Numbers
Chapter One
Sexuality is relative. Mickey knows this. He's never said it out loud. But he does know. Everyone scores somewhere on the one to ten scale of which side he or she bats for. One is extremely straight and ten is all the colors of the rainbow. No one is completely on one side of the scale. Maybe someone might score a two or a nine, but never a one or ten. Mickey thinks he's probably a five or maybe even a six. Ian's probably a nine. The only other dude Mickey had fucked was around a three or four.
He stares up at his ceiling, throwing a bright blue bouncy ball he found this morning to knock against his poster of Vanessa Lake. Plastered crooked above his bed, right beside of the array of random sharpie drawings his brothers thought were hilarious. Last year, before getting arrested for a second time, Mickey had painted over a few of the sketches with one of the many spray paint cans littering his floor. So now there's a big green streak where Iggy had written Mickey sucks cocks in hell in black permanent marker. Iggy had written it to be funny. As a joke. Because as far as Mickey's brothers were concerned, so far as their knowledge stretched, Mickey scored a one on the sexuality scale. It had been a joke, and Mickey had snorted at it, played along, wrestled around until Iggy kneed him in the lip. But Mickey had painted over it because their father wouldn't have thought it was a funny joke. Also because Mickey didn't want to leave his staying in the closet for chance. And it is that need to stay hidden that has Mickey laying on his back, a bundle of nerves and near nauseous. He hears Iggy rummaging around in the bathroom. Continuing to bang the ball on his ceiling, Mickey chews on his bottom lips, arches his brows, and turns his head a little, looking into the bathroom, sort of. His head is at the foot of his bed.
"You about fucking done in there?" Mickey asks rudely.
"Why are you in such a damned hurry all of the sudden?" Iggy bites back, moderately chill. "You didn't even want to do this earlier," he states truthfully.
"Maybe because I just got out of the fucking pin less than five hours ago," Mickey quips, this time banging the ball a little too hard. It shakes the left side of his room when the ball its the ceiling. The ball goes off course, flies willy-nilly across the room and smashes into a pile of records, knocking some the discs out of the cases and onto the pile of trash that is Mickey's floor. Mickey watches this chaos, only annoyed when he sees a chip in one of his records. Calmly, yet grinding his teeth, Mickey says, "Don't fucking feel like going back in just yet."
"Chill out, Mickey," Iggy sighs and the rummaging stops momentarily. He pauses, then says,"No one's going to jail over consensual sex, for Christ's sake."
Mickey hears something clatter to the floor and whips his head back to try and get another look inside. He flips onto his side for a better view. "The hell are you doing in there, man?" Mickey growls. Impatient because he wants to get this plan of Iggy's over with.
"Shit," Iggy whispers, voice strained like he is bending over to pick up whatever he's broken. "Dad's razor just broke all to hell," he grumbles.
Rolling his eyes, Mickey practically crawls off of his bed, dusts himself off, then stands in the bathroom doorway, propping himself up on the frame. He frowns down at the sight before him. Iggy is now sitting crossed legged in front of the tub, pieces of their father's trimmer set all around him. He looks up at Mickey, guilty and aggravated. One emotion Mickey can identify with; he's pretty fucking aggravated himself.
"He's gonna fucking shoot me over this," Iggy huffs, angrily throwing one of the razor guards against the tile harshly.
Mickey snorts. "Yeah, fucking break it worse, that'll fix it, you douche," he mumbles, stepping inside to start picking up the pieces.
Iggy smirks up at Mickey, beady eyes scrunched, sarcastic, and says, "Why yes, I am sanitary."
"Fucking hardly," Mickey laughs and stars throwing the pieces into the trashcan. Which is pretty empty, considering how filthy the bathroom is.
