It began on the day of Terry's funeral.
Ian had come to the wake to comfort Mandy; the actual service itself at the crematorium had seemed a little too daunting for Ian to show up. Plus, something told him he wouldn't have been exactly welcomed with open arms by a certain Milkovich. Really, he wouldn't be welcomed to the wake, either, but he'd come anyway.
Mandy was still inside; she'd been huddled in a quiet corner with Lip, her chair pulled closer to his and her head rested on his shoulder forlornly while he stroked her back comfortingly. She'd occasionally stood up to talk to the odd relative or friend while most of her brothers worked on getting hammered at the bar.
When Ian had arrived, he'd spoken to her for a while and wiped at her slightly smeared mascara affectionately, before he'd glanced around in search of Mickey.
"He's outside having a smoke, I think." Mandy said with a gloomy smirk, reading his mind. Ian glanced over at Lip, who was checking his phone absently, and then stood up, smiling and nodding at the dark haired girl before he made his way to the heavy double doors of the fire exit.
As he stepped outside, he looked out over the metal railings until he spotted Mickey standing on the other side of the parking lot, alone, leaning against another building with a trail of smoke drifting up from him. Ian paced over to him, zipping his dark hoodie up in the now slightly bitter cold and shoving his hands into his pockets stiffly.
Mickey glanced over at him and then looked away slightly disdainfully, licked his dry, chapped lower lip and took a deep drag on his cigarette.
"What are you doing here?" He croaked quietly. It didn't come out quite as aggressively as he'd hoped.
Ian moved to lean against the wall on the other side of him and folded his arms over his chest. "Just wanted to make sure you were okay." Ian replied.
Mickey eyed him slightly suspiciously and flicked ash on the ground. His eyes seemed to mist over for a moment, and then he looked away. "M'fine." He mumbled, his voice still slightly rough.
Ian was quiet for a moment and studied the other boy's profile. "I know that we're… you know, whatever," he began awkwardly, looking away from Mickey when he turned to eye him curiously, "but I know you probably need a friend right now." Ian added, not really sure what to say. He resisted the urge to rub his face in frustration. "I don't know… it's just, there's probably not many people you can open up to, and, I know things are weird between us, but I'm here if you need anything. Still." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and stared at the ground.
Mickey sighed out a puff of smoke and fiddled with the butt of the cigarette between his fingers. His breaths sounded a little laboured, like he was on the brink of crying and it was taking all his energy to hold the tears back. "Thanks." He rasped, to Ian's surprise.
Emboldened, Ian continued. "I'm not going to judge you if you cry, Mick." He said, his voice barely above a whisper, but more relaxed now.
Mickey let out a bitter, breathless laugh, but there was something exhausted about his demeanour, Ian noted. Mickey dropped his cigarette butt on the ground and leaned his head against the brick wall behind him with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. "The last thing he said to me before he left was 'go fuck yourself'." He said heavily after a moment.
Ian was silent. It wasn't really a surprise. They'd never had a particularly good relationship.
"I asked him if he could score me a few bags of coke from the heist so I could deal it."
Ian glanced up at him.
"Fucker." Mickey grunted after a moment of staring into the distance.
Ian didn't really know what to say. It was no secret between them that Mickey and his father didn't have the best of relationships. Hell, he'd been there and witnessed the abuse that he knew had probably been the story of Mickey's life himself. It wasn't a surprise. He didn't know why he or Mandy or their brothers were so upset really, after all the things he'd done to them, but he remembered at that moment the way they'd felt when they'd thought Frank was dead. It was probably just a lot for them to take in.
They stood in silence a while longer, until Ian stood up straight and spoke. "You wanna get out of here?" He asked.
Mickey looked at him inquisitively. "And go where?"
"I don't know. A bar, maybe. I don't think anyone's gonna miss you in there."
"Which bar?" The older boy asked suspiciously.
"Just a bar, Mick. No go-go boys, I promise."
Mickey smirked. "Fine. Lead the way."
