Gallavich Week Part 1

TLC

It had been a week since Mickey had attacked Ned on the street outside the bar. He and Ian had run away before the cops could be called. Ian had hoped that the sudden jealousy that Mickey had shown would lead to something more, like an admission of feelings or a talk about being exclusive—anything would have satisfied Ian. But in the week since that afternoon, since they'd fucked each other in that alleyway once the coast was clear, he hadn't heard from Mickey at all. Mickey hadn't shown up to work at the Kash and Grab, and Ian had been too much of a chicken shit to ask Linda if she knew why.

He finally decided to ask Mandy if she knew anything about her brother's whereabouts, but it was a long shot considering the fact that Mandy had practically been living with the Gallaghers for months now. Of course, Mandy hadn't known. Ian had gone to all of their usual hangouts to find Mickey, but hadn't seen him. He was worried now, so he gave up and went to the one place he hoped he wouldn't have to go: the Milkovich house.

Ian waited on the opposite side of the street, crouched behind some garbage cans. He didn't care so much if Mickey's brothers were home, but he wanted to make sure Terry wasn't. He wouldn't have a plausible reason for being there if anyone questioned him, because Terry knew exactly where Mandy had been staying this whole time.

When Mickey's dad finally walked out of the house an hour later, Ian made his way into their yard and up to the door. He knocked a few times. There was no answer, so he knocked again. Maybe a minute or so later, the lock on the door finally clicked open. Mickey stood inside the doorway with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His nose was red and dry looking, and he had a box of Kleenex in his hand.

"What the fuck do you want?" he grunted at Ian. His voice coarser than usual.

"I wanted to see if you were okay. I haven't heard from you in a while."

"Shit, Gallagher. What are you? My mother or something?"

Mickey shook his head and shuffled to his room. Ian took the door being left open as an invitation to come in. He followed Mickey and saw the older boy practically crawl into bed.

"I don't think I've ever seen you sick, Mickey..."

"That's 'cause I don't get sick," the boy spit out angrily.

Ian tried not to smile. Mickey was definitely sick now, and based on how his nose looked, Ian was sure he'd been sick for a while.

"What can I do to help?" Ian asked, genuinely concerned for Mickey.

"You can get the fuck out, that's what you can do."

Ian tried not to show how much Mickey's comment had hurt him. He'd only wanted to help, afterall, but then he saw a deep shiver run through Mickey's body, and couldn't help but feel bad for the guy.

He went out to the living room and got the extra blanket from the back of the couch, then draped it over Mickey and tucked it around his body, just like Fiona did to him every time he had a fever. He then went to the bathroom to look for a washcloth. Once he had found one, Ian wet it with cold water from the sink and brought it to Mickey, placing on his forehead. Ian was waiting for Mickey to protest or push him away, but all he heard was the sigh that escaped from the older boy as the cool, damp cloth touched his warm skin.

His eyes were closed, and Ian let him rest for almost half an hour before asking, "When was the last time you ate something?"

Mickey bit his lower lip. Without opening his eyes, Mickey replied, "Dunno... can't keep anything down..."

Ian went into the Milkovich's kitchen. He opened the cabinets until he found a small can of soup. It wasn't chicken noodle, which his sister swore was the ultimate cold remedy, but it would have to do. Ian rummaged around in the lower cabinets until he found a pot that was about the right size. He poured the condensed tomato soup into the pot, filled the can with water again from the sink, and added it to the pot. He warmed the soup up until it was nice and hot and then brought it to Mickey in a bowl.

"Do you need help sitting up?"

Mickey glared at Ian. "I'm not a fucking invalid..."

Ian raised up his free hand in surrender. "I didn't think you were..." he muttered, trying to appease Mickey.

Once he'd sat up, Mickey leaned against the wall beside his bed. Ian handed him the bowl of soup and a spoon, cautioning him to be careful because it was really hot.

Mickey blew on the spoonful of soup before taking a tentative sip. The temperature must have been good because he swallowed the next mouthful without blowing on it. Ian sat on the opposite side of the bed and waited for him to finish, then took the bowl and refilled it. Mickey ate the second serving just as quickly as he'd eaten the first. Ian wondered how long it really had been since Mickey had eaten...

He took the empty bowl to the sink. When he got back to the room, Mickey was asleep, snoring away. Ian tucked him in under the extra blanket again and turned off the light to Mickey's room, closing the door behind him.

Before he left, he went back to the kitchen and washed the dishes he'd dirtied.

Mickey woke up a few hours later, feeling a lot better than he had felt all week. His throat was still sore, so he went to the kitchen to get some water. It was the middle of the night; everyone was probably sleeping by now. He opened the fridge to find a glass of water, a small plate with two Tylenol on it and a few bowls of cherry flavored Jell-o. It wasn't until then that he vaguely remembered Gallagher had stopped by that night.

Mickey took the Tylenol and downed the glass of water, and then grabbed a spoon from the drawer. He took the bowl of Jell-o into his room with him. The cherry flavored one was Mickey's favorite. He ate it happily, feeling his mood lift with every bite. When he was done, he put the bowl and the plate down onto the floor beside his bed. Mickey took out his phone and sent Ian a text before going back to sleep.

"Thanks for the Jell-o, Firecrotch."

Mickey didn't need to say anything more. Ian knew it wasn't just the stupid Jell-o that he was being thanked for.