| Fitting Together From Different Puzzles |

At the end of the night, the guy was a scumbag. Martin. He'd followed Ian into the bathroom, tried to get in his pants while he took a piss. He'd tried forcing Ian against the wall, probably wanted to top him. Ian Gallagher's South Side instinct kicked in and Martin was on the floor just as soon as it had begun. Ian found himself outside, and given how much he'd had to drink, that was a mistake. The chill air was only half of it—the sun was coming up. Fuck. He pulled out a cigarette, lit up, and started walking towards the bus stop a couple blocks over. He looked at his phone—June had gotten home safely…several hours ago. They'd met at the Second Story Bar for her gay brother's birthday. One conversation about not liking his friends and an offer to drive and pay for his drinks and Ian was there. He'd be sure to make it up to her for just disappearing to the other side of the bar.

The short ten minutes to the bus stop proved to be just another curse: he'd just missed his ride and it would take another 20 for the next one. He leaned against the outer wall of the weather shelter and flicked away the drained butt after a car passed by. He followed it with his eyes and saw him. The perpendicular corner, a guy his age was getting ready to cross the street. He was pale, as if he'd woken up poorly from something. But that was the least of his distinguishing features. The guy was gorgeous, fucking gorgeous if Ian was to be accurate. Brunette. Perfect scruff. Looked slightly exotic—probably foreign genes. And yet, for someone so young, someone so handsome, he was in a wheelchair, escorted by a man in his fifties. Neither of them spoke and neither of them smiled. And then he spotted it, that distinct and almost totally concealed outline. The older man was carrying heat.

The duo crossed the street and turned towards Ian, still a street between them. If the guy's profile was a sight to behold, head-on he was immaculate. Ian flattened his back against the clear plastic and just stared. Well, until he noticed the cop staring back. He looked away, tried to play it off as just general people watching. They started to move again, heading towards him. Ian could tell in his peripheral. He stole a glance at the guy. Noticed the cop. His annoyance swelled. You'd stare, too. And so he returned his sight to the brunette, only to see him looking back. Ian felt the heat push into his face as his body turned away towards the road. Shit. He waited until they passed, giving him time to notice the sign in front of the building where he'd first spotted them. "Rehabilitation Institute." Oh.

Ian peered back at them, the duo now halfway down the block. He could only guess, but dammit did he want some of him. The bus showed on schedule, taking Ian from his thoughts and the cold equally. He dug out his phone once he was seated and texted June, saying he was on his way home and that he owed her a couple round of drinks now.

"You were out late," Lip said as Ian stepped from the bottom-most stair to the floor. "I'd say you look pleasantly fucked but it's more like a fucked-up look." Ian flicked off his brother and sat down at the kitchen table. "Fiona was looking for you."

"Was it about my meds?" Ian replied, pulling head up from where it lay on his folded arms on the table.

"No."

"Good. 'Cuz I'm managing it."

"I know."

Ian just looked Lip over and laid his head back down. "What'd she want?" Ian watched the other shrug before taking his first bite out of the sandwich he was making.

"So how was the rich part of the city?" Lip asked between chews.

"Fine."

"That's it?"

Ian shrugged this time. "Nothing special. Busier I guess."

"You could write a book," Lip said, the sarcastic undertone not going unnoticed. Ian picked his head up again and gave his brother that look, the one that said to drop it. "Alright, fine. Just, next time, at least get laid or something." When Ian stood harsh enough to streak the chair back, Lip made his swift exit, sandwich halves in hand.

Suddenly Ian's phone buzzed and he looked at it. A Tinder message from Dan—the digital fling before Martin last night. "Hey firecrotch :)"

Ian replied back—with less flirtatious flair than normal, however. He got up and grabbed a leftover slice of pizza from the other night before heading back up to his own room. His phone buzzed again. June. "Buy me dinner before our shift tonight?"

Ian smiled. "You got it"

"I'm feeling Taco Bell" June replied.

"You really are trash ;)"

"Dinner 1 of 2" "You owe me big time"

Ian laughed a little and tossed his phone next to him as he took another bite.

Knock, knock.

"Come in," Ian said. The door opened slowly to reveal his older sister.

"You're awake," Fiona said, her expression soft.

