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Fiona and Lip were walking up the front steps to the Gallagher house, quietly discussing the negative effects bound to come from Monica and Frank hanging around so often lately, when they heard it: a gunshot.
“Did that come from inside the house?” Lip asked, but Fiona was already shoving her key into the lock on the front door and rushing inside. The first thing she and Lip noticed was Carl, poking his head out from behind the curtain covering the small storage space under the stairs.
“What happened?” Fiona asked him urgently. “Where is everyone?”
“Monica...she had a gun.” Carl informed her. “Ian told Debbie, Liam, and I to hide in here.”
“Where is Ian?”
“He followed her upstairs, I think.”
The two eldest Gallagher siblings flew up the stairs as fast as they could, both hoping with every fiber of their beings that Ian was okay. Neither was sure if Monica would actually shoot one of her own children, but if her psychotic break was strong enough, they feared she might. The dead silence from upstairs wasn’t lessening their worry in the slightest.
The second Fiona saw Ian seated against the wall, his knees clutched tightly to his chest as he stared into the bathroom, she was relieved. He was alive.
“Ian?” She called out to him, hurrying over towards him. He didn’t so much as nod his head to acknowledge her--he just stared ahead with wide eyes and a clenched jaw. When Fiona finally made it over to him, she followed his gaze and froze at the sight before her. After her brain had comprehended what she was looking at, she stumbled backwards against the wall and put her hand over her mouth, whispering, “Oh, my God.”
Lip reached the bathroom a second later and turned away from the bloody sight almost immediately, cursing under his breath. Monica was crumpled in a heap on the ground, a gun held loosely in one hand, while a bullet hole in her temple leaked crimson liquid onto the tiles, soaking her blonde hair in a pool of red. Her eyes were glazed over, staring blankly towards the wall.
Fiona closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing herself to turn her back on her dead mother and focus on her obviously-scarred younger brother. She knelt beside him and asked, “Ian, are you okay?” Upon receiving nothing from him, she tried again. “Sweet Face, can you hear me? Ian?”
“I’ll call the police.” Lip told her, walking downstairs without another look into the bathroom.
***
“He still hasn’t moved.” Fiona told Lip, when he came up to check on them for the third time since Monica’s body had been taken away. No matter what they said to Ian, he didn’t seem to hear them at all. “It’s been over an hour, Lip; I’m not sure what we should do with him.”
Ian’s mind had never been so full. Feelings, fears, memories, people--they all flashed across his eyes and swam around his head, droning out Lip and Fiona’s words completely. So much had happened in the past couple weeks, Ian was surprised he hadn’t had some sort of mental breakdown sooner. Life kept leading him on to think things were going the right way, and then when he really started believing it, it threw him a big ‘fuck you’ and made everything fall to shit.
First, Mickey kissed him. If you had told Ian a year ago, when they first started fucking, that Mickey would run over and kiss him with his brothers and cousin a few yards away--Hell, that Mickey would kiss him at all --he’d have called you crazy. But it happened, and Ian was ecstatic. Then, not an hour later, Mickey was shot in the ass and the Gallagher kids were all split up and sent to group homes.
When Mickey offered that he could come stay with him for the night, it took everything Ian had, to refrain from letting his jaw drop to the floor. That was the last thing he had expected from the thug. That was the best night of Ian’s entire life, hands-down. He and Mickey didn’t even fuck that evening--they just hung out and watched Van Damme and ate pizza bagels and drank beer. They laughed and wrestled a bit, which ended up turning into a make-out session (which Ian was 100% fine with). It was the closest thing Ian was pretty sure he’d ever get to a date with the Milkovich. Then, to top it off, Mickey let Ian spoon him. He initiated it, even. They were laying in Mickey’s bed, and the shorter boy took his hand and pulled it over himself, as if it was something they did often. Ian’s mind was completely blown. He was able to fall asleep that night with his nose buried in Mickey’s soft hair, inhaling the scent of cheap shampoo, sweat, and cigarettes-- Mickey’s scent. Ian fucking loved how that boy smelled. That was arguably the best, most comfortable night of sleep Ian ever had.
