickey asks, though not sounding like he actually cares that much. Ian flinches when he speaks, because Mickey’s probably going to start caring in a minute.
“He…was the guy I was dating when you were in prison,” Ian says carefully. Him and Carl both tensely wait for Mickey to say anything in return, unsure of what to expect, but Mickey doesn’t seem to care that much.
“Hm.”
Ian rolls his eyes, but feels a wave of relief crash over him. He looks back at Carl, who still seems utterly floored at everything that’s happened at this table since he’s pulled his chair back up.
“If you don’t like boys, it’s fine,” Ian sighs, holding his hands out. “Whatever his name was, of who you were letting pet you -”
“Mitch,” Carl interjects softly.
“- Mitch, yeah,” Ian nods, “if you don’t like him like that, that’s fine. He clearly likes you, though. And if you ever wanted to…talk about it I guess…” He tries to be somewhat earnest with Carl, who seems a bit touched by what he’s just extended, but the moment is shortly ruined by Mickey’s snickering. Ian punches him in the arm with a scowl, making Mickey yelp and swing back. They tussle for a moment before Ian grows irritated and shoves him back, nearly knocking Mickey off his chair. He ignores Mickey hissing and flipping him off and pulls himself closer to the table to keep talking to Carl, who’s been watching everything in mild interest. Their whole family is pretty used to watching Ian and Mickey fight like kids on the playground at this point.
“Look, I’m just trying to tell you, when I realized I was gay I didn’t…I didn’t have anything. I went out and fucked a lot of older guys, I got berated by Trevor because I didn’t know anything that wasn’t from porn or night clubs. I just…I had a hard time fitting in with everyone, who was and wasn’t gay. And it was really hard to date guys that…weren’t, y’know, Mickey.”
“Yup.” Mickey interjects immediately, probably incredibly proud that Ian said that. Carl rolls his eyes but secretly, Ian finds it sweet. He reaches out to place his hand on Mickey’s thigh, squeezing it.
He looks up at Carl, who looks as though he has already forgotten everything they were discussing.
“Wait,” he blurts suddenly, “I might be gay. You guys might be right.”
“Excuse me?”
“A few weeks ago, I stayed over at Mitch’s house really late…well I didn’t really think anything of it because we were drinking a lot and took some DXM -”
“Oh my god, you guys are the assholes who get high off mucus relief pills when you drink?” Mickey laughs, loudly. Carl gives him a dirty look.
“Whatever dude, those things are fucking huge. ‘S like taking horse pills. I didn’t puke, I enjoyed it. It was really hard to sleep on them, though. I kept closing my eyes and hearing conversations I wasn’t even a part of in my head.”
“Yeah, only ‘cause you took them with alcohol.”
“Carl,” Ian says, rubbing his forehead. “Enough about the drinking and pills. What the fuck were you two doing that makes you think you’re gay?”
“Taking mucus relief pills and calling it DXM is pretty gay,” Mickey snorts. Ian kicks him under the table again.
Carl makes a face; suddenly becoming incredibly interested in the action of picking at the table. “Well, I don’t know. Mitch started asking if I’d ever kissed anyone before, and then he told me he hadn’t. So he asked if we could practice making out.”
Ian and Mickey stare, while Carl sits there completely unperturbed. He blinks at them. After a few moments, he adds: “I think I kind of liked it.”
“You fell for literally the oldest trick in the book.” Ian sighs, but secretly he is relieved that Carl doesn’t seem to be anywhere near the shit he was pulling at his age. Ian never really registers how terrible all of that was until he’s faced with someone else young doing the same thing. It’s a weird paradox in his mind; where he doesn’t think it was messed up for him, but it’s different with his younger siblings. Maybe because he can now visualize how much of a child he’d truly still been at that age, or something. “That’s really all it took for you to do something gay? Someone just saying it wasn’t?”
“Yeah.” Carl shrugs.
“Did he say the DXM cancels out homo behavior?” Mickey snickers beside Ian.
*
Carl pokes his head in as Ian is brushing his teeth that night. Ian nods to him through the mirror, before leaning down to spit out toothpaste. Carl shuffles in, his hands fisted in the pockets of his shorts.
“Are you and Mickey going to get married?”
Ian’s hand on his toothbrush goes still. “What?”
“You guys have been together for years - like the whole time Liam has been alive. And you fight like an old couple. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Mandy and Lip,” Ian snorts, holding his toothbrush under the faucet, “and only like a million times each. Fiona might’ve said it once, too.”
“Hmm.”
Ian turns around, leaning his hands back on the edge of the sink, but not very hard because he can’t guarantee it’s not going to collapse under his weight. “Is that what you came in here to ask? You don’t have anything else to say about today?”
Carl frowns, kicks at something loose on the floor. “I don’t know. I guess so.”
Ian watches him for a moment, unsure of what to say. He doesn’t really have anything in common with Carl regarding liking boys, oddly enough. He had always kind of known; never wasted any time trying to do anything with girls except for the one time he had let Lip get Karen to blow him under the table, but that had been more of a trial in pleasing his older brother whose approval he was always desperate for. Mandy had kissed him a few times in school or when they were out in public and fake dating, but he hadn’t enjoyed any of them. He’s still unsure why she had committed that hard.
They had just never crossed his radar, unlike Carl, who’d always had some girl he was sneaking in the house or porn mag he had hidden poorly under his bed. He and Lip had had to tuck in millions from where they poked out under his mattress over the years, always hesitant to make too much contact with them.
“Do you think it’s possible to be gay for only one guy?” Carl blurts out. “Like, I don’t think I’ve ever liked a boy before, but now that you guys point it out, I wouldn’t mind dating Mitch. What’s it called if you're gay but only for one particular person?”
“Indecisive,” Ian replies. “You’ll probably look back on some memories soon and realize you were attracted to some guys at some point. Don ’t worry about it too hard. Like Kev,” Ian adds, after a moment. “I had a crush on Kev when I was younger. Mickey did too, he just refuses to admit it. It’s like, a rite of passage for gay kids here, I swear.”
Carl nods, still frowning.
“Mitch thinks I should be a social worker, instead of a cop.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. He thinks since I like hanging out with Liam and helping Lip with Freddie, it'd be better for me. He also says the only guys who become cops are the ones who want to be in a club for hitting their wives.”
Ian laughs.
“That’s really smart, actually. I think that’d be a better fit for you. Cops harass too many people. There were some real assholes I met when I worked Boystown. Definitely would get you a little more respect in this neighborhood, too.”
“From Mickey, you mean?”
“Not just him,” Ian says, lifting his eyebrows, but he did partially mean that when he said it.
“I don’t know, we met a lot of useless social workers whenever we got taken by DFS.” Carl says, which is true. Ian nods.
“Maybe you’ll be the first good one for the south side.”
Carl nods, his usual lazy grin forming. Ian smiles back, and they sit there for a moment together, trying to picture Carl in a setting that official and proper. With clipboards and a tie and shit.
“I don’t think we’ll get married,” Ian blurts out after a few moments of silence. Carl looks up at him. “Mickey doesn’t really believe in marriage.”
“He ‘doesn’t believe’ in marriage?”
Ian shrugs. “Like, he thinks it’s useless. I guess he’s kind of right…he says it only counts if you want government benefits and joint legal stuff. That it doesn’t actually mean anything with the actual love in the relationship.”
Carl studies him for a moment before he says, “But you want to get married?”
Ian smiles thinly in response. He doesn’t want to admit he’s always secretly dreamed of having that - a husband. He used to fantasize about him and Kash getting married, but the memory is sickly now, festered and unsightly in his mind. He’d never really entertained the idea with JimmySteve’s dad, always unsure how he truly felt about him. Gay marriage wasn’t even legal when him and Mickey had started fooling around; he’d never really allowed himself to consider it anything more than just some melancholy school daydream. But now that it’s within his grasp, he can’t lie that a part of him always has it on the edge of his mind.
“Mickey would marry you, Ian. Don’t be dumb.” Carl says, so matter of factly it makes Ian chuckle.
“Yeah? You think?”
Carl raises an eyebrow and looks at Ian like he’s actually stupid. “You don’t? Jesus, look at him. He went school supply shopping for me with you today. Who the hell does that? He went just to not buy anything and spend the whole time arguing with me because he hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Ian sighs, but he’s not actually one hundred percent on the validity of that statement. “You know how he is.”
“Yeah I do.” Carl says. “And I know he’d fucking marry you if you asked like, more than once.”
Ian has considered this. Mickey is annoying and stubborn, if anything. Sometimes you just have to bully him to get him to do anything. Ian thinks that’s how Mandy has gotten anything out of him their whole lives.
“Do you think Mickey even knows you can get married because you love each other, and not like, just for green cards and prison shit?” Carl asks, genuinely sounding curious about the answer. Ian wants to laugh, but honestly, it's a really fair question.
“It's not like we ever had any good examples of marriage in either of our lives,” Ian remarks. Carl holds up his hands. “Kev and V.”
“They're not even real married yet,” Ian counters, but he'll give Carl that one. “Mickey's probably just all freaked out because of what happened with Svetlana and shit. I don't know if he'd be up for any of that again.”
Carl raises his eyebrows, fixing Ian with a look that genuinely makes him feel kind of dumb. Like Carl can't believe Ian is saying any of this. He frowns back at his brother, who speaks before he can ask him what his problem is.
“Now you're just making excuses. You're so weird. If anyone’s the girl in the relationship, it has to be you with all this odd emotional shit you make up in your head for no reason.” Carl turns and walks out of the bathroom as soon as the words leave his mouth. Ian is left standing under a light that is fighting to stay on, and a rattling fan to think about that.
*
“Did that bother you today?” Ian asks, propped up on his side, his head resting on his palm as he stares down at Mickey, their legs tangled together. After their scheduled thirty minutes of making out and dry humping in bed every night, he gets chatty. Mickey’s already pulled out his phone and is watching something useless because he sucks.
“What? Running errands with Carl? I told you I don’t give a shit.”
“No, at the ice cream place. When I brought up Trevor.” Ian drags his hand down Mickey’s smooth stomach. It weirds him out only a little how oddly hairless Mickey is. He’s like if Ian kept around a talking Egyptian cat for company.
“The one you ditched multiple times to see me after I escaped prison and then almost ran away to Mexico with me while still dating?” Mickey snorts. “Yeah, I’m really bothered by that one.”
Ian rolls his eyes, shifting closer to Mickey. He tucks his head into the small space between Mickey’s shoulder and chin and wraps his arms around him, pulling Mickey half on top of him. Mickey makes a noise at being hauled around, but settles onto Ian with no resistance.
“So you’re not bothered by me saying stuff about my exes?”
“Don’t want to hear you say shit about them,” Mickey says. “But if it’s something useless like that then no, I don’t care.”
Ian stares at his boyfriend’s smaller hands and wrists, letting his mind wander over to Caleb and Trevor. He rarely thinks about them these days, if at all. Both of them had been nice, but felt so unfathomably dull compared to the intense and exciting feat of all the years Ian had built up with Mickey - how intertwined their souls felt at this point, as cheesy as it was to say. Ian doesn’t think there’s another person in the world that he knows as well as Mickey, someone whose behavior he can predict and anticipate as much as him. Well, maybe Lip.
Mickey doesn’t really know anything about them because there’s never anything worth saying, and Ian’s always been worried mention of them would upset him. He’s fine with that though, because he thinks if Mickey had actually dated anyone else, he’d be evil about it. He knows they’re both way too possessive about each other for their own good but neither of them think it’s a bad thing. Ian likes it that way, honest. He thinks it’s kind of sweet that they view each other as the only other person in their world when both of them are so ran through.
“Is there anything you want to ask me about them?”
“What is your fuckin’ deal tonight? Did you go out and touch someone else today or something?”
“No,” Ian groans, dipping his head down. “Don’t even joke about that shit. I’m just - I’m trying to be open. If you ever dated anyone else I’d be really curious about it. So I’m telling you if you want to know anything or set any boundaries about it, you can.”
Mickey eyes him warily still, his phone seemingly forgotten at this point. “Um, alright.”
“So?”
“So what? I don’t want to hear about you fucking and doing romantic shit with other guys, man. Sorry I’m not into that.”
“I never liked either of them even close to the way I like you.” Ian says softly. Mickey blinks at him, silenced by his sudden tenderness. Ian knows he’s probably pushing too hard and is only going to end up with Mickey going mute from doing too much too sudden, but Mickey is so soft and looks so good in bed tonight, Ian can’t hold himself back.
“Everything I did with them, I compared them to you in my head every time. I wouldn’t even realize I was doing it until they’d ask me what I was thinking about, or if something was okay.”
Mickey hums in response. His face is slowly being enveloped by an intense blush.
“The first guy was kind of crazy. I had no idea what I was doing,” Ian says, surprising himself with his own honesty. He’d never really verbalized any of his thoughts on Caleb or Trevor post - relationship. He’d blown through everything so fast, barely giving himself time to stop and register what he was even actually doing with himself. He’d discussed them with Mandy a few times, but it was hard to get anywhere without revealing some part of his really intimate habits or sex life with her own brother.
“I think I just missed you so much, I was desperate to find something again really fast - like I could find someone else to fool around with so I wouldn’t be stuck just thinking about you every night, all fuckin’ sad. And then he was telling me all this stuff about how I could be an EMT, and it was all exactly what I wanted to hear. But then Lip and I caught him cheating on me with a girl and -”
Mickey promptly bursts out laughing. Ian groans and tries to pull away but Mickey latches on, still shaking with laughter as he holds Ian down through his attempts to put space between them.
“Fuck you, it’s not fucking funny,” Ian huffs.
“Yes it is, holy shit. A woman? You got cheated on by a firefighter with a woman?”
“It was a weird leftover thing from high school,” Ian sighs, already knowing nothing he could possibly say would stop Mickey from laughing or finding this utterly hilarious. “I hate you. I take back everything I just told you. You fucking suck and I don’t even like you.”