Iggy laughs back and starts shooting some of the pieces into the can like basketballs, raised arms and all. The guy's a dork, and Mickey has harshly told Iggy so numerous times. Ultimately that trait is the only reason Mickey hangs around Iggy more than Colin, though. Iggy feels more on Mickey's level. Is easier to deal with, kind of like Mandy but to a lesser extent. Colin kind of skeeves Mickey out. Sometimes. Iggy mostly just makes Mickey face-palm. Mandy's simply Mickey's favorite.
When the pieces are all thrown out, Mickey tells Iggy to blame it on Mandy because she gets away with murder anyway. Can do no wrong in Terry's eyes. Iggy shrugs at this and pulls a face that Mickey isn't used to seeing. Something between unsure and suspicious mingled with a hint of sympathy. The expression makes Iggy look way younger than almost nineteen years old. "Nah," Iggy begins, "Mandy and dad ain't getting on so well lately."
Mickey knits his brow. Leans back on the sink, onto his palms, arms arched awkwardly. He waits for Iggy to elaborate, then remembers Iggy is as much of a talker as Mickey is. So he gives his brother an expectant look.
Iggy scowls a little. "I don't know," he says fast, like the sentence is one word. The struggles to his feet, saying slower, "All they fucking do is fight. Have been for like four months now."
Unable to help his mind immediately going where is does, Mickey says, "She's probably screwing someone he knows." And she probably is because, as much as Mickey loves his sister, Mandy is a proper slut. Seems to be, anyway. And clingy as fuck. She has abandonment issues, just like the rest of the siblings. Except each one of the Milkovich kids expresses their emotion differently. With Mandy, it's being slutty and clingy; with Colin it's being a borderline sociopath; with Iggy it's cleaving to Colin like a shadow; and with Mickey it's pushing everything away before getting close enough that losing whatever it is will hurt. Mickey knows this and came to terms with it the night of his last arrest. And the fact has been weighing on Mickey recently.
Iggy licks his lips and rolls his eyes while scratching his neck. "Yeah, I don't know," he says. "Maybe. But I think has more to do with the clinic bills she's been getting."
"Clinic?" Mickey's blood runs cold. "If she's fucking knocked up I'll kill the sonofabitch," he growls, already forming fists behind himself, temples pulsing. The last thing this family needs is a baby running around this cesspool. Another mouth to feed.
Iggy takes in a deep breath, scooting Mickey aside and fucking with his longish hair that's clean for once. Staring at his reflection in the mirror and rubbing his scruffy chin. Mickey stands off to the side, annoyed that's he has been literally manhandled by his own fucking brother. But he doesn't do or say anything about it because Iggy looks pretty pissed off now. Livid, Mickey would say. And in all honestly, Iggy and Mickey are about match when it comes to taking and giving punches. Mickey can always take Colin, but with Iggy its usually a painful tie. Mickey likes his spleen and Iggy probably doesn't feel like using crutches again.
"She ain't now," Iggy says simply, but his voice is tight.
"What?" Mickey snaps, eyes wide. He shoves his brother's shoulder some, forgetting his previous thought process as soon as he grasps Iggy's words.
Iggy's lips go into a thin scowl. He turns his eyes on Mickey and then walks out of the bathroom. Over his shoulder, he says, "She won't fucking talk about it. She had abortion, though. And some months back before that happened, dad almost killed the Gallagher kid."
"Gallagher?" Mickey chirps, his face smoothing from fury to hurt. He doesn't let Iggy see this as Mickey steps into his room and his brother turns around, tossing him a jacket.
Iggy just nods.
"Which one?" Mickey asks.
"The ginger," Iggy says like it's not the most awful thought for Mickey. Of course he does. Because Iggy doesn't know that Mickey was fucking that particular Gallagher. Doesn't know that Mickey still jacks it to his memories of Ian Gallagher's fucking dick. Doesn't know Ian hasn't ever looked at a cunt he felt like eating.
"You're full of shit," Mickey says, putting on the jacket and glaring at Iggy.
Iggy looks confused, then like he's about to laugh. "Not really, though," he says. "But I mean, she's screwing both of them. Who fucking knows."
