As far back as he can remember, Mickey has always had blackouts. He'll be doing something, and next thing he knows, he is doing something else entirely. It's not that he passes out, oh no; he'll still keep on moving and talking and walking and no one will suspect a thing, except for when he'll seem to jolt awake, asking what has happened.
He was about six the first time it happened to him. His father started beating his mother senseless for whatever reason he couldn't remember, and Terry thought Mickey was being a brat and trying to draw attention to himself. He called him a pussy and said he'd teach him to be a man, then proceeded to spank him. The second time it happened, he was at school playing football with his classmates. When he came to his senses, he was punching one of his classmates so hard it was a miracle the boy didn't faint. He was sent to the principal, who thought his blacking out was just an excuse to get out of trouble. From then on, Mickey never mentioned his blackouts again. They didn't even happen much until he got older, and every time they did, Mickey simply rolled along with them, pretending nothing had happened. He never even told Ian the truth about his blackouts, even after the redhead moved in with him.
It's been a while since he's experienced a blackout, but it happens to him soon after he gets home. He remembers walking in and calling out to his family, checking if anyone was home. He got no response, so he called again, going further into the house and into his room. Still nothing. He shrugged, assuming no one was home yet - it was Saturday afternoon, after all, and they probably were out enjoying the warm day. He heard something, though, coming from the bathroom, and frowned. It sounded like water running. And then it hit him.
One moment he's standing in the living room, frowning at the closed door of the bathroom, the next he's on his knees, Ian's wet and cold body on top of him. Ian's pale, paler than ever, his lips turned purple and he feels like ice in Mickey's arms. He screams, shaking Ian, hitting his face gently to try to wake him up, only then noticing the tears that are streaming down his face. He looks around frantically, taking in his surroundings - the bathtub full to the brim; the water spilling down to the floor, soaking up his jeans, slowly making its way towards the living room; the empty medicine bottle fallen on the floor, rolling around silently. He realizes his own hands are shaking as he sets Ian down, pumping his chest and blowing air into his mouth, trying desperately to revive him. Ian's lips are cold and his body is still, but Mickey still tries, sending air into Ian's lungs once, twice, three, four, fifty times, but still he gets no response. He tries to feel for a pulse, but there's none, but he doesn't give up, he can't give up, so he tries again and again, shaking Ian's lifeless body, until there's nothing he can do but admit defeat as his own body shakes with loud sobs. He calls 911, informs them of the situation, but he knows it's too late even before the ambulance arrives and the paramedics take Ian away and try to revive him. It was probably already too late the minute Mickey stepped into the house.
They take him and Mickey goes with them, feeling numb and dead himself, his body heavy and unresponsive. He wishes he'd black out now and curses the fact that he could never control when it happened. He does what he has to do, because that's what Mickey always does in the end, but it doesn't feel real. He feels like a spectator at a movie, just watching things happening like they're happening to someone else and not to him. He watches as everyone cries around him, and it feels like he's already out of tears, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy, his head feeling like it's going to explode. People ask him questions and he tries, he does his best to answer them, but everything feels surreal and out of place, and he just wants to go home already and fall onto his bed and cuddle with Ian… Ian. Wait. No. No more Ian. No more light. No more air. And mercifully, mercifully, he blacks out.
It's not one of his regular blackouts this time, however. When he wakes up, he's lying in a hospital bed. Shock, they tell him. Stress. He'd fainted and they gave him something - some drug, they say the name, but Mickey doesn't remember, doesn't care enough to remember. His head feels lighter, but the numbness is still there. They examine him and let him go, a prescription for more drugs in his pocket, drugs for him not to feel so much, drugs that will make him feel better, like the ones Ian takes… Used to take… Took one last time and got in a bathtub.
He crumples the prescription and throws it on the ground angrily. It's a good feeling, anger. He likes feeling something again, so he allows it to overtake him. He feels the anger growing in him. Anger at the doctors who couldn't save Ian, anger at his family who had left him alone, anger at Ian for abandoning him, anger at himself for not noticing that Ian was in danger. He should have seen it, should have realized it, should have gotten home sooner, should have… He feels arms around him, holding him, and it's only then he notices the broken chairs around him. They hold him, take him away, and drug him again. This time he almost welcomes the feeling.
They bury Ian on Monday, the rain heavy and relentless all around them, making the soil mushy. It doesn't do much to lift their spirits, not that a sunny day would be much better. What use can the sun be when Mickey's personal sun is gone forever? Forever. The word hadn't crossed his mind yet. Forever not seeing Ian again, forever not hearing his voice saying lame jokes or seeing his cocky smile. Forever not touching him or kissing him or falling asleep feeling the warmth of his body. Forever not sharing a beer or watching a movie together or hearing him talk about his plans and ideas. Forever.
He doesn't remember going home, realizes suddenly he's already walking through the front door, but he knows it wasn't a blackout this time. When he tries, he can remember people talking and moving and a car that took him home. He just wasn't paying attention. He didn't care. He pauses in front of his bed. He doesn't have to close his eyes to see Ian there, sitting with his back to the wall, scribbling furiously into a notebook. He looks up when Mickey arrives and smiles. Mickey smiles back, faintly. He sits on the bed and reaches out to cup Ian's face and kiss him, but his fingers grasp only air, Ian's image quickly fading away. A sob cuts through his body and he curls up, arms hugging his knees as he tries his best to stop hurting, stop feeling, just disappear. He shuts his eyes, invoking Ian's face, the face he'd committed to memory so long before. The bright red hair, the faded freckles, the deep green eyes. A loud sob escapes his lips and he opens his eyes, hastily wiping away the tears on his cheeks. He remembers the other time Ian left him, and how definite it seemed back then, how miserable he had felt thinking he'd never see Ian again. He'd never thought he could feel even worse, never thought he'd get a second chance only to have Ian stripped away from him forever. He gets up and staggers to the bathroom, where he does a quick search through the magazines. It doesn't take long for him to find it, Ian's picture, the same one he'd looked longingly at all those months before. It's the only one he has, and he curses himself for not having taken any others, for not having given in to Ian's sappy moments. His trembling fingers softly trace the picture and he wonders how different things would have been if Ian had never left, if he had managed to say the words the redhead had wanted to hear back then.
His vision blurs with the tears and it's as if the whole room is suddenly shaking, expanding and shrinking at the same time, and he can't see, can't breath, can only clutch Ian's picture to his chest and close his eyes together tightly, praying for the pain to stop.