#gge2017

[ashjashakti]

Boys in The Snow - Gallavich Gift Exchange 2017 #1 giftee: @Geneva 

prompt: bonfire, marshmellows, snow fight, romance, happiness

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/gge2017

[shamelessly4shameless-blog]

For life, yeah?

Gallavich Gift Exchange 2017 for @frank-iero-owns-my-ass! The prompt was:  Mickey coaxing Ian through a particularly depressive week, it's lasted longer than usual and Ian won't come around. Ian is secretly afraid Mickey will leave him if he keeps up his manic episodes, but he feels so helpless, as does Mickey in trying to help him. Mickey pov (general guidelines, feel free to change it, im so easy to please) So here is my interpretation and I really hope you like it :) Also a huge thank you to @gallavichthings for organising this whole thing. xx

Mickey hisses through his teeth as he runs his bloody knuckles under the stream of cold water.

“Mother fucker!”

He grits out through pursed lips and flexes his hand experimentally. It’s going to bruise like a bitch but he doesn’t think anything is broken. Thank fuck for that! Ian is going to be pissed enough without adding a hospital bill. He keeps his hand submerged for a couple more minutes and then carefully wraps it in a mostly clean towel and returns to the scene of the crime.

Yev turns away from the carnage as his Papa approaches and looks up at Mickey with large, sympathetic eyes, sucking in his lower lip.

“Ah shit.”

Mickey groans, surveying the damage for himself.

“Shit, Papa.”

Yev agrees sombrely. Mickey nods and mimics the little boy’s lip movement. Though now is not the moment for taking a photo, if anyone was there to do so, it would serve as an excellent paternity test if there was any doubt left as to who fathered Yevgeny. They are two frowning, blue-eyed peas in a South Side pod.

“Daddy is gonna be super mad.”

“Yeah.”

Mickey nods grimly already thinking about the sheer level of jutting chin he’s going to have to deal with for this one. He squats down beside his five year old and Yev wordlessly hands him the broken controller. Mickey runs his thumb over the cracked plastic and floppy toggle sticks. It wasn’t Ian’s remote thank God, but it’s still going to be an expense they could do without. The re-run of the K.O that caused the meltdown is still playing on the TV.

“Your hand okay?”

Yev asks, rocking up onto the balls of his feet to see the rather impressive swell of bloody knuckles his Papa is sporting.

“Hurts a bit.”

Mickey admits and glances up at the fist shaped hole in the wall. From this angle it looks even worse.

“Fuck.”

“Fuck.”

Yev agrees again and puts a comforting arm around his Papa’s shoulders. Mickey gives him a little lopsided smile and stands up, lifting Yevgeny with him and settling the boy on his hip. Yev raises his eyebrows at his Papa and flicks his gaze to the broken plasterwork.

“What are we gonna tell Daddy?”

“That I lost my shit and busted the wall I guess.”

Mickey shrugs.

“Are you gonna get a spanking?”

“Maybe, little man. Maybe.”

Mickey laughs despite himself and Yev bites his lip in consternation. He has never been spanked but has been threatened with it a couple of times and he understands the general principle of it well enough to know it is to be avoided at all costs. He looks back at the wall over Papa’s shoulder as Mickey carries him out of the room.

“We could fix it?”

“Yeah, I’m definitely gonna have to fix it. But, hey, listen, you get that what I just did was really bad, right? We ain’t supposed to throw toys.”

“Or stamp on them.”

“Right.”

“Or punch things.”

“No …”

Mickey grimaces as Yev continues to tick things off on his fingers

“Or say cuss words really loud.”

“Okay...”

“Or …”

“I think you got it, little man. Good job!”

Mickey kisses his son’s forehead and stands him down in the kitchen, handing the kid a chocolate chip cookie. Yev isn’t supposed to have sugary snacks before lunch but when Mickey acts out in front of him, which doesn’t happen as often as most would expect, but more often than he likes to admit, he always feels like he needs to spoil him a little to make up for it. It’s not great for a five year old to learn new and improved tantrum techniques from his father.

“Want a bite, Papa?”

“Nah, you enjoy it, man.”

Yev smiles happily and stuffs the rest of the sticky treat into his mouth, chewing with a noisy enthusiasm, broken toys and punched walls all but forgotten.

*

Mickey is just pondering how best to patch up the wall without Ian freaking out too much when the front door slams open and his boyfriend crashes in along with a flurry of snow and cold wind, face drawn and angry.

“Daddy!”

Yev cries excitedly, immediately abandoning Mickey in favour of charging toward Ian.

“Hi Yev.”

Ian picks his son up obligingly but Mickey’s ears instantly prick at the sound of Ian’s voice. It is flat, devoid of its usual flair and light.

“Hey, you’re home early.”

Mickey ventures cautiously as Ian walks over to him, his uniform is crumpled, messy, it looks like Ian has been hunched over rather than his normal straight-backed elegance.

“Not feeling good.”

Ian looks at Mickey, glances at the hole in the wall and closes his eyes, turning his face to bury his nose in Yev’s hair.

“What the fuck did you do?”

“I … ah …”

“Papa punched it.”

Yev offers. 

Ian’s eyes instantly harden.

“Jesus Christ, Mickey. What the Hell is wrong with you?”

The frustrated disappointment in Ian’s weary voice renders Mickey immediately mute and he studies his bruised knuckles intently. Ian kisses Yev’s temple and hands him over to Mickey, actively trying to avoid touching him at all.

“I need to lie down. Just leave this shit alone until I get up. I don’t want your clumsy fuckin’ patch up disturbing me.”

Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the harsh words and harsher tone but the bags under Ian’s eyes silence any retort he might try to make.

“And put the damn heating on. You spend enough on cigarettes; you can spend some money on keeping our kid warm.”

Ian gestures around the already warm house and glowers at Mickey who bites his tongue with an effort and nods.

“I’ll bring you in some lunch, okay?”

“Whatever.”

Ian stomps past and closes the bedroom door loudly behind him and Mickey lets out the breath he has been holding. Yev looks up at his father uncertainly

“Is Daddy okay?”

“Yeah, just tired and mad at me for the hole in the wall.”

Mickey smiles at Yev and then glances up at the closed door, a frown creasing his own brow. It has been nearly a year since Ian’s last depressive episode, and Mickey supposes it had to happen again at some point.

*

The next morning Mickey wakes up and rolls over to face the Ian shaped bundle of blankets that is beside him. He knows that Ian is awake from the pattern of his breathing and Mickey tentatively rests his hand on the outline of one strong arm.

“Good morning.”

No response.

“How you feelin’?”

Mickey inches the covers back slightly to try and get a look at his boyfriend but Ian shivers against Mickey’s palm as it is laid on his shoulder and pulls away silently.

Shit.

Mickey sits up and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, wiping away the grains of sleep gathered in the corners.

He rolls himself out of bed and grabs his dark blue dressing gown from the back of the door. The thick, coarse towelling is a reassuring glint of normality and makes him feel a little better as his bare feet adjust to the cold kitchen floor.

He flips open the pill dispenser lid and empties the four pills Ian takes every morning into his palm, poking at each of them in turn with his forefinger, scowling. He wishes he knew which one of the little round fuckers had flunked out on Ian this time. He’d crush it, toss it down the toilet then take a shit on the pieces.

However, Mickey doesn’t know and so he carries all four back to Ian with a glass of water and focusses his attention on the task at hand.

“Hey man. Time to take your pills.”

Ian’s voice is muffled but clear enough for Mickey to make out:

“Go away.”

“I will in a minute, I promise. Just take these and I can go.”

Mickey crouches besides him and gently tugs the covers back from Ian’s face. He should have had Yevgeny stay the night. Ian is in pretty bad shape but not so bad as Mickey had feared and he almost always takes the pills when Yev offers them to him. As long as Ian is not at the very bottom of the pit of despair, he is still a pushover for the kid.

“Please, Mick ...”

“C’mon. You know I gotta see you do it.”

Mickey’s thighs are beginning to cramp from the squat and he shifts awkwardly, trying to be patient. Ian eventually uncurls a hand and Mickey slips the pills into it and then holds the back of Ian’s head, helping him sip water to get them down.

“Alright. I’m gonna make you a sandwich and leave it on the side here. You can eat it if you want to.”

Mickey stands, pressing a kiss to Ian’s cheek before drawing the covers back over his shoulder. Ian tugs them the rest of the way over his head and Mickey nods to himself. Fine.

He goes into the bathroom and whilst he releases the torrent of his morning piss, half-heartedly aiming at a stain on the back of the bowl, he tries to stem the rising panic bubbling in his chest, reciting the familiar mantras to himself.

They’ve done this before.

One of the pills is out of whack and needs to be regulated.

Ian will spend a day or two like this and then he’ll manages to move, they’ll go to the clinic and sort it.

They’ll be okay.

Ian isn’t even as bad as he sometimes gets, he can still call Mickey ‘Mick’ and he took the pills without crying, lashing out or just refusing until Mickey had to force him.

