I don't own Shameless.
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Ian straightened the tie around his neck, tucked in his shirt, and made sure his side of the room was clean. He perched at the desk, a pen held loosely in his hand. He knew he should leave a note; Fiona deserved to know why. Lip would get it, though. Lip would be able to get her through. Finally he just left the paper on the desk without a mark; just a white blank page.
With a shaking breath and a last look around, Ian left the room and walked into the family's bathroom. He figured it'd be easier to clean up afterwards than anywhere else in the house. The bathtub was already filled with water and he carefully climbed inside it, trying to keep the water from sloshing out the side. Ian took the razor blade in his right hand, dragging it down his left arm. He repeated the action a few more times before switching arms. The blood turned the water red, staining his white shirt.
"Ian!" Fiona called up the stairs. Ian let his eyes fall shut, the blood loss already getting to him. "Ian, you promised you'd be at Carl's game today! We've got to go!" Ian's head felt woozy and he couldn't keep his eyes open.
"Ian!" Fiona yelled again, and he could hear her feet on the stairs. He hadn't wanted her to find him; in hindsight, he wouldn't want Debbie or Carl to find him either. Maybe Lip. Maybe Frank would come home. He just hadn't wanted to hurt his sister like this.
"Ian?" Fiona said again, knocking on the boy's bedroom door. He could hear her open the door, everything going in slow motion. Finally he heard her feet outside the bathroom door, knocking lightly. "Ian, come on buddy."
Fiona screamed when she opened the bathroom door. She hulled Ian out of the bathtub, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Oh God," she mumbled, trying to wrap towels around his wrists. "What did you do, God what did you do?"
"What's the point?" Ian moaned as she pressed at the cuts on his arms, his eyes rolling around his head. "I'm nothing more than a warm mouth."
As much as she hated to do it, Fiona had to call 911. She knew that meant 72 hour observation for her little brother which would probably lead to him hating her for months. But Veronica was at work and Fiona couldn't get the blood stopped on her own. Ian lost consciousness before the ambulance got there and she couldn't stop the sobs as she held his cold body close to her chest.
She watched as they loaded him into the ambulance, his head lulling around. "Do you want to ride with him?" the EMT asked, hesitating at the door.
"I have to go get our siblings…Where are you taking him?" she hugged her arms close to her body, the shivering uncontrollable.
"Mercy." The EMT said simply, slamming the door shut and climbing into driver's seat. Fiona let out a shaky breath, turning back to the house and changing her clothes. She walked the two blocks to the football field, hesitating at the side line where Carl was laughing with his friends. Debbie was following Steve around with a clipboard, most likely giving him shit about his double life. Lip was in the stands. She closed her eyes, praying for strength before crossing over to where Lip was.
"I know you're mad at me, but we've got more important things going on right now," she kept her voice low, her eyes on her hands. She started shaking again when she realized her skin was stained with Ian's blood and she crossed her arms, sticking her hands under her armpits.
"Like what?" Lip asked, sucking heavily on a cigarette as he avoided her gaze.
"Ian tried to kill himself about an hour ago," She said, her voice cracking. Lip dropped his cigarette, staring at her with wide eyes.
"What?" He said, his voice hostile.
"I found him in the bathtub with his wrists slit. I…I had to call 911, Lip. I couldn't get the blood stopped and V was at work. I think I found him time. At least I hope I did. They took him to Mercy."
"Shit," Lip said quietly, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to say."
"I don't want to pull Carl out early," Fiona said quietly, watching at Carl knocked out yet another opponent, his third in two weeks. "He finally fits in someplace."
"Go to the hospital, Fi," Lip said quietly. "I'll take care of Carl and Debs."
"I just don't get it," Fiona whispered, her eyes filling with tears again. She pulled at her hair in frustration. "He didn't even leave a note. All he said when I found him was 'What's the point? I'm nothing more than a warm mouth.' Did something happen? Do you know something?"