If that night was Heaven, the morning was Hell. Ian was absolutely positive that it was the worst moment of his entire life: They were caught in the act by Terry Milkovich. All of the walls Ian had spent a year trying to break down, built back up in an instant. All of the locks Ian had been picking were clicked shut again. All of the progress they had made was completely gone, and Ian’s heart shattered. Whenever he felt like he was so close to finding happiness, it was ripped from his reach every single time. He’d been having nightmares almost every night about the whore riding Mickey, as he watched Ian with blood running down his face and that helpless look in his blue eyes. That look actually made Ian want to die. Mickey was so tough and strong all the time--for someone to be able to break him down so quickly and intensely, was horrifying. He could only imagine the nightmares Mickey was having. Not that Ian would have any idea--Mickey had been avoiding him like the plague since that morning. Ian was starting to believe that Terry had won. Ian knew Mickey loved him. There was something there whenever they touched--an electricity, or an attraction, or just something that was definitely there and couldn’t be faked. And Mickey had that look in his eye whenever he looked at Ian; he had seen it at their sleepover. But what if Terry did succeed in getting the whore to rape the gay out of Mickey? If he still loved Ian, he wouldn't be avoiding him, right? Ian wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case--that was just his luck. It wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest if the boy he loved turned straight and wanted nothing to do with him--life already fucked him over by making him a gay, redheaded product of an affair between his uncle (/dad?) and bipolar mom, in the South Side of Chicago, anyway.
As if Ian didn’t already have enough on his mind, Monica was waiting for them when they got out of the group home. That threw the entire family dynamic out of place, like always. Fiona and Lip were more irritable and chose to stay away from home most of the time, often leaving in the morning and coming home at night. They could barely look at her after she’d let them down so many times, so they avoided her to the best of their abilities. Debbie, being the little angel she (usually) was, took Monica back right away. It wasn’t a secret that she always wanted a regular living situation, with a mother and father, like her friends. Whenever Frank and Monica came to play house, Debbie was always the first to welcome them back with open arms. Carl was a little less trusting and desperate than his sister, but he, too, forgave Monica almost immediately. Liam wasn’t sure what to think, because he really had no idea who the woman was. She left when he was a very young baby and briefly showed up a couple of times in his life to attempt being Super Mom for a few days, before disappearing again. Ian was the only one in his family who was extremely torn about his mother. He wanted to hate her for abandoning him and his siblings, but he also felt very much like her. He felt that they had more in common than he did with any of his siblings, and he really couldn’t find it in himself to push her away, no matter how much he wanted to.
Then, this happened. Ian came home that night to the sight of Monica holding Carl at gunpoint in the living room, while Debbie and Liam hid behind the couch. Ian quickly slipped in front of Carl and told him to go to the Safeplace, which all the Gallagher siblings knew meant the cupboard under the stairs. None of them really knew why it was called that--they had all just referred to the little hidy-hole as the Safeplace, because it was mostly out of sight and very few people noticed that it was there. It was a pretty good hiding place for multiple people to fit in. Ian attempted to talk his mother down from her psychotic break, but she just sprinted upstairs, and Ian chased after her. He had almost made it to the bathroom, where she had disappeared into, when BANG. That was the last straw his mind could handle after the past couple weeks, and he completely shut down, falling to the ground and hugging his knees to his chest as tightly as he could.
“Alright, Ian.” Lip sighed, grabbing onto Ian’s arms and carefully pulling, trying to bring him to his feet. “Come on, Man, let’s go to bed.”
The physical contact seemed to snap Ian from his trance, and his eyes shot down to the hands pulling at his forearms. He frantically glanced around, taking in his surroundings, and looked into the bathroom again, where all the blood was still smeared across the tiles. The memory of the bang from the gun echoed in his ears and his chest started to constrict almost painfully.
“No-no. Don’t...D-Don’t touch me.” Ian choked out, his breaths getting shallower and less effective as a crippling wave of fear rushed through him.