It’s all okay.

It is all going to be okay.

He texts Fiona and receives a reply that she’ll be over soon. Gallagher’s love a fuckin’ drama, he thinks wryly and then chides himself for being an asshole. The last couple of years the Gallagher clan have been pretty good about accepting Mickey and Fiona is always ready to help out when Ian hits a rough patch.

Mickey makes Ian a baloney sandwich, leaves it on the side with a glass of water, and goes out for his morning smoke.

He stands on the porch in his robe, a battered pair of tartan slippers on his bare feet, faded blue shorts and a tank top, a cigarette dangling from his lower lip. A couple of kids ride by on bikes, leaving tracks in the fresh snow, and one of them flips Mickey off. He returns the gesture and they pedal away, shrieking with delighted laughter. They’ll probably tell their friends that they flipped off Mickey Milkovich and got away with it. Mickey doesn’t care. His is one of the few houses that has never had a juvenile break in, that tells him all he needs to know about his status in the community, thank you very fuckin’ much.

The sounds of South Side fill the morning air and Mickey inhales deeply, appreciating the familiarity of them. Sirens, screeching tires, the deep rumble of machinery in the distance.

He settles into the creaky old lounger that Ian dragged home from Christ knows where and tips his head back, drawing heavily on his smoke. The material is cold even through his dressing gown but he doesn’t mind that. It’s peaceful out here and if he freezes his balls off it doesn’t really matter. He won’t be using them for a little while anyway with Ian like this.

He feels like he has forgotten something but shrugs it off. Ian had his pills, he’s got food, he’s got water … Mickey snorts and shakes his head. Sometimes caring for Ian in these phases feels like having a sick old cat: Feed it, medicate it, clean up its … SHIT!

Mickey hastily stubs the cigarette out and hurries into the house. He shrugs out of his robe and pushes their bedroom door open gently.

“Ian, hey, we gotta ...”

Mickey trails off as his eyes light on the glass of water. No longer clear, it is now a dull yellow. Ian has pissed in the glass. It is full to the brim, Mickey’s gaze follows the splashes on the table, down the draw, and he knows, without looking there is going to be a big old wet patch on the floor. It’s not Ian’s fault. He knows it isn’t, but his eyebrows are still up to his hairline and his lips compress into a tight line.

Mickey rakes a hand over his face and waits in the doorway until he can be sure that his temper is under control.

“Okay. Fuck. Alright ...”

Mickey nods to himself and stalks into the bathroom grabbing a bucket, cloth and bottle of disinfectant all the while worrying at his lower lip with his teeth.

As he enters the bedroom, he composes his face to neutrality. Ian is looking out from the cocoon of his blanket with flat, red-rimmed eyes.

“It’s on the carpet.”

Ian whispers miserably. Mickey shrugs and glances down dismissively as if the carpet brought it on its fucking self by being in Ian’s way.

“It doesn’t matter. Carpets shit anyway.”

Mickey gingerly tips the glass into his bucket; not bothering to try to pick it up, it is too full. He drops the cloth to the carpet and stamps onto it a few times, spraying the bedside table with disinfectant at the same time.

“I’m sorry.”

Ian shakes his head hopelessly and Mickey gives him a lopsided little smile

“Meh. We’ve all been there. I once pissed in Mandy’s cereal bowl ‘cause I didn’t wanna pause a video game. Don’t worry about it.”

A tear slides down Ian’s nose but he manages to lift one trembling corner of his mouth at the anecdote as Mickey pats his cheek very softly, stroking the tip of Ian’s short sideburns with his finger. Mickey hates seeing him like this, somehow when Ian is in the grip of a deep depression it is easier, the rules and limitations become more defined. This is a weird middle ground, the pills are trying to work but they are just enough out of sync to keep Ian submerged below the waterline of his illness.

“Hey. You listening to me? It’s okay.”

“You must hate me.”

“Not in this life, Gallagher.”

The kiss Mickey places against Ian’s lips is a full stop rather than a question mark and Ian reaches up to trace the curve of Mickey’s cheekbone gratefully. There is a flash of utter clarity amongst the clouding of his vision and Ian sighs gently. He doesn’t have the energy to reassure Mickey that he is still there, he just has to trust that he already knows.

*

Fiona arrives just as Mickey is finishing the clean-up and wiping Ian’s hands with a couple of the little wipes they keep for Yev.

“Hey Sweetface.”

She murmurs and spends a few minutes speaking in a soft, sweet voice to Ian and catching him up on family gossip. He doesn’t show any signs of interest but he is acknowledging the information and that is something. Mickey loiters on the edge of the bed, his fingers lightly resting on Ian’s foot. He is glad that Fiona is telling him normal shit, sometimes she can get a bit maudlin and it puts him on edge, plus he doesn’t want her making Ian feel worse. Once he is content that Ian is in safe hands, Mickey excuses himself to make coffee and when Fiona comes out of the bedroom, they sit at the table to drink it.

“What can I do to help, Mickey?”

Mickey taps the rim of his mug and sighs

“Not a whole lot for this but I was wonderin’ if you could watch him for a few hours on Thursday? If he’s not feelin’ better, you know?”

Fiona nods and sips her drink, it’s stronger than she’s used to but looking at the lines beside Mickey’s eyes, he desperately needs it strong today.

“What time?”

“Late afternoon? I gotta job to do and it’s kinda time sensitive. I’d tell the guy I can’t do it but I took the cash up front so now it feels shitty to bail on him.”

“You got a job?”

Fiona looks so happy that Mickey feels almost sorry to burst her nosy bubble

“Ah … not like … uh … it’s just a beat down. Some guy is havin’ trouble gettin’ his daughter’s ex to fuck off and he asked me if I could help.”

Mickey can feel the blush that creeps into his cheeks and scowls defensively, although to be fair Fiona hasn’t actually said anything but it still feels a little awkward admitting how he pays the bills.

“We need the money.”

“Sure, of course.”

Fiona’s smile is a little more stretched but credit to her, she’s trying to look impartial and Mickey cocks his eyebrow at her, letting a small grin lift his own lips.

“It’s a full service in this house. I beat ‘em up and Ian gets the call to go fix ‘em up.”

Fiona gives a surprised snort and her smile relaxes into a much more genuine grin.

“Fuckin’ Milkovichs.”

“Fuckin’ Gallaghers.”

Mickey counters as they touch coffee cups lightly and Fiona hands Mickey a cigarette. It isn’t exactly a friendship, but it’s close. Fiona respects that Mickey stands by Ian during his periods of illness and Mickey respects that Fiona shows up when he asks her. He suspects that the old superiority complex is still there deep down, but she treats him evenly and the whole family is great with Yevgeny, so fuck it. Sometimes you gotta accept the wins where you find them.

“Are you guys gonna be OK?”

“We’ll be fine. Tomorrow or Thursday, he’ll pick up and we’ll get to the clinic. Just a balance issue with the meds.”

Mickey’s tone doesn’t leave room for any disagreement so Fiona just nods and glances around the sparsely decorated little house. She likes how easy it is to pick out who chose what. The bright coloured cereal bowls, army paraphernalia and colourful movie posters are Ian to the life, whilst the solid, dark wood coffee table and Jack Daniels posters are very obviously Mickey. She glances at the no-nonsense black cup in her hands: Mickey.

“What happened to the wall?”

Fiona frowns at the gaping hole in the wall beside the TV and Mickey shrugs

“Milkovich temper tantrum.”

He hedges and to his joint relief and horror, Fiona gives him a sympathetic look and sighs

“Yev did that? Jesus. Trust me, the tantrums they have at five are nothing compared to the meltdowns of a pissed off eight year old. Carl once cracked a car wind-shield.”

Mickey makes a non-committal noise and buries his nose in his mug.

*

The next few of days pass in a really fucking monotonous blur for Mickey. Ian is either asleep, crying or angry. It is a low dip but it’s not the sort where he can’t function at all.

He can still demand that Mickey go out and get him some coke to help his mood, then throw a plate of food across the room when he is refused.

He can still recognise that he’s being difficult and sob his guilt and remorse into Mickey’s chest before pushing him away again.

Mickey just replaces the thrown food, refuses to get anything stronger than a joint, and strokes him back to sleep when he cries. What else can he do?

It is part of the illness, part of his body and mind trying to readjust and find a way through. Mickey knows all this, Ian’s doctor has explained it and Mickey has seen it several times. It can be hurtful, sure, but Mickey has taken a lot worse from people he doesn’t like half as much as Ian, so he figures he can handle it when it occurs.

On the fourth morning, Mickey lays down beside Ian after giving him his pills and kisses from his elbow to shoulder, resting his chin on him after the final kiss.

“I love you.”

He murmurs, sweeping a length of slightly greasy hair back behind Ian’s ear. Mickey kisses the muscular shoulder again and feels his body begin to stir. He shifts his hips back, not wanting Ian to feel the bulge in his pants. It isn’t anything Mickey can control, being near Ian is enough to get him going, no matter the circumstances, but Ian doesn’t need that kind of attention right now.