“Yeah, yeah, I despise you too,” Mickey says, still giggling. He settles his head close to Ian, grinning at him in a way that is irritating as hell. He frowns back, but it's weak and he only half means it. Sometimes he allows Mickey to make jokes about things he'd genuinely hate anyone else for.
“Trevor was really weird to date. He was so…liberal.”
This makes Mickey snicker really hard, which he knew it would.
“He was sweet, though. Well - meaning.” Ian frowns, scratching a hand through Mickey's hair, smoothing his thumb over Mickey's temple affectionately. “I don't even remember what the fuck we talked about. We were so different.” He folds his arm beneath his head, readjusting his head on the pillow. “He thought we were in an abusive relationship, you know.”
“You two?”
“No, us.”
“What the fuck?”
Mickey seems truly miffed by this, as if he can't fathom what about the two of them would make anyone ever think that. “I give you so much freedom. I'm so motherfucking good to you.”
Ian beams at that, laughing a little. “I know. You’re soooo good to me. So, so fucking kind.” Mickey huffs, but impressively, does not look away.
“It was really strange,” Ian muses, his hands still preoccupied with Mickey's scalp. “He was under the impression I had, like, battered women's syndrome, just from the way I spoke about you and the stories I told. I don’t know; he just couldn’t understand how we could, like, punch each other and still be in love.” He pauses, scrunching up his face as he recalls more memories. “He drove a Subaru. And he worked at this shelter for messed up gay kids and shit. Um, Fiona told me once she thinks I internalize all my problems and hide my real issues, but I just didn't want him to think of me as another kid at his shelter.”
“Or he was just a terrible counselor,” Mickey offers. Ian smiles, tugging Mickey closer by his head.
“That too.”
He pulls Mickey in close, meets him halfway with an open mouthed kiss. They lie there together, pressing closer and closer as they continue to lick into each other’s mouths. Ian threads their hands together, letting out soft noises of content as they continue, which are quickly drowned inside of Mickey’s mouth.
“Jesus, Gallagher,” Mickey mumbles, “I really can't leave you on your own. Look at the shit you get yourself into when I'm not around.”
Ian hums, his eyes fluttering closed. “Hmm. Yeah. Don't know what to do without you.”
*
On Thursday, Liam has a doctor's appointment - physical for school. Ian knows because it was written on the fridge calendar and he’d overheard Fiona reminding Liam to be up and ready for it nonstop these past few days. As such, he’s quite surprised to be woken up at eight - thirty that morning to Liam poking him in the shoulder, dressed neatly and looking down at him with his big, polite eyes.
Ian looks up with a groan, squinting at his brother. “Liam?”
“Fiona won’t get up.” Liam says. “My appointment is in fifteen minutes.”
Ian frowns, forcing himself to sit up. Mickey makes a displeased noise, shifting in his sleep beside him.
“What do you mean? Is she alright?”
“I don’t know. I keep shaking her but she won’t get up. She’s just laying there in bed.”
Ian feels something go cold in his stomach. It’s as though something achingly familiar is creeping into the room now, but he can’t put his finger onto what or why. He sighs, trying not to tense up and create what could be unnecessary worry for Liam.
“Shit,” he sighs. He rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes to try and wake himself up, glancing back at Liam. “Do I need to take you?”
“Unless you can wake Fiona up, I think so. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize buddy, I’m not mad,” Ian yawns. “Okay, okay. Give me a minute. I’ll be down in a second.”
Liam thanks him and scampers out of the room. Ian really hopes he’s going to start some coffee for him. He scrubs a hand over his face once more, before leaning down and draping himself over Mickey. He rests his chin on Mickey’s shoulder, his breath blowing faintly across Mickey’s face.
Mickey is a fucking tank - he can sleep through genuinely anything. The house could be picked up and moved thousands of miles away while a million planes bombed it, and Mickey would simply turn over and keep snoring - yet small ministrations from Ian often seem to be the thing that wakes him from his deep bear - like hibernation sleep.
“Wanna take Liam to the doctor with me?” Ian whispers hopefully. Mickey groans, his eyes still not opening. Ian taps his fingers down his sternum, leans closer to Mickey’s face to nip at his cheekbone.
“Please? Pleaseee Mick…I’ll buy you a coffee…I’ll blow you…please…best boyfriend in the world…love of my lifeeee…named Mickey…”
“I get that shit without having to get up early as fuck,” Mickey grumbles, but his left hand does find it’s way towards Ian’s back, scratching up it fondly. Ian feebly attempts a few more times to get Mickey up, reasoning that eight - thirty really isn’t even that early, but it’s to no avail. Despite being annoyed, he gives Mickey a goodbye kiss after he’s dressed himself and heads out the door, letting it slam a bit to show he’s annoyed, because he’s petty.
Right before he heads downstairs, Ian peeks into Fiona’s room. The blinds are drawn tightly over the windows, and there’s a small lump on the bed in the darkness, unmoving and curled up tightly. Fiona is catlike in her sleep; always either stretched out as long as possible, or tiny and unmoving in the fetal position.
He leans against the wood, frowns into the dark pocket that’s replaced his sister’s once softly cluttered, quaint room all of the sudden. He raps his knuckles lightly on the frame.
“Fiona? You okay?”
There’s the shuffling of bedsheets, but no response. Liam is calling him downstairs, urgently reminding him they have to go. Ian reluctantly pulls away and hops down the steps.
Him and Liam rush down the street to the bus, catching it just before it pulls away. They find some seats that aren’t completely disgusting and Liam tells him about school and something odd his classmates have been up to. Ian is always so impressed by nearly everything about Liam; how well - spoken and collected he is for someone so young, and especially for someone who grew up in their household. Ian thinks that secretly, Liam might be the best thing that’ll ever happen to them. He wishes he could give him everything, to make sure it stays that way.
*
Even though he had a cup at home, Ian stops at a coffee shop on the way home to buy Liam a tea and muffin, and they walk back home with a lingering gait, savoring their drinks and Liam’s retelling of a movie Debbie took him to last week.
When they enter the house, Carl and Mickey are on the couch watching something cheap and trashy looking, and Debbie’s in the kitchen. Liam joins Carl and Micky, and Ian wordlessly pauses to press a chaste kiss to Mickey’s mouth as he passes through. Carl makes a face and tells them to get a room. Mickey flips him off, head still tilted up for Ian’s easy access. Ian walks away with a snicker.
“Hey, Debs,” he says, reaching into the fridge for a beer. Debbie glances over at Ian, and when she sees him, a distressed look crosses her face. Ian asks what’s up - already having an idea but hoping he’s wrong - while twisting the cap off the beer.
“Fiona won’t get up.” She says quietly. Ian feels a pit in his stomach open up; Fiona had been nagging at his mind all morning since he peeked in the room and saw her like that, but he’d managed to convince himself for the most part that it was nothing.
“Still?”
Debbie shakes her head. “I think she missed work. Carl and I took turns trying to get her up, but she kept telling us she was tired and to let her sleep.” She slumps her shoulders, leaning back against the counter. “You know how she is. She won’t yell at me and him.”
“Yeah, lucky you two,” Ian sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck.”
“You don’t think she’s…do you think -”
“If it was bipolar, it would’ve been triggered way before now.” Ian says. “At least I think so. Look at all the shit we put her through. No way.”
Debbie and him both unconsciously glance upwards near the stairs. Ian feels a mounting tension begin.
“She wouldn’t even get up for Liam’s doctor appointment this morning,” Ian whispers. Debbie makes a soft noise, like Ian’s hurt her. He reaches out to rub her shoulder, pushing himself off the counter to move out of the dining room, angling his neck to stare up the stairs.
“You bring her food or coffee? Water?”
“Carl did earlier. Doubt she touched it. He was up there a long time trying to get her up.”
Ian looks at his sister sadly, his knuckles around the bottle going white.
“She’s been drinking a lot more lately,” Debbie says quietly. “Have you noticed that?”
“No,” Ian says, guilt dripping through him. “She came home drunk a while ago, and stayed to talk to me and then had another beer but I just thought it was because of work…I didn’t…shit,”
“Don’t kick yourself, Ian,” Debbie says, “we’re not responsible for her. She knows she needs to watch it, especially after Lip.”
Ian tilts his head, looking at her with a frown.
“Yeah, I know. I just…we owe her that much, y’know?”
Debbie nods, continuing to stand in the corner and look sad. Maybe it’s guilt; Ian can’t really tell. He feels weird standing here drinking beer after this conversation - though he almost never finishes his them and hands them off to Mickey. His meds fuck with them too much.
Ian sighs, throwing his sister one last reproachful look before making his way up the stairs. They seem to creak louder underneath his weight in the moment.
*
Fiona's door is closed when Ian gets to it. He guesses Carl must've shut it on his way out; he's always been the sweetest on Fiona out of all of them. He pushes it open gently, where the exact same scene from this morning greets him inside.
The room is dimly lit from the pale light that filters through the curtains. Nothing in the room seems amiss. It's all quite literally as though Fiona walked in last night, went to bed as she normally does, and then refused to get up in the morning.
“Hey, Fi,” he says quietly. There's no response, not that he was expecting one. It was more of a way to let her know he's here now. He looks down at her huddled figure underneath the blankets with a forlorn expression, carefully making his way inside, pushing the door halfway shut. The hallway lets in a thin strip of light over Fiona. Ian sits to the right of it, on the edge of her mattress, pressing his palms to his knees.
She switched positions sometime before Ian got here, now laying on her back, face staring straight up at the ceiling with nothing behind her glassy eyes. Ian feels a bit sick looking at her like that, and tries not to.
He taps his fingers anxiously, trying to think. Usually this situation is reversed. It’s odd being the one to take care of someone motionless and seemingly barely alive.
He thinks back to the last time Monica had gone depressive; how he'd brought her a sandwich and laid his chin on her arm to quietly ask her to get up. It was the beginning of him really latching on to Monica - when she'd told Ian she heard about ‘the boy in the store’, and told him, “I'm so sorry you're hurting, baby.” And even though it was kind of inappropriate and led to arguably the darkest point in his life, the memory of him entering the gay club for the first time with her was something he secretly held close. A moment that was purely the two of them in their own little world, something untapped and odd.
Something about this feels so similar to that - maybe that’s why it feels so difficult to sit here right now. He feels as if he’s been swung back in time, back when him and Lip would curiously peer into the room or spot where Monica was slumped in, Fiona’s hands on their backs telling them to give her space. He wonders if Fiona knows that Ian used to lie awake and listen to her cry and beg Monica to get up. He really hopes she doesn’t.
Him and Lip always hated it when Monica went depressive, because it almost always meant Frank got meaner; meant Frank was more likely to strike Ian, which in turn made Lip act out to goad Frank into hitting him before he could get to Ian.
He can feel his eyes water as he glances back down at Fiona, and swipes the back of his hand over them. He wonders how many more times he’s going to need to do this with his siblings. He would always drop everything for them, just to be there, but it worries him that it seems to be becoming a thing.
“I took Liam to his checkup,” Ian says.
He's never been a big fan of people trying to talk to him while he's depressed, but his depressive episodes have always had a more angry streak. He hates it - that odd cruelty that seems to bubble to the surface so quickly when he’s unhappy.
He just wants Fiona to know everything is still taken care of. He knows that would be her first question no matter what happened.
“Clean bill of health for him, so we're good on that. He's funny, you know. He's so smart, too. He was telling me all this stuff about his classmates and school, all the things he’s learning in there. I mean, I couldn’t even wrap my head around some of the things he was explaining to me.” He huffs a small breath. “I don't know how we lucked out with him.”
“Is he mad at me?”
Ian almost thinks he’s mistaken. He blinks down at Fiona, to make sure he didn’t just imagine that. She’s still staring at the ceiling and doesn’t know any signs of having just spoken. He sighs.
“No one is mad at you, Fiona.”
Her face twitches in a way that reminds him of the people he meets on call, the ones that are really hurt but trying to hold it together for someone else with them, who even when they’re being loaded into the ambulance try to keep their composure. Usually they break down crying the second the doors close and they’re left alone with the EMTs.
“He sounded worried about you when he asked me to take him this morning, that’s all. Debbie and Carl are worried too, but they’re not mad either.”
“Carl was in here forever. I think he offered every piece of food we have in this house, and then some.”
Ian smiles, exhaling a small laugh. It sounds about right. “Yeah, I think you’re breaking his heart doing this.”
He meant it as a joke, but Fiona’s face seems to fall, and she shifts underneath her blanket again, turning onto her side to face the wall. Ian digs his nails into his jeans, the pit in his stomach becoming all - consuming.
Without much consideration, Ian turns and crawls over the bed, settling down on his back beside Fiona, in between her and the wall she’s so intent to stare listlessly at. Her face slackens when he settles down beside her, folding his hands over his stomach.
“Hi.”
“Ian,” she whispers, sounding so, so tired. Ian thinks she’s about to tell him to stop wasting time up here with her, and he decides he’s not going to let her.
“You know, whenever I get into one of my depressive episodes, I hate when people try to talk to me. I’m sure you know that, though.” He turns his head to smile at her.
“I really, um, just hate being told to do anything. I’m mad no one understands that I can’t, you know? That I’m stuck there. It’s like being trapped in cement. It keeps getting harder and harder to pull myself up as it dries. So I finally accept it and just let myself be stuck in it.
“What I hate the most, though, is when you guys talk to me like I’m not competent. Like - like I can’t hear you, and you’re all stuck with someone in a coma and now have to decide what to do with me. I can hear you, and I understand what you guys are saying to me is logical, most of the time, I just can’t…move, or do any of it. I hate it when you try to act like nothing's happening, too, like I’m not some lump stuck in the bed and everything’s fine.” He pauses, looking again to Fiona. Her eyes are shiny, her mouth pressed into a thin line. He rolls over onto his side to face her, stacking his hands underneath his head like a little kid whispering a secret at the sleepover.
