I could have made this multi-chaptered, but the chapters would have been tiny and I couldn't be bothered. So here's the whole thing in one chapter. Enjoy. . . (warning, it's random)
Ian scares Mickey because he isn't afraid of anything and Mickey feels like he's terrified of everything. Mickey's terrified of his father finding out, he's scared of dying even though he knows that's stupid because it's inevitable. Mickey's so scared of his father finding out that he wants to break everything off with Ian, he wants to never see him again, because then he can't be caught. But Mickey thinks that maybe, probably, what he's more afraid of, more than anything is not being with Ian.
And that scares him too, because Mickey doesn't know how to feel like that. But he does anyway. He can't stop it.
Mickey likes to just lie there when Ian's asleep, when he looks even more innocent than he usually does with his mouth slightly open and his eyelids fluttering as dreams flicker behind them. It's in moments like that, that Mickey would give anything to be in Ian's mind. He wants to know what he dreams about, whether he dreams about Mickey. Because Mickey dreams about Ian. But the thing is that Mickey is terrified of asking that question, because he knows Ian would answer him. He knows Ian would tell him if he asked; and Mickey's too afraid of the answer being not what he wants it to be to face that truth.
As Ian sleeps, Mickey lies beside him and likes to imagine that he's protecting Ian when he's like this. He likes to imagine that he's the only one who's ever seen Ian look this innocent, but he knows that's a lie. Mickey isn't special, not at all, but Ian makes him trick himself into believing that for maybe a minute he actually is.
Mickey likes to curl around Ian's body when he sleeps, because the redhead doesn't know he's doing it. He thinks sometimes that maybe that's what Ian dreams about, maybe he thinks he imagines it. Mickey likes to rest his hand on Ian's hipbone, feeling the soft, warm flesh under his fingers. Sometimes he takes Ian's hand while he sleeps and matches it to the bruises on his own waist, just to reaffirm that Ian really didn't make those, that it wasn't his father.
That's one of the things that Mickey loves so much about Ian. He doesn't question things that he knows Mickey won't want to talk about. Like the bruise on Mickey's spine that looks like someone threw him into the kitchen counter, Ian doesn't question it, doesn't ask, he just trails his tongue along it while they're fucking and Mickey imagines that that chases away all the pain. Maybe it does.
Sometimes Ian can be fragile and girly, but sometimes you'd never think he was gay. Mickey wonders if he's like that, if Ian sees the moments in him that make him absolutely sure that Mickey's gay. Mickey hopes not, because if Ian can see it, so can his father and if his father can see it, Mickey's a dead man.
When his family did find out about him being gay, it wasn't because they caught him doing anything that a straight boy shouldn't have been doing. No, Iggy just insulted Ian and Mickey defended him in a way that was far too defensive and they just guessed.
Mickey always knew it would be Ian's fault that his family found out, but he thought it would be when his Dad walked in on them fucking or someone came in to find Mickey curled around Ian in that protective way whilst the younger boy slept. But it wasn't, so Mickey couldn't hate Ian. It was his own stupid big mouth that landed him in this, Mickey couldn't blame anyone else this time. And that really pissed him off.
Their dad was in jail again, possibly forever, probably not and that was the only reason Mickey got a head start. That and Mandy was in hysterics. He could hear her screams echoing in his ears as he bolted out the house. He didn't have anything but his wallet in his pocket and his switchblade in his hand. Iggy had thrown it at him and said he had ten minutes before he was a dead man. And then they just carried on watching TV.
Mickey hadn't even hesitated for a second, he'd just tried to give Mandy this half-hearted smile before running.
The worst part was though, he didn't even run like he meant to get away. When you run from Milkovich's you don't have a destination in mind, it's all about putting much needed distance between you and them. But Mickey, Mickey didn't do that. Because as stupid and as gay as it was, Mickey knew that if he was going to die – and he didn't want to die, but if he had to – then there was something he had to do first.