They watch a couple of shows and Mickey reads while Ian sleeps. It isn’t difficult exactly but it is boring as Hell.

When Fiona comes to relieve him of Ian watch for a couple of hours, Mickey is actually a little excited to get out of the house and work out some of his tensions and frustrations on some little punk who needs to learn when to back off.

He drives over to his clients place and parks a block over in case it goes to shit and the cops show up. This part of town is worse even than where he and Ian grew up and a few suspicious looking dudes glance appraisingly in his direction before clearly thinking better of it and going back to whatever hole they crawled out of.

One guy follows Mickey a couple hundred yards and Mickey toys with the idea of using him for practice, it’s been a while since he had a proper fight but it all seems a bit too much like hard work and although he’s glad to be out, he is worrying about Ian and his head isn’t really in the game.

The guy begins to move in on Mickey and with an impatient grunt, Mickey pulls his butterfly knife out of his jacket pocket and begins to flick it to and fro, flashing the blade with a familiar deadly grace, the metal making little ‘snicking’ sounds as it flits between his fingers.

The guy disappears down a side street and Mickey knocks on his clients door without further incident.

“Oh shit! Mickey, hey!”

“Hey Joe. You ready?”

“Oh man, listen, Ariel got back with the little prick last week, I meant to call you ...”

Mickey raises his eyebrows in irritation

“I already spent that money, Joe.”

Joe, a retired boxer and occasional bouncer flinches back at the frustrated look on the younger man’s face. He hasn’t seen the youngest Milkovich boy for a while but he seems pretty fired up and Joe knows from experience that underestimating his temper is a fool’s errand, it’s why he hired him in the first place.

“Keep it, she’ll break up with him soon and I’ll call you. OK?”

Mickey is bitterly disappointed but nods curtly.

“Alright man. Take it easy.”

“You too, Mickey.”

Mickey pauses to light a cigarette on the doorstep and hears a bolt slid discreetly into place. That cheers him up a little, he likes it when big guys feel a bit uncertain of him and Joe is a really big guy. Mickey supposes its professional pride but it is nice to know that your work is so respected that people want to make sure you don’t turn it around on them.

He considers chasing down one of the smack-head assholes who wanted to go with him earlier but decides against it. It would be just his luck to get arrested and Fiona might be okay with Ian for a few hours but Mickey doesn’t trust her (or anyone else for that matter) to see Ian through the rest of this shitty thing if he ends up doing a couple weeks inside. He’s never been away from Ian before during a depressive episode and fuck knows what would happen if Mickey got sent down right when Ian needed him most. Nothing good, that is for sure. Mickey flares his nostrils, chucks the butt of his cigarette into the gutter and heads toward his home.

*

“How is he?”

He asks as soon as he gets in and Fiona grimaces

“Mean. You know how it can go. I tried to feed him but he wouldn’t eat. He’s watching YouTube videos in bed.”

Looking up at Mickey she does a double take and scowls

“Jesus. You look deranged. What happened?”

“Nothin’ job got cancelled.”

He answers tersely and then gestures to his bedroom.

“The videos are good, right? He’s engaging with the world around him and all that. It’s a good thing.”

Mickey repeats, frowning at Fiona.

“Yeah of course but, Mickey, he’s being kind of a prick and you look strung out … you want me to stick around?”

“Why? In case I flip out and beat the shit out of him?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

Fiona is just tall enough to tower over him slightly and unlike Joe, she has no fucking fear. Mickey pushes a hand through his hair and shrugs against the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m not gonna do that. Thanks for hanging out and all but I got it.”

He won’t outright tell Ian’s family to leave unless he has to but it’s a close call and Fiona seems to understand this as she begins to gather her coat and scarf without comment.

“How much longer can you do this, Mickey?”

“Long as it takes.”

“He might need ...”

“Whatever it is he needs, I can give him. This is his home.”

Fiona gives Mickey a sympathetic look and he shifts his eyes, not wanting to meet her concerned gaze. She’s never tried to force him to take Ian to hospital, but she has suggested it before and Mickey desperately hopes she’ll leave it alone now. He doesn’t have the patience today. Fiona clearly thinks this too as she shrugs and says

“If you need me, just call.”

“Yeah thanks.”

Mickey nods and waits with his arms folded whilst she says goodbye to Ian. He expects her to just leave but she pauses beside him and gives his cheek a tiny kiss too.

“See you Mickey.”

“Uh… yeah, you too.”

His words don’t make sense but then neither does the kiss so Mickey doesn’t worry about it too much.

 *

Time passes. Ian’s mood doesn’t improve and neither does Mickey’s. 

It has been eight days since Ian came home in a foul mood and went to bed.

Eight days and the hole is still in the wall, the controller hasn’t been replaced, the laundry isn’t piling up because neither of them are changing their damn clothes but the dishes are high in the sink and Mickey forgot to do Yev’s assignment with him so Svet has pitched a fit over text. Things are falling apart gradually and all Mickey wants is for Ian to eat something and have a wash.

He looks down at the cracked plate and the squashed and scattered sandwich remains on the carpet. Ian had asked for the sandwich. Mickey had made the sandwich. Ian had thrown the fucker into a wall.

“Guess you didn’t fancy it, huh?”

No response. Ian doesn’t even look up from his phone.

“You want me to make you another one?”

Nothing.

“How about some chips? Give the vacuum cleaner a bit of textural variety?”

Ian glances up from the video he is watching but doesn’t answer. Mickey’s patience slips

“... or maybe I could just shove the whole fuckin’ meal deal up your ass?”

“Fuck off.”

Ian glances up from his phone and glares at his boyfriend. Mickey tongues at his upper lip, clearly aggravated. The room stinks, Ian stinks. It is the cloying smell of an unwashed body and Mickey is sick of it.

“Fine. Don’t eat but you gotta wash.”

Mickey informs him, stripping down to his own boxers ready to get Ian to the shower, his legs will be wobbly after so long in bed.

“No.”

“Ian …”

“No.”

“It’ll just take a minute …”

“You fucking deaf? I SAID NO!”

Ian roars, sliding down the mattress, dragging the blanket back over his head. Mickey’s own temper flares as  he presses his lips together tightly, raises his eyebrows and yanks the blanket away again with a sharp tug.

“I’ve had enough of this shit! Get the fuck up! You are on your fuckin’ phone watchin’ videos. You ain’t so far gone you can’t get up.”

He half crawls onto the mattress, intending to haul Ian off bodily and put him in the fuckin’ shower, even if he has to hold the fucker under himself.

“Go away, Mickey!”

The back of Ian’s hand catches Mickey just under his eye and he jerks back, startled.

“Ow! Fuck, Ian!”

Ian curls inward, turning his face into the pillow.

Mickey gets off the bed and closes the door behind him as he leaves. He isn’t built for this shit. When Yev had tantrums as a toddler he pretty much either ignored them or handed the kid over to Ian to deal with.

Ian is the one who deals with peoples shit. He’s the one who smooths stuff over and stays calm. Mickey doesn’t.

He tugs on some sweat pants and a thick sweater of Ian’s still over the back of the couch.

His cheek is stinging and Mickey’s hands are trembling from the shock of the whole damn thing. He paces around the house uncertain of whether or not to go back in. He decides against it. 

He drinks a beer and smokes three cigarettes outside on the porch, slumped down in the lounger. He shouldn’t have yelled, shouldn’t have snatched Ian’s cover away, shouldn’t have tried to force him. So many things he shouldn’t fucking do and he does most of them anyway. 

His phone vibrates in his pants pocket and Mickey glances down at it expecting it to be Svetlana about the school project again.

Ian: I’m sorry. I love you. Please come back.

Mickey doesn’t want to go back into that room. He slips his phone back into his pocket and pretends he hasn’t seen the message. Just ten more minutes, that’s all he needs. Ten minutes to himself and then he’ll go and lie with Ian or anything else his boyfriend wants of him.

Five minutes pass and Mickey is just about to light his last smoke when the back door squeaks and Mickey looks round, one eyebrow arched in surprise. Ian is stood in boxers and vest, shivering in the cold, looking down at him in absolute misery.

“Fuck, man! Get inside!”

Mickey stumbles to his feet, smoke curling out of his nostrils as he clamps the cigarette between his lips and barrels Ian back into the house.

“I’m so sorry, Mickey.”

Ian is trembling from head to toe and Mickey grabs a blanket from the couch, throwing it around Ian’s shoulders like a cape, rubbing his arms brusquely.

“It’s okay.”

“Your eye’s all puffy … Jesus.”

Ian’s lip joins the rest of his body, quaking miserably and Mickey makes an impatient noise at the back of his throat.

“I’m fuckin’ tired, both my eyes are puffy.”

Ian shakes his head and shakes off Mickey’s hands, reaching out and pulling his boyfriend roughly into his chest, holding him close.

