A/N: Small ficlet of Mickey meting Monica
Mickey was dabbing a cool cloth along Ian's forehead. He had gotten sick the night before and was currently running a high fever. He still wouldn't talk to him. He wouldn't say a word, but Mickey knew Ian was still in there. He was Ian. He was his Ian and Mickey knew that he was in there and he was trying his damnedest to fight this. Mickey sighed, watching him sleep, "Damn it, Gallagher." The Milkovich whispered, a strong hand reaching out to card through sweaty, ginger locks. He wasn't the most educated on mental illness, but he was trying. Hell, he had never tried so hard to understand anything, but this was something crucial. If he was going to help Ian, then he had to know who he was fighting.
Before this, if someone was to mess with Ian, Mickey could easily go and crack some skulls together, this wasn't the case though. He couldn't just pick up a bat and get the job done, he couldn't protect Ian in the way he knew how. He grew up in a home where mental illness was never even a thing. Hell, at this point he was pretty sure that if his family went to professionals they'd all be in the nut house. He wasn't going to stay ignorant though, he'd learn. He'd find a way. A Milkovich always finds a way.
Mickey's head raised when he heard someone walk in, brows furrowing. No one was supposed to be home before midnight tonight. Svetlana had taken his son over to Alibi while she worked, Mandy was at work, and who the hell knew where anyone else was. When he saw a woman standing in the doorway though, he was on his feet in an instant, "And who the fuck are you?" he snarled out, the woman frowned, pointing down to the boy in the bed.
"That's my son. I just had to come check up on him. I'm Monica." her words were slightly slurred, clearly a couple of drinks were in her system. It didn't surprise Mickey, she was a Gallagher and the Gallagher's loved their alcohol. Mickey wasn't impressed though, he took a step toward her. This was the woman Fiona and Lip had told her about. She was the reason his Ian wasn't his right now. It was irrational but he wanted to hurt her. He wanted to wrap his hands around her throat and throw her out of the god damned window.
"Get the fuck out of my house." Mickey hissed, lips curling up as if he was some mama bear protecting her cubs. "You have the fuckin' count of three before I get my fuckin' bat. I have no qualms about bashin' your blond head in!" She was the one that had let Ian get a job at that club. Who let him do drugs. It was her.
"I just want to make sure that he's okay! You can't talk to me like this." Monica snapped out indignantly, her nose wrinkling at the short male. "I don't know who the hell you think you are but he's my son. He's mine and I'm going to take him. I'm going to take care of him." she was one a kick tonight, after hearing that Ian had collapsed at the club and seen acting strange she wanted to be "Mother of the Year". She wanted a project, something to fix that wasn't herself. Mickey was quick to get in her face, poking her shoulder. He wasn't about to play this game.
"They didn't tell me you were a fuckin' comedian as well, Martha Stewart." he growled, "Let me say this very clear for you. Ian is staying right here. Unless you want to find yourself in a back alley with your hands cut off and shoved down your god damn throat, you won't fucking touch him. You're not taking him. No one is fucking taking him!" The last few days the Gallagher's were on his ass about admitting Ian into a hospital and he couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't know if it was selfish or if he truly didn't want Ian there but, he couldn't deal with people trying to take him away. He had just gotten him back, "So, it would be in everyone's best interest that you turn around and drag your ass." he slammed his hands on the door frame, "Do I make myself fucking clear!?"
Monica let out a noise, like she was about to cry, "He's my son. I love-"
He stopped her right there, "Oh no, fuck you, lady. You don't fucking love him. You let him get this bad…You let him get into that fucking mess of a club. You let him do drugs. You've fucked up his head! You don't love him, you don't even deserve to love someone like him. I love…He's going to be just fine with me. I'll take care of him. Me and his siblings. They've never needed parents and they sure as hell don't now." Monica was crying now, and Mickey couldn't find it in him to feel bad about all he had said. She pursed her glossy lips and spun on her heels, leaving the Milkovich residence and her son behind. A thoroughly shaken Mickey turned back to Ian, finding the other's eyes open, tears streaking down his cheeks as he stared up at the ceiling.
"Fuckin' hell." Mickey huffed and sat down on the bed, "M'sorry…" he grumbled out, running a hand through Ian's hair. The ginger shook his head a bit, for the first time in days, a word fell clumsily passed chapped lips.
"T-Thanks."