“I want you to acknowledge what’s wrong with me, but not to make a big deal of it…so I won’t do that to you, Fi. You’re too smart for that anyways, there’s nothing I can say you haven’t probably said yourself a million times to me or Monica.”
That elicits a small grin from her. He feels his shoulders sink into the bed further with relief.
“Tonight, or even tomorrow, you gotta make yourself get up and out. Even if it’s just to go brush your teeth or piss or…whatever. Everyone around the house isn’t suddenly helpless because you’re not there, we’ll be fine. But if you let yourself be stuck in here, it’s going to get worse, which I know you know.”
It’s hard to lie there and say all of this to Fiona. To see her look so pitiful and not be able to immediately fix it. He’s not sure who’s he’s worried is going to break down crying more - him or Fiona.
“When you came home that night, and you were drunk, and we talked about Lip and you had another beer before you went to bed, was that the only one you had that night? After getting home?”
“Oh,” Fiona squeaks. She looks utterly devastated that Ian knows.
“It’s okay, Fi,” Ian says quietly. She makes a sound like she’s just blown out a breath she was holding in for the entire day. Her eyes wander over the wall behind Ian before closing, like she can’t even see him. He knows he’s extremely guilty of that too - the phasing out, looking right through people.
“Frank called me an alcoholic the other day.” Fiona admits, hesitantly. Like she’s afraid of Ian knowing it, that once she speaks it aloud and tells someone else, it makes it more true.
“We were at The Alibi…that should’ve been my first sign I’m losing my mind…drinking mid day with Frank and Tommy and crap…well, they had this bet about something, but you know those guys, when something they talk so big about falls through they’re all too lazy to actually get up and do anything about it, they all just bitch and turn the other way. Well…I don’t know. I just got up and started yellin’ at all of them, calling them all lazy and stupid and weak…and then Frank just turns to me and tells me I’m a bad drunk. That I get mean, I shouldn’t drink. Said some people are good drunks, but I’m not.”
She opens her eyes again, but they seem dimmed and still unfocused. Whispering, she tells Ian: “He wasn’t even tellin’ me it in that way he always talks - that annoying, loud ranting voice he does, y’know - he just…looked over to me and said it as if he was telling me the weather. I can’t get it out of my head, Ian.
“I just…I can’t believe this is my life, sometimes. Like; this is it. This is the way my whole life has gone. I guess I kept thinking if I just kept my head down I’d ignore it all and not realize I’ve spent every second of it cleaning up after Frank and Monica. I try not to think about the fact I’ve effectively wasted all my time doing what they should’ve done. Sometimes I think I kept living like one day I’d wake up and everything would be fixed and I’d be able to go and do normal things everyone else does, but…this is it, Ian. This is all I’ve got.” She drags a hand down her face, her eyes wide. “I can’t redo anything. Been alive for almost thirty years, and all I’ve got to show for it is being a felon, a million boyfriends I’ve cheated on, some kids who hate my guts, and the biggest junkie father in the world who thinks I’m a bad drunk.”
Ian stares at her wordlessly for a moment, scrambling to find anything to say to that. It’s not as if Fiona is looking for deep, philosophical advice from him right now, moreso just desperate to unload her thoughts onto someone. He wishes he knew the right words to fix everything, if there were any.
“We don’t hate you,” he settles on as his response. Fiona scrunches her face, still not looking at him.
“I think Debbie might.”
“Debbie hates everyone, don’t take it personally.” They chuckle together at that, but Fiona’s smile drops too quickly, and she’s back to looking unhappy in seconds.
“I think after JimmySteve, I never let myself have a real relationship because I thought something was always going to go wrong. He got so close, you know? I mean, he paid for Carl’s braces. He used to give you guys rides to school.” She sighs, rubbing her forehead with her hand. “At least, that’s what Kev told me he thinks. I’ve had a lot of time to think about that today, and he might have a point I’m afraid. He said I ‘self - sabotage’.”
“Kev said that to you?”
“Yeah. He pulled me aside after Frank told me all that and I tried to leave, to tell me he thought Frank was right and he and V were worried about me. He told me all this stuff he’d noticed about all my relationships since JimmySteve, and how I never truly let myself trust any of them, I pulled back, blah blah blah…he was probably just repeating a speech V gave him that mornin’.”
“Probably,” Ian exhales a quiet laugh. “JimmySteve was crazy though, Fiona. He didn’t even hate me when I fucked his dad.”
“Oh, god, Ian, don’t bring that up now. I’m depressed enough as it is right now.”
“Sorry,” Ian giggles.
Fiona smiles fondly at him, and for a loose moment it all feels okay.
“He promised me,” She continues after a pause, quiet, her voice cracking. She wets her lips, blinks roughly up at the ceiling, muttering bitterly; Ian only catches bits of it. “He promised me so much shit…so many times…I told him not to say it unless he meant it…fuckin’ bitch…you think I’m ever going to be able to get over that?” She asks, more to herself than Ian. He looks at her forlornly anyway.
“Right when things begin to get good for me - I pull back and ruin it, before anyone else can. I don’t even realize I’m doing it until I look back on it and every time I notice…I don’t know. I’m trying to remember what else Kev told me. I was so mad at him, I kept trying to shout over him so I wouldn’t hear any of the shit he was trying to tell me.”
Ian blinks.
“You were doing it even then.”
“Yeah, I guess I was.”
Ian glances at her, thinking lightly about how Fiona still doesn’t even seem that old to him. When he was little, it was like Fiona was the most mature person in the world. It was weird to grow up and every year discover how stupid he still was at an age where Fiona had been multi - tasking two babies and a job and then some. The extent of Fiona’s lifetime suffering never truly hit him until he turned eighteen, and he realized when a shiver that by that age Fiona had been doing all of that longer than he’d even been alive, and that she still was.
“You and Lip are like that,” he muses quietly. “That’s exactly what he does, all the time. I bet he’d never be able to admit it like you just did, though.”
“Yeah?” Fiona replies, her voice dark. “That’s funny, ‘cause he was always on my ass the most.”
“He’s such a hypocrite.” Ian mumbles. “And an asshole.” He pulls his hands out from under his head, pressing his face directly onto the pillow, watching Fiona over the curve it creates. “I’m sorry I never stood up for you against him. I’m sorry I let him talk to you like that all those times.”
Fiona glances over at him with an odd expression, like she can’t decide whether to laugh it off and make a joke or be uncomfortable with what he’s just said.
“I never thought that, Ian. That’s not your responsibility, Lip can say whatever he wants, I’m not his mother.”
Ian shrugs. “You’re a good excuse for one, though.”
Fiona laughs at that, even though Ian hadn’t even been trying to be funny when he said that, and it sounds real this time, nothing like their situation. It sounds like a laugh Fiona would let out while standing in the kitchen amongst the kids. Maybe if he closes his eyes tightly, and ignores the sensation of laying on this bed in the dark, Ian can convince himself he’s sitting at the counter having just told Fiona a really good joke instead.
She keeps laughing until her voice begins to sound wet. It’s like Ian blinks and suddenly she’s sobbing.
Fiona keeps letting out short laughs that turn into sharp cries, until she’s fully bawling into her hands, pressed hard against her face. Ian freezes in shock for a moment, watching her. She begins shaking her head, gasping, “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,”, as though Ian is going to grow uncomfortable and leave unless she tries to clean it up. He watches her sadly for a moment, before he scoots closer to her, reaching an arm over her and securing it on her opposite shoulder. He tucks his head into the small crook of space by her shoulder, suddenly no dissimilar to that small, piteous child he used to be just a few years earlier with their mother.
He holds her until she stops crying, until her shoulders still and the only noise she produces is a heavy sniffling every few minutes, wiping her now wet face repeatedly with her hands. In a very soft, meek voice, she thanks Ian.
“Don’t worry about it,” Ian replies evenly. “It’s better than all the times I yelled at you guys to leave me alone.”
*
When Ian comes out of the room, he finds Carl sitting across from him in the hallway. His head snaps up as Ian pulls the door closed with a soft click.
“Is Fiona okay?”
“She will be,” Ian sighs, shoving his hands inside his pockets. “Nothing we haven’t bounced back from before.”
Carl frowns, his gaze flickering back and forth between Ian and the door behind him, as if he’s trying to will Fiona to emerge and tell him she’s okay.
“I brought her food and water all day,” Carl says, anxious. He runs his hands over his thighs as if to wipe something off the palms of his hands. Ian thinks about when Frank was dying from liver cancer, and Carl annoyed the everliving shit out of everyone in the house about how he was the only one who cared enough to take care of him.
“She wouldn’t even look at me. It was fucking scary.” After a second, he hesitantly adds, “It was like Monica, again.”
“Like me?” Ian asks dryly. He figures it has to be what everyone in the house is thinking right now. For years it had been Monica, and now it’s him. And now it’s Fiona.
“No, you’re way meaner.” Carl says bluntly, scrunching his face. Ian, not expecting that, laughs.
Carl looks up at him with a shrug, but he has a small smile on his face. “It’s true, man. You’re lucky you have Mickey. I don’t think anyone else would be able to put up with your attitude.”
“Alright,” Ian snorts, moving over to gently shove at Carl’s shoulder. “I get it, I get it. Sheesh,”
Carl laughs softly, but his gaze fixes back on Fiona’s door in an unwavering manner. He’s clearly attempting to hide how much all of this is upsetting him, but Carl has never been great at being subtle like that. Ian’s always kind of liked that about him, though. The way he really does wear his heart on his sleeve. Ian has no idea how a kid who was such a violent terror had slowly morphed into such a genuine sweetheart right in front of their eyes.
Ian rubs his shoulder, the one he placed his hand on a moment earlier and hadn’t removed. Carl flicks his gaze up to him, eyes wide and glassy. Ian lets out a heavy sigh and brings his hand up to ruffle Carl’s hair.
“You should go sit with her for a bit.” He says, quietly. “I don’t think she’s much for talking right now, but…I think she’d appreciate your company.”
“I don’t want to bother her.” Carl replies, sounding like he’s holding his breath. Ian shrugs, jerking his head in the direction of the door. “She’s used to it, man. Go for it.”
After a moment, Carl stands up, still staring at the door. Ian nods for him to go, and before he does Carl turns and pulls him into a quick, one - armed side hug. Ian blinks in surprise, but Carl slips away and past the door before he has the opportunity to reach an arm around him back.
He lingers in the hallway, staring at the door and straining to see if he can hear anything. After enough silence passes by, he heads back downstairs.
*
It takes a few minutes, but Ian finds Mickey outside bundled up in his jacket and scarf, smoking on the back porch. Ian shivers as he pulls the door shut behind him, nudging at Mickey with his toe. Mickey startles, jerking around fast with his hackles raised, but relaxes when he sees it’s just Ian.
“Sorry,” Ian whispers, moving to settle down beside him.
“Where the fucks yer jacket?”
“Who knows,” Ian sighs. Mickey squints at him, looking him up and down quickly as he lifts the cigarette out of his mouth and passes it on to Ian.
“Thanks.”
Mickey mumbles something in reply, before unzipping his jacket wordlessly, scooting as close as he can to Ian and wrapping one side of it around his torso. Ian smiles really wide as Mickey maneuvers this.
“Jesus Christ, Ian.” Mickey mutters familiarly, pressing the side of his face to Ian’s flannel - covered shoulder. Ian presses back, hooking his left leg underneath Mickey’s right.
“Why’re you smoking out here?”
“Figured it was the least I could do for your sister,” Mickey shrugs, stealing the cigarette back. “Not right to smoke next door when she’s all sad and shit up in her room.”
Ian smiles thinly, his eyes crinkling at the edge.
“Mickey, why so sweet?”
“Oh, fuck off.”
The steps are freezing beneath their jeans, and Ian doesn’t think they’ll last too much longer out here with the frigid, mid fall temperatures currently going on. Ian stares down at their feet tangled together, at the open spaces of pale ground between the steps.
“You go and talk to her, yeah?”
“Why are you talking like Svetlana right now?”
“Good lord,” Mickey huffs, “don’t even say that fuckin’ name to me. Answer the question, man.”
“Yeah, I did.” Ian says, exhaling a laugh.
“Yeah? And how she doin’?”
Ian glances up and out to the distance, staring at the endless rows of ugly roofs with tarps, and busted out windows that now have a layer of frost over them. The air bites his lungs when he breathes in, but it goes well with his mood and cigarette right now, which he’s already yanking out of Mickey’s mouth to slot into his own already.
“Is it hard for you to see me like that?” He blurts, completely dodging Mickey’s question, but it had been on his mind since he entered Fiona’s room - which he just wants to forget about right now, push it to the back of his mind.
“Like, when I’m depressed like that and I can’t get out of bed; is it that painful for you?”
Mickey raises his eyebrows, blinking at Ian.
“I didn’t -” Ian pauses, frowning, trying to find the right words. It seemed so easy to articulate in his head, but now he’s stumbling when he has to actually say it to Mickey.
“I never realized how difficult it is. To see someone like that, you know, when you really care about them. I mean, my whole life, I’ve watched Monica either be bouncing off the walls with Frank or completely lifeless in bed, but it never affected me that much because…I always just knew her like that. That’s just how she was. Sure I was sad, but I never was, like, sad sad about it. But when I was up there, talking and watching Fiona…it was really awful. I hated seeing her like that. I hated hearing the way she talked and seeing how dead her eyes were.” He stops to inhale deeply, acutely aware of Mickey’s face inches from his, his eyes scanning Ian’s face but still not saying anything. “I know I do that. Like, when I was figuring out my meds and everything. I felt like a fucking zombie. I just never realized that I probably looked like one too,”
Nervously, he flits his gaze over to Mickey, waiting for him to talk. Mickey is watching him with heavy - lidded eyes, his mouth pressed flat together. His nose is pink from the cold, as well as the tips of his ears. Despite how elf - like him and Mandy sort of are, they’re a really far cry from being Santa’s helpers anytime soon. Mickey handles the cold so poorly. Even when they were younger and barely knew each other, he and Lip had gotten a real kick at how violent Mickey still was even when wrapped up in his heavy duty winter wear.