People swore at him as he passed, cars honked their horns, but he ignored it all. It was like none of it was there, because in his mind it just wasn't.
His feet carried him where he wanted to go without him even needing to think. He didn't actually know where they were taking him until he crashed through the door of the Kash and Grab and saw those wide eyes staring at him.
Then he knew exactly why he'd run there.
-000-
Mickey crashed into the store, barrelling into Kash and ignoring his curses as the older man clambered back to his feet. For a few seconds, Mickey did nothing more than stare at Ian, like he was trying to find something in his face, like he was trying to work something out.
"Mickey?" Ian frowned at him, took in the panting breaths and the sweat that practically dripped from him. It was like he'd run a marathon, but Mickey didn't run unless something was chasing him, he'd always made that very clear. And judging by the way that there was a switchblade clutched in one of Mickey's hands, his grip white-knuckled, Ian thought something probably was chasing him.
There was no word other than stalked to describe how Mickey walked towards him and Ian didn't know why, but he sort of expected Mickey to hit him for a minute. It happened so fast that he thought maybe he did, except Mickey's hands on either side of his head weren't painful, they were just firm.
Their mouths crushed together in a kiss that was brutal and painful and the emotions that seemed to flow out of Mickey and into Ian were so raw it made him want to cry. It was too much like a farewell. Mickey's tongue flicked into his mouth and his lips moved almost desperately on Ian's. He clutched at him and so Ian clutched right back, until it was almost like they were trying to claw their way into each other's bodies.
Ian couldn't even remember in that moment that he was supposed to be mad at Mickey for telling him that he was nothing more than a warm mouth.
"I fucking love you," Mickey hissed, their foreheads pressed together and Mickey's eyes screwed tight shut, "Remember that."
And then he tore himself away and was gone, the only evidence he had ever been there the jingling of the bell over the door and the rapid beating of Ian's heart.
-000-
Mandy was a mess, it was difficult to get her to eat or bathe, or even sleep. All she did was sit on the Milkovichs' couch and stare at the door. Ian knew she was expecting Mickey to walk back through it, for it to all have turned out to be a dream. But Ian knew that wasn't going to happen.
Mickey was going to be long gone by now, he wasn't ever going to come back. Mickey was a survivor, he'd put as much distance between him and Chicago as possible without leaving the country. But he would be safe, as long as he was running, Mickey would be safe.
He knew that if Mickey didn't want to be found, he wasn't going to, but it wasn't just for Mandy's sakes that he ignored every scrap of common sense he had, held her tight against him and muttered, "We'll find him."
They'd find him.
-000-
Mickey met this girl in Florida who sort of, kind of decided that she was his best friend. He didn't care, that was fine, as long as she didn't expect anything more. Not that he thought she would considering how their first conversation went:
"Whatcha running from?"
"Brothers are trying to kill me," he'd said simply, "They'll probably succeed."
She'd frowned slightly, but the smile on her face hadn't faltered for a second. "Cool," she'd replied, "Until that happens, you can be my gay best friend though, because you are gay, right?"
He didn't know how she'd seen through him that easily, he didn't want to know. He'd just nodded.
She was definitely a weird one though, that was for sure. She'd introduced herself as Amy, but told him to call her Caroline for short. Mickey had told her that was bullshit, so he'd call her whatever the fuck he remembered her name was at the time. It turned out to be Amy, because Mickey didn't care what she said, that one was shorter.
Amy didn't like wearing shoes, ate pudding before her main course and was all into this shit with soldiers. She said her brother was a soldier, so it was like her duty to fundraise or something. She tried to get Mickey involved, but he just couldn't, because that reminded him of everything he had left behind.
It was Amy's idea to change his name, because she said the name Milkovich sort of stuck out like a sore thumb around here. So he changed it to the first thing he could think of. It wasn't hard to guess what the first thing he could think of was.
Amy owned this little restaurant called Caroline's, which Mickey told her was stupid because that wasn't even her name. She'd flipped him off in response, so he figured maybe she wasn't all that bad.