They ended up in a quiet, darkened bar at the end of a dead-end street. It was dimly lit apart from the wall fixtures dotted along the narrow room opposite the bar, and the two of them found a dark corner near the back to sit and talk.
Ian smirked as he placed two beers down on the small, grubby table as Mickey glared daggers and swore at a burly man who seemed to be sizing the two of them up. "Calm down." Ian whispered, and slid the beer towards him across the time.
Mickey sighed and shuffled in his seat before he rummaged around the inside pocket of his blazer and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Ian watched him light up and take a deep, uncomfortable drag on it, searching his face sympathetically.
"So why'd you bring me here anyway?" The older boy asked quietly, puffing out a trail of smoke.
"Just thought you might want to get away. And have some company."
"I don't need company."
"I didn't say 'need'. I said 'want'." Ian replied.
Mickey looked like he was about to say something else, but he just twisted and bit his lip before taking another drag on the cigarette.
"I heard about the baby." Ian said, and after a moment, he added, uncertainly, "I'm sorry."
"I'm not." Mickey replied quickly.
Ian blinked in surprise.
"Dodged a fuckin' bullet there, let me tell you." Mickey licked over his smoke-dried lower lip and looked down in a way which told Ian that perhaps that wasn't the whole truth. "'Fuckin' thing probably wasn't even mine in the first place." He mumbled, and began to fiddle with the battered coaster his beer was resting on.
Ian furrowed his brow, and tried to ignore how much the whole situation had stung him, for Mickey's sake.
"You know, I actually worked it out. It couldn't have been mine. It was born like six or… seven months after we got married. And apparently it was full-term or some shit, even though it was dead." Mickey explained, grabbing his beer and taking a deep swig from the bottle.
Ian nodded along with what Mickey was saying. Svetlana's continued drinking throughout her pregnancy had apparently taken it's toll.
"Anyways…" Mickey began quietly. "I could've done with you around." He glanced at Ian tentatively, as though he was afraid to make eye contact.
Ian pursed his lips anxiously. He wasn't going to apologise. "I know." He said simply.
Mickey didn't look expectant, though. Instead, he returned to downing the rest of his beer.
A few drinks later, and Mickey was getting a little rowdy. Something told Ian that he'd started getting drunk at the wake and had decided to leave once his brothers had hit the bar. He could imagine him not wanting to listen to everybody else's woes about his father while he was struggling to deal with his own. He decided it was time to leave when Mickey started shouting and swearing about certain memories Ian knew a sober Mickey would not want half of Chicago knowing, and so he grabbed Mickey around the shoulders and started to drag him, flailing and unsteady, out of the bar and into the bitter cold of night.
They ended up staggering home under the L, and the walk seemed to help sober the dark haired boy up a little. Mickey pulled away from where he'd slung an arm over Ian's shoulder and wobbled over to a cable box that was attached to a tangle of wires leading up a pillar. He stumbled around for a moment before he lifted himself on top of it and felt around his pocket for a joint. Ian walked up to him and planted himself down next to him, but tried not to let their legs brush like he usually would have done.
"So how was juvie, anyway?" Mickey mumbled around the joint in his mouth, followed by the crackle and spark of his lighter. "Were you as much of a pussy as I thought you'd be?"
Ian laughed. "Nah, I learnt from the master."
"Ha." Mickey smirked, taking a deep drag on the joint with a quiet moan that shot inappropriately right to Ian's crotch. "Did you fuck anyone?" He asked.
"Couple of guys." Ian answered. "Not gonna be anyone's bitch, am I?"
Mickey let out a short laugh and passed the joint to Ian absently. Taking it, Ian took a long drag on it and licked his lips at the vague taste of Mickey's mouth that lingered on the filter. It had been such a long time since they'd kissed, and Ian longed for the feeling again. But he stuck to his resolve as he had done for the last few months since he'd been released from juvie, and didn't give into it. He didn't want to go there again.
Mickey sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the concrete pillar behind them. "I wish he'd taken me on that heist." He said after a moment.