“Do you remember that time when we were trying to bail you out of the army prison?” Mickey says, quietly, his voice flat. “Your whole family and me, all sitting there at that big ass table with all those officials and shit, trying to help persuade them not to send you to prison? Right before Monica came and got you?”
Ian nods carefully. He doesn’t remember much of any of that before Monica, actually. The bits and pieces are spotty, but there. He just doesn’t like to think about it; wastes no time savoring the few he has and trying to recall everything.
“Well, I don’t know if you remember this, but, uh…Lip pointed out you were bipolar…and Fiona and Debbie started nodding and telling the guys about it; how you almost hit Debbie with the baseball bat, and then Fiona said you guys would know, ‘cause your mom was bipolar and she made your lives a nightmare. And…she, uh, turned to you real fast to say you didn’t do that, but they were still saying all that shit about you like you weren’t even there. Like you weren’t at the fuckin’ table with ‘em, hearing everything.”
Ian nods, his throat closing up. Mickey glances up at him with wide eyes, glassy in the pale afternoon light. He scratches at his eyebrow. Ian can tell he’s trying really hard to maintain eye contact as he speaks again, despite how difficult it is for him. All of this is intense, from how tender and vulnerable they are discussing this particular topic.
“When you had your first episode like that, and you wouldn’t get out of bed…it was scary, man. I didn’t know what the hell was going on. But there at the station, watching you sit there like a fuckin’ zombie with that blank expression on your face while your family said all that shit about you,” he sucks in a breath, shaky, like he’s verging on tears. “That was by far the fuckin’ worst, man. I just kept looking over at you, to see what you were thinking while it was happening and…it was like you just weren’t. You just took it all. I wanted - I should’ve - fuck, I don’t know. I should’ve told them all to shut up. Or at least gotten you out of the room.” He shakes his head, looking down quickly. “I never would’ve said that shit, even if you weren’t there. They, uh, could’ve worded it all better. Nicer, you know?”
Ian stares at him, feeling like the wind has been knocked out of him. He has to make himself manually pick up his breathing, stunned by Mickey’s admission. He’d expected Mickey to say something along the lines of it being difficult, but not like that. Ian feels like Mickey’s just reached a hand inside of his ribs and grabbed his heart within his fist, still beating between his fingers.
“Hey, maybe you wouldnt’a run away if you hadn’t heard ‘em say all that shit, yeah?” Mickey sniffs, playing it off and looking away, out towards the road. Ian doesn’t move his gaze, though. He stares intensely at Mickey, reaching out to skirt his fingers over the short space above his ears. Mickey flinches when his fingers meet his scalp before relaxing into it, wiping at his nose with his sleeve.
Ian holds his hand there for a moment, just to feel him. A million thoughts race through his head; the fact that something that was so terrible for Ian he pretty much completely blocked it out of his memory was just as impressionable for Mickey, the fact that Mickey could even tell Ian any of this, that he can’t really even say it to Mickey because he’ll get nervous and go quiet. Mickey chances a small glance up at him as Ian continues to thumb at his temple. Ian looks at him with glitter in his eyes and quietly says, “I love you so much, Mickey.”
*
When he falls asleep that night, Ian has a dream that feels more like experiencing a replayed memory from deep in his subconscious.
In it, he’s nine, at the park with Fiona and Lip. No one else is there; an endless blanket of snow stretching across the entire area, everything beyond fading into a gray blur in which he can’t find anything inside. He keeps looking over his shoulder, wary of Frank or Monica appearing around the corner to ask them what they’re doing out so late; of another one of those cops who ask them where their parents are and seem to get annoyed whenever they answer truthfully, but no one ever shows. It’s like Fiona somehow cleared the entire area for the three of them.
She fixes Ian’s hat on his head, patting his cheeks with her mittens and smiling, before turning and beginning to chastise Lip for not zipping up his jacket all the way. They get into a small argument because he says he doesn’t need to since he has a scarf on. Fiona disagrees.
Ian remembers it being like this a lot; Fiona and Lip butting heads about something while Ian quietly stands there and stares up at them with massive eyes. When Frank and Monica fight, they don’t like the kids making any noise because they’re already so high strung due to each other. Sometimes they’ll drag the kids into the fight to use against each other, but even then, talking or crying isn’t recommended unless you want to be hit or having the yelling turned onto you.
Lip always scolded Ian if he didn’t follow something Fiona told him directly, but he’s the real offender for that kind of thing, not Ian. As smart as Lip has always thought Fiona was, Ian’s not sure he ever respected it. It was like he constantly thought he had one leg up on her for everything.
In the end of his dream, he, Lip, and Fiona lay on their backs in the snow, spreading out to make snow angels. Fiona gets up to admire hers, and then starts messing with Lip, the two of them rolling around on the ground in a tussle trying to shove snow down the other’s coat. Lip’s hood falls down.
Ian lifts his head, body still pressed against the ground, to watch them. Their snow angels remain untouched. When he lies his head back down, he blinks up at the solid, gray - colored sky. He can’t tell if it’s mid - afternoon or early in the evening. It begins snowing.
*
“You’ll never guess who did porn,” Mandy smirks, already shoving her phone in Ian’s face the second he walks through the door. Ian makes a noise and holds his arms up, frowning.
“What the fuck, Mandy?”
“Guess.”
“Guess what? Who did porn?”
Mandy nods, her smile downright cat - like. “I’ll give you a hint; someone from our class.”
Ian blinks, his eyebrows raising up high on his head. “No shit?”
“No shit.”
“You two are fuckin’ sickos,” Mickey grunts from behind Ian, kicking his shoes off. He seems put off by Mandy and Ian’s interest in this, muttering as he stomps into Mandy’s kitchen with the pack of beer under his arm they’d picked up on their way over. Ian watches him go before turning back to Mandy and asking for the name. She shakes her head and tells him to guess, much to Ian’s annoyance.
“How did you even find this?” Ian snickers as Mandy loads up the video, his head poised over her shoulder.
“What kind of dumb question is that?” She says. “I was watching porn. And I saw her in this one.”
Ian can’t really argue with that.
The video loads and begins playing, and upon recognizing one of the girls from their geography class right in the center of the bed on all fours, he bursts out into laughter with Mandy. They both sit on her couch and watch, laughing and pointing throughout. Mickey comes back into the room with two beers and a disgusted look on his face.
“You guys are like fucking monkeys who just found something new the zookeeper threw in the pen.”
Ian turns to look at him, to tell him that’s exactly what this feels like, but is surprised to find Mickey putting a beer in his hand.
“What the fuck, Mick? Where’s mine?” Mandy says.
“You can go get your own. Stop showing my boyfriend porn.”
“He likes it, look at him. And he was my boyfriend first.” Mandy rolls her eyes and pushes herself off the couch. Mickey sits down next to Ian, almost on top of him with how close he chooses to be. He faces forward, and brings the can up to his face to take a sip. Ian watches him carefully, a small smile stretched onto his lips from Mickey calling him his boyfriend, and leans his head in close.
“Does this bother you?”
“Yeah,” Mickey grunts. “You two are annoying as fuck.”
Ian frowns, bumps his foot against Mickey’s. “You know what I mean. Does me watching porn upset you?”
Mickey looks at him incredulously. “What?”
“You know, how some people don’t like it when their partner watches porn. I don’t really think I’d like it if you were doing that. Do you want me to tell Mandy to turn it off?”
Mickey blinks at him. “Ian, you’re not jerking off. I don’t give a shit. I just think you and my sister are fucking weirdos who still have an obsession with getting leverage on people we went to school with.”
“Oh.”
Mandy comes back in a few minutes later, grinning. “Three highschool drop outs are drinking beer and watching porn…”
“Are you learning to announce your surroundings or is this a set up to a bad joke?” Mickey blanks.
“It was the set up to a great joke that you’ve just made me forget with you interrupting me.”
“Ah,” Mickey snorts. “My bad.”
They browse a few more of her videos, which feels slightly weird but Ian takes solace in the fact that, as Mickey pointed out, none of them are actually getting off to it. Him and Mandy continue to point and laugh, asking each other if they remember something about her from sophomore year, or if that rumor about her and one of the gym teachers was true. Mickey sits placidly on the couch next to Ian, drinking beer and making passive grunts occasionally while he and Mandy laugh together like hyenas. At some point Mandy grows irritated of Mickey’s grumbling, and says: “Honestly, Mick, you don’t find any of this crazy at all? Not even a tiny bit funny in the slightest?”
“No.”
“God, you are so unfunny. You’re lucky you’re Ian’s boyfriend, otherwise I’d never invite you over.”
“Someone from our garbage ass high school did porn,” Mickey says, gesturing his hand in the direction of Mandy’s laptop. “Fuckin’ shocker. What’s next? That Timothy kid that sat next to me in Geometry got arrested for selling crystal? Oh, wait.”
Mandy rolls her eyes. “Like you made it to Geometry, asshole.”
Ian is starting to loosen up more because of the way his meds fuck with alcohol in his system, even with the fact he’s only had one beer. He pulls Mickey in closer with an arm around his waist, his fingers toying with Mickey’s belt loops. Mickey glances in Mandy’s direction a few times, but doesn’t say anything about it.
“Jesus, look at this one.” Mandy scrunches her face. “She really has a thing for spitting.”
“Spitting isn’t that bad,” Ian blurts. “That’s like, tame.”
Mandy and Mickey both turn to stare at him at the same time. Ian feels himself grow warm under their scrutiny.
“Yeah?” Mandy says, amused. “Tell me more about that, Ian.”
“Jesus Christ,” Mickey says beside them.
“Come on, Mandy, I worked at a strip club. I saw some weird, weird shit.”
“Mhm,” She replies, turning back to the computer. Mickey smacks Ian on the head, harder than he really needs to.
“Fuck, Mickey! What the hell?” He yelps.
“Oh, my bad,” Mickey sneers, “don’t let me stop you from telling my sister about our sex life, huh?”
“I didn’t say shit about us!”
“Sure had no problem finding the most implicating shit to say though.”
“Are you seriously going to bitch about this?” Ian counters, a little hurt. “I could say so much worse about us. We’re fucking freaks.”
“Oh my god, stop talking.” Mickey says, though Mandy is already watching with wild excitement in her eyes. Mickey catches her out of the corner of her vision and glares at her, leaning over Ian. “Don’t even. I don’t want to hear shit from you, I heard you fuck way too many guys when we were still in school.”
“Okay,” Ian says, wanting to crawl into a hole now that he’s faced with this predicament he’s started.
“Fine by me,” Mandy says, “I don’t really want to hear about all the weird shit my brother does in the bedroom.”
Ian turns to her, glances back at Mickey, but risks it anyway. “Mickey doesn’t let us have that much fun, either. He doesn’t even like getting his ass licked.”
“Gallagher I’ll fucking kill you right now.”
“What?” Mandy wrinkles her nose, but looks curious anyways. “It’s not that bad, Mick.”
“Please stop fucking talking.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him!” Ian jumps in, turning towards Mandy again. “Karen and Lip did it almost exclusively up the ass for like a week once! But he thinks it’s too gay!”
“You two live together. Mickey literally just said, ‘my boyfriend’. How is anything too gay for you guys?”
“Thank you, Mandy.”
“No, no fuckin’ thank yous,” Mickey says, genuinely irate. “I’m shutting this conversation down right fucking now. She does not need to know anything more than what’s already been said, because all of it was too far already.”
Ian nods to pacify Mickey, before continuing. Now that he’s got this hook inside his hands, he’s latching on. He always spared Mandy from the details on him and Mickey, figuring it’d be kind of weird to be told about him and Mickey’s bedroom exploits. And he was right, too. They’re fucking weirdos in there. Which only makes Ian want to tell her more, like giggling school girls passing notes back and forth in class before the teacher intercepts.
“Mickey has such a thing for biting, Mandy. You don’t even know.”
“Oh my fucking god.”
“I mean, I could guess,” Mandy shrugs, resting her chin on her palm. “He was always putting shit in his mouth as a kid. I think half of everything we’ve ever owned has had his teeth marks or slobber on it.”
Ian rolls up his pant leg to show her a particularly nasty bite Mickey left two nights ago. Mandy flinches when she sees it, before reaching out to poke it. They both ignore Mickey loudly protesting.
“Good god, Mick. Are you trying to take a chunk out of him?”
“I’m telling you; it’s like Jaws in there every night.” Ian nods solemnly. “But I kind of like it.”
“Ew.”
“Yeah I know, I’m sorry, I had to say it.”
“Well I appreciate your honesty,” Mandy grins. “Does he ever make you bite him?”
Even Mickey perks up slightly when she says this. By this point he’s fully turned away to try and block them out. He’s clearly doing a bad job of it, though, because when Ian reaches out to place a hand on his thigh, he doesn’t jump.
“We could try that…” Ian muses, leaning his head back to stare at Mickey, trying to get him to turn over and acknowledge it. He doesn’t, determined to be irritated for the rest of the night probably. The second they walk outside of Mandy’s door, he’ll most likely go ballistic on Ian and continue yelling until they get home. And then it will probably bleed into the morning, Mickey beating Ian to death with the coffee machine in the kitchen.
“You guys should get into swinging,” Mandy says, thoroughly amused. Ian knows it’s probably bad to tell her all of this since she’ll never forget any of it, but she’s told him enough about her exploits that they both are equal, now. Mickey knows more about Ian’s club days than she does, truthfully. He doesn’t like talking about it except for a few actually funny stories with some of the real weirdos he’s traded with her, but he secretly thinks Mandy does the same with her own experiences.
“Fuck no,” Ian and Mickey say at the same time.
“What?” Mandy seems genuinely surprised at this answer. “I’ve always kind of wanted that. I think it’d be so fun to fuck someone and then get to discuss it with my boyfriend later. And like, find ways to one up the other couple.”
