Author's Note: The only way Ian Gallagher's plotline should justifiably end, IMO. And it's kind of bittersweet and dark and full of social commentary, so Shameless writers probably wouldn't even hate it.

Ian took his medication faithfully, but one day, it stopped working. Maybe it was the stress of his job or the shift work, or just his biology sabotaging his life again, but he found himself in a full-blown manic episode on the job.

It wasn't as bad as it could have been. No one died. But he had gotten confused, and become convinced that the post office was full of demons. He'd driven straight into the front door with the ambulance in a kind of targeted strike, luckily knocking himself out in the process so he didn't do anything else. Sue wasn't hurt, and she didn't even hate him for it. It was a federal building, and he'd told the truth about what he'd intended when he'd been taken in. After all, he'd always found the authorities pretty understanding about his mental health issues.

The public offender they'd set him up with had set him straight fairly quickly. "You think you're special, and you get to get away with attacking a federal institution? That's practically an act of war. Nearly sixty percent of all people sent to local, federal or state prison are mentally ill. Being mentally ill is not a get out of jail free card. Might have worked when you were eighteen and didn't have a record, but it won't fly now. You should just plead guilty, because you'll probably get a reduced sentence that way, and there's no way you're not doing jail time. I mean, if you have a lot of money to hire a better lawyer than me, maybe…"

Ian thought about the possibilities. Maybe if Fiona hadn't been scammed out of all her money on that latest real estate deal…but now they were back to living pay check to pay check, and Fiona had impatiently told him that he should have taken his meds last time he talked to her. She might not even help him even if she had the money, because no matter how many times he tried to tell her, she wouldn't believe that what happened hadn't been because of something he had done. She wanted to believe that Monica could have been this great mom and he could have this great life if only they took their medication, but sometimes with mental illness, even if you did everything right, things that had always worked before stopped working.

His only other option was Lip, who struggled to make rent at Fiona's every month. No help there.

He saw his lawyer was checking his watch. "I mean, no, I guess I can't afford a better lawyer," he finally replied.

"Well, then you're going to have to plead guilty. I'll bring up the diagnosis, but the prosecutor's not going to give a shit, frankly."

The meeting with the prosecutor went exactly the way the lawyer had said it would. The prosecutor had an admission of guilt from when Ian had been arrested, and neither lawyer seemed to think a trial would be worthwhile. When Ian said he'd been on his medication but it hadn't been working, the prosecutor seemed to take that as some indication that the world would be safer if he were locked up in a federal prison.

Ian looked at his lawyer, his panic rising. How the hell would he survive prison? He was tough, and he knew how to suck dick to survive, but he didn't want to be some asshole's bitch to get by for what looked like a long time.

He was in holding, but he got to see Lip the next day. Lip looked hungover, but he waved off Ian's concern. "Worry about your own problems, man. What are you going to do?"

Ian was on the verge of tears. "What can I do? You think there's any way for us to get more money for a lawyer? What about my bio dad? You think he'd pay for one? It's not like I've ever asked him for anything."

"I talked to him," Lip said. He seemed reluctant to go on, and Ian almost asked him to stop, but he kind of had to hear the excuse his brother had gotten. "He said he had to pay tuition for his other kid. No money left over. He said he was sorry to hear that you were in trouble."

"Figures," Ian said. "The lawyer says there's no chance of getting out of this without going to prison. He says I'll get a reduced sentence if I admit my guilt."

Lip shrugged. "It sucks man. I mean, the justice system shouldn't be like this. I promise you, I'll clean up my act, and when I do, I'll get you a re-trial. Or I'll raise the money somehow. I'll fucking steal it from some tech start up. I'll figure it out."

"I don't want my screw up screwing up your life," Ian said. "Don't worry about me. I mean, it's like you said. Working out twenty-four-seven, gay sex…it's like a gay man's paradise, right?"

Lip smiled feebly at the attempt at humor. "I promise, if I come into some money, you'll get out of here."

Ian nodded and hugged Lip, and then he made the deal.

Sooner than seemed possible, Ian was being escorted into a federal prison. The first thing that happened was he was strip searched, which seemed excessive because he was going from a local holding cell to a prison, but though they claimed it was policy, he was convinced it was part of the punishment of prison, to humiliate the inmates whenever they could.

Ian felt his pulse racing so fast he almost couldn't tell one beat of his heart from the next as he was escorted from that room in his starchy orange jumpsuit.

The rest of the inmates were locked up, and he tried not to listen to the catcalls and threats coming from all around him. Staring straight ahead, his back ramrod straight, he walked to his cell like he was walking toward an executioner's noose.