Ian furrowed his brow. "Mickey, like seven people got shot and two of them died. You got a deathwish or something?" Ian asked, handing the joint back to him.
Mickey was silent, and stared up at the cracks in the L bridge above them. His eyes seemed to be shining a little as he brought the joint up to his lips.
'Oh.' Ian thought, a little stunned.
Mickey rubbed at his eyes and glanced at Ian with a bitter grin, like he hadn't just basically said that he wished he was dead.
"Well," Ian began, his eyes softening a little, "I'm glad you didn't go."
Mickey scoffed. "Nice of you to say. Didn't think you'd be too concerned."
"What?" Ian said, furrowing his brow in confusion.
"I thought you made yourself pretty clear when you fucking enlisted and decided to fuck off for four years." He spat.
"Clear of what?" Ian asked, a little annoyed.
Mickey licked his lips and took another drag. "Doesn't matter."
"Of what, Mickey?"
Mickey sighed and ran his tongue over his teeth in annoyance. "You know what." He mumbled.
"No, I really don't."
"It doesn't fucking matter, alright?" Mickey sighed, exasperated. "The fact you don't even know what I'm talking about basically answers my question anyway."
Ian frowned in confusion and then shook his head. "God, you fuck with my head so fucking much sometimes."
"I could say the same thing about you, shithead." Mickey replied, flicking ash on the damp ground.
They sat in silence for a few moments while Ian stewed over Mickey's words in his head.
"It's not like I wanted to leave." Ian said quietly after a moment. "But you've known that I was going to leave eventually for years."
Mickey sighed.
"If you'd just… If you hadn't married her, then I wouldn't have left." Ian explained.
Mickey shook his head in annoyance and gave a bitter laugh. "You're a fucking asshole, you know that?"
"I'm the asshole?"
"Either that or you're fucking mentally deficient or some shit. No wonder you didn't get into West Point."
"Fuck you!" Ian spat.
"You were there yourself!" Mickey shouted back.
Ian was suddenly quiet, his seething expression softening a little bit.
"You saw what my dad did to us. We're lucky we're not dead!" Mickey yelled.
Ian jumped off the cable box and started to walk away, but Mickey followed him. "Ian!" He called.
Ian kept walking, but eventually the older man caught up to him, grabbing him by the shoulder and whirling him around. "Do you not get that?" Mickey yelled, his eyes searching Ian's desperately. "I - had - no - choice!" He said loudly.
Blinking away a tear, Ian pulled away. "We could've-"
"What?" Mickey barked. "What do you think we could've done, Ian?"
Ian was silent, but a tear rolled down his face. "It's not about that." He said quietly after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper.
Mickey stared at him expectantly.
"It's not about that. It's because you wouldn't even try." Ian murmured. "You wouldn't even try and stand up to him. You just let him ruin your life. And then you even fucking stood up for him!" Ian laughed bitterly. "You stood there and defended the guy who ruined your life, who ruined Mandy's life, who ruined my life."
Mickey swallowed.
"Do you not see how fucked up that is?!"
"Maybe to you it is-"
"Oh jesus fucking christ, Mick, it'd be fucked up to anyone with half a fucking brain cell."
Mickey shook his head and took a drag on the nearly spent joint between his fingers.
Ian was silent for a few moments, before he began speaking again, quieter this time. "I couldn't… I couldn't sit there and watch the two of you play happy families like Kash and Linda. I couldn't, Mick."
Mickey blinked and looked a little surprised.
"I couldn't… I didn't want that for you." He said. "It drove Kash crazy, it fucked Ned's life up, and it's going to fuck yours up if you don't get out of there."
"I think it's already done that." Mickey replied, glancing at Ian.
"But it doesn't have to anymore, Mick." Ian said softly, reaching forward to grasp the shorter boy gently by the shoulders. "He's dead. He can't hurt you anymore."
Mickey stared at the floor, his eyes welling up a little. He yearned to reach out and put his arms around the other man, but he couldn't. It was like he was rooted to the spot, and he could only listen.
"He's gone." Ian murmured.