Mickey shakes his head fervently, while Ian explains, “Literally never in a million years. If I had to see anyone else do anything to Mickey, I’d kill them. And then myself.”
Mandy rolls her eyes. “Boring.”
“No, we’re quite happy with everything we do try. Mickey’s really into being manhandled, but he just hates telling me it so he acts extra annoying to make me do it. And handcuffs…and all these weird kink play shits he’s found online…I don’t know, whatever he sees on Twitter before I get home from work.”
“I’m going to fucking kill you. Genuinely.” Mickey pipes up. “I’m serious as fuck.”
“I join in on all of it, Mick.” Ian says, exasperated. “I’m exposing myself as much as you right now. Literally when have I ever shut down an idea?”
Mickey pauses for a moment, pursing his lips as if he doesn’t want to throw Ian this bone, but he’s nothing if not stingy. “You weren’t even willing to try the piss thing…”
“God, this again,” Ian groans, removing his hand. “It’s fuckin’ gross, Mick. I don’t want you peeing on me.”
“Oh, but your tongue up my ass is fine?”
“I’m up there anyway!” Ian defends. “It’s so different. I never piss in you.”
“I swear you have at least once.”
“Fucking when?” Ian says, sitting up and staring directly at him. “Name one fucking time that you actually think I’ve pissed in you.”
“This is starting to get a little gross now.” Mandy says. Ian startles slightly when she speaks up; he kind of forgot she was there. He looks back over at her a bit shamefully.
“Oh,” Mandy says, seeing his face. “No, it’s cool, I’m just not into hearing about Mickey’s ass is all. There was that one guy who worked at the mall who always wanted me to do that to him, though - pee on him and shit.”
Ian and Mickey stare at her expectantly. Ian, still drunker, braves it and eventually says, “...Well?”
Mandy bites at her nail, casual. “Oh, yeah, I mean, I did it. Eventually. He just would not give it up. I dunno, it wasn’t that bad but; definitely not my thing.”
Ian looks between her and Mickey, before crossing his arms and shaking his head, sinking himself back into the couch. “I should be allowed to join the highest rank of Buddhism from how nice I am to you two.”
*
The next day, Kev calls Mickey and asks if he'll fake being Svetlana's husband again so that she can enroll Yevgeny in some weird childcare bullshit. Mickey spends a frankly infuriating amount of time arguing with him about why Kev can't do that, to where even Ian is getting annoyed listening to it.
“Oh my god, Mickey,” Ian barks after realizing it's been nearly thirty minutes. “Just do it, holy fuck.”
With a dirty look and a grumble about the world being against him, Mickey says fine.
He helps Mickey pick out a nice shirt and buttons it up for him because he's too busy ranting about having to do this to pay attention. Ian nods listlessly the whole time, not actually listening to anything he says. Mickey repeats his point a lot when he's angry, just rephrases it a million ways with more colorful language.
The two of them head down to The Alibi to meet up with Svetlana and Kev. Ian doesn’t really understand why Kev can’t fake be Svetlana’s husband if he’s already driving them, but he’s afraid if he says it now Mickey will absolutely explode. They’ve still never confirmed if Yevgeny is actually Mickey’s child. Ian really likes the kid and misses playing fucked up house with him, Mickey, Svetlana, and Mandy, but he can’t lie that he side - eyed the blonde hair a few times while holding him.
Mickey still looks murderous when they begin to head out, and right before they walk out the door Ian calls out to Mickey, jumping to his feet to meet him halfway and motioning him to come closer, saying he has to tell him something important really fast. Mickey leans in with a scowl, Ian cupping his hand around his mouth like he’s about to whisper a secret in his ear, but at the last minute turns his head and presses a kiss to the corner of Mickey’s mouth. Mickey blushes at the display, and Ian shoves him out the door with a grin.
“Have fun, mister.” He calls after him. Mickey flips him off in what Ian suspects to be an act of quiet endearment.
“That was real cute,” V says when Ian sits back down at the bar. She eyes him across the counter, wiping the inside of a glass with a rag. Ian ducks his head, still smiling. “Stealin’ my lines, though. I’ve been callin’ Kev ‘Mister’ since our second year of dating. Not cool.”
They chat idly about how Svetlana has been slowly fixing the bar up and bringing more money in, before she begins asking Ian about work and he indulges her, telling a few mildly funny and gory stories. She smiles at him when she thinks he’s not looking, which makes his insides glow warm. He allows her to get away with it, thinking he didn’t notice, and lights a cigarette out of boredom.
“How long do you think they’re gonna take?”
“Oh, who knows,” V sighs. “Shouldn’t be more than an hour, with traffic and all, but Mickey and Svetlana can’t play nice for two seconds. Your boyfriend really makes some things take ages. I don’t miss him working his sex factory around here. Him and Kev were so goddamn annoying.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Ian mutters, resting his elbow on the bar, propping his chin inside his palm.
Ian watches her for a few more moments, ashing his cigarette carefully in one of the ashtrays. He’s always been secretly relieved that Kev and V have never banned smoking from the bar. He shifts his weight on the stool nervously before he finally blurts out: “V, how do you know when you’re ready to get married?”
V glances up at him in surprise, her eyes wide.
“Ian Gallagher, are you asking me what I think you are?”
“No,” Ian says quickly, before frowning. “Actually, maybe. Um,” he raps his knuckles against the bar a few times, taking a fat drag off his cigarette. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it. I mean, Mickey and I have been together for a long time, you know? It’s not crazy, right?”
“Nah,” V shrugs. “You’d probably be doing everyone a service, keeping Mickey on a tight leash.” She laughs to herself after saying it, but once she sees Ian’s face she rolls her eyes. “Come on, Ian, you know I’m joking. Mickey hasn’t so much as looked at anyone else since you two became more than hostile neighbors.”
Ian glances around to make sure no one is listening before he leans over and whispers, “I think Mickey had a small crush on Kev for a while, actually.”
“Then I take my earlier statement back; I’m not joking, marry him as soon as he gets back.”
Now it’s Ian’s turn to cackle as V looks unimpressed. She moves to wipe down the counter. “I don’t know why you’re askin’ me, Kev and I aren’t even real married.”
Ian listens to the noise of the bar; the muddy sound of several conversations punctuated by a loud, sudden laugh or shout, the piercing sounds of a cup being slammed onto the table or the small click of someone playing pool. The bar top shines, damp, as V moves over it.
“You and Kev are the strongest relationship we know,” Ian shrugs. “I figured if anyone in my life had an idea, it’d be you. Like, who else could I ask? Fiona?”
V scowls at him, pointing an accusatory finger. “Don’t say shit like that about Fiona. Have some respect, Ian.”
Ian holds up his hands. “I do, I do, sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like that. I’m not Lip.”
V exhales sharply, making a face at that. She shakes her head and mutters, “I’m gonna beat that boy’s ass one of these days…hey; how’s he and his…what? Girlfriend? Fiance? Doing with the new baby?”
Ian grimaces internally. “Tami had some complications with her C - section, actually, so she’s still in the hospital. But Lip is home with the baby. I think he’s struggling a little to adjust but, you know Lip. He’s good at adapting to anything. Like a cockroach.”
“Poor thing,” Veronica sighs. “Tami, not Lip. Kid seemed alright when he first came home with it, though I probably oughta bring some food over and see how he’s doing one of these nights. I think Kev misses hanging out with him,” she winks. Ian smiles.
“That’d be good. I’m pretty sure Lip has been living off hot pockets and Gatorade with Tami’s absence.”
“As long as he’s not relapsing we can’t complain, can we? Are him and Tami getting hitched?”
“Umm…not any time soon. They weren’t even dating when she got pregnant. I think they’re just focusing on figuring everything out right now.”
V makes a face, clearly picking up that there’s some odd tension on that particular subject, but relents. Ian is quietly thankful. He thinks if he had to dissect all of Tami and Lip’s relationship again, he’d end up depressive. He doesn’t even have Tami’s side yet. He wonders if they’re both like this, or this is some fucked up Lip self - torment.
“He at least visits her in the hospital, right?” V asks with a selective tone. Ian wants to laugh.
“Yeah, I made sure of that, too. Don’t even worry.” Veronica nods, pausing to refill someone’s drink further down the counter. Ian stubs the last of his cigarette out in the ash tray, wondering how much time has passed since Mickey left. He misses him already, as stupid as it is. He wonders if this is how Kev and V still feel about each other, even after all this time - like life suddenly becomes duller when the other isn’t around. Ian’s honestly glad he leaves for work, because at this rate with the amount of time him and Mickey spend attached to each other, he’s surprised their brains don’t immediately flit onto autopilot whenever one of them leaves the room. He never would’ve thought he could be so smug about being so dependent on someone. Him and his siblings had always prided themselves on how independent they were, but with Mickey, it’s sort of awesome.
V walks back over to him, planting her hands on the bar and tilting her head to look down at him. “So you’re really thinkin’ of tying the knot with Mickey?”
Ian ducks his head bashfully, running a hand over his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s - well, I don’t know. It’s been in the back of my mind since I started seeing him, but I never actually thought we’d get anywhere near it being a possibility. I always thought I’d spend my life just wanting him…never actually planned on having him, you know?” His face burns at the admission. He presses his palm to his mouth, his skin feeling warm at the touch. “I don’t know, V. I’d love to marry him - I’d marry the shit out of him any day, any time. But it’s like…I don’t know how he’d react to it.”
“Are him and Svet even divorced?”
“God, I have no clue.”
Veronica hums, pursing her lips.
“Ian, I’ll tell you this; I can’t be the one to give the say on whether I think you’re ready to get married or not. That has to be you two. What I can offer is that there’s never going to be a time where you’re one hundred percent that everything is going to be perfect. Getting married isn’t gonna make your relationship perfect, it’s not gonna suddenly solve all your shit - especially you two, Lord… - but you will feel a difference. In a good way. It forces you to sober up.
“There’s still some days when Kev and I fight, and it seems rough, like we’re in a rut and I’m wondering how to bounce back from this one, but we always find a way. Sometimes, the only solution is sacrifice. If you’re willing to sit down and be an adult and work it out, then yes, I think you’re ready to get married. You have to really be willing to do that, especially when it’s you two.”
Ian frowns. “What? Why are you saying it like that?”
“Ian, baby, I love you like you were my own; don’t get me wrong. But you’re a needy, bipolar sex addict. I don’t think I even need to say anything for Mickey. Did you have to start bullying him into taking showers? Those Milkoviches have a real funk; just nasty. And you two get in a fist fight when you hit a road block and suddenly can’t use your damn words.”
“I’m not needy, the fuck? I was completely fine all those times Mickey was in prison. And we’ve gotten so much better about the fighting…” Ian whines, aware of the petulant image it’s pressing onto him. “You guys never let that shit go, I swear.”
V gives him a look, her hand on her hip. “I see a lot of couples who beat the shit out of each other, and you guys are way more functional than them, I’ll give you two that, but you’re still a couple that beats the shit out of each other.”
Ian rolls his eyes, but knows better than to mutter any of the smart comments that have popped into his head in response.
“I’m not telling you I think you two shouldn’t get married,” V presses, “I’m just saying to really think. Can you do this day in and day out? Can you admit you’re wrong when you fuck up and take the initiative to fix it with him? You two live together, yeah?”
“Yes,” Ian says slowly. “Mick’s been staying with us now, for about the past year. Jesus. A whole year.”
V clicks her tongue. “ ‘S different when you two have your own place and all the responsibilities are all on you, but I guess I’ll give a pass on this one. You and Lip have been helping with the rent and electric since you were twelve.”
Ian raises an eyebrow at her, smirking lightly.
“You’re very confusing. But thank you, for all of this.”
“Oh, anytime,” V says, before she pauses, fixing Ian with a soft look. “Oh, I’m gonna cry so damn hard at the wedding…I never thought you’d be the first one to get married, but now I can’t imagine any of the others doing it...fuck, I’m so fuckin’ old.”
Ian laughs, secretly touched. “I hope you’re ready for another fake bar wedding. I can’t imagine a world in which we’d get Mickey and Svetlana to divorce in a timely manner and without it being the most annoying process in the entire world.”
“You know, secretly, I think they respect each other.” V says. Ian blinks, cocking his head gently.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I think Mickey actually coming out at his dad’s welcome - back - from - prison - party like that surprised Svetlana. And with Mickey, well - any woman who is as violent and unfazed as her, he can recognize. I just think they don’t know how to convey it to each other. So their solution is to bicker like little bitches.”
Ian sits there on his stool, perplexed at this revelation V has just given him. She laughs and pours him a drink.
*
Mickey ditches suddenly one night to go help his dad, all after one quick and vague phone call. Right in the middle of their movie. Ian gets mad and protests the entire time Mickey is running through the house to pull his shoes and jacket on. He keeps asking him what it’s even about, why is he always doing this with his dad, why can’t he ever just say no. Mickey blows him off the whole time Ian is following him around like a pestered girlfriend, till he’s pulling the back door open, and turns to face Ian. Ian glares at him, waiting for Mickey to say something, but all he does is press a quick kiss to Ian’s mouth and dart out the door.
If he was Lip, he would probably punch the wall right now.
Instead, he paces circles angrily around the kitchen for half an hour.
*
Mickey gets back at four in the morning. Ian wakes up to him cursing and knocking stuff over in the sink. He pads into the bathroom quietly, already running through his list and practiced speech he had prepped internally after being left home alone to stew in his anger, but when he opens the door he almost yelps at the sight that greets him.
“What the hell, Mickey?”
Mickey glances over his shoulder to Ian with wide eyes, looking something akin to a guilty dog being caught in something he shouldn’t be.
There’s blood all over the sink, some smeared on the doorframe and mirror. Ian runs over and grabs Mickey, pulling him to face him and discovers a large gash on the meat of his thumb, which is currently draining down his wrist and dripping onto the sink.
