A/N: So I just started watching Shameless like two weeks ago and am on season three. I love it so I wrote something. I'm not finished with the show yet, this is just a little post 3x09 for my beloved Lip x Mandy. Because I am a masochist.

Summary: You kissed me and stopped me from shaking, but I sent you away.

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Everything is courtesy of Showtime and (forgive me) Barry Manilow.

Despite what everyone might think, waxing poetic really isn't your thing. You do Kev's taxes every year and can score a perfect SAT score but the facts are, you get paid to do those things and that robotics tournament you won was done so through stolen goods from the college.

Waxing poetic really isn't your thing. You probably could if you were in a pinch. You like to tell Ian that you're a chameleon. Maybe you're like Frank in that way. You're what you need to be to survive. You'd like to think that maybe you're a little better than him, though. It scares the shit out of you that you could be anything like your father, but you know enough to understand that genetics are a factor. No one really knows how much of a factor, but they're a factor.

Look at the Milkovich's. It could be nature vs. nurture, but you never really bought into any of that. Growing up in that household, maybe you wouldn't know what a shower was or had a god damn armory or even more of a rap sheet than you already do. But you're a Gallagher so that means petty crime with just a hint of self-righteousness. Maybe being with a Milkovich is in your blood. You know more about Mickey and Ian than you would like to admit. Sometimes, maybe you'd like to think that you're better than that. But you're comfortable with the petty crime. The only thing you're really good at is scamming.

But not at waxing poetic.

And yet sometimes you sort of understand that she wishes you were.

It took you awhile to realize it. I mean really, why would a Milkovich care about something like that? Ian tears himself up over what Mickey does or doesn't do. Everyone one of you Gallaghers show up with bruises one day or another, but Ian was never really the talkative type. If you're lucky you get a rough tap on the head for your troubles. It's the Irish way.

But she's a Milkovich. She doesn't really care what people say about her. Not in any real tangible way. But she won't let anyone say that she's trash. At least not to her face. You didn't really get that part. Aren't you supposed to be a genius? So why can't you figure out what Mandy Milkovich wants from you?

It wasn't supposed to be this way. Then again, don't all your relationships start that way? You're not into the whole monogamous, exclusive emotional thing. Karen sure as hell wasn't like that and that was supposed to be the good thing about Mandy.

But Mandy always had a thing for you and you just pretend that she doesn't for your own sake.

You live in Doucheland. She says that a lot, and she's a little right. Ian would hit you for it if he weren't your brother. But she was the neighborhood tramp and that's always the way it was supposed to be. She wasn't supposed to actually like you or anything.

You always knew that she did anyway.

So why does Mandy Milkovich want you to stand on the rooftops and scream out your love for her?

Who the hell knows?

The sex is good and that was all that matters to you.

It hadn't really clicked for you until she turned in those college applications. Of course she didn't know who Nelson Mandela was but it kind of endeared her to you.

And all she asked for was a thank you.

Not even an I love you. Not a we should be exclusive.

She's a Milkovich so she'll beat you over the head with her baton before she does that.

Still, she just takes your abuse. That's something that you're unfamiliar with.

Mandy fucking cared. Mandy was there. He was a Gallagher so could she blame him for being freaked out by that? That wasn't the way of his people.

But she took it. She came back for more and that sort of made it even worse.

Is that what she wanted? Him to proclaim his undying love for her? Well sorry, but that just wasn't going to happen.

So what was it? What was she getting out of this?

"What the fuck are you staring at?"

Maybe she was mad. Honestly, he couldn't remember what insensitive thing he said that day. He always kept unflinching eye contact until the last moment but somehow right now, he just couldn't.

He watched from the front seat as Mandy rolled down her window. Her lighter flicked and she took a drag from her cigarette.

This was just fucking. He didn't ask for her to be here. He didn't ask for her at all. He didn't wax poetic and he didn't fucking listen to Barry fucking Manilow. Not for anyone and certainly not for her.

Mandy might have been needy in her own way. But there was something to be said for her. She was the anti-Karen.