Amy also owned the apartment above her little restaurant and moved Mickey out of his motel and into there without even telling him. It wasn't like it was difficult though considering Mickey didn't actually have any belongings. She also gave him a job waiting tables, even though she said his people skills were shit and he scared customers, but for some reason she thought she could teach him to wear a smile on his face and be polite.
He chose not to comment on how impossible that was.
The thing was though, she paid him well and the rent he paid on the apartment wasn't very much. And since he worked in a restaurant, there wasn't ever any risk of running out of food. He got to eat all the things that were cooked wrong, or what looked like it was going out of date and that was fine by him. Amy also always made sure they had Jell-O, because she said that he was a happier soul when on Jell-O.
He told her she was fucking insane and she'd flipped him off again.
Amy had this drop in boyfriend who Mickey didn't like for absolutely no reason. Maybe it was because the guy was a tool, or maybe it was just because Mickey needed someone to hate these days. He'd mellowed out a little bit, he still swore too much and cracked his knuckles every five minutes with the need to hit something, but he didn't actually ever hit anything very often.
Sometimes Amy dragged him out to clubs and he stood at the bar drinking while she danced. He only went because he got to hit the idiots who took hitting on her way too far. She called it his anger management therapy, but he knew she was also trying to cheer him up. It never worked.
When she got him drunk enough, Mickey told her about his sister and about his brothers and the life he'd had in Chicago. She offered to go and see how they were doing, he'd said no, but she'd gone anyway.
She'd vanished for a weekend and reappeared with a handful of crappy photographs taken on a digital camera. She'd framed them and put them on the walls, one of his old house, one of the Kash and Grab and quite a lot of Mandy. It looked like a collage of randomness, but he'd never tell her how much it meant to him.
It made him wish he'd told her about Ian, because then he could have gotten a photograph of him too. Then he reminded himself that Ian was probably in the army getting his ass shot off by now so it would be pointless telling her about him.
The second time she went was because she had a wedding in Chicago. She'd told him that she wished he could have been her date – the tool had been dumped a long time ago, the point backed up by Mickey's fist connecting with his face – but he'd said that he preferred still being alive, so he'd pass.
When she'd come back that time, she'd had more photographs that he hadn't asked her to take and those got stuck on the wall in his bedroom. Except one. There was on that went under his pillow, hidden away like his deepest secrets from the rest of the world. Even from Amy. She'd handed it to him and said, "Looks like your sister has a boyfriend," and there had been Ian and Mandy sitting on the curb in front of the house. Ian didn't look like he'd changed, but he looked tired. In the photo he had a cigarette trapped between his lips and he was scowling, Mickey didn't know why he loved that expression, but he found that he did.
"You need to get out more," Amy said to him, dropped down on the couch beside him and draping her legs over his, "You're getting boring."
He scowled at her and pushed her legs off, scowling even more when she simply put them back on again. "What the fuck do you want me to do?" he snapped at her, especially cranky because it was Mandy's birthday and he wanted to send a card, but he was too scared to, "Take up knitting or some shit?"
She rolled her eyes, "Don't be stupid."
She shimmied closer to him in that way that she always did when she was trying to work him out, putting her face right up close to his. "What's wrong?" she asked, putting her chin on his shoulder.
And he'd told her and because she was Amy, she came up with a plan. He wrote a note and put it in an envelope and told her what to do with it. "Gallagher?" she frowned at the name he'd scrawled in his retarded handwriting on the envelope.
"Yeah, shut up," he told her, pulling a face when she dropped a kiss on his cheek.
-000-
Amy didn't know why the hell she was nervous. Maybe it was because she knew how much this meant to Mickey, or maybe it was because it always felt like she was looking into his soul when she came to Chicago.
He'd told her about what it was like around here, told her horror stories and joked about it and it was everything and nothing like he had described. Mickey only told the bad parts, like how the air was permanently stale and every street corner reeked of piss. But he didn't say the good parts, maybe because he didn't ever really see any good in the world. It was sad really.