He looks up at Mickey for some form of explanation, but Mickey just stares back at him blankly. Ian fumbles for a towel to press over it, ignoring the hiss it elicits from his boyfriend. He presses it tight over his hand, his grip stronger than it probably needs to be. Mickey winces but as always, refuses to admit defeat; he grits his teeth and stares intensely down at the ugly bathroom floor. Ian watches him, waiting and willing for him to look up, say something, but he just doesn’t. Ian knows he’s not mad, because Mickey doesn’t shut up or stop moving when he’s angry. When he’s guilty, he holds still and shuts down, as if he’s trying to will himself invisible, shrink down as small as possible and make himself the least noticeable thing in the room.
Ian cleans the wound without saying anything, because he’s still too upset to be gentle to Mickey right now, but he loves his boyfriend too much to leave him be like this. The bathroom is silent except for the occasional clicks and snips of Ian working bottle caps closed and stretching gauze out. The scene takes on a green light, from the way the light bounces off the grimy tiles and aged fixtures; everything yellowed and old and falling apart and taped back together multiple times. Ian watches Mickey’s face with laser focus as he finishes, and pats Mickey’s bandaged hand. His eye twitches, but his mouth remains shut. Somehow, it pisses Ian off even more.
“What happened?”
“Same bullshit that always happens with my dad,” Mickey mumbles after a moment. “You know how it is.”
“No, I don’t.” Ian bites back quickly. “I don’t know, Mick. You don’t tell me shit.”
“You don’t wanna hear it.” Mickey says quietly, with an odd tone. Ian scowls at him, grinding his teeth in frustration.
“Yes I do.”
Mickey shakes his head quickly. “No, you fucking don’t. And I don’t want you involved in that shit.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t piss me off, Ian,” Mickey wipes a hand down his face, blinking hard at the floor. “Christ. My dad is a fucking rapist neo - Nazi who sells drugs to half the city. Why the hell do you think I’d want you to know about anything he’s involved in directly?”
“Because I’m your boyfriend.”
Mickey still gets flighty when they use real terms like that. Ian watches him squirm a little from where he sits on the rim of the bathtub.
“That’s more reason to keep you out of it.”
“Stop it,” Ian sighs. “Mick, if you’re wrapped up in it, so am I. You don’t tell me shit, you just fucking leave and then come back with a bruised face and bleeding and - and you think I’m not going to be upset when you don’t want to say anything to me about it?”
“What the fuck do you want?” Mickey spits, holding his hands out. “You want me to tell you my fucking dad pistol whipped me again so you can go make a report down at the station? You want me to tell fucking everyone he held my head underwater in the bath tub again because I screwed up the cut of something so that we can get Social Services over at his house? How about we tell them he made me stand in the fucking corner again and if I made any noise at all he’d lunge at me barking and growling like a fucking dog? CPS really loved that one when we were little. Goddamnit,”
Ian feels his eyes tear up slightly at Mickey’s words, heart twisting painfully inside his chest. He stands there, unsatisfied, and stares down at Mickey unsure of how to move forward.
“They didn’t do shit for me as a kid and they ain’t going to do shit now.”
“That’s not what this is about. You - you’re putting words in my mouth. I just want to know what you’re up to; I just want to be aware of things like this.”
“No,” Mickey shakes his head. “No, because I fucking know you, and you’re going to take it upon yourself to get involved and make it worse for me and you.”
Ian feels himself bristle at this sentence, mostly because he knows Mickey’s exactly right. And he hates that Mickey can see through him so clearly.
“Fucking what, then? You want me to just turn the other way when he beats your head in? Is that what you want?”
“Yes.”
“No,” Ian nearly shouts. It has slipped his mind that it’s almost five in the morning, that there’s almost ten other people in the house sleeping right now. It feels like him and Mickey are stuck in this vacuum where nothing else can leave or come in. Too wrapped up within each other to remember other human beings exist.
“I’m not going to just stand here and play the bitch while you’re hurting.”
“You see what I fucking mean?” Mickey stands up, keeping his distance. He tries to stare at Ian though his gaze comes out weak, causing him to falter quickly and drop it. “You’re doing it right now. You can’t handle anything unfixable. You take it all so fucking personally. I hate to break it to you, Gallagher, but my dad’s been punching the shit out of me since I was able to walk, he’s not just going to magically stop. You couldn’t do shit about it when we were kids and you can’t fucking do shit about it now despite all your fancy gear and training. He still wins, and you and I are still the useless fucks who get curb - stomped any time we ever try anything.”
Ian tries, and quickly fails at not choking up at Mickey’s words. The both of them stand there in silence, unable to meet each other’s eyes. Ian wraps one arm over his chest, and presses his other hand to his mouth. Mickey remains motionless, as if his movement will cause something within the bathroom to shatter. Like the scene has become a glass mosaic, and one wrong step will send everything to pieces.
Mickey breaks it first; he shakes his head and makes a painted sort of noise before storming out of the bathroom quickly and slamming the door to their room. It feels like the motion rattles the entire house, the sound reverberating off of Ian’s skull and shaking the foundation. He stares at the door, his heart feeling like its shot up into his throat and is about to explode. He doesn’t know if he wants Mickey to come back or not.
Fiona bursts out of her room a few moments later, glancing furiously up and down the hall before finding Ian in the bathroom.
“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” She hisses, pausing once she sees Ian’s face and the blood in the bathroom. She steps inside gingerly, moving close to Ian. “Are you okay? What happened?”
Ian stands there for a moment, before his eyes move down to meet hers. He wants to cry when he sees her face, how quickly it had dropped to such a concerned and genuine state. He bites in the inside of his cheek, taking in a rough breath.
“Me and Mickey had a fight.” He says quietly, his voice breaking. “Sorry we woke you.”
“Is that what this is from?” She asks, sounding scared of the answer, as she moves towards the blood on the porcelain and mirror. Ian shakes his head, wiping his hands off on his boxers.
“No. He was bleeding before we fought.” Ian says quietly. “That’s, um, why we fought actually.” Fiona looks over at him, with her hair springy and sticking out in multiple directions, her eyes wide and glassy. Ian thinks she looks really beautiful, even in this awful bathroom and her sleep - deprived state.
“I’ll clean it up in a second, Fi. You can go back to bed. Sorry, again.” This causes Fiona to shake her head, and start saying she’ll do it, but Ian insists, because he probably won’t be able to sleep now anyway and he’s got to be at work soon. Fiona fixes him with something both gentle and pitiful, and gives Ian a quick hug before she steps out, throwing a few looks at him over her shoulder before slipping back into her room.
When Ian is left alone in the bathroom again, he stares at Mickey’s blood on the sink and mirror. He frowns deeply, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes to keep himself from crying.
*
Mickey disappears for the rest of the night, and the next morning. Ian guesses he had to have slipped out while he was cleaning the bathroom, because the door to their room is empty when he exits the bathroom. He gets choked up again upon seeing it and entering, to find it completely lifeless, but sobers himself up fast so he can keep moving and go to work. He calls and asks for the earlier shift, and quickly dresses himself and heads out, trying not to think at all about Mickey.
Work is mundane for the most part; Ian has to fake chat with a lot of his coworkers as they fill out paperwork in the office and check stats on the board. There’s no calls for his team. As noon comes around, he finds himself wandering into the diner and searching around for Mandy. He can’t find her anywhere, so when he leans across the counter to order a coffee he asks where she is.
The chick behind the counter squints at him before letting him know she’s on her break outside. Ian thinks that’s kind of beautiful; that he and Mandy are both on break on a day like this, when he needs it most. The waitress has that look as she speaks to him, where he suspects if she hadn't seen him around here talking to her so often, she would have completely lied. He can’t even be mad about that.
Mandy is smoking a cigarette and scrolling on her phone when Ian walks out. She doesn’t look up at the sound of the door opening and closing, nor him approaching. It isn’t until he sits himself down next to her, back pressed against the concrete, does she swing her head in his direction. Her hackles are raised as if she’s ready for confrontation and not Ian sitting there in uniform, holding a coffee and looking undeniably pitiful.
“Jesus,” Mandy chuckles, “what happened to you?”
Ian looks at her for a moment. He tries to search her face to see if he can find any hint at all that Mickey’s stopped by and ratted him out in some way - told Mandy about their fight. He wonders which side Mandy is going to or has already taken. Him and Mickey don’t genuinely fight like this enough for him to know.
Ian’s not stupid; he doesn’t blame Mickey or Mandy for being as weird and avoidant as they are, especially about their family, but Ian feels as though all of his issues with Mickey from the night (or really just a few hours ago) before are completely reasonable. Ian really, really wants to spend the rest of his life with Mickey; he wants everything. He wants Mickey to run at him full speed with absolutely no signs of stopping, and let everything between them collide and become conjoined.
But Mickey’s so used to living completely closed off from every soul on earth. Ian always had someone in his corner back at home. His siblings would’ve done anything for him. And Ian knows that. All too well, really. It’s just so hard to work with sometimes.
It had been so easy to fall in love with Mickey when it was just sex and hanging out, always wanting more and more with his seemingly endless, listless daydreams of what it’d be like to date Mickey. He was grateful for absolutely everything, yet sometimes he found himself astounded by just how difficult some of this can suddenly become. He doesn’t think he ever could have anticipated this.
Mickey and Mandy had each other, but it was always strained and followed by all these strange rules even Ian can’t keep track of or remember how to navigate. It was something entirely theirs; fucked up and born of something cruel. He wishes he could live in Mickey’s head to get the answers to everything and save him.
“Your brother,” Ian sighs. Mandy gives him an odd look, and he swears she sits up straight against the wall. Ian stares down at his knees, bent and pressed up close to his chest, one hand hanging loosely beside them and the other holding his coffee cup. He feels like the life has been completely sucked out of him, everything he had carefully packed into a tight repression to ignore and soldier on with his day suddenly hitting him in a strong wave. It ebbs over him as Mandy tosses him her lighter and holds out a cigarette for him. He mumbles a thank you. When he reaches out to take them from her, he finds himself staring down at Mandy’s lucky lighter in his palm - the cheetah print one with a pink heartagram he’d helped her pocket back when they were still highschool fake - dating. He stares down at it, feeling like he could immediately burst into tears. But Mandy would absolutely call him a useless queer, so he sucks it all down and lights up.
“What did he do this time?”
Ian snorts, taking a drag from his cigarette. “How do you know it wasn’t me?”
“I don’t. Mickey is just usually an asshole.” She leans in after a moment, and asks, “Was it you this time?”
Ian shrugs, then nods. Mandy laughs and reaches over to steal a sip from his coffee. He lets her. She doesn't leave as much backwash as Mickey.
He quietly tells her about their argument from the night before; how terrible he’d felt but how he’s still sort of angry about it all. Her face doesn’t show any signs of emotion while he talks, until he finishes and glances at her helplessly. She takes another sip of his coffee, and then hands it back to him.
“Dad’s always beat on Mickey the most,” Mandy says after a moment. Ian nods, he knows this.
“Even before he was gay, though. He’s the smartest - which isn’t really that difficult when your competition is Iggy and Colin, but,” She rolls her eyes and smooths her skirt down over her thighs. “Mickey isn’t dumb, but he’s thick in the head. You have to treat him like a toddler for stuff like this because the second you pick at something he gets defensive.” She peeks over at him again, almost looking like she’s debating adding the last part, but ends up saying it anyway.
“I don’t know why he does that with you, though.”
“What do you mean?”
Mandy shrugs. “I don’t know why he gets defensive with you. You’ve never done anything like that to him.”
It’s a sobering thing to hear. Makes Ian emotional. He tightens his jaw and maintains a straight face, as if indifferent to Mandy’s frankly insane sentence.
He blows out a heavy breath, and rests his head on Mandy’s shoulder. She reaches over to ruffle his hair. “He’ll come back, he’s like your boomerang.”
Ian chuckles. He fiddles with the lid on his coffee for a bit before earnestly asking Mandy, “So, you think I’m right on this one? Taking my side?”
“Oh,” Mandy replies flatly, “no. I think you’re fucking annoying, and Mickey’s a sensitive prick. You both suck.”
Ian laughs loudly and thinks about telling Mandy he loves her. They sit there quietly for a few minutes, staring at the gray empty streets before them dotted with the orange and yellows of fallen leaves clumping along each surface.
“Hey, can I ask something? About your dad, and you two?”
Mandy eyes him warily, but curious. “I’ll answer only if you make it good.”
Ian turns his cup in circles on top of his knee worriedly, his eyebrows drawn close together.
“When we were fighting, Mickey, um…he mentioned some stuff Terry would do to him as punishment. Is it true? Did your dad really hold his head underwater? And make him stand in the corner and growl at him if he made any noise?”
“You don’t have to answer, sorry,” he adds after Mandy stays quiet for a noticeable stretch. It's not that he believes Mickey has any reason to exaggerate about any of that stuff, but similar to when he’d asked about their mother, Ian had secretly been hoping Mandy would be able to laugh and say she doesn’t know where he gets that shit from, and Ian would be able to sleep at night, maybe, knowing that Mickey wasn’t one of the most neglected kids he’d ever met.
“He only did the corner one when we were really little.” Mandy admits. Ian flinches.
“Like, eleven and younger. He’d make us stand there for hours, sometimes days depending on how pissed he was, and if we asked to go to the bathroom or for food or started crying, he’d do that, yeah. Bark and growl at us and shit, which doesn’t sound super scary but he was super loud. He’d get right in your face and his spit would fly all over you. Sometimes he’d shoot the wall behind us. Knicked us a few times.” She reaches down to point at a faint mark on the side of her arm, above her elbow. “I think he stopped because it always made me and Mickey cry so hard - Mickey would throw up sometimes, and he hated that more than whatever we did. And also ‘cause Iggy and Colin started barking back at him and it took him forever to get them to knock that off. For years, they’d do it to other people who’d come in the house, and then to Mick and I to terrorize us.”