"What's up?"

"I…how was your night out?"

"Fine?" he said, expecting the real reason she was in his room.

"Felt normal? Getting back in the swing of things?"

"Fiona, I just had drinks. I never left the swing of things. I'm a Gallagher."

She laughed a little. "Just, with Caleb and all…"

"Ah, I knew there was something."

"Ian, I just want you to be happy and—"

"I'm fine."

"I can see that you're not. I'm not blind."

"I'm dealing."

"You're internalizing."

"Thanks for the analysis," Ian spat.

"I just wish you'd talk to someone."

"We've been over this."

"No, you've been over this."

"Don't you have work?"

"I just don't wanna' see you slip."

"Have I given you any reason to think that I will?"

Fiona frowned. Her brief pause the concession. For now. "Just, think about it?"

"I have."

"Fine. Okay. Alright, I'm off. Just…I love you."

"You, too," he replied, almost dismissively.

She took her leave and Ian let his head relax back hard against the wall.

"Sorry, I know I've been bitching nonstop for the last 20 minutes," Ian said, slamming down his French fry.

June just smiled at him as she took a sip of her water. "Your bitching is entertaining."

Ian smirked. "I can't imagine how it could be."

"I have a gay brother in the Navy who I see maybe twice a year, and my parents are in St. Anne doing the same shit every week. Sunday service. My mom teaches during the week and my dad fixes appliances. Saturday they have lunch with my aunt and her husband flavor of the month, and dinner with the Hernandez's. Your shit, your family," she motioned with her hand, "that shit just gets better all the time."

Ian just shrugged. "South Side."

"Mm, I'll drink to that," she said, toasting his cup.

"So your brother, is he seeing anyone?"

"Are you interested in my brother, Gallagher?" she teased.

"Well, once you go black…" he quipped.

She slapped his arm. "You're bad." She picked up her burger and looked back up at him. She saw it in his eyes. "How are you handling things?"

Ian just shrugged. "Some days are better than others."

"Was last night too much?"

Ian shook his head.

"I…look, Ian, don't take this the wrong way, but you might wanna' consider what Fiona said. I know, I know," she continued, seeing his irritation rise from his more animated body language, "it's a shit subject for you. Just, all I'll say is you might give it a try. It helped my best friend when she lost her brother in Iraq, it might help you, too. Okay?"

Ian just looked at her, his harsher eyes quickly relenting. He nodded. She smiled at him, just as soft as Fiona's had been when June kicked him from under the table. He shook his head with a smile and took a huge bite out of his own burger. "So did you have fun last night?" She looked at him, teasingly annoyed. "Okay, did you at least have a so-so night?"

June shrugged. "Not long after your fling pulled you away, James' friend Bobby started a shot contest. Three of those idiots got smashed before midnight."

"We call it a complete dinner in the hood," Ian said with a toothy smile.

"I'd say you're not black enough to be using the word 'hood,' Gallagher, but I've met your brother, and you dated a Milkovich."

Ian shrugged, taking the complementing retort.

"Let me just say, as the designated driver with five gay guys, three of who were off the deep and another who surely got laid in the bathroom, last night needed more alcohol coming my way."

"Then here's to Taco Bell next time as well as a round of shots. Maybe after work tonight?"

"No 'maybe' about it," she replied with a toothy smile herself.

"And for the record, I didn't get laid in the bathroom…or, at all last night."

"What did happen last night?"

"He…well let's just say he came on too strong and I had to drop him."

"Not too hard that we need to check hospitals or worry about the cops, I hope."

Ian shook his head. "Speaking of cops, I saw this really hot guy at the bus stop this morning."

"Cops don't really land on my hot-list very often given the amount shit I've seen."

Ian made an exasperated face in agreement before continuing. "It wasn't the cop, though. He was being escorted by a cop, in a wheelchair. Up at that rehab building by the hospital."

"And you're telling me this because…"

Ian shrugged. "It was different…and, fuck he was gorgeous."

June smiled. "Aaand? There's gotta' be more or you wouldn't be mentioning him. Any peeper shots?"

Ian shook his head. "Didn't have a chance. The cop was on high alert the whole time. He looked my age, though. Built. Brunette. Maybe foreign blood in there…Middle East I think?"