“I am so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay...”

“Stop saying that! I’m sick, I’m not a little kid. Stop telling me it’s okay!”

Ian orders, and he sounds so much like his usual-self Mickey doesn’t even want to argue back. He likes authoritative Ian, he likes it when Ian takes charge of situations so that Mickey doesn’t have to. One of the hardest parts about the depressive episodes for Mickey is the responsibility of it all. What Ian eats, drinks, when he takes his meds, it is all down to Mickey and he hates it. He wants Ian to be in charge of his own life.

“Fine. It’s not okay. You’re being really fuckin’ hard to handle and I sort of want to kick your ass.”

“I know.”

Ian nods his chin against the top of Mickey’s head.

“I’m glad you’re up.”

Mickey says quietly and Ian nods

“I thought you might have left me.”

“Not likely.”

Mickey smiles against Ian’s chest and then pulls back looking up at him.

“You and me are for life, Firecrotch. We’re family.”

Mickey gives Ian a serious look as he says this and the younger man nods.

“Okay.”

Ian’s eyelids start to droop again. The adrenaline that got him this far is wearing off and his legs are shaking alarmingly. Mickey takes some of his weight and begins to guide him toward the bedroom but hesitates.

“Bathroom first.”

“But ...”

“Two minutes.”

He says firmly. Ian’s eyes drift down to him and it is as though Ian sees, really sees, Mickey for the first time in days. The tiredness, the strain, the smell of them both. 

“Oh shit, Mick …”

“What? You think I look like shit? Man, I’m a fuckin’ runway model compared to you.”

Mickey smooths Ian’s greasy hair and kisses his hairy cheek. They’re both sporting the beginnings of beards and the soft rasp of stubble is so calming that Ian actually turns his cheek, pressing it closer to Mickey. The effort is exhausting but the smile it raises on his boyfriends face is worth it.

“You actually like this, huh?”

Mickey asks softly and Ian nods.

“Sexier on you now than when we were kids.”

“Alright. Well, we don’t have to shave mine but we gotta shave yours. Makes you look like a damn schnauzer. I’m gonna start the shower and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

Ian feels a tear slide over his nose, and Mickey’s breath hitches as he notices it, but when he speaks, his voice is firm.

“I need you to help me, Ian. I can’t carry you.”

The amount of weight Ian has lost in the last week, this is probably not true but it has the desired effect and Ian straightens his spine determinedly.

“OK.”

“Good.”

Ian hears the water running in the bathroom, he hears Mickey’s tuneless humming, and he hears his heart pounding in his temples and knows that it beats for the man who is so desperately trying to take care of him. Ian grits his teeth, closes his eyes, and with great effort, he tugs his shirt over his head and peels out of his boxers.

It is like moving through a swamp, like his limbs have turned into thick rubber noodles that refuse to cooperate with his minds commands but he takes the few steps he needs to reach the bathroom door and pushes it open.

Mickey is leaning over the bath, his sweater sleeves pushed up, testing the temperature of the water raining down. His ass is jutting out in a sweet, round bubble against the soft fabric of the sweats. Ian feels nothing at all and the realisation stops him cold.

Then Mickey turns and he is smiling that wide, generous smile that is only for Ian, all white teeth and creased eyes, his nose scrunching just the tiniest bit and Ian manages another step forward.

*

Two weeks later

*

Mickey wakes to the smell of coffee and waffles. He blinks, frowns, squints against the small stream of sunlight that has found a chink in the curtains and is falling stubbornly over Mickey’s face. It takes him a few seconds to process the smells in conjunction with a small, warm weight covering his back.

He half pushes himself upright but an impatient noise stills his movements as a little hand takes a fistful of his t-shirt.

‘Yev’ Mickey thinks with a small huff. He half remembers the kid coming in during the night and squeezing in between him and Ian. He considers it a bad habit and something of a liberty but Ian doesn’t seem to mind at all so Mickey tend to just stake his claim on as much mattress as possible and ignores it.

Now, Mickey rolls over slowly until the weight dislodges with another grunt and a tiny bump on Ian’s side of the bed.

“Yeah, that’s what you get.”

Mickey mumbles as he sits on the edge of the bed and fondly smooths the frantic sweep of Yevgeny’s hair down, tucking the blanket around his sturdy little shoulders.

“Good Papa.”

Yev murmurs up at him approvingly, already slipping back toward sleep. Mickey smiles to himself and yawns widely.

Padding out of the bedroom he makes his way downstairs rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Ian is moving slowly around the kitchen, he looks tired but content. Mickey’s eyes flick toward the pill box and he notices the lid is flipped up which means Ian has remembered to take them. He’s been doing really well since the meds changed but Mickey always checks.

“Good morning.”

“Oh! Oh shit! I wanted to surprise you!”

Ian pauses mid waffle flip, a tiny frown creasing his brow

“You did.”

Mickey assures him, scratching at his beard. It’s come in a lot fuller than the last time he tried to grow one at seventeen and it’s actually pretty impressive now. Ian has tried to convince him to go for the full ‘Hipster’ look but Mickey has to draw a line somewhere and apparently, it gets drawn at a top-knot.

“How you feeling?”

“Shitty but I made breakfast and don’t feel like I need to sleep again already so I’m doing great, right?”

Ian lets his expression soften into a self-effacing smile and pours Mickey a cup of coffee.

“Damn right, you are.”

Mickey sips his drink and snakes a hand around Ian’s waist, palming him lightly.

“Not while the waffles are cooking.”

Ian’s scolds but his smile broadens when Mickey clucks his tongue in faux impatience.

“Fine but they better be damn good waffles.”

“Oh you know it. Sit your ass down and I’ll bring you some over.”

“Make sure I get the biggest one. You always give it to Yev.”

“Are you pouting?”

Ian laughs as Mickey settles into his usual spot at the head of the table and lights a cigarette

“Not yet.”

Mickey says evenly, flashing Ian a smile around the smoke. Ian serves them up, making sure to give Mickey the largest one and putting Yev’s share in the oven to keep warm. They eat in an easy silence, Ian’s foot nudging gently against his boyfriends.

“Hey, listen, I gotta patch up that hole in the wall today and I know we’re gonna take Yev home, but once we’ve done that … you wanna head down to town hall?”

“What for?”

Ian looks up from his plate and gives Mickey a sweet, wonky smile. Mickey scratches the side of his nose a little embarrassed and shrugs

“I figure now you’re out of bed, we’ll get married.”

Ian chokes on his coffee and Mickey pounds his back with a little bit of unnecessary force

“Jesus. I didn’t realise the thought of marrying me would make you wanna kill yourself by fuckin’ beverage inhalation.”

“No it’s … well, fuck! I wasn’t expecting it that’s all.”

Ian truly wasn’t. If anything he was bracing himself for a talk about maybe not being quite right for each other or something. He knows it’s stupid, that Mickey loves him and is fiercely loyal but when Ian has come out the other side of an episode, manic or depressive, he always wonders at the back of his mind if this will be the one to finally push his boyfriend away.

“Look it’s not a roses and champagne proposal it’s just … Fiona is your next of kin and fuck knows who mine is. I wanna know that if something happens it’s you and me who make the big decisions.”

Ian’s smile wavers but holds

“Did she try and get me into hospital?”

“No, but I wanna know that no one can. I make that call for you. You make it for me. Seems right.”

Mickey shrugs and looks shiftily between his coffee cup and the bright green eyes of his partner.

“So? Will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Jesus Christ, Ian. Marry me! Will you marry me?”

Mickey’s eyebrows are half-way to irritated and Ian grins at him

“I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“Asshole.”

Mickey suppresses his own grin, nudging his tongue into the corner of his mouth impatiently when Ian continues to stare at him.

“Ian, I swear if you don’t give me a fuckin’ answer, like, now…”

“Yes, Mick. I’ll marry you.”

“Today?”

Mickey prompts, blue eyes shining with happiness that he cannot quantify and doesn’t try to.

“Yes, today.”

Ian laughs, nodding and then seems to think of something else and shakes his head a little.

“Are you sure though? You really want ...”

“I just asked you, didn’t I?”

Mickey says sternly but tempers his tone with a soft kiss on Ian’s cheek.

“Yeah but …”

“It’s you and me, Gallagher. For life.”

“I’m so fucking lucky to have you.”

Mickey flushes slightly at the unexpected praise and Ian grips the back of his head, drawing him close and kissing the tip of his nose, lips twitching with a hidden smile

“You hear me? I am lucky to have you. You are a kind, generous, good person Mickey.”

Ian holds Mickey’s gaze until he is sure the words have sunk in and then pulls him into a kiss, knowing Mickey is more comfortable with expressing himself physically than verbally and damn, does Mickey express himself well.

 Ian’s mouth is warm and welcoming and the sweet tang of syrup mingles with the taste of coffee and cigarettes. Mickey sighs into him as Ian drops his fingers questioningly into Mickey’s lap and finds the answer all too apparent.