“Ian--”
“I said, don’t touch me!” Ian snapped, pulling his arms roughly away from Lip. He felt as if the world was closing in on him and he needed to get out, but had no idea how to. He fisted his hands up into his hair and screwed his eyes shut, trying to get as much air as possible into his lungs through his shaky breaths. He felt his throat tighten and then, somehow, he was laying on the floor, resting his forehead against the ground and choking on the panic that was washing over him, trying to drown him. He distantly heard his brother and sister calling his name, but he was too far under to swim back to reality at the moment, so he tuned them out.
“Lip, it’s been ten minutes...he’s just getting worse.” Fiona said, looking down at Ian, worriedly. By this point, he had tears streaming down his face and he was shaking violently.
Lip sighed and took his phone out of his pocket. He quickly scrolled through his contacts until he found the one he was looking for. He wasn’t even sure he still had their number, so that was a lucky surprise.
“What are you doing?” Fiona asked him.
“Fuck if I know.” Lip shook his head, pressing call and walking away, so that she couldn’t hear the conversation.
***
Mickey looked down at his cell phone with bloodshot eyes, when it started buzzing on his nightstand. He hadn’t slept in days, and it was definitely showing. The caller had an unknown number, but on the off-chance that it was one of his customers, he answered it. Wouldn’t want to lose business because he was feeling pissy and sleep-deprived, right?
“Mickey.” He huffed into the phone. “The fuck you want?”
“It’s Lip Gallagher.” The voice introduced itself, and Mickey felt his breath hitch slightly. Why did he answer the damn phone? “Ian’s freaking out.”
Mickey hated that he couldn’t stop himself from feeling the worry in his chest. Why was Ian freaking out? Was he okay?
“The redhead? Ain't he your brother? You can fuckin’ deal with him. I just worked with the kid.”
"You can cut the shit, Douchebag. You and I both know that isn't true.”
Mickey froze, not sure if he was terrified or enraged. Did Ian tell Lip? That stupid kid was trying to get him killed.
“Ex-fuckin’-cuse me? What are you suggesting, Gallagher?”
“Do I need to spell it out for you?”
Fuck Ian Gallagher. Always running his Goddamn mouth.
“I don’t know what you fuckin’ think you know, but if you tell anyone, I swear I'll fuck you up so bad--"
"Relax, I'm not gonna tell anyone. I think you're a piece of shit and I hate you for everything you've done to my brother and then some, but I wouldn't do that. Not even to you."
Mickey hated himself for everything he'd done to Ian, too. If anyone else knew about the two of them, they'd also join the Mickey-Is-An-Asshole club. But that's just it: Mickey was an asshole. Everyone knew. Ian knew. He should've known what he was getting into.
"Look," Mickey said, lowering his voice in case one of his family members were listening. "Ian and I...we're done, Man. I can't help you."
They had to be done. Terry would not hesitate to kill both Mickey and Ian if they were ever caught again. Mickey was stupid--he never should have risked it. He wouldn’t risk it again.
“You mean you won't help me. You are capable of helping, but you're too chicken-shit to."
"Hey, don't fuckin' act like you know me."
"I don’t care what's happening between the two of you. I called you, because I know Ian cares about you a lot, and frankly, I’m desperate enough to think you might be able to help him. He’s having some sort of panic attack or meltdown or whatever this is, because Monica shot herself right in front of him on the bathroom floor about an hour ago. Ten minutes ago, he curled himself up on the floor and broke down. Fiona and I can’t calm him, and he won’t let us touch him.” Lip explained. "If he's going to let anyone help him, I think it'd be you."
Mickey remembered six months ago, when Monica came back and Ian showed up on his doorstep all teary-eyed and looking like a lost puppy. The bitch seemed really good at abandoning her kids and then stopping by to fuck their lives up every once in awhile.
“I don’t know what the fuck you want me to do about that.” Mickey told him. He had been the one to find his mother on the bathroom floor with a needle sticking out of her arm when he was nine, and there really isn’t anything to do to fix it. Once you see something like that, you’re scarred for life. There isn’t much anybody can do to help. If Mickey went over there, he would not only out himself to the Gallaghers for pretty much no reason at all, but he would also risk Terry finding out. Was that really worth it? "Believe it or not, I ain't really the 'comforting' type."