He listened to the instructions from the guard in a daze, noting that his roommate was in the top bunch and concealed by his blanket. Finally the guard realized that his instructions weren't getting through to the prisoner, so he left, reminding Ian that he would be escorted to the nurse to get his medication twice a day. It was the one acknowledgement of his condition that they'd given him, and he wasn't even sure he wanted to take medication there, although if he'd probably be a danger to himself if he had an episode.

Maybe it would be better if he did go manic and piss someone off. He'd gotten twenty years, and in some ways he'd rather be dead than serve the time.

"That's good. Going to the nurses station gives you something to look forward to. And you'll be a lot safer on your meds."

Ian looked up in disbelief. "Mickey?" he asked, his voice unnaturally high.

The blanket was thrown off and Mickey looked down at him. "You didn't think I'd leave you in prison alone, did you? I ain't an asshole like you."

"How…I mean, did you get caught? How are you in my cell?"

"Uh, you're in my cell, buddy. And I didn't get caught. Mandy told me what was happening with you, and I made a deal with the federal marshals. I agreed to surrender myself the authorities if they put me in the same prison as you, and let us share a cell."

"Why would they make that deal? I can't believe they want to do you any favors."

"Yeah, they hate me, but they weren't going to find me on their own. That's a black eye on their record or whatever. Now there's one less fugitive roaming free messing up their statistics. Guy who made the deal is probably getting a promotion."

"Holy shit," Ian said in disbelief. "You really surrendered to make sure I was okay in prison?"

Mickey shrugged, looking away as something vulnerable crept into his eyes. "So how long they give you?"

"Twenty years. There was talk about mentally ill people being diverted out of the prison system a couple of years ago, but I don't know if there's going to be much interest in that in this political climate. And like, Lip said he'd try to get me a new trial if he got the money."

"Any chance of that happening?"

"If there is, it'll take years," Ian said.

Mickey shook his head. "Well, I'll show you the ropes in the meantime. Prison ain't so bad as long as you know the way things work, and who not to piss off and how to not piss them off. I mean, it's fucked up, but you'll be safe if you stick with me."

"I don't know how to thank you," Ian said.

"You can start by sucking my dick whenever I want," Mickey said. He jumped down from the bed. He twisted his head like he had a crick in his neck and sighed. "I mean, I'm not saying you're my bitch. I missed you, though."

Ian let out the breath he'd been holding since he walked in the door of the prison and reached out and touched Mickey's, taking his hard bicep in probably too firm a grip. "You're not a hallucination, are you? Or a really good fucking dream?"

Mickey looked up at him with uncharacteristic shyness. "You mean you're happy to see me?"

Ian grabbed at Mickey and pulled him towards himself firmly. Mickey held on tight. "You're the best thing I've ever seen. Jesus. I don't know what I ever did to make you love me, but I know I don't deserve you."

"It's not about what you deserve," Mickey mumbled into Ian's neck. "It's just a fact. Can't change it, can't run from it. Can't move on. I just want to be with you."

"I want that too," Ian said.

Mickey pulled away, and Ian tried not to feel his despair rise again at how quickly Mickey turned away. "Yeah, now. Now that you ain't got anything better. But fuck, I don't got any pride when it comes to you. I knew you'd take me back if you had to, so I got you back."

"I guess you could get your revenge on me for breaking your heart in any number of ways in here," Ian said.

Mickey laughed bitterly. "Sure could," he said.

Ian waited, but Mickey didn't say anything else. "So are you going to get revenge?"

"I don't like hurting you, Ian. I've never hurt you on purpose," Mickey said.

Ian nodded. "I know. And I know I can't say the same. I'm sorry for…I haven't always been the best boyfriend, or even the best friend I could have been."

"Both of us could only be who we are, Ian. Neither of us are perfect," Mickey said.

Ian felt a kind of reluctant excitement. "I thought I was going to be murdered in here. I guess…I guess I could still have a life. I mean, it's not ideal, but we're together. And that means I can't be completely unhappy, you know? You're here with me. You still love me. And goddamn, Mickey, I love you so much I feel like I'm bursting with it. Maybe prison won't be so bad."

Mickey gave him a strange look. "Yeah, I guess prison's okay. But I heard a rumor your cellmate is some kind of a prison escape artist, so if you're into in, he'll probably cut you into his plans."

"Are you…are you for real?" Ian asked.

"Yeah, you just gotta do one thing for me," Mickey said.

"At this point, I'd do anything for you," Ian said.

"When I go over the border, this time you fucking come with me," Mickey said.