Chapter Text
Mickey wants to disappear into thin air.
The gentle sound of bullet shells hitting the dirt, drown in the overpowering echo of the shots being fired. One after another, each shot screaming painfully into the air. Mickey feels his hands burning against the gun as he holds it tightly. He wants to feel it melt into his palms so that it will never leave his hand again. He wants it to seep into him like an extra limb, threatening and sure.
Footsteps sound behind him and he doesn’t bother to look up. He knows who it is.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Mickey’s voice is rough from lack of use. His words are hollow, ringing in the air long after the gunshots that riddle the empty space. His heart beats in time with each click of the gun as he stares straight ahead, firing shot after shot methodically.
“I haven’t seen you in two days and that’s all you have to say to me?” Ian wonders, squaring his shoulders with false confidence. Ian did that a lot, tried to seem tougher than he actually was. He fooled a lot of people, his size and build deceiving. But he never fooled Mickey.
“You really shouldn’t be here,” Mickey clarifies harshly. His fingers are visibly shaking as he reloads the gun and he hates himself for having such a physical reaction to Ian. He wants to punch a fucking wall until his hands fall limp and they can never shake again. There’s a weakness in the visceral reaction that Mickey isn’t ready to accept.
“Don’t do this Mickey,” Ian punctuates. The look in his eye is more tired than pleading, but there’s a desperation there that doesn’t go unnoticed.
Mickey ignores him in favor of pulling the trigger three more times in succession. He can see Ian’s worried glance in his peripheral vision and a wave of nausea hits him all at once. Suddenly he feels like he’s back on that couch, suffocating in pussy, watching Ian shudder with pain. It hits him hard and fast because he never wanted to be there again, on that couch drowning in that agony.
“Mickey! Don’t, fucking do this. Please…” he begs, letting his composure slip and touching Mickey’s shoulder.
“Don't do what?” Mickey snaps, turning around and shoving Ian away. For days now he has been running and running, and running. Standing stock still with a gun in his hand, he’s still running.
It’s the heat of Ian’s touch that makes him stop. The heavy burn seeps through his skin and buries itself in his veins. His fingers itch to dig at the skin and claw Gallagher from his system. It would be so much fucking easier if he could just get him out.
“Don’t push me away,” he swallows. His voice is unwavering and Mickey feels an unexpected surge of pride because if nothing else Ian is brave. He admires him because without the tattoos, without the guns and bats, Mickey knows that he’s a coward. He’s a liar and a coward, and Ian is more than that. There’s an ache in Mickey’s heart when he thinks about how much more Ian is.
“Fuck off,” Mickey sighs tiredly.
“I can’t do that,” Ian says looking down. He’s quiet for a moment and Mickey looks at him once again. He chokes on air as the pink of Ian’s cheeks flush like paint smudges against his light skin. Mickey wants to touch him so bad it hurts.
“Why the fuck not Gallagher?” he challenges. If anyone has the balls to say it out lout its Ian. Part of Mickey is terrified of the words bubbling just beneath the surface, but part of him craves the release.
“You know why,” Ian sniffs, looking up and meeting Mickey’s gaze. It was the first time that they had looked each other in the eye since Mickey had flipped the Russian woman over and fucked her blindly. It hurt so fucking much that Mickey almost has to shoot himself in the foot just to feel a different kind of pain, a better kind of pain. “You fucking know why Mick,” he continues emotionally.
“And you know why you shouldn’t be here but that hasn’t stopped you now has it? I guess knowing and doing are two different things asshole,” he mutters sourly. It pisses him off that Ian can get under his skin just with bullshit allusions and offhanded nicknames.
“What are you gonna do?” he asks.
“What do you mean what am I gonna do?” Mickey shrugs, doing his best to look unaffected and failing miserably. He had always been a master at hiding his emotions, but he was tired. He was so fucking tired.
“Are you gonna tell me we’re over? You gonna get yourself arrested? What’s the plan this time Mickey?” Ian bites out bitterly.
“Fuck you,” Mickey spits, the familiar phrase rattling his teeth.
“You know where I stand! You always know where I stand,” Ian raises his voice. The anger inside of him has been brewing for days and he was past the point of control. “I care about you and I wanna be with you, and maybe I’m a fucking fag for feeling that way. But I don’t care, okay? I don’t fucking care,” he growls.
“Maybe you should care!” Mickey yells back. “You think I’m the one who’s gonna end up dead? It’s gonna be you Ian!” The red head bristles at the sound of his name on Mickey’s lips. The anger in his bones deflates and he finds himself unable to catch his breath.
“We’ll figure something out…” he exhales.
“Do you live in a fantasy land? My father is not going to let this go. He’s going to have me under lock and fucking key and he’s going to have you under six feet of dirt if he sees you anywhere near me,” Mickey explains, jabbing his finger into Ian’s chest until the redhead grabs his hand and holds it tightly.
“We can figure something out,” Ian insists stubbornly.
“He will kill you,” Mickey grinds out. He tries to ignore the hold Ian has on his hand but the grip is the only thing keeping his feet on the ground.