“Just come try to talk to him. If he lets you touch him, you might be able to calm him down. Or, at least get him off the floor and into his bed.”
“I already told you, Ian and I are done. We were never boyfriend and girlfriend, anyway--he ain’t my problem. Never was.”
As Mickey said those words, he thought back to when he said something similar to Ian, and told him that he was nothing more than a warm mouth to him.
“Maybe you don’t see him as your problem, but he sees you as his. I wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if you had just been using him as a fuck-buddy this whole time, but he didn’t see you as that. For some stupid fucking reason, he cares about you a lot.”
Mickey felt his throat tighten at those words. He never had anyone care about him before--besides maybe Mandy, but she was his sister--and he couldn't help but wonder if Ian had actually told Lip that or if Lip was just assuming. Milkoviches didn't get to have feelings towards people or receive them from anyone--after all, who could love a Milkovich? Mickey had to swallow the lump in his throat, before saying, “Never asked him too.”
“Mickey, I’m not going to beg you or anything. If you honestly don’t give a shit about my brother, then yeah, stay away from him. Don’t waste his time anymore. But, if you do care about him at all, and this is because of Terry, you need to grow some fuckin’ balls. Ian is a wreck every time you let him think you care, and then shit on him. I don’t know if your feelings are anything like his, but if they are, then you guys have found something good. A bit dysfunctional, but good. Not many people actually find that around here, so if you have, you need to get your shit together and figure out your priorities.”
Lip disconnected the line abruptly, and Mickey cursed under his breath as he put his face in his hands.
Priorities? Mickey’s top priority was living. He couldn’t do that if he let the ginger fuck into his life--Terry would undoubtedly find out and kill him. They’d already been caught three times; what was to stop them from being caught again? It wasn’t worth it.
Then again, maybe it was. As much as Mickey would like to deny it, he wasn’t actually living before Ian. He was surviving . He didn’t think there was a difference, until that alien-looking dork broke into his house with a tire iron, but now he knew. The burning thrill when Ian’s lopsided grin sent a fire over his entire body within seconds, and he knew he was about to be fucked until he couldn’t see straight, was living. That cheap cologne smell, tinged with the scent of fabric softener and something so sweet and enticing it could only be described as Ian --which had become Mickey’s favorite smell over the past year--was living. The relief he felt when he knew that he could be who he really was around Ian, without worrying about hiding for fear of rejection, was living. Living was freedom, and freedom was Ian, and if Mickey wanted to live, he needed that stupid fucking ginger.
Did that make Ian his top priority, then? That’s pretty gay. Fuck Gallagher and his ability to bring out the fag in him.
After throwing on his dirty, worn-out sneakers, he all but sprinted the familiar route to the Gallagher house, and arrived there within five minutes of Lip’s phone call. He turned the doorknob and, upon finding it unlocked, walked in.
“Mickey Milkovich? What are you doing here?” A young girl, probably about eleven or twelve, with the same fiery-red hair as Ian, asked. She was bouncing a black baby--wait, what?--on her knee. A boy who looked to be slightly younger than her was seated beside her on the couch, using what looked like a small blowtorch to melt the facial features off a plastic doll.
What the fuck kind of weird-ass family did Firecrotch have?
“Where’s Ian?” He asked her, to which she responded by pointing to the stairs. Mickey took them two at a time, flying up into the hallway, where the three eldest Gallagher kids were huddled in front of the what he knew was the bathroom. Mickey had been there a handful of times while Ian had the house to himself, so he knew the layout pretty well.
Mickey walked over to them, trying to ignore the sharp pang in his chest at the sight of the shaking boy, who he cared a lot more about than he’d like to admit. Lip turned and nodded at him, and Mickey nodded right back, the two of them sharing a silent conversation with one another.
You came.
I did.
Good.
“Mickey Milkovich? Lip, that’s who you called?” Fiona said, annoyed. She had enough to deal with already, she didn’t want to have to keep on eye on the neighborhood thug, so that her shit didn’t get stolen.
“Yeah.” Lip confirmed.