Was that it? Was that what it was? Karen was a pixie. Blonde with elf-like features.

Mandy could beat the shit out of her. But she never did. She just yelled a lot. So much that Lip forgot what she was yelling about this time.

He had thanked her. It was thank you as he pounded into her, not I love you.

Was that all that Mandy Milkovitch wanted? She sure as hell wasn't getting it at home. If he had to wager, he thought that no one really told Mandy Milkovich that they loved her. She didn't care.

Was this different?

Lip plucked the cigarette from her fingers. "Thanks. You know."

Judging from the look in her eyes, she really didn't.

"What?" She was more irritated that he took her cigarette.

He never wanted a ghetto wife. Ghetto kids running around. But he could trust in Mandy to take care of any kids accidental or otherwise while Karen would just abandon them.

He didn't know why he just thought of that.

That was stupid.

"I was just thinking," Lip said.

"Yeah, what else is new?"

He did stare at her this time. She had just told him that she wanted him to take her with him if he went to Boston and now she was being a bitch. And yet, no matter what he did, he would always be the best. To her.

He was starting to get it. And that's why she came back. No matter how badly he treated her or the horrible and hurtful things he said, it would never be as bad as the way she was treated in the past.

Or as bad as her father.

He leaned towards her swiftly in the seat of the van and kissed her. The familiar taste of nicotine and smoke swirled between them.

He pulled back and she was staring at him again. Usually she would just throw herself into him but he knew this time was different.

She still hoped he would take her with him to Boston. Even if he was being a dick to her. Somehow, even in this neighborhood, she still had hope. Even if all her hope happened to be him.

"No one's ever called me good before."

"What's wrong with you?" she asked. When they weren't naked together she put on her defensive armor. He didn't blame her.

"I never thought I would get out of here," Lip said. "But you do."

"Well, you're an idiot."

Lip studied her for a moment. He could barely see her profile in the darkness. But she didn't sound scornful. She almost sounded happy. She sounded like Mandy.

"Yeah, well," Lip laughed. "Thanks."

He could tell she was finally trying to hide a smile. "What's this really about?"

Lip shrugged. He had mastered all of the nonverbal cues. He reached over and she finally laughed, trying to elbow him away from her.

"You're just gonna talk all day?"

Talking wasn't really their forte. Things seemed more important when they were together. Things like this feels good and don't stop. Things like we'll risk it and what condom? That should have scared him the most. He remembered what consequences were like and he should have known better.

But when they were together, he just didn't.

And wasn't that the point? Out of all the ghetto girls he knew, Mandy was one of the careful ones. She knew what it was like. She knew she couldn't afford an abortion and the penetrating fear of something you couldn't get rid of.

Sometimes, it felt like he just didn't give a shit.

Lip turned on the engine and sat back in his seat.

"We could just sit here for awhile."

"Why?" Mandy asked.

Even when she asked for it, she didn't know it when she saw it. And he wasn't about to spell it out for her. He couldn't just tell her that shit. He was as fucked up as she was.

Mandy sat back. "I should get back."

He could hear how wounded her voice was, but he pulled her towards him.

"Stay for awhile."

He was good at sounding nonchalant. He felt her resist for a moment. But she settled next to him, picking the frays on her jeans. They didn't do this. But just this once, Lip could make an exception.

Maybe he could try in his own way. This romantic thing.

Lip leaned forward and tuned the radio carefully.

Mandy's brow furrowed like when he told her about Nelson Mandela. "What the fuck is this?"

The airy oldies music cracked through the tired speakers.

"Barry Manilow?"

Mandy shot him a questioning glance. It was better for his cred if she didn't know who that was. It would be even better if she didn't know that he knew most of the words so he kissed her. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt and he felt her relax.

This time she reciprocated, the music a dull soundtrack to his hand up her shirt.

Mickey might have come out the front door and thrown a whiskey flask at the windshield and Lip wouldn't have noticed.

If she wanted romantic, this was what she was going to get.

Oh, Mandy.