The words “I love you” float up between them and it is not clear which voice speaks them, but it doesn’t matter. They are simply and irrevocably true.

[thevioletjones]

Fascination Street - 2/2 - I Don’t Know What’s Going On

Ian finds himself confused about Mickey, and undertakes the difficult task of trying to figure him out.

Ch. 1

[gallavichthings]

Back to home

This is for @hannigramandromancek. I’m sorry it’s so late!

Prompt: I’d like a canon, post S7 with Mickey coming home somehow and Ian having to basically grovel to get back with him. Eventual happy ending, though.

This was a little shorter than I anticipated and it’s my first fanfic in about a decade. But I hope you like it. And here it goes:

“Don’t forget the milk!”

  “Yes Fiona. I heard you the first time,” Shaking his head in amusement at his sister’s neurotics, Ian Gallagher stepped into the bitter Chicago air. The cold cleared his head as he walked the short distance to the closest grocery store.

  He headed into the store and carefully grabbed the things he needed. Cereal? Check. Canned soups? Check. Bread? Check. Now onto the milk and eggs. He turned his cart and stopped in his tracks. His heart started pounding.

  Unless his eyes were mistaking him, Mickey Milkovich was standing in the middle of the refrigerated section, looking at the butter. But how could that be? Mickey was in Mexico. Had been since Ian made a huge mistake and left him standing at the border. What was he doing here?

  Ian wasn’t about to waste any more time wondering. “Hey.”

  Mickey’s head snapped up, his blue eyes cold. “Gallagher.”

  Ian reached in and grabbed the milk, “What are you doing here?”

  “None of your businesses firecrotch.”

  Ian inwardly grinned at the old nickname, “C’mon Mick. I haven’t seen you in over a year. Might as well tell me what you’re doing back up here.”

  “None. Of. Your. Business. Casper.”

  “Is that a reference to how pale I am?” When Mickey just responded with a stoney stare, Ian shrugged. “Okay. I’m heading to The Alibi later if you want to catch up. See old friends.”

  Mickey hesitated, “‘Bout that. You hear anything of Svetlana’s new supplier? She told me he’s been trying to proposition her and some of the old girls.”

  Ian glowed inside. How had he let this amazing man go? “Are you risking your freedom to protect Svetlana. That’s so sweet.”

  “Watch your mouth Raggedy Ann.”

  “No, no. I really mean it,” Earnestness showed on his face. “I didn’t know you cared about her.”

  “Now you do. Can I get moving here? Your cart is blocking mine.”

  “Ooops. Sorry,” Ian moved his cart out of the way, enjoying the view of Mickey’s bubble butt as he walked away. “Catch up sometime?”

  Mickey screeched to a halt, turned his head around, and glared “You’ve got to be fuckin kidding me. You really think I’m about to let you back into my life after the shit you pulled at the border? You’re fucking dead to me Gallagher. And don’t let that go motivativing you to try to win me back.” He walked away.

  Ian couldn’t help but smile. Mickey knew him so well. How had he let this beautiful, protective, smart-ass man leave his life? He knew he was going to ignore everything Mickey had just told him and get succeed at getting the man he loved back. First, he had to come up with a plan.

  “Ian? Did you get everything we needed?” Fiona’s voice called out as he entered the house.

  “Yes, Fiona. I did,” He replied, trying to formulate a plan to win Mickey back as he walked into the kitchen.

  Fiona looked up from the oven as smoke billowed out of it, worry in her brown eyes. “You alright there kid? You seem distracted.”

  He waved her off, “It’s nothing. What’s going on there?”

  Fiona gingerly picked up something out of the oven, “It looks like another one of Carl’s experiments.” Ian studied the object. Was that formerly a barbie doll? “I need to speak to him. He hasn’t done something like this in years.”

  Ian made a noncommittal sound. “Say,” he began in a would-be casual tone. “Have you heard about Svetlana having some trouble down at the Alibi?”

  Fiona’s eyes turned cold, “Since when do care about Svetlana? She betrayed Kev and V. She’s nothing to us.”

  Ian knew he had to tread carefully, “I just heard some rumors that she might be having trouble with her new supplier. Wondered if you knew anything.”

  Fiona smirked, “Yeah, Lip mentioned something when he came to work last time. Apparently, her main supplier found out she used to be a prostitute and is now demanding she sleep with him to get her next batch of vodka and tequila.”

  Ian’s mind reeled with that information. Mickey had come back not only because Svet needed him, but also to kick some asshole’s ass for her? So not only was he risking his freedom by being back in the country, but doubly-so. If he was caught messing this guy up, he’d have an easy twenty years added onto his prison sentence. But Mickey wouldn’t care. No, he’d do anything for those he loved. It was incredibly sweet in its own way and had always been one of Ian’s favorite things about him.

  God. How had Ian been so lucky to have him? And why the fuck had he been so stupid to not realize it at the time?

  “Ian. Sweetface. You okay?” Fiona’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

  “Yeah. Sorry. I was a little distracted.”

  She gave him a look of motherly concern, “I was talking to you for two minutes and you didn’t notice. I’d say that’s more than “a little” distracted. Anything you want to talk about?”  

  “No. But I gotta go. It’s important,” He insisted when she raised her eyebrow.

  “Okay,” She relented. “Be back in time for dinner.”

  “I will.”

  He turned and sprinted out the house, even more determined than before. He was going to get Mickey back. He didn’t know how. Hell, he’d fucking beg if he had to. But he’d prove to Mickey that he deserved another chance. Despite everything.

  Pound. Pound. Pound.

  Ian waited with baited breath outside of the Milkovich house. His heart pounded. He knew it was a long shot that Mickey would be willing to speak with him so soon after running into him. But he had to try.

  The door was opened by somebody Ian didn’t recognize. A tan man with long blonde hair and deadly black eyes.

  “Is Mickey here?” Ian blurted.

  “Whose askin’?”

  Ian stuck out his hand, “I’m Ian Gallagher. And you are…?”

  The guy straightened and didn’t take the offered hand. “Ohh…you’re the asshole who broke Mickey’s heart. Guess what buddy. You had your shot. It’s my turn now to fuck him. It’s the only reason I did this after all.”

  Jealousy, hot and rapid, rushed through Ian. The guy was attractive, no denying that. He was in better shape than Ian was on his best day. Mickey had always had a weakness for anybody who’d help his family. He’d once admitted to Ian that part of the reason he’d fallen for him was cause of how kind he was to and protective of Mandy.

  “Again I repeat: who the fuck are you?”

  He smirked, “I’m the guy who got Mickey over the border. He’s mighty grateful for that, ya know. Won’t be long now til he lets me fuck his juicy ass.” He licked his lips lavisciously.

  Seriously? Juicy ass? Who the fuck actually says that? “I want your name.”

  The guy snorted, “Sorry ese. But if you think I’m giving you that. You’re stupider than you look. Run along now.”

  Ian ignored him. “MICKEY!”

  Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Mickey came into the room. “What the fuck are you doing here Gallagher? I don’t want to see you. I thought I made that pretty fuckin’ clear.”

  “I just…wanted to apologize. I made a really big mistake at the border and I should’ve gone with you and I really miss you and you’re the most amazing person ever and I love you and I’m so so so sorry cause I never should’ve changed my mind at the last second and can you please-”

  Mickey cut off his rambling, “You damn fucking right you shouldn’t have done that. But you did. So excuse me if I don’t know why the fuck you’re at my door right now.”

  Ian stared at him is disbelief. Didn’t Mickey hear anything he’d just said? But Mickey’s stare was cold and the other guy had a triumphant look on his face.

  “You heard him. Leave. Unless you want to be full of bullets in the next two minutes,” Blonde guy said.

  Worry flashed in Mickey’s eyes. It was only a second, but that was all Ian needed. “I love you and I’m willing to do anything it takes to get you back. Anything.”

  “Fuckin’. Leave,” Mickey spat.

  Dejected, Ian turned around and walked down the steps. But he wasn’t giving up. This was just a small setback. And an extra factor he hadn’t counted on. That asshole had looked at his Mickey like he was nothing more than a piece of meat. He could work with that. Use it against the guy. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

    What the fuck was he doing here?

  Mickey had asked himself that question about a thousand fucking times on the way over. Told himself he was a fucking idiot for doing this. Ian Gallagher was an asshole of the worse fucking kind. He was disloyal after all the shit he’d done for him. Worse he’d repaired Mickey’s heart by being patient and kind, and then at the exact right moment, he’d fucking shattered it. And then Mickey had been stupid enough to give it to him again and surprise, surprise, he’d fucking destroyed it again. This time seconds away from being free for-fucking-ever. That’s when he’d promised himself he’d never let Ian hurt him again.

  So why the fuck was he standing outside the Gallagher house at one in the fucking morning? He’d told himself it was because Ian clearly wasn’t getting the message and he needed to make sure he heard it loud and clear. A part of him knew he was lying to himself.