“Um... why ?” Fiona looked between Lip and Mickey, obviously confused as to why her brother would call him, of all people. “Why do you even have his number? I didn’t know you were friends. Fucking Hell, Lip, you better not be getting mixed up in drugs--”
Mickey rolled his eyes, annoyed that she was talking about him as if he wasn’t even there. “Yeah, he called me up and told me to come over during his brother’s fuckin’ panic attack, because he needed a coke fix. I’ve actually got some Crystal in my back pocket, if you’re interested.” Ian let out another choked sob, which drew everyone’s attention back to the situation at hand. “Can you move over, so I can get in there?”
“Why?” Fiona asked hesitantly, maintaining her stance between him and her brother. Mickey wondered if she legitimately thought that he would beat on a kid having a panic attack after watching his mom kill herself. He was an asshole, but not that much of an asshole.
“What is this? Twenty fuckin’ Questions? Just move the fuck over.” Mickey repeated. He could feel the anxiety creeping up the back of his neck, urging him to turn and run away, like he always did in times like this, but he ignored it. He couldn’t run this time.
Priorities or some shit, right?
Fiona scooted over slightly and Mickey sat down where she had previously been, beside Ian. “Gallagher?”
“Wow, you’re really helpful, Milkovich. I wish we had thought about calling his name.” Lip said sarcastically, to which Mickey just flipped him off over his shoulder.
Mickey rubbed his bottom lip with the side of his thumb, a nervous habit he’d picked up as a child, and thought back to how he used to deal with Mandy when they were kids. She used to get panic attacks when Terry would come home drunk, and Mickey would always lock her in his room with him and calm her down. He hadn’t done that shit in years, but he may as well try it.
“Hey, Ian? It’s Mickey.” He said softly, changing his voice to sound as comforting as possible. He reached out and stroked the back of Ian’s hair affectionately. “Can you hear me?” Ian’s head nodded slightly, so he went on. “Let’s sit up, okay?”
“N-no.” Ian protested, but Mickey ignored him as he got closer and slipped his arms under Ian’s torso. He tried to wriggle away, but Mickey moved with him and succeeded in lifting his head and shoulders off the ground.
“C’mon, Babe, sit up.” Mickey tried out the nickname, because he knew it made Ian feel safer, and grinned when the younger boy gave in and did as he was told. This was actually working! “See? That wasn’t so hard; I knew you could do it.”
Fiona looked up at Lip for any explanation to what the fuck was happening, but he was pretty damn shocked and confused, too, so he just shrugged.
“I-I n-need to… I need t-to leave . I-I can’t be here.” Ian stuttered, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. Mickey reached out and took his hands, easing them away from his face so that he didn’t hurt himself.
“Hey, it’s fine. Lip is shutting the bathroom door. It’s just us sitting in your hallway.” Mickey wasn’t sure why they hadn’t thought to shut the door to begin with, but he was glad that Lip at least got the hint and shut it now. “I know what you’re feeling is scary, Ian, but you’re safe. You’re okay. Nothing is going to hurt you, I promise.”
“How is this happening right now?” Fiona whispered to Lip. Lip just shook his head.
“Can you raise your arms above your head?” Mickey asked Ian, putting his hands in the air as a demonstration. Ian opened his green eyes and Mickey almost wanted to cringe at how terrified and broken they looked. “Do it with me. Arms up, like this.”
Ian slowly raised his shaking arms, and Mickey smiled at him.
“Copy me, okay?” Mickey said. “When we put our arms up in the air, we are going to breathe in. When we put them down, we will breathe out. Then we will count our breaths, alright?”
When Ian nodded, they began. Mickey raised his arms again and took an exaggerated breath, and although Ian’s attempt came out much weaker, he was cooperating. Mickey decided this was progress. He wasn’t totally fucking up yet, which was good. Also, Ian had stopped crying a bit. They put their arms down together and exhaled, before saying, “One.”
They repeated this process over and over until they had reached about fifteen, and Ian stopped shaking.
“You good?” Mickey asked him.