Lip cursed under his breath, shutting his eyes in understanding. "I'll handle it. Just take care of Ian." Fiona bit her lip, nodding.
"Veronica should be home by the time the games over with. Either leave the kids with her or Shelia, please. Thank you, Lip," she whispered, squeezing his leg before walking away.
The next day, Lip took the El to the Cook County Juvenile Detention Center. He went through the metal detectors without complaints and sat in front of the glass in the visitor's room, waiting for Mickey.
Mickey walked into the visitor's room with his head held high, a swagger in his step. He hesitated for a moment when he realized it was the wrong Gallagher sitting waiting for him. He bit his lip, looking back at door he'd just came in, letting out a groan. Finally he shrugged and threw himself into the chair across from Lip.
"What do you want, Gallagher?" Mickey said, lighting a cigarette and flipping his middle finger at the guard who yelled at him to put it out. He blew the smoke out the side of his mouth and looked at Lip with a bored expression. Lip let out a shaky breath, digging his fingers into his leg.
"I just thought you should know," Lip started, swallowing thickly and letting his forehead rest in his free hand. "I just thought you should know that my brother tried to kill himself yesterday."
Mickey froze, his heart jumping into his throat as his eyes grew wide. This couldn't be right. Ian was a good kid; a happy kid. He wouldn't try something like this, not over Mickey.
"I…What?" Mickey finally said, searching Lip's face.
"Fiona found him," Lip said, biting his lip and shaking his head. "He'd slit his wrists in the bathroom. He didn't leave a note. She found him in time, though. And you know what he said when she asked why? 'What's the point? I'm nothing more than a warm mouth.' Who do you think told him that, Mickey?"
Mickey cursed under his breath, wrapping his left arm around his stomach as he tightened his grip on the phone.
"I didn't mean…He knew I didn't mean it. He…Frank was going to tell. I had to say it to make Ian leave. Would you rather have my dad kill him rather than me say some mean things to him?" Mickey's breath was speeding up. He searched Lip's eyes, looking for an answer.
"You want to know something about Ian? He's a strong kid. Remember in elementary school when they did a play each year and the sixth graders had the speaking roles? Well when Ian was in sixth grade, they did Peter Pan and Ian got the part of Peter. About drove us all nuts, practicing his lines constantly. And Monica promised that she'd be there, front in center to watch him as he flew off the Neverland.
"And so the day of the play comes, and he's standing in the back hall in his little green costume with his feather in his hat and he keeps looking at every parent that walks past, hoping it's going to Monica. Frank's always been a piece of shit, but Monica used to keep her promises back then so there was no reason for him not to get his hopes up. And people kept filling the auditorium and there's this little eleven year old red head who keeps poking his head out from behind the curtain, looking for him mom because she promised to be there.
"Eight o'clock roles around and the music teacher keeps saying that they have to get started, but Ian won't go on because there's no one there to watch him. And so Fiona and I fight our way down the aisle and his music teacher kicks these two old ladies out of the front row because her star won't go on if we can't sit there. And ever though we weren't Monica, he finally agreed and kicked ass. He got every line right and had a standing ovation at the end of the play. And while this eleven year should be happy that he's getting all of these cheers. But not Ian. From the first row all I can see are these fat tears rolling down his face. So Fiona and I go and get Ian and we take him home and you know what we find? You know what we find, Mickey?"
"No," Mickey said, his voice low.
"Monica had packed up and moved out. Left six kids, one of them only six months old. And our dad's always been too drunk to take care of us. So my sister had to drop out of high school and take care of us.
"And that's not all; Frank used to drag him around to all his dealers and let them touch Ian to get more blow. He ended up in the hospital for three weeks with pneumonia when he was six because neither Frank or Monica were ever sober enough to take him to the hospital before it got out of control. Frank isn't even his fucking dad, you know? Monica was sleeping around with Frank's brothers. Even now, Frank's always smacking him around. He always hated Ian the most out of all of us.