“No he won’t,” he argues weakly.
“Are you stupid? He has never walked in on another guy with their dick up my ass. He blames you, and he’s fucking right. It’s your fault Gallagher. This never would have happened if it wasn’t for you. I never would have let this happen.” Mickey shakes his head, breathing erratic. His hand has gone limp in Ian’s as it presses against the taller boy’s chest. The rise and fall of Ian's chest lulls him into a reluctant sense of calm.
“I know you care about me Mickey,” Ian whispers. He says it like it’s a secret, and maybe it is. Maybe it always would be.
“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps habitually.
“Fine, don’t admit it. Just don’t walk away. Up until your father walked in on us things were good. Things were really fucking good.” Ian squeezes his hand firmly.
“Good enough to risk your life over?” Mickey scoffs.
“Maybe,” Ian says, lifting his chin defiantly.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” he sighs, almost affectionately. He can’t help the swelling in his chest or the twitch of his lips, and he fucking hates it.
“I’ve put my ass on the line over a lot less Mick.” Ian chances a brief smile and Mickey wants to grab him by the neck and shake him until he understands how dangerous this is; the fucking, the kissing, and especially the smiling. All of it has lead them to this point and all of it was gonna get them both killed.
“Like I said, you’re a fucking idiot,” Mickey grunts, biting his lip and fighting the urge to smile back. He wants to ring his own fucking neck for being just as stupid as Gallagher.
“Just tell me that you still want this. Tell me this isn’t over, and we’ll figure something out,” he pleads hopefully.
“Jesus Christ,” Mickey sighs, finally pulling his hand away. “You’re a stubborn fuck.”
Ian's smirk is unapologetic when he finally says, “Gallagher flaw.”
“Whatever. You just need to keep your stupid head down for a while. Do you understand me? I’ll take care of my old man, you just try to keep yourself alive,” Mickey eventually relents.
“What does that mean?” he pushes.
“It means don’t fucking die!” he bites out impatiently. “And stay the fuck away from me,” he adds.
“Mickey…” Ian swallows, his throat bobbing noticeably.
“I’ll find you. When it’s taken care of I’ll find you,” his voice is quiet and steady, but he knows that Ian can still hear the promise in his words. He can still hear the plea for him to wait.
“Fine,” he agrees.
“Okay. Fuck.” Mickey rubs his eyes and says, “Look, just so you know, what happened with that girl…”
“You don’t have to explain,” Ian whispers, looking away slightly and fighting off the images that have been haunting him for days.
Mickey isn’t good at comfort or affection, he isn’t good at feelings. But even if he can never give Ian anything else, he wants to give him this. He wants to give him honesty just this once. It’s what the he deserves, and maybe it’s what they both need.
“I don’t let people tell me who to fuck and who not to fuck. I aint a bitch for liking you,” his voice is quite but heated. “I was a bitch for letting my father do what he did though, for fucking that whore just because he told me to. It’s not going to happen again,” he spits, shuffling the dirt beneath his shoe.
“You did what you had to do,” Ian notes. “And you protected me,” he adds. Mickey sneers and reaches up before he can think about what he’s doing.
“Yeah, right…” he mumbles. He touches the cut on Ian’s cheek briefly before pulling his hand away and shoving it in his pocket.
“I’m sorry I, fuck, I’m sorry I couldn’t help you more,” Ian shakes his head.
“He pulled a fucking gun on you,” Mickey argues. He feels the rage inside of him grow and he hates his father more than he ever thought possible. Ian was the one person in his whole fucked up life that gave a shit and he wasn’t going to let anyone take that away from him.
“I’m still sorry,” he shrugs. His eyes are so sincere that Mickey’s chest begins to sting sweetly.
“No, you’re still stupid. Don’t worry about me, okay? I can handle my father,” he nods surely.
“Be careful Mickey.” Ian bites his lip, and Mickey’s mind goes fuzzy with need. He had to deal with his father sooner rather than later because when it came to Ian Gallagher, Mickey had no fucking self-control.
“Get the fuck outta here before you start reciting poetry or some shit,” he chuckles. Ian grins and scratches the back of his neck uncertainly.
“Yeah, yeah. I compare thee to a summer’s day,” he teases dramatically.
“Fuck off,” Mickey laughs, adjusting the gun in his hand to give Ian the middle finger. Ian grins even wider before backing away slowly.
“Don’t forget to come find me,” he calls.
“Don’t forget to stay alive,” Mickey fires back.
“I’ll do my best,” Ian promises lightly.
“You better do more than your best jack ass,” Mickey orders, pointing at him seriously.
“Hey, you keep your end of the deal and I’ll keep mine,” he shrugs. Mickey just nods and watches as Ian finally spins around and begins to jog away. He sighs wearily and looks back down to the gun in his hands.
“I’ll take care of my fucking father,” he mutters to himself.
Pointing the gun, he imagines his father’s face in front of him. He pulls the trigger and envisions the bullet flying through the air and landing right between the filthy bastards eyes. He would take care of his fucking father and then he would find Ian again and make things right.