“Uh, yeah.” Ian nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”
Mickey watched as Ian wrapped his arms around himself, as if giving himself a hug. His tear-stained cheeks were still damp and beads of salt water clung to his eyelashes. He looked very small and weak, and Mickey didn’t like that at all. Was this the same kid that broke into the house of the neighborhood thug, tire iron in hand, ready to fight for his fuck buddy’s gun back? Mickey worried his bottom lip for a moment, before scooting closer and holding his arms out. He sure as Hell was not big on physical affection when not in a sexual context--especially not in front of other people--but he knew Ian needed it, and he was unexpectedly willing to give it to him. He was surprised by the odd feeling of protectiveness that washed through him. He wanted the boy in his arms. He wanted to hold him until he stopped looking so damn weak and powerless. Feelings were something Mickey was absolutely not accustomed to, and they may have terrified him just as much as Terry did.
But Ian’s mere existence seemed to push Mickey out of his comfort zone on a daily basis, so why not hug the kid? It’ll doubtlessly happen anyway, and Ian needed it right then. Fuck it.
Ian looked at him incredulously and Mickey did his best to give him a small, reassuring smile. It could have looked like a ‘holy shit I’m terrified, but let’s do this’ smile--because that’s exactly how he felt--but Ian seemed to understand it as an invitation nonetheless. He all but leaped at him, throwing his arms around Mickey’s shoulders and burying his face in his neck, before the older boy could change his mind. Mickey took a second to process the body attached to him, and then wrapped his arms around Ian securely, rubbing soothing circles on his clothed back with his thumbs.
“You’re sniffing me.” Mickey realized after a few moments, feeling the deep inhales against his skin.
“I like how you smell.”
“That’s pretty gay.” Mickey commented. He felt Ian laugh against him and fist his hand in the soft black hair at the base of Mickey's head. The light scratching of the redhead’s nails against his scalp was calming and quickly relaxed his whole body. He rubbed Ian’s back, inhaling the scent of his shampoo and didn’t even know he had opened his mouth, until after “I like how you smell, too.” had slipped out.
Hugging Ian was such a strange, intimate feeling. He almost wanted to run away from it, but that would require pulling away, and he wasn’t willing to do that. He could feel Ian's lungs inflating and deflating against his chest and his breaths danced across the side of his neck, creating an odd connection between the two boys that was so different than sex and making out (both of which Mickey had become used to) and he was both terrified and in love with the feeling.
“I’m sorry.” Mickey finally said. “For y’know...avoiding you, or whatever.”
“It’s fine; I understand. You made up for it by calling me ‘Babe’, anyway.” Ian smirked against his skin.
“I didn’t call you shit, Firecrotch.”
“Mhmm, okay.” Ian chuckled. “Babe.”
“Shut the fuck up, Bitch. Why did I even come here, anyway? I could be watching TV or some shit, but I'm here getting octopused by your freckled ass.”
“Okay, what is going on?” Fiona interrupted. Ian had managed to shift into Mickey’s lap at this point and their torsos were completely intertwined. “I’m really confused.”
Ian pulled his face out of Mickey’s neck and looked up at his shocked siblings. He knew there was really no way of getting out of this one, but he decided to try, anyway.
“Um...well, Mickey is...he’s my...you see, we work together and he...uh…”
“I’m his boyfriend.” Mickey told her, never taking his eyes off Ian’s face. He wasn't sure where the fuck that answer had come from, but there was no taking it back now.
“Really?” Ian whispered, his eyes lighting up as if he won the fucking lottery or something.
“That’s what you and your Romeo ass want, right? We don’t have to--”
“No, no, I want to.” Ian rushed, hugging Mickey to his body even tighter than before.
“Boyfriend? ” Fiona asked. “What? When? How long? How did you two even--”
“Let’s give them some space, Fi, they’ve had a long week.” Lip put his arm around Fiona’s shoulders and dragged her down the hallway. “I’ll explain everything.”
“Boyfriend.” Ian said, relishing in the amazing way the word felt rolling off his tongue. He’d never thought he’d see the day.
“Yeah, whatever.” Mickey grumbled, secretly smiling into Ian's red hair. "Boyfriend."