"He's had a part time job since he was twelve, but unlike every other kid, he never got to keep any of the money. The first boyfriend he had, Roger Spikey? He used to smack him around all the time, not that he ever told any of us until it was too late. Kash? He was married with fucking kids, but Ian was sure that was all he could get. And he still went back to him, even after they got caught.
"The only thing he's got going for himself is that he's going to get into West Point. I don't care if I have to fucking sit next to him during the exams and feed him the answers. He's going to get in. But he's apparently willing to let it all go to be with you. You of all people, a fucking convict who couldn't care less about him."
"Lip, I-" Mickey started, his voice cracking but Lip slammed his hand down on the counter.
"No! He waited. He waited six months for you while you were in here the first time. The only thing he did was work out and spend time with Mandy, just because it was like being closer to you. And he's lied to her, and to Fiona, and to Debs and to everyone important to him, for you. Because you're so afraid to tell the truth. And do heaven for fucking bid that Frank walked in on you. Because even if he always hated Ian the most, he'd never sell him out. And you did all in your fucking power to hurt him, when all he's ever done was want you. Fuck that."
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Mickey whispered.
"After all the shit he's been through in his life, this is what puts him over the edge. I just don't get it. Why you? All you're ever going to amount to is being stuck in jail for the rest of your life while Ian has a chance to get out. But he was willing to end it all, for you. Why?"
"I…I don't know. I'm not worth it. Never have been. All I'm going to be able to do for him is get him killed. My dad finds out and we're both dead. I know he's got a shot to get out; I'm not going to hold him back. He deserves so much better than me." Mickey was quiet for a few moments, his breath shaking. He could feel the tears in his eyes as he tried to keep them at bay. "How is he? Where is he?"
"Mercy," Lip said, his voice tired. "They've got him on the psych ward for 72 hour observation."
"You guys actually took him to the hospital? What the fuck." Mickey said, a hint of worry to his voice.
"Didn't have much of a choice. Veronica was at work. Fiona said it was either call 911 or let him bleed out on the bathroom floor. I'd rather have him hate us for making him go through a 72 hour watch than him being dead, Mickey."
"Other than the watch…is he okay?" Mickey dug his hand into the scar on his leg, desperately trying to remember the feel of Ian's hands there.
"As far as they're telling us. He's pretty upset, though, I guess. I wasn't there, but Fiona said there was a lot of crying and yelling on Ian's part. Just so you know, he still hasn't told Fiona about you."
Mickey closed his eyes, nodding his head. "You've got to make this right, Mickey." Lip growled.
"What am I supposed to do from in here?" Mickey growled back. "I'm stuck in here for at least a year."
"I don't know how you're going to do it, and I don't really care. But you're going to make it right. And then Ian's going to move on, and he's going to get into West Point, and he's going to leave for New York, and he's never going to comeback. And in twenty years, he's going to laugh when he thinks about the shitty life he lived with the shitty boyfriend who never cared about him. Make it right, Mickey. You hear me? Make it right." Lip started to stand up, hanging the phone up as he went. He stopped, though, when Mickey knocked on the glass.
"I know you don't believe me," Mickey said, his voice low and his eyes sad. "But I do care. I said it 'cause I cared. I…I was going to kill Frank so we could still be together without my dad killing us. But I couldn't. I just…I just couldn't. The way he had looked at me; it was like a kicked puppy. I just couldn't kill Frank. I did it for Ian." Lip just shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face.
"Make it right," he said one more time, slamming the phone back on the receiver.
The 72 hours passed without much incident. Ian didn't talk, he merely stared sadly out the window. When the doctors finally decided he was no longer a risk he sat in the wheelchair that took him back downstairs without a word.
"You've got to talk to me, Monkey," Fiona whispered, holding his hand and squeezing it tightly. Ian shrugged, pulling his hand away.