Sucking in a deep breath, Mickey looked up at the redhead with wetter eyes than he would've liked.
"But he's my dad." He croaked after a minute, as a tear finally rolled down his face.
Ian looked at him sympathetically. "I know." He replied, his voice breaking a little.
Mickey panted a little from the strain of trying to keep the tears in, but when Ian's hand reached up and brushed one away with his thumb, they started to roll down his cheeks even more.
"Come here." Ian said softly, and slid his hand to cup the back of Mickey's head before gently pulling him against his chest.
He half expected the older man to pull away and swear at him for 'acting all faggy', but he didn't. Instead, he tentatively leaned towards him and rested his forehead on Ian's shoulder. Slowly, Ian placed an arm around the brunet's waist and pressed a splayed hand to his lower back, while his other hand stroked the back of Mickey's head.
Mickey dropped the spent joint in his hand and brought his arm up to fist a hand in the back of Ian's hoodie tightly while he began to sob, his shoulders shaking silently as hid his screwed-up face in Ian's shoulder. Ian pressed his face to the side of Mickey's head and rubbed comforting circles on his lower back.
"It's okay." Ian whispered, stroking the short spikes of hair on the back of Mickey's hair and scratching over them slowly.
Overhead, the L train screeched towards them, quietly at first and then piercingly loud, drowning out the sound of Mickey's sobs for a few seconds. The light flashed over them repeatedly until the violent convulsions of the train died down and they were left with only the lingering, pungent scent of gasoline and steel. With it, Mickey's shudders calmed, but he didn't move. For the first time since his mother had been alive, Mickey felt protected. The feeling of safety found from his mother was suddenly thrown violently into focus in such a way that it couldn't have been unless it had been lost. Without it, the world seemed far bigger and scarier than it had been before; but Mickey, having had to virtually fend for himself since childhood, had trained himself to see how unneeded it was. Until this moment, he had remained convinced. At this moment, Mickey felt cocooned; safer than he'd ever been, and he wasn't ready to let go of that yet.
After another minute, they pulled away from each other, but remained close. Ian reached a sleeve-covered hand up and wiped away the last of Mickey's tears. His hand, however, slid out from beneath his sleeve and cupped Mickey's chin between his thumb and forefinger. He lifted his thumb and stroked the older boy's lower lip, looking at his mouth with hooded eyes.
Glancing up at him, Mickey stuck his tongue out momentarily to brush Ian's thumb, and closing his eyes, the redhead leaned down and planted a kiss on Mickey's mouth. They kissed slowly for a few minutes, opening their mouths and drinking each other in.
It was odd. Mickey hadn't thought that being kissed would feel different to being the kisser. But no, Ian kissing him was way different. It felt like being claimed, for one thing; something Mickey didn't exactly like unless it was in a purely sexual context. But this felt different. It felt tender, meaningful and full of years worth of repressed emotion. It felt weird to Mickey to let Ian do it; but he couldn't deny that it felt right. Plus, he wasn't about to push Ian off after they'd been apart for so long.
After a few minutes, Ian pulled away, but his eyes were still closed as he pressed their foreheads together. "I missed you." He whispered quietly, not daring to look the brunet in the eye.
Mickey gripped the back of his head to keep him close. "Yeah, me too." It was quiet for a while after that; the two of them stood there in the darkness beneath the L. Mickey broke the silence after a minute. "I want…" He began. "I want to… you know. I want to be with you. Properly." He murmured, staring down at the ground beneath them and refusing to meet Ian's gaze.
Opening his eyes, Ian looked down at the older man. "I want to be with you too." He said. "But… I mean it this time Mick. It's got to be more even. I can't do everything on your terms all the time."
"I know." Mickey said after a moment, still looking at the ground.
"You promise?"
"Yes!"
"Good." Ian whispered with a smile, laughing a little as Mickey tried to hide his own. "We'll make it work." He said after a moment, stroking the older man's face.
"You promise?" Mickey asked quietly.
"Promise." Ian replied with a smile, and leaned forward to kiss him again.