"He hurt him?" Mickey asks, trying not to sound too interested. Then decided he doesn't care how interested he sounds. If Iggy asks, Mickey can simply say he's fucking itchy on the inside out of boredom, and Iggy will write it off because Iggy's spent time in jail and knows the feeling. Even though Mickey isn't itching from boredom. Not really.
Iggy snorts and starts walking out of Mickey's room. The house is empty except for them, so Iggy doesn't fear yelling loudly that their father pussied out for some unknown reason. Mickey comes up behind him after slamming bedroom door. He follows Iggy outside and into the dinged up car someone apparently stole while Mickey was locked up. Terry hadn't owned a car in at least ten years. Says they are risky because of being documented. Blah blah and something about staying under the radar. Mickey buckles up and then props his feet on the dash. Iggy starts the car and their off. Finally Iggy says that since the pregnancy ordeal, all Mandy does is scream strings of curses in Terry's direction and end up in a toe to toe argument. So no, Iggy isn't going to bother blaming the razor on Mandy because she'll just go apeshit as soon as Terry mentions anything about it. Mickey hums out a laugh at this, chewing his thumb and glaring out the windshield. His stomach is in knots. When the car stops, Iggy cuts it off, then looks over at Mickey firmly. He's gripping the wheel still. "Maybe Mandy's pissy because the punk broke up with her," Iggy says. "I ain't seen that Gallagher around in a month."
Mickey's tired of this conversation. "She's not fucking Ian Gallagher," he sighs, rolling his eyes and spitting a piece of dead skin. The skin hits the window and he stares at it for a few seconds before looking over at Iggy.
"No," Iggy says, confused, "not if he broke up with her."
Mickey fights the urge to strangle his brother. Settles for sneering. "She was never fucking Ian Gallagher," he repeats, agitation starting to sound out in his tone.
Now Iggy looks intrigued. "Makes you say that?" he asks, glancing Mickey over.
Mickey unbuckles, his temper flaring and he doesn't know why. He thinks maybe its the conversation mixed with where Iggy has taken him. He opens his door too fast and the hinges squeak like they are about to pop off. Iggy's mouth is agape and he looks mad about Mickey's mistreating the car. Iggy climbs out as well, furiously looking at Mickey over the hood.
"What's your deal?" Iggy barks.
"Mandy's not screwing Ian god-damned-Gallagher!" Mickey yells again, skin crawling, fist hitting the hood once.
And now they are arguing over something ridiculous. Like usual. Something that, so far as Iggy knows, isn't either of their business. Except it is Mickey's kind of. But not really, since he and Ian broke it off.
"How the hell would you know?" Iggy growls, probably wondering why Mickey gives so much of a damn.
And really, why does he? Mickey doesn't even know. Just like he doesn't know or think about it before he bares his teeth and says to the top of his lungs, "Because Ian's a fucking f—'' But he stops himself as he suddenly realizes, eyes going wide and sucking in his bottom lip. He looks off to the side and shakes his head. "Never mind," he says, not missing the look on Iggy's face.
"He's a what?" Iggy asks, coming around the car and catching Mickey by the arm as the younger of the two tries to make an escape to the front door of the apartment they've pulled up to.
Mickey shakes him off and shoves Iggy's chest, scowling. "Drop it!" he seeths. Now more angry with himself.
Iggy stands back, looking Mickey over like his brother has spouted fives heads. But he shakes it off and brushes past Mickey toward the door. Thankfully for Mickey, Iggy's more interested in getting laid than figuring out why Mickey is suddenly so knowledgeable about their neighbor's sex life.
Author's Note - Hope you guys like the first chapter. This is my first step into the Shameless writing realm. I'm usually just a reader, but was encouraged to start writing after a tumblr friend practically begged me to. So here you go, Brandon, hope you liked my shitty writing skills, and thanks for betaing!