"There's nothing to talk about," he mumbled back, picking at the thick white bandages wrapped around his forearms.
"Obviously there is," Fiona said with a sigh. "If there was nothing to talk about, we wouldn't be here in the first place and I wouldn't be afraid to leave you alone."
"I'm not going to try it again," Ian said with a groan, rolling over on his side away from his sister.
"Yeah, well how am I supposed to believe that? Up until four days ago I didn't even know you had a boyfriend or something was even wrong. Just tell me what happened, Ian."
"There's nothing to tell. I just want to sleep, Fiona. Please." With a sigh, she complied, patting his back as she left.
It wasn't easy, but Mickey was pretty sure he finally figured out how to make things up to Ian. He had begged Mandy to visit him, letter after letter after letter of begging. Finally she came, sighing as her brother explained everything.
"I knew, Mickey," she said, twirling her finger around her hair. "And no, Ian didn't tell me. Now what did you need me to do?"
With a shaky breath, Mickey retailed his list of plans. He had already given the letters for Ian to the guards to pass onto Mandy. He rattled of the list of things to buy Ian, and told where he had money hid in the house.
"This is really gay," she said, a smirk at the list. Mickey flipped her off but kept talking.
"You don't have to deliver anything, just do the delivery option when you pay for it, okay? I don't know how much longer he'll be in the hospital, so take it to the house if you have to. Just…Just make him listen, okay, Mandy? Just make him listen." She bit her lip but nodded, whispering her love to her brother before she slipped away.
The first package came when Ian was still in the hospital. A page in a stripped uniform came, a small box and an envelope in her hand.
"Delivery for you, Mr. Gallagher," she said quietly, leaving before Ian answered. He sat up with a sigh, rubbing at the bandages on his arms. The stiches were making him itch, but he refused to look at them. He opened the envelope with shaky hands, biting his lip as he scanned the short letter. It was much of what he expected; I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, blah blah blah.
With a sigh he opened the box, a small smile fighting it's way on his face. A small teddy bear dressed in a baseball uniform with a small bat flung over its shoulder sat on the bottom of the box, an envelope in its other hand. Ian carefully opened the envelope, furrowing his brow in confusion. Inside the envelope were season tickets to the White Sox games. A small note on the inside in Mickey's messy scrawl clearly read 'now we won't have to sneak in.'
The next gift came the first day he was home, sitting on the couch with Lip. The bandages were still wrapped tight around his wrists and there had been quite a fight with Fiona that morning as Fiona tried to change them. Ian had been curled up on the end of the couch when the doorbell rang.
Lip returned to the room a few moments later, his brow furrowed in confusion. "This is for you?" He said, putting the box on Ian's lap.
Ian sighed, skipping over the letter. He opened the box, biting his lip. Inside there were travel brochures, one for each place Ian had told Mickey had had wanted to go with the military. He ran his fingers over the book for London, idly flipping through the one for Dublin. He groaned but opened the note from Mickey.
"I'm sorry, Ian. I'm so very sorry. But maybe someday, when you've graduated from West Point and figure out what you're doing from your life we'll travel. Everywhere you want to go, I want to be there with you. We can start a new life, leaving be this piece of shit town behind. Just give me another chance.."
Ian rolled his eyes, slamming the box down on the coffee table. "I'm going to take a nap," he whispered, leaving Lip behind.
The third gift came two days later. Fiona answered the door, signing for the box with holes in that she looked at with weird look.
"Ian?" she called. Ian appeared behind her, picking up the box which whined quietly inside it. He quickly opened it, skipping the letter again. A small Collie puppy blinked up at him, a pink boy tired around her neck. "You have got to be shitting me." Fiona said, tugging at her hair.
Ian let the dog lick his face as he opened the letter.