  He picked up a rock…Nah. Ain’t worth it to make a scene. Don’t need the rest of the Gallaghers knowing I’m here. He pulled out his phone and called the one number he knew by heart.

  “Who’se there?” Ian’s sleep filled voice mumbled.

  “Yo. Firecrotch. Get ya ass down here.”

  “Mickey?” Damn it all, the happiness in Ian’s voice shouldn’t have made his heart soar. “Where are you?”

  “Outside your house. We got things to talk about,””

  Ian’s head popped out his window and…god fucking damn it, was his smile always that beautiful? Oh for fuck’s sake. You’re not a fucking teenage girl. Stop acting like a bitch. He pulled his head back in and Mickey heard him rummaging around his room.

  Less than a minute later, Ian was outside, striding towards Mickey. That stupid grin had never left his face.

  Mickey held up his hand defensively, “Take another step and you’ll be full of holes.”

  Ian laughed, “You’d never hurt me.”

He was right, but he didn’t need to know that. Mickey pulled his gun out of his waistband, “Want to fucking bet?”

  Ian took a step back, “Okay. What’d you come over here for then?”

  “To tell you to stop fucking bugging me. I told you I wasn’t interested. You came over anyways. Back. Off. I. Don’t. Want. You. In. My. Life.”

  “And yet, you’re the one who came over tonight,” Ian took a step towards him. “Why?”

  “I just fucking told you why.”

  “I don’t believe you.” He took another step. “You could’ve texted me that. Clearly you still have my number. Why is that?”

  Fuckin Ian Gallagher and his stupid cockiness. Mickey should not be getting turned on right now. “Needed it in case I ever got in trouble. Could rat you out for aiding and abetting a felon. Lesson my sentence,” He lied. He’d never admit the real reason.

  “Bull. Shit,” He took another step closer. “You’re not going to do anything to me. You’ve already dropped the hand holding the gun.” Fuck it. He was right. “I repeat: Why’d you come over tonight?”

  Mickey shoved out his hand intending…he didn’t really know what. But the next thing he knew, it was in Gallagher’s hair and he was kissing him. Nothing gentle about it. He bit Ian’s lower lip until he tasted blood. Ian moaned and bit him right back. Their lips attacked each other. One of them let out a moan. Ian grinded on him. Mickey’s already hard hard-on throbbed. He grinded back, shoved Ian’s lips off his. Bit his neck. Ian moaned and dug his nails into Mickey’s back. Ohh that felt good.

  “Turn around,” Ian ordered.

  Unthinkingly, Mickey obeyed the order. He braced his hands against the wall of the Gallagher house. Ian yanked down Mickey’s pants. A finger teased at his entrance before slowly going in. Ian pulled it out and another finger joined his first one. He began to tease, slowly scissoring Mickey open.

  “Hurry the fuck up!” Mickey barked.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” Ian breathed into his neck. Damn it. There was the gentleness that’d always destroyed Mickey’s defensives. He couldn’t let himself be sucked back into this.

  He pushed back against Ian, “Either the hurry the fuck up or get off me. I’ll find somebody else.”

Ian yanked his fingers out and slammed his dick in, pounding Mickey into the side of the house. “You’re mine,” He growled. “Nobody else’s. Especially not that asshole blonde’s.”

  “Stop fucking talking.”

  Ian obliged. He snapped back Mickey’s hips while continuing to pound into him. Mickey groaned as Ian hit his prostate right every. Goddamn. Time. Ian’s moans mixed in with his as he continued to get faster and faster. Mickey went to grab his dick. Ian slapped his hand away. “Mine,” He growled again. “Say it.”

  “I’m. Not. Fucking. Yours,” He disobeyed. He couldn’t allow himself to be.

  Ian bit his shoulder and yanked on his dick. Fuck that hurt. “Yes you are. I’ll win you back.” Persistent fucker. Then he couldn’t think of much else cause Ian was hitting that spot inside of him and handling his dick in just the right way. Ian’s groans grew deeper, telling Mickey he was on the verge. Mickey wiggled his ass in the way that he knew drove Ian insane. With one final grown, he came inside him.

  He pulled away. “What the fu-” Mickey was pulled around and slammed against the house. Ian dropped to his knees and sucked him down to the balls. His hand went around to massage his balls. Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. His mind emptied and all he could focus on was what was happening to him right fucking now. Within seconds, he was cumming down Ian’s throat. Ian took every fucking drop.

  After, he got to his feet and licked his lips with a self-satisfied smirk. “That was good for me. Was it good for you?”

  Mickey glared at him. “This wasn’t make-up sex. You and I are still done. One last fuck before we go our separate ways. Permanently.”

  Ian’s face went neutral, “You know that blonde dude only got you across because he wants to bang you, right?”

  Mickey let out a bitter laugh, “Course I know. I figured I could string him along until we get back to Mexico. Kick his ass to the curb then.”

  “What are you going to do if he realizes what you’re doing first?”

  “I’ve handled worse. You know. He’s got brains, but he betrayed his crew to get me across. Dumb fucking move there. No way they’ll have his back if I do anything to him.”

“Just…be careful Mickey. I care about you. I don’t want anything happening to you.”

  Mickey’s heart squeezed at the open look on Ian’s face. He ignored it. “I can take care of myself Peppermint Paddy.”

  “Yeah, but what if he goes after Lana? Or Yvgeney?”

  “I’ll take care of them. Don’t fucking suggest that I can’t.” He pulled on his pants and picked up his shirt.

  Ian held up his hands in surrender. “I wasn’t. I just care about them.”

  “Ya do? Coulda fooled me. Considering how you never checked up on them when I was gone.” He shoved his shirt on. “Look. You. Me. We’re through. I just came over here to tell you that.” He turned away from Ian and started to walk away. Trying to ignore how badly he’d wanted to comfort Ian when a brokenhearted look had come across his face when he’s said that.

    Ian had a plan. It was a stupid, reckless, dangerous plan. But if everything went his way, it’d work.

  He strode into The Alibi. He- hell none of the Gallaghers- had been in here since Lana had stolen the place from Vee and Kev. They were practically family and to do so would be disloyal. He braced his hands on the bar.

  “Orange Boy,” Svetlana greeted him, wiping out a cup with a dirty rag. “What are you doing here?”

  “Heard you’ve been having some problems with one of your suppliers.”

  Her green eyes turned stoney, “So you’ve come to gloat like your sister? I kicked her out, I can do the same to you. You do not scare me.”

  “No. I’ve come to help.”

  “I’ve got help.”

  His similarly colored eyes met hers straight-on. “I know. I ran into your help.”

  She slowly put the glass down, “He wouldn’t like me talking to you about it.”

  Ian shrugged indifferently, “Do you care?”

“He doesn’t trust you. Why should I?”

  “I earned that. Look, I’m not saying I didn’t fuck up badly. I did and I regret it every day. I wish I hadn’t done it. I wish for so many things. But that’s the past. Now, I’m just trying to convince him that I deserve a second chance. I’ll do anything it takes.”

  She studied him in that way of hers that unnerving way of hers. Ian had always wondered if she could read minds. “You’re only going to help me because it might help you get him back. Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  ‘What if it doesn’t work?”

  “I don’t hate you the way Fiona does. Despite everything. And she mostly hates you cause you broke Vee’s heart. Point being, even if I get nothing out of this, it’ll be worth it. He’s a scumbag for doing this to you.”

  She picked up the glass again, filled it with beer, and set it front of him. “What do you want?”

  “A name. It can’t be the first time he’s pulled something like this. I’m betting he has a record. And I know a guy who owes me a favor and the ability to put this guy away.”

  “Jeffery Carvalhos.”

  Ian drank the beer, “Got it. Hopefully, by this time tomorrow, he’ll be gone.”

  Lana snorted in disbelief. Ian didn’t care. He knew he had a lot working against him. But he was also determined as fuck. He got up from the bar stool and walked out the bar, hightailing it to his next location.

    Ian walked into the police station, searching for a familiar mop of blonde hair. Finally, he spotted it. The guy was turned away from him, searching for something on his desk. Ian strode up to him and clapped him on the back. “Tony. How you’ve been?”

  Tony’s baby blues went flat, “Good to see you Ian. What do you want?”

  “Can’t an old friend just come by to say “hi”?”

  “Not one with “Gallagher” as their last name.”

  Ian chuckled. He had a point. “Do you mind if we go to your desk? I’d rather explain somewhere with more privacy.”  

  Tony tilted his head,  but lead Ian back to his desk. Which, luckily, was far away enough from most of the commotion that it was unlikely they’d be overheard.

  “I’ve got a friend who has been having issues with a guy. Figured you might know him.”

  “What’s the guy’s name?”

  “Jeffery Carvalhos.”

  Tony’s eyes narrowed, “You serious?” Ian nodded. “Holy shit. We’ve been trying to get this guy for months. He’s got three accusations of rape against him, but never leaves his DNA and always attacks in areas that don’t have much security footage. Slippery fucker.”