"Mmm. I'm half tempted to go find him myself."

"Un-uh. Dibs. I saw him first. And he saw me first."

"Ooo, tell me more."

"I definitely felt it for him."

"You gays always do."

"Yeah, and?"

"What're you gonna' do?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? C'mon, Ian. You've barely even tried to get laid for four months. Go up there, act like seeing him was a coincidence or something. I'll go with you, even if the hours are ungodly," she said, her tone ending with a 'what am I saying' sort of way.

"It was just a glance. For not even a whole second. And he's…he's…"

"In a wheelchair?"

"No…yeah, but no…I don't even know if he's straight. And yeah, I don't know if I can handle a physical disability. I'm barely managing myself."

"And he'd be managing his own shit. Look, what've you got to lose? You're always complaining about the Grindr flakes and fucks anyway."

"This sounds like a crazy idea that I would've come up with."

June just leaned in. "Which is why you should do it."

"Not happening."

"This is stupid," Ian said, sitting on the bench looking away from the direction he was supposed to be. "It's too early and too cold to be doing this."

"Don't care," June replied. "If this boy's a ten like you make him out to be, then it'll be worth it."

"We've been waiting for 30 minutes, we were already 15 minutes late from when he passed by before, and now my balls are—shit that's him." Instead of coming towards them from the rehabilitation center, the cop was pushing the guy from where they'd left the McDonalds.

"Oh, wow. Okay, yeah, you need to get on that."

Ian leaned forward and saw that the mystery guy was staring in their direction. "Fuck," he said, popping back to hide behind June.

"He definitely saw you. Kinda' hard to miss your reds," she said, turning to look at Ian. "He's smiling," June said, looking to confirm before looking back at her friend.

Ian peeked out and sure enough the mystery guy—now looking more filled with color—was smiling at him. And the cop eyeing them no doubt. The duo rounded the corner, their back to them now as they head back towards the recovery facility. The mystery guy turned back in the wheelchair to look at them, that subtle smile still there, before facing straight.

"If you don't make a move by the weekend," June began, "I'm calling you some professional help."

It happened while they were on a run two days later. The 40-year old car crash victim was to be redirected to Northwestern Memorial as the nearest hospital to the crash was suffering major power surges from the storm. Woody was driving, Ian and June in the back with the unconscious pregnant woman with a huge gash in her forehead; her airbag never deployed. Despite the weather, Woody got them there fast and all three of them rushed her in alongside the emergency doctors that greeted them. June briefed them as they got her into the trauma room and it was eventually Woody that pulled them away. This one was rough.

It happened as they walked out. The ambulance bay doors opened and another crew was wheeling in what looked like a burn-victim. A victim that looked just like Caleb. Ian was out the door, already a block away into the rain before he realized what'd happened. It was the sound of a horn that pulled him out, one that showed him he was in the middle of the street blocking traffic. He put his hand up in apology and ran up onto the sidewalk. It looked like he was on the outskirt of a park-square. He took a seat on the waist-high border and just stared out at the darkened city buildings across from him. Ian dug into his pockets for his pack, finding his last two in the crumpled case in his jacket; finding a lighter, however, never happened.

"Fuuuck!" Ian yelled out, the tears now coming out. He buried his face in his hands, the unlit cigarette folding against his forehead between his fingers.

"Here," came an older, raspier voice. Ian looked up to see a lighter outstretched to him. He took it, looking up to see an older balding man. One that looked familiar somehow. "Got some ID?" the man said through his own cigarette between the corner of his lips.

Ian hopped to his feet, alarmed. "I…"

"Mr. Olson wants to meet you. Didn't shut the fuck up about it the other morning."

"Mr. Who?"

"The kid in the wheelchair you've been stalking."

Fuck.

"I'm not inclined to let you near him, but I'm not on contract to say otherwise. He told me to approach you next I saw you. And here you are. Now you got some ID so I can run your background, or should I tell him he misunderstood?"

Author's Note: I'm not a hardcore Shameless or Tyrant viewer, but having followed these characters' storylines I couldn't help myself when I came across the crack on Tumblr. I blame idealuk and jamiemrks. I hope you all enjoy...there's obviously more to come.