She says the last part like it clearly amuses her, and Ian has to admit the image of their brothers making animal noises while Terry tells them to shut up is pretty hilarious - but it doesn’t erase the nausea her words have already induced. He can’t imagine what it must’ve been like to have that happen to you as a little kid, only for your asshole brothers to do it back to you, knowing.
Mickey told Ian once that the both of them had gone through a phase where they’d pin Mickey or Mandy down on the bed by their wrists and torment them in the middle of the night, teasing or whacking them with whatever object they’d found that day or was nearby, or sometimes shoving their head into their pillows until they started to black out. Ian didn’t understand what this family’s suffocation obsession was, but it had gotten so bad that for a while, Mickey and Mandy had slept in the same bed so they’d have a chance at a fair fight, two on two. And though he’d never alluded to it, Ian has a sudden suspicion that Iggy and Colin making animal noises at them might’ve been a part of that as well. He had just figured that story was simply an explanation to why Mickey always woke up so suddenly and violently no matter how gentle you were.
“Terry only held my head underwater once. Completely scared me straight, but he’s done it so many times to my brothers…I’m sure they’ve reset the Guinness Record for breath - holding like four times.” She continues, in a completely even tone. Ian can’t tell if she’s really over it now, or if it’s a facade. He figures it must be somewhere in between. “I think my dad still does it because it always guarantees them shutting up.”
“Because they pass out?”
“For Iggy and Colin, yeah,” she huffs, “they usually quit yelling before dad gets to that point, but, it happens. Mickey…he just kind of shuts down whenever dad does anything to him. You know how he is - shuts his brain off and just disappears. I think the lack of oxygen while blacking his brain out really messed with him more than he admits.”
“And he does this to them now? You said ‘still does it’.”
Mandy shrugs, staring fixedly at her nails.
“Yeah, probably. They’re all getting big now, and Terry’s getting too old to do it as much as he used to, so it’s probably pretty rare. He probably just shouts and shoots at them nowadays.” She pauses, swings her head to glance at him with an odd expression. “You’re just asking me about this because Mickey will never talk about it, aren’t you?”
“Not any time soon, at the least,” Ian nods. “He probably thinks I’ll freak and go to the house to try and do it back to Terry, or something.”
“Yeah, you probably would.”
Ian rolls his eyes.
“Ian - Mickey was the most sensitive out of all of us as kids. Iggy and Colin got beat so hard, I think they’re kind of permanently dumbed down, honestly. Terry used up most of that by the time he got to Mickey and I, but don’t get me wrong, he was still plenty creative with us. There was one time Mickey really fucked up, and Terry pistol - whipped him and then made him go outside while it was raining and told him to dig his own grave out back, like he was fucking GG Allin or some shit. He didn’t actually bury Mickey, but he made him dig it. Told him to get down inside and make sure he fit. It was just a tactic to scare him and make him do some physical punishment. Iggy and Colin were freaked out by it, but it later became a joke to them. They were on me and Mickey’s side sometimes, but they never stepped in when our dad got like that. We never had brothers like Lip who’d take beatings for us. As long as it wasn’t them, they had no problem looking the other way, ‘s just how it was. Mickey - man, he used to hide under the bed every time Terry came in the room when we were little. I mean Mickey took all sorts of shit from us and our uncles and cousins, but the second it was Terry, he just completely began with the waterworks. But that made him the easiest target, so he learned if he shut down and just took it, dad would leave him alone more. Like I told you, he was the smartest.
“It was really weird, you know? Mickey is the little bitch who won’t quit blubbering for years, and then he suddenly pulls this one - eighty and is completely still all the time, just mean and quiet. You could get him to perk up a little when dad was out, but when he was in the house he was like a statue. Gargoyle, actually, ha ha.” Mandy turns a sidelong glance at Ian. “You kind of made him a real person again. Fuckin’ weird.”
Mandy takes a long drag from her cigarette, and lifts her head up to blow it all out in a skyward plume. “Anyway, enough about my fucked up ass family, yeah?.”
“Yeah, okay,” Ian says, feeling completely hollowed out by everything Mandy has just told him, blinking harshly to try and digest all of that and move at the pace Mandy is setting.
“Don’t ever tell Mickey I told you any of this, by the way. He’ll kick my skull in,” she sighs, ashing her cigarette over her right knee. “Now tell me about yours. How’s Lip doing?”
Ian groans. The fact that Mandy can tell him all these horrific details, that even then are probably barely scratching the surface of their childhoods, and then turn around and still want to ask about Ian’s faggot brother is just unbelievable.
She mutters, “Yeah, yeah, I know,”, but doesn’t back down or retract her question. Ian wonders how long he’s going to play this game of cat and mouse with them; if Mandy and Lip will ever actually let go of each other. Or at least shut up.
Ian sighs, shifting his knees. “Shit, I don’t even know where to start, Mandy.”
“That bad, huh?”
Ian takes too sharp of a drag off his cigarette, coughing into his fist and his eyes beginning to water. Slowly, he recounts to Mandy about the day Lip called him over and he found him on the bathroom floor; how he had to force Lip to get up and dress him, then feed him and Freddie. He isn’t sure if he should be spilling everything Lip said about Tami to Mandy, of all people, so he goes light on the details of their conversation. He also skimps on the part where Lip asked about Mandy, afraid of what kind of reaction that’d cause. He feels guilty holding all of this back from Mandy, but he wants to remain equally loyal to her and Lip. And he’s sick of being the mainline in their tug of war. If Lip wants to know this bad, he can come find her.
Mandy, for the most part, maintains her composure. She has a spooked look on her face with eyes wide and her mouth open, but she remains very still beside Ian. He rubs the back of his neck and stares at her once he finishes speaking, giving her the floor to decide the tone of the follow up discussion to this.
Mandy puts out the butt of her cigarette on the toe of her boot, staring down at it intently.
“I wanted Lip to sign up for college because…I guess I thought I could save him from a south side fate, y’know.”
Ian watches as she begins to dissect the filter of her cigarette, pinching at the foam inside and the small, hard disc at the end that’s left from what burned while she smoked.
“I wanted him to take me with him, too. I kind of knew he never would, but I still thought…I guess I was under the impression that if I could just get him out of here, he’d be able to pick himself up and go out there. Make something of himself, whatever,” she lets out a heavy sigh, as though all of this has been laying on her mind for years. Knowing her, it most likely has. Ian thinks this might be the most depressing lunch break either of them have ever experienced. Their lives are just so fucking sad, all the goddamn time.
“I think your brother might be the most stubborn asshole I’ve ever met,” Mandy says. “I’ve never seen someone so dedicated to ruining his fucking life to prove a point to people around him.” She huffs out a small laugh, squeezing all the components of her now discarded cigarette butt into one tight ball. “Whatever. Not me who’s stuck with him and a fucking baby, now.”
Despite how bitter she sounds, Ian knows there’s a small undertone of wanting in her sentence, as if she’s yearning to be the one to have babytrapped Lip successfully. He’ll never get Mandy to admit it, nor does he really want to hear her do so.
*
Mickey comes in late the next night, head bowed. Ian is doing paperwork at the table, and nearly jumps out of his skin when he glances up to see Mickey standing silently in the doorway. He stares up at him with huge eyes, while Mickey fists his hands, staring down at his feet. He’s wearing the same clothes he was the night they had their fight.
Ian had spent all day contemplating calling Lip (who surely was the worst person in the world for advice on spousal infighting), and probably would have picked up the phone later if Mickey hadn’t stepped in now.
“Hey.” He says, so quietly that if anyone else was in the kitchen Ian probably wouldn’t be able to hear him. Mickey, never much for words, tries to say something else a few times, but can’t muster anything to come out of his mouth. He remains rooted in place like a ghost in the kitchen.
Ian opens his mouth to reply, but he isn’t sure what to say. He’s completely lost with how they’re supposed to properly make up after a serious fight. Mickey clearly is too, because he suddenly can’t look Ian in the eye and is shifting his weight back and forth.
And to sit here and stare at Mickey, and act like he didn’t hear everything he did from Mandy, is the worst part. He feels like bursting into tears and telling him he’s sorry, not just for this but for Mickey’s entire life, but he knows that would do nothing but make Mickey retract even harder. There's this weird, lingering hurt that fills both of them. They've never had this before; the feeling to apologize and work it out. They're so used to just picking back up and moving on wordlessly; but now they live together. Now they’re adults who’ve hurt each other solely on an emotional level. It’s incredibly strange and disarming to experience. Ian wants to lick his own wounds, while telling Mickey how sorry he is.
The conclusion they come to is to have Mickey stand inside the bathroom with the door closed and Ian pulling up a chair to face it, the both of them speaking through the door so they don’t have to look at the other - though the whole thing is really an elaborate setup for only Mickey. On one hand Ian feels utterly ridiculous about this. It’s almost like some weird punishment Fiona would’ve made him and Lip do when they were younger, like kids who got in trouble and have to confess now, but it’s not. It’s Ian and his weird, emotionally strangled boyfriend who he loves genuinely more than life itself, who he would legitimately kill himself if anything ever happened to. The other part of Ian is just so happy they’ve found a way to actually talk that he doesn’t care at all how utterly silly this is.
“I help Terry with finances.” Mickey says, his voice muffled.
Ian blinks.
“My brothers are too retarded to be able to do any of the math, and my dad would overcharge or underpay, he didn’t understand percentages and…and it was fucking everything up…so I stepped up and I do it now because it was getting so bad. That’s why he calls me away so much. I’m the only one who can do the fuckin’ long division and multiplication correctly.”
Ian nods, before remembering Mickey can’t see him.
“Okay.”
“But every time he calls me over there, he tries to weasel me into doing deliveries for him, and all this other shit and…well - that’s why I’m gone for so long. He usually makes me help him when transporting drugs or guns.”
“I could’ve guessed that, Mick.” Ian says. “That’s what everyone in this neighborhood knows your dad for. Why didn’t you want to tell me?”
“I don’t know,” Mickey says softly behind the door. “I just - I don’t want you wrapped up in it. A lot of times I go over there, I tell him to let me off and find someone else, and, well you know him. He gets pissed and we start arguin’ and then usually he swings on me and -.”
There’s a soft thud on the door, as if Mickey knocked his head against it. His voice sounds closer when he speaks, as if he is leaning against the door now.
“I just don’t want you to know details about it, because if anything goes wrong and the police, or someone Terry’s crossed ends up knocking…”
“Mick, I have a criminal record,” Ian sighs, pushing himself up to his feet to move closer to the door. “We both do. Do you think I’m above something dirty like this all of the sudden? I was a teenage stripper, our house was bought with Carl’s drug money, Lip and I got busted for carjacking when we were fifteen and only got let off because a cop we knew was in love with Fiona and bribed the attorney. We had to use a random woman’s body from the nursing home to fake be our dead aunt so Fiona could get custody of us. We exhumed my dead mother to collect pounds of meth we buried her with. My life sucks just as much as yours.”
“I don’t want you pissing your life away because of me and my dad,” Mickey says quietly after a long stretch of silence, and Ian feels his heart tug, the shock of Mickey repeating his own words from so long ago almost painful. It takes him a moment to formulate a response.
“That’s not what it is.” Ian murmurs. “I'd never blame you. It wouldn’t be pissing my life away if I had to do something like that for you.”
“You love being an EMT, man.”
“I love you more.”
“Jesus,” Mickey scoffs, like he can’t believe any of this. “Enough to do time?”
Ian squeezes his eyes shut, grinding his teeth together. He folds his arms behind his head and lets out a heaving sigh, taking a minute to think. There’s only one way to work out this conversation, to not get Mickey to clam up and retreat again. He reflects back to his conversation with V at the bar a few days ago. Sometimes the only solution is sacrifice. And despite the fact that it’s his greatest, deepest wish, the first thing he’d ever ask for if he encountered a genie, Ian knows he can’t ask Mickey to cut off his family. Mickey is too deeply entrenched in everything, he’ll never get him to fully pull away. That’s just how his brain is, do anything forever for family. And as much as he hates it, Ian understands.
So after a few beats of silence, he says, “Mickey, I promise to never get involved with you and your dad’s business. Ever.”
Mickey responds with a soft chuckle. Ian opens his eyes just to frown at the battered, paint stripped door his boyfriend is currently hiding behind.
“Shut up. I’m serious. I swear; no matter how much he pisses me off, I promise to stay away from him. But I want you to tell me about shit that happens. Keep me in the loop.” He stares at the door, wishing he could touch Mickey right now; hold his hand or grab his thigh. Something.
“Because I do love you enough to do time for you.”
“Don’t say that.”
“You did it for me,” Ian says. “I’m not joking, not about this.”
“Ian -”
Mickey is interrupted by Lip barging in the back door, almost swinging it open right into Ian. Ian swears as he dodges it, finding his brother standing in the doorway with a curious look on his face and a cigarette in his mouth.
“What the fuck, Lip?” He almost screams out of combined frustration and surprise.
“What the shit are you doing?” Lip grunts, stepping in and slamming the door behind him with his heel. Ian watches him walk through the kitchen, casually.
“Someone in the bathroom?” He asks, taking one last puff before he flicks the cigarette into the sink. He then begins to root through the pantry, without even bothering to try and hide it. Ian glares at him from across the kitchen, nostrils flaring.
“Get out, Lip. Please. Not a good time.”
“Sorry?” Lip asks, his eyebrows twisting up, curious now. Ian groans, turning away. All he’s done is made Lip even more curious; eager to pick at the situation here.
As Ian turns away from his brother, he’s surprised to find the bathroom door open, and Mickey right in front of him, though his eyes are also trained on Lip and he has a deep scowl on his face. Ian stares at him and after a few moments Mickey eventually blinks up to look at him, quickly averting his eyes away almost as soon as they find Ian’s. Ian leans in, grabbing Mickey’s head between his hands and thumbs his face. Mickey grows red under his hold, causing Ian to smile. He stands there for a moment, just to hold him and run his eyes all over his face, until Mickey eventually can bring himself to flit his gaze back up to meet Ian's, and they stand there for a moment maintaining eye contact. It’d be uncomfortable, perhaps, if they didn’t like each other; miss each other, so much. Ian presses a kiss right above Mickey’s eyebrow.