  Ian didn’t dare breath. Could it really be this easy? “Heads-up. This friend of mine? She doesn’t have the best reputation. She uhh-”

  Tony waved him off, “Figured she hangs around Gallaghers, something’s gotta be sketchy about her. Doesn’t matter. She got physical proof?”

  “Knowing her-yes.” Ian checked the time. Shit. He had to pick up Liam from school. “I’ve gotta leave. But my friend’s at The Alibi. It’s a bar. She’s Russian. Tell her I sent you and she might listen.”

  “Will do. I’ve worked with suspicious witness plenty of times. It’ll be no problem.”

  Ian nodded, shook Tony’s hand, and turned to leave. “Ian?” Tony called after him. He paused “I know you and Mickey Milkovich were close. Got any idea where he might be?”

  “If I did do you think I’d tell you?” He left at that with Tony behind him, muttering about how Gallaghers were too loyal for their own fucking good sometimes.

  The next day, Svetlana called him and demanded he come down to the Alibi and meet in the back room or she’d cut off his balls. Well, who was he to refuse such a generous offer?

  He trapised down there, hoping something hadn’t gone wrong. He did care for Svetlana, even after all the shit she’d pulled on Kev and V. He walked into the bar with trideption. Seeing nobody, he called out, “Hello?”

“In the back,” She answered. Her Russian accent seemed particularly strong today. Ian didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.

  He followed the sound of her voice, past the bar, and into the shady cupboard where all the liquor was kept. To his surprise, Mickey was there too. He gave the raven haired man a bashful grin, “Hey Mickey.”

  “Gallagher,” Mickey nodded his head in greeting.

  Svetlana got up from crouching on the floor where she’d been opening boxes of tequila. “I got an interesting visit yesterday. From a cop named Tony. You know anything about that?”

  “I told you I would help out.”

  “Your idea of helping out is going to the fucking cops?” Micky spat.

  “Ignore my stupid ex-husband.” But Ian couldn’t. Not when he was giving him such an unreadable look. “Tony said Jeffrey Carvahlos has caused a lot of trouble for many women. Told me he heard he’d caused me a lot of trouble. If I had proof of trouble, he would go away for a long time.” Svetlana stared into Ian’s eyes in that intimidating way of hers, “If he’s had lot of trouble, why hasn’t he gone away yet?”

  “Tony said he’s a slippery SOB. Manages to do everything out of the eye of cameras.”

  “That’s what he said. I figure, many women are also intimidated by him. Me? I’m not so easily intimidated.” Ian snorted at the obvious assessment. “He’s pain in my ass. Nothing more.” She strode up to Ian until they were chest to chest. “Tony also asked me about Mickey. If I knew anything about his whereabouts.”

  Ian met her gaze, “Yeah. He asked me too. I told him I didn’t know anything. I wouldn’t betray Mickey like that.” Mickey snorted in disbelief. Ian turned his full attention to him. “Mickey. I know I fucked up. I’m willing to spend every day proving to you how much I love you. I understand that you don’t trust me. I don’t expect you too. But I’m willing to do anything it takes to earn it back. Even if I never fully earn it back, that’s okay too. I’m just…asking for a second chance.”

  Mickey looked at a random spot over his head, completely ignoring him.

  “He also commented how nobody seemed to know where Mickey was,” Svetlana said, bringing his attention back to her. “I now know what he meant by that. Thank you.” She gave him a hug which he happily returned and then stepped back from him.

  Mickey just nodded in his direction, “This makes us fair Gallagher. See you around.”

  Ian took a step towards him, ignoring the dismissal. Mickey clenched up defensively. “I’m just…really sorry Mickey.”

  “So you’ve said. Good-bye Gallagher.”

  “Well, I’ll text you then.”

  “Don’t expect a response.” He turned his head away from Ian, refusing to look at him.

  Feeling defeated for once, Ian turned away and left the bar. This was just…another setback. Sure, a not so minor one. But he’d make Mickey see. Eventually. He hoped.

    Once Ian had left, Svetlana slapped Mickey over the head.

  “Owww. What the fuck bitch?”

  “You are a stupid idiot. He loves you. You love him.”

  Mickey glared at her, “He fucking betrayed me. He made me believe in something that wasn’t fucking real.”

  “Just because it wasn’t the right time, doesn’t mean it wasn’t real. Plus, you can’t say you’ve never hurt him. He’s forgiven you.”

  The truth of Svetlana’s words hit him hard. Guilt rose up like bile in his throat. He had been pretty mean to Ian those first couple years. And that idiot had acted like a love-struck puppy dog, continuing to follow him around.

  “Yeah, but I had to fucking survive!” He defended himself.

  “So did he. He’s psycho without his meds.”

  ‘Ex-fucking-suce me bitch? Who the fuck do you think you’re calling psycho?”

  “See? You protect him. You still love him. Point being, you showed up and expected him to abandon his whole life on a whim. Would’ve been smarter to suggest long-distance thing. Then he could find an excuse to come move to Mexico. Be with you that way.”

  God fucking damn it. She was right. He’d busted out of prison and expected things to be exactly as they had been. For Ian to escape with him without a second thought. And Ian had been so healthy and alive and beautiful. He’d forgotten that the only way to keep him that way was to make sure he got all the support he needed. Bi-polar was a bitch of a disease. There were certain things that’d have to be set up in Mexico before Ian could move down. And not just a house and job and shit. He’d forgotten that.

  “See? I’m right.”

  “Fuck you bitch,” He said, but there was no heat in it. “He knew what the fuck he was getting himself into.”

  “I’m not saying orange boy is not moron. He is. But so are you.” She walked into the main part of the bar, carrying two bottles of tequila. Reluctantly, he followed her. “He loves you. It’s pathetic how much he’s willing to do to get you back.”

  “Watch who the fuck you’re calling pathetic. I still have connections here,” He hissed.

  She put the tequila down behind the bar, came over to him, and grabbed his face so he was forced to look into his eyes. “Point is: he loves you. You love him. Why do you act extra stupid and refuse to give him a second chance?”

  Mickey’s heart thumped in his chest and he forced down the tears as he remembered that feeling when Ian had left him at the border. He thought he’d never feel worse than he had on the day when Svetlana had come into their lives…but that….that had been worse. What his father had done was almost expected. Ian’s betrayal had come out of left field and hurt worse than a bullet to the stomach. He’d know.

  He decided to bring up another problem, “What the fuck am I supposed to do about Brent?” At Svetlana’s confused look, he elaborated, “The blonde fucker who got me back in the states?”

  “You took care of my problem, I take care of yours. Tit for tat as you Americans say.”

  “I didn’t fucking do nothing though. Ian took care of it.” He began to gnaw on his lower lip, wishing he had a cigarette.

  “He did it for you. Not me. He’s stupidly devoted to you.” Mickey flinched at the comment. Ian may be devoted now, but what in a year? Two years? “Ahh. So you think you shouldn’t have his devoatation.” Mickey didn’t reply, but looked at the ground and kicked at a random dirt spot. “No. You think he won’t stay that way. That he’ll leave again,” She corrected herself.

  Mickey grunted noncommittally. Svetlana took it as an agreement. “If you give him second chance he may leave you.”

  “Was the supposed to be fucking comforting?”

  “But he may not leave you. If you don’t take risk, you never know. Isn’t it better to take risk and possibly get happiness than to be coward and never know?”

  Mickey knew she was right. He loved Ian. God, how he loved that freckle faced moron. “Then why didn’t he ever call me?”

  Svetlana shrugged, “Maybe he didn’t know your phone worked. Maybe a thousand different things. It’s not important. Don’t be extra stupid. Take him back.”

  Mickey shrugged, but started to think it over. He hated to say it, but Svetlana was right about a lot of things, maybe she was right about this too? He glanced at the clock, “You open in five. I gotta go.” He headed for the back door.

  “Think about it. Don’t be biggest southside coward.”

  “I ain’t making any promises.”

  But even as he said it, his mind was already considering it. Going over the logistics of how he could get Ian to move to Mexico and be with him.

  Pound. Pound. Pound.

  “Who the fuck is knocking on our door at this time?” Fiona grosed. It was just past three in the morning and had been dealing with some of her more difficult tenants til midnight. Then, she’d arrived home to find out Liam and Frannie had gotten the stomach flu. Debbie tried her best, but wasn’t used to taking care of two sick kids at once. Now, when she was finally ready to go to bed, somebody decided it’d be a good idea to practically try to break into her house.

  Pound. Pound. Pound.

  “I’m comin’. I’m comin.” She yanked open the door to find Mickey Milkovich of all people standing there.

  “Ian here?” He asked casually.

  “What the hell are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in Mexico?” She asked in astonishment.

  “How the fuck do you know about that?”

  “Ian mentioned it a few times.” Secretly, Fiona had thought her brother had made a big mistake by not going through with his original plan to go to Mexico with Mickey. Sure, Mickey wasn’t the safest guy. But he adored him and knew how to take care of him even in his worst depressive episode. He’d made a few mistakes. But who the fuck didn’t when dealing with something like bipolar for the first time?