"I know what you're thinking; why the hell would I buy you a puppy when you guys can't even afford to feed yourselves. And on top of that, why would I buy you a puppy when you're supposed to be leaving in less than a year. Don't worry about the dog food, I'll take care of that. Mandy has the money until I get out. She's already fixed and had her shots. You can name her whatever you want. Just think of her as something to keep you company until you have to leave. Someone to love you unconditionally, even after you've left her all day. It would probably feel better than loving me. Just love her and she'll love you. It'll have to do until I can make it up to you."
"We can't afford to keep her," Fiona said, sitting next to Ian and running her hand through his hair.
"Mickey's paying for food," he whispered. Later that day a bag of dog food would show up on the front porch. "She's fixed and got her shots." Fiona sighed, nodding her head.
"Fine. What's her name?" Ian bit his lip, contemplating.
"Maggie," he said, hugging the dog tight to his chest.
"Maggie it is," Fiona smiled, hugging both Ian and Maggie close to her chest.
The gifts kept coming every few days, things Ian had forgotten he had mentioned to Mickey. There were movies and cds, shoes and clothes. More travel brochures, books, anything Ian had ever mentioned. Finally one day he made up his mind.
He dressed in a nice outfit and carefully pulled the bandages off his arms, hissing at the angry stitches still holding his arms together. He spiked his hair the way he knew Mickey liked it, fed Maggie and ruffled her ear. With a last glance in the mirror he walked out the front door, walking quickly to the El.
The ride to the Juvenile Detention Center wasn't long, but Ian thought it was long enough to cause himself chicken out. He stood tall as he went through the metal detectors, trying to ignore the pitting looks the guards shot at his arms. He sat down at the glass window, his arms wrapped around his waist.
Mickey froze when he walked into the visitation room. There he was; his Gallagher. He let out a shaky breath, letting himself fall into the chair. Ian nodded at him through the glass, picking up the phone.
"I didn't think you'd come," Mickey said, keeping his eyes low.
"Thanks for all the gifts…." Ian whispered.
"I was worried…I was worried about you," Mickey whispered back. "God, your arms…" Ian wrapped his arms tighter around his waist, using his shoulder to hold the phone.
"I'm fine. It won't even hold me back from getting into West Point. It'll be a sealed record…"
"Good…Good, I'm glad you didn't ruin your chances over me." They were both quiet for a while, Ian's breath shallow.
"I'm sorry," Mickey whispered. "I know that just seems like it's too late now but I didn't mean it. You've got to understand that. I didn't…I didn't want to end it, okay? But my dad would have killed us, Ian. He would have killed both of us. And so I said a lot of things I didn't mean, and I punched a cop like a dumbass. But I did it to keep you safe, okay? You've got to know I did it to keep you safe." Ian was quiet for a few moments, his fingers digging into his side.
"I get it," Ian finally said quietly. "I…I forgive you." Mickey gave him a small smile.
"What'd you name the dog?" he asked, placing a hand flat against the glass. Ian did the same, his fingers curled.
"Maggie," Ian said. "Now all I need is for you to come home." Mickey let out a shaky breath, rubbing at his face.
"I'll do my best."
Six months later, Mickey was out. Ian met him at the police station, Maggie panting on a leash next to him.
"You know, I trusted Mandy to pick her out. I wanted to get you a Pit, but Mandy said no, not with your little siblings and shit. But I guess she didn't do half bad." Maggie barked, almost as if saying thanks. Mickey grinned patting her head.
"You got out just in time," Ian said, offering Mickey a cigarette. "I leave in three weeks."
Mickey bit his lip, searching Ian's face. The scars were still on his arms, but the lines were faint. Even Mickey, who knew they were there had to search for them. That night he'd hold Ian in his arms in the broken down van in the Gallagher's back yard and would trace them with his tongue. But now he gave Ian a one armed hug, leaning in close.
"Well it looks like we've got to make up for lost time. Let's go Firecrotch." Ian just laughed. Maybe he wasn't just a warm mouth after all.
AN: I hope you liked it. Please review.