“You guys are fucking weird,” Lip burps.
*
Mickey quickly excuses himself to shower, and Ian lets him leave after a few more kisses. He then spends a few moments entertaining Lip behind the counter, who apparently is only here because Tami gets released from the hospital tomorrow and he’s nervous. So instead of going out and drinking, he’s decided to stress eat multiple bowls of cereal in the Gallagher kitchen. Ian stares at him, leaning back against the counter, unimpressed.
“Who’s watching Freddie, then?”
“Carl,” Lip shrugs. Ian scoffs.
“So you left your brother at your house to watch your baby and had to walk all the way over here to harass me?”
Lip makes a face at him as he chews. “I can’t stay another minute in that house, man. I can’t take another Afroman song. And what the fuck does Carl know about adult relationships? Like he would’ve been any help to me?”
“Not like you know much either.” Ian sniffs, but pulls him into a hug before leaving, despite how annoyed he still truly is with Lip barging in on him and Mickey during a really important moment. And continuing to stand there during another.
Ian hops up the stairs, listening to the sound of the shower indeed running. Mickey had been kind of grimey after a day and a half of hiding out at his dad’s house. It makes Ian’s heart twist to think about.
The bathroom lock clicks open if you jiggle it slightly to the left, which is how Ian slips in. He raps his knuckles on the door to make his presence known to Mickey, as not to scare him. He’s a lot flightier than he’ll ever admit.
“What?” Mickey barks from behind the curtain. Ian smiles at how rough his tone is, probably because he’s wary of Lip being in the house now. He makes quick work of shucking off his clothes, and peels back the curtain just enough to poke his head in. Mickey’s face softens when he realizes it’s just Ian. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out once he sees that Ian is now climbing into the shower with him. He shuts his mouth and takes a step back, giving Ian space to rinse off.
But instead of doing so, Ian reaches forward and grabs Mickey, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him impossibly close, dropping his head to press his nose to the pale skin of Mickey’s collarbone.
Realistically, they probably should still be discussing everything; pick up their conversation where it left off. They barely solved anything but he just wants to hold Mickey for a moment. Just have him to himself after his incredibly lonely last two days.
And Ian won’t mention this now, but someday he wants to tell Mickey how much he likes being naked with him. Not just when they’re fucking - though he does enjoy that a lot - but simply pressed skin to skin. He really likes when their bare bodies are together, makes him feel like he and Mickey could merge into one. Become one separate being, never able to distinguish where Mickey ends and Ian begins, or vice versa.
Mickey leans into him, tucking his head into the small crook of Ian’s collarbone. He lets out a shuddering sigh that sounds like he was holding it in for the entire time he was away.
They stand there under the shower spray for a long time, breathing each other in.
*
Wednesday night while they’re busy chainsmoking, Mickey laying down and watching pointless YouTube videos on the laptop while Ian lazes on top of him, Ian sees Carl walk past their open door and down the hall, with none other than the blonde boy from the ice cream shop. Ian jumps up and peeks out their doorway, seeing them both enter Carl and Liam’s room at the end of the hall. As Carl closes the door, he catches Ian’s eyes, and flashes a quick thumbs up.
“Fuck’re you doing now?”
“I think Carl just walked into his room holding hands with a boy,” Ian says pensively. Mickey snorts.
“He’s repping our set now. Can’t have shit in this house.”
Ian keeps his ears tuned straight out the hallway for the rest of the night, trying to see if he picks up on anything from Carl and Liam’s room. Mickey keeps poking fun at him, but Ian knows he’s a little curious as well.
They’re down in the kitchen doing the dishes when Carl and his boy - Mitch, Ian remembers a few hours in after some one - sided chatting with Mickey - come back down the stairs. Ian stares, unsubtly, as Carl walks him to the door. Mickey starts griping about Ian picking up the slack. Ian shushes him.
He watches ecstatically as Carl leans in to press a polite kiss to the corner of Mitch’s mouth. They smile fondly at each other, and then Mitch walks out the door.
Carl lumbers into the kitchen to find Ian smiling wide, his hands over his mouth with bright eyes. Bashfully, he nods at Ian and reaches around to grab a beer from the fridge.
“So?” Ian says, a little too loud, after a minute. “Do you have a boyfriend now?”
Carl looks contemplative for a moment, taking a swig from the bottle. He smirks up at Ian.
“I like how he smells.”
Mickey tells him to shut the fuck up and then turns to Ian to order him back on the dishes.
*
Ian finds himself wandering aimlessly into Lip’s work the day after. He’s surprised to discover you can just walk right into a motorcycle garage. He assumed some burly guy covered in grease would’ve asked him what he thinks he’s doing by the time he spots Lip, but no one even bats an eye.
If Lip is surprised to see him, he doesn’t show it. He glances up at Ian over the fender of the bike he’s currently working on. Ian can’t believe he can do this for hours without even smoking, or listening to music, or literally anything. Just Lip and a machine for hours. He finds it difficult to believe this is Lip’s true passion, but he doesn’t care enough to ask why. Lip tried to explain how to change the oil in Tami’s car once and Ian almost blacked out from boredom. He sometimes wants Mickey to get a job like this, though, because he thinks it’d be a little hot, which is funny, because every time Ian watches Lip work on something, he ends up making it look like the least appealing thing in the world.
“What the fuck were you and Mickey doing Monday night?”
Ian scowls, sitting down on one of the rolling chairs nearby and pulling it closer to Lip’s bike, his hands on his knees.
“Hey to you too, man.”
“Ugh, leave me alone if this is the mood you’re in. Tami already had my ass last night because she found out I don’t put Fred in proper outfits most days. Can you believe that? She gets out of the hospital, recovers from almost dying and finally gets to actually start parenting, and she’s all up in arms because I never put Freddie in overalls. He’s like two weeks old.”
Ian watches him with an unamused expression.
“How is Tami doing?”
“Fine. She’s way more mobile than I thought she’d be. All she wants to do is hold Fred and stare at him.”
“Well, you said yourself; Fred is two weeks old. What else is there to even do with him?”
“We watch South Park.”
“Really, Lip? You want to raise a kid properly for once and you’re starting him on South Park already?”
“Kid’s gotta know ball by the time he gets to school,” Lip sniffs, like he’s clearly had this argument before with Tami, almost word for word. Ian doesn’t even want to imagine that right now. He thinks he’s getting a migraine from the smell of motor oil anyways.
“Hey, since you’re here, go grab a pair of gloves.”
“Why?” Ian narrows his eyes.
“Because the roller bearings on this need to be greased and you have empty hands. Go.”
Ian is too tired to argue, and does get up to pull on a pair of black rubber gloves. He frowns down at them as he walks back over to Lip.
“Why do you guys wear the same gloves I do at work for your bikes?”
“Disposable,” Lip shrugs, handing Ian a tub of black grease. He wrinkles his nose at it.
“Sometimes I pop a glove and don’t even notice while working and my hands will be black for days after. Tami really hates that. She has all these weird rules about what shirts I can and can’t wear while working. She thinks I need to have shirts specifically for my projects that are allowed to get stained, and ones that can never touch it. Even if they’re the same brand, she’ll tell me which ones are okay to get dirty and which aren’t because of the colors. I swear sometimes she just likes pissing me off.”
“I could say the same about you, you know,” Ian mutters as Lip drops several small metal balls in his hand. “What the fuck?”
“Open your other hand.” Lip instructs. Ian, like a blind fool, does. Lip drops a small metal ring in his hand. He uses his own to take the tub of grease back and open it up, before grabbing the metal ring back and beginning to apply it to the inside. Ian makes a face.
“Am I allowed to talk to you about my issues now or do I need to stay silent while you finger this?”
“Don’t be a perv, Ian.” Lip replies. “No one’s stopping you, by the way. I assumed that’s why you’re here. Talk away.”
Ian frowns at him before he begins speaking, still cupping one hand to hold Lip’s bullshit pieces of metal. He squints at them, wondering what on earth this could do for a bike.
“Mandy told me some really fucked up shit about Mickey while we were fighting.”
“Is that what you call that?”
Ian sighs, leaning back in the roller chair. The whole thing is one solid piece of plastic that makes him feel like he’s about to tip over when he moves to rest his back against it because of how far it slouches.
“Mickey can’t look me in the eyes whenever he gets vulnerable so we closed the door while we talked it out. Even me being there when he opens up makes him really fidgety and he just ends up repeating himself a bunch.”
Lip snorts. Ian kicks him. As much as he hates telling Lip about all their personal details, as much as Mickey hates when Ian tells Lip everything, Ian processes things best when he verbalizes them to someone like this. And unfortunately his best friend and go - to for years was Lip.
“Keep working on your Harley, Lip. Shut up.”
“It’s a Kawasaki.”
“I really don’t care.”
“1979 -”
“Dude,” Ian bites. Lip chuckles, motioning a hand for Ian to continue. “What did she tell you about Mickey? Is it some freaky sex thing where I’m going to regret even asking?”
“Why would Mandy tell me something about Mickey having sex that I wouldn’t already know?” Ian bites. “Swear to God, Lip, most annoying person on earth. There is something about you,”
“Jesus Christ, Ian, relax. And get on with it already.”
Ian sighs, glancing over at the wall where there are roughly three hundred fliers pasted in layers over each other from the years. His eyes dart over countless ads promising free food with applying terms and conditions, and numbers for puppies.
“She just…she told me about some fucked up shit their dad used to do to them as little kids. And I guess I don’t know if I should bring it up to Mickey.” He looks back at Lip, chewing at the inside of his mouth. “I really want to, but Mandy told me to swear to never tell him she told me any of this, so I think it’d go really badly.”
“Yeah, probably would.” Lip says, leaning back on his heels. “Terry was a bigger piece of shit than Frank, Ian. We’ve known that for years. Why is it bugging you so bad now?”
“Is a bigger piece of shit than Frank. Mickey is still working with him. He refuses to get a real job because Terry pesters him so bad and Mickey’s still scared of him. But he won’t admit it.”
“He impregnated Mickey’s sister - his own daughter - when she was like, sixteen. I’d be scared of him too. Terry’s probably killed more people than there is in our own family, man.”
“You are not helping at all, Lip. Just so you know.”
“Well, excuse me.”
“She told me that Terry would hold their heads underwater until they passed out. And that when they were really little, he used to make them stand in the corner and would bark and growl at them like a dog if they made any noises. Well - actually Mickey got really mad and said something about this in our argument, but I asked Mandy about it and she confirmed it. And then this fucked up shit about how he once made Mickey dig a grave in the backyard and told him it was his own - made him lay down inside of it to make sure he fit.”
“What, like GG Allin?”
“Yeah. Like GG Allin.” He doesn’t think Terry pistol - whipping Mickey is news enough to mention it to Lip. They probably saw Terry do it to one of the kids at least twice over the years.
“Jesus. It does sound about right, though. I can’t believe how cognitive Mandy and Mickey are sometimes. I mean, look at Iggy and Colin.”
“Iggy and Colin aren’t incompetent, but they sure are dumb.” Ian says. “I think if I threw a brick at their heads it’d bounce right off.”
“Thanks for disagreeing with me just to reword my sentence.”
“Shut up.” Ian watches him pick up the balls from his hand and begin slotting them inside the metal ring, now full of grease. He was already plenty happy with his own job, but this is making him know he could never be a mechanic. This is just silly to watch.
“I shouldn’t bring it up to him, should I?” Ian asks. Lip shrugs.
“I don’t think Mickey wants to talk about that shit at all, Ian.”
“I know he doesn’t…but I want to.”
Lip snorts, and glances up at him. “You act like his therapist, sometimes. Do you want him to come to you one night and tell you that Debbie told him about that time Monica slit her wrists on Thanksgiving and then ask if you want to discuss it? All you’re going to do is piss him off. And you just did that. Was that what the fight was about?”
Ian’s face burns as he thinks back to what is now half a week ago. “In a way…I got mad he keeps running off to help his dad and won’t tell me anything. He told me he wants to keep me out of it because he thinks I would go and try to fight his dad to stop recruiting Mickey.”
“Yeah, you probably would.”
“Whose side are you on today?”
“ ‘Today’, like I ever pick a clear winner with you two. You guys are so annoying. You run to me for all these nitpicky details. I think I need to just give you Tami’s phone number.”
“From the way you talk about your goddamn baby momma, I’d think you knocked up Marie from Breaking Bad.” Ian sighs, defeated. “You and Mandy have basically just told me the same thing,”
Lip makes a face at that, but doesn’t say anything. Ian thinks if Lip asks how Mandy is, he might legitimately kill him. He’ll tip the bike over on him right here, bludgeon his face in with some nearby tool, whatever.
“I don’t think I needed to wear gloves for this, by the way. I’m just holding shit for you.”
“We can fix that,” Lip says. “Come here, help me put the bearing back in.”
“Come on, Lip. My problem isn’t even fixed yet.”
Lip turns to stare at Ian, looking thoroughly annoyed with him.
“What even is your problem, Ian? Mandy specified some stuff their dad did to them as kids, and you want to, what? Know if you should tell Mickey you know about it? What is that going to achieve? Everyone knows about Terry’s abuse. We used to see him beat on Colin and Mickey with a two by four in their yard while walking to Sheila’s house, Ian. I'm pretty sure he brags about it at The Alibi while he plays pool.”
He shakes his head, reaching inside the bike again. “If Mickey wants to talk to you about that kind of stuff, he probably will. That’s not something you just drop one day. Wait till he gives you the signal to coax it out of him.”
Ian stares at the back of Lip’s neck, where the stretched out scar at the base almost pokes out as he maneuvers the roller bearing.
“See? That wasn’t so hard for you to just tell me, now was it?”
“Either get down here and help me reinsert this or get the hell out, Ian. I’m sick of you.”