  “Yeah. Speaking of. He here?”

  Obviously he wasn’t going to answer her question. “I’ll go wake him.”

  “Don’t bother. I’m here,” Ian said from behind her. She glanced over at her brother. The expression he gave Mickey was guarded, but hopeful. Oh so hopeful. “What are you doing here? I thought you were done with me.”

  “Yeah. About that. I changed my mind.”

  Ian’s expression became one of complete happiness. He strode over, gently shoving Fiona out of the way, cupped Mickey’s face in his hands, and gave the former thug the most loving, tender kiss.

  Fiona gave them a minute before she cleared her throat, reminding them that other people were in the room. Ian pulled back from Mickey, but continued to rest his forehead on his. “Is this for real? You want to be with me?”

  “I never not wanted to be with you fuckface.”

  Ian’s grin only grew, “But I had to earn your trust back? I get that. I’m sorry I hurt you so badly.”

  “So you’ve said. It’s forgiven.”

  Fiona noticed he hadn’t said it was forgotten. She wondered why. “Not too burst your bubble, but have you thought of how you’re going to make this work?” She asked. “Mickey is a fugitive running from the authorities. Ian…you’ve got a life here. You can’t just up and leave on a whim.”

  Ian looked ready to argue, but Mickey stepped in. “I’ve thought about that. Spent the past twelve fucking hours on it. He can’t leave all at once, you’re right.”

  “I thought you just said you wanted to be with me!” Ian protested.

  “You can’t. You’ve got a job here. Family. More importantly, you’ve got a psychiatrist you trust and a legal way to get your meds. That shit ain’t going to just appear magically in Mexico. No matter how bad we want it too.”

  “That doesn’t matter!”

  “Yes it does,” Fiona chimed in. “You go off your meds and you turn into Monica.” She hated pulling that card, but sometimes it was the only way to make him see reason. Ian flitched and Mickey glared at her.  “Sorry. But it’s true. Look, I’ll start researching psychiatrists in Mexico. Find one that you could go to. But even after I find one, it’ll take time to get your medical records shipped internationally.”

  “How long?” Ian demanded.

  “Don’t know. Probably a couple months. I’ll have Lip look it up.”

  “In the meantime, you need to start looking for a job,” Mickey said.

  “Yeah. Think I could find something EMT related down there?”

  Mickey snorted. “I live in Oaxaca. Population: just under four million. Pretty fucking sure you could find an EMT job there.”

  Ian got that determined look in his eye that meant trouble for anybody who tried to get in his way. “Okay. We’ll do this. I’ll move to Mexico in six months.”

  “You sure you down for this long-distance shit? I hear it can be hard.”

  Ian kissed Mickey with so much passion that Fiona felt the need to look away. It was only when one of them started moaning that she cleared her throat. Again. “Save the sex for when I’m not here.”

  They pulled away, grinning shamelessly.

  “Was that enough of an answer for you?”

  A look of doubt crossed Mickey’s face. Huh. Poor Mickey.

  Ian hugged Mickey to him, burying his face in his hair. “I’m sure. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. I’ll never leave you again,” He vowed.

  Mickey relaxed into Ian’s arm. Fiona took that as her cue to leave.

  Five months later…

  “Ian why the fuck is all your shit so heavy?” Lip complained as he pulled a large box out of the car. “Are you trying to sneak an extra convict into Mexico?”

  “Nobody asked for you help asshole,” Micky spat back/

  “Actually, I did,” Ian countered, grabbing his backpack and another box from the car.

  “Why the fuck did you do that?”

  “Cause he’s my brother and I love him. Be nice,” He admonished, pulling Mickey in for a quick kiss. “You too,” He told Lip.

  “Fine. But if you two decide to play tonsil hockey, I’m not responsible for what comes out of my mouth,” Lip said.

  Mickey gave Ian a mischievous look, which Ian ignored. “I think this is the last of it, but Lip can you dig through the car. Just to be sure?”

  Lip grumbled, but did as he was requested. Ian took that as his chance to pull Mickey into him with one arm and proceed to make out with him, tongues dancing and lips caressing each other. They pulled back and breathed in the air that the other blew out before coming together again, kissing sensually. The other thing that existed in that moment was each other.

  “I dug through that car for fifteen minutes,” Lip interrupted them. “There’s nothing. Let’s go in now. It’s too fucking hot.”

  “Never thought I’d hear you complain about the heat,” Ian said.

  Lip gave him the middle finger and walked into Mickey’s building. Ian used that as an excuse to pull Mickey back in and continue making out with him.

  “For fucks sake! I’m going back to the hotel in an hour. Can’t you keep your hands to yourself until then?” Lip, who’d apparently come back out, grumbled.

  Mickey pulled away from Ian. “Nope.Why’d you come back out?”

  “Door was locked.”

  “Okay. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

  Before Mickey could kiss him again, Ian stepped away and grabbed Mickey’s hand with the one not holding the box. “Lip’s right. We need to finish this.”

  Mickey glared at him, but complied. He fished his keys out of the front pocket out of his tight, black jeans and led the way into the building and up the flight of stairs to his apartment. Ian made sure to stay behind him, admiring the view.

  “Stop ogling,” Lip muttered.

  “It’s not my fault his ass is perfect.”

  Lip pretended to gag.

  “Here we are. Home sweet fucking home,” Mickey announced, opening the door to the apartment.

  The place was relatively small, but nice. It was a one bedroom apartment with a kitchen nook and main room big enough for a couch and TV set. Ian planned on adding a small bookshelf. There were glass doors that lead out to a mini balcony. It looked out onto the chaotic city. That just made it feel more like home to Ian.

  They left Ian’s few belongings on the couch. Three boxes and a backpack. It wasn’t much, but it was what he needed. He’d also had an appointment with a new psychiatrist in a few days and four interviews at four different fire station in a week. Everybody had wanted to make sure he had the best chance of success down here. He was surprised at how far Fiona had gone in order to secure him four months worth of medication, just in case. Although he had to admit he shouldn’t have been. She may not have always been their biggest supporter, but she always did her best to do right by “her kids.”

  It’d been agreed upon earlier that after the early morning flight and moving in, Ian should just relax for a few hours. Destress. It’d also been agreed that Lip would come down with him and keep him company for the first few days. Help him settle in and make sure he was okay. It drove Ian nuts that everybody thought he needed a babysitter, but he knew they meant well. So he kept his complaints to himself.

  Mickey wiped his forehead with his tank top. That gave Ian a good idea of how he should destress. It’d be an excellent work-out too.

  “Hey Lip? You want to go explore the city for a few hours? Maybe get yourself checked into the hotel.”

  Lip chuckled, “What? So you two can play hide the sausage?”

  “Yes.”

  Lip made a disgusted face, “Ugh. I so did not need that image in my head.”

“And unless you want it to become a reality, I suggest you get the fuck out of here,” Mickey said.

  “Fine. I know when I’m not wanted. Call me when you’re ready to grab dinner.” He left the hotel without further ado.

  Mickey grabbed Ian by the back of his head and pull him to him, “Jesus fucking Christ, I missed you.”

  “Missed you too.”

  As their lips met in a searing kiss, Ian couldn’t help but feel elated that he’d walked into Mickey’s bedroom one day back in high school, determined to get a stolen gun back. Who the fuck had known it’d lead him to finding the one person he’d always consider home? Who he’d chase to another country for?

  Their life together so far had unpredictable as hell, but in the end, it was good.

  Mickey did something with his tongue that made Ian moan. “Get the fuck outta those clothes now firecrotch.”

  Correction: it was phenomenal.

[iforeverfaithful]

Ian & Mickey | FLESH

This is for the Gallavich gift exchange 2017 :) This video is for @milkymilkov They wanted either a sexy or sad gallavich vid and all of my gallavich videos are sad so I wanted to try something different and play around with the effects. ;)

I hope you like it <3

[ton-ami-starkey]

@crackedblackinc for the gift exchange! Sorry I’m late ahh

[aromance91]

My person asked for, fan art, gif sets, video edits or a fic. I already did a fic as a gift for someone else so i did some edits. This is for the lovely Ursula Salas of Endgame Gallavich on Facebook. xoxo

[alter-alterego]

Gallavich Gift Exchange 2017

Frankincense, Gold, and Cerveza

Ian tells Mickey to get some Christmas spirit, then kind of wishes he hadn't. Their first Christmas in Mexico.

A Gallavich gift for amaryllissociety, who prompted: Mickey and Ian celebrating their first Christmas or New Years in Mexico together. I sincerely hope you enjoy! <3

Confession: I decided to use the exchange as a way to get back into writing after my life made it hard for the past year, as well as to give back to the awesome people who are keeping this fandom alive through canon, infighting, and the general unpleasantness that is the price of great passion. So many awesome people creating so many awesome things and being wonderful cheerleaders for each other. Hugs to y’all.