She walked with her hands stuffed in her pockets, one hand on the letter and the other Mickey's switchblade that he'd given her before she'd come here. He said there was a difference between taking photographs from a car and actually going and talking to the shitheads in his old neighbourhood.
He'd told her to stab and run if there was any trouble, she didn't think she could do that, but she'd taken the blade anyway.
Her instructions were pretty simple: don't go to the house, don't talk to any of my family, go to the Kash and Grab. Nobody knew her, but he said they could follow her and she hadn't argued because she knew how much it took for him to ask her to even do this. Mickey was so terrified of dying, even though he said that was stupid because it was going to happen anyway.
She thought it was more that he was terrified of his brothers or dad being the ones to do him in.
The bell over the door rang and she didn't know why that made her jump. Maybe it was because she was a bundle of nerves. Inside the Kash and Grab, it was all bright colours and smelt like cheap air freshener. Amy had no idea why that calmed her down, but it did.
"Can I help you?" she recognised the guy behind the counter, but she didn't know why.
She put on her best smile, tried to keep her voice from shaking, "I'm looking for Ian Gallagher."
And she knew what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth. "That's me," he said, frowning at her because he had no clue who she was. She took that as a good sign, even though she didn't quite know why.
Ian Gallagher was tall, she could tell that even though he was sitting down. He was younger than her by probably like a year, cute and freckled with short red hair and tired eyes. He looked bored and strained, like he'd given up on life even though he was so young.
"This is for you," she said, pulling the switchblade out of her pocket and blushing. "Not that, sorry," she muttered, "This." This time she handed him the envelope and she was supposed to leave then. Mickey had told her to hand it over and leave, but she didn't.
She just stood there and watched the frown deepen in his face.
It probably didn't look very promising, it was just a plain envelope with Ian Gallagher scrawled on the front. Gallagher, she still couldn't get over that that was his name. It was sort of romantic actually, it made her smile.
"What is this?" he asked, putting it down on the counter and she was glad she hadn't left then, because if he hadn't even opened it, if he'd just thrown it away immediately, it would have broken Mickey's heart. Not that he would have known, but still.
"It's an envelope," she said, finding it amusing that she could see bits of Mickey's attitude in Ian. Or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, it was there in the stubbornly defiant way that he was staring at her.
He didn't seem amused at all. "Yeah, I can see that," he replied, "Why are you handing me an envelope with my name on it?"
But then the bell over the door was ringing and this time she definitely recognised the face, because she'd photographed it and watched the glossy paper burn as Mickey had taken a lighter to it. She moved faster than she thought she ever had before. She snatched the letter off the counter and stuffed it back into her pocket, desperately trying to ignore the man coming up behind her.
Their shoulders brushed as he paid for his stuff and she shuddered without meaning to. She couldn't see anything of Mickey in Terry Milkovich. Not that she actually looked too closely, she was too scared. That and she was sure that the hatred for the man would probably show in her eyes.
He paid and the bell over the door rang again when he left. She visibly relaxed and Ian stared at her, watching carefully. "I don't want your envelope," he said, stubbornly, reminding her of Mickey again, "So is there anything else I can help you with?"
She smiled, forced it onto her face. "Yeah, do you have any Jell-O?" she asked, "Because I have this friend of mine who's like obsessed with it."
He looked like he was forcing a smile as well. "That's nice," he said, almost bitterly, "There's some in that isle there." He pointed, but she didn't look.
"Oh yeah, my friend's actually obsessed with it, I'll probably get back to our apartment and it will be all he'll have eaten," she said, putting the letter back down on the counter, "He even stabbed a guy with a plastic fork over it once."
Then she left, the look of shock on Ian Gallagher's face almost enough to send her into hysterics.
-000-
Ian stared at the envelope on the counter in front of him, too scared to move in case this was some sort of sick joke. A part of him wanted to chase after the girl that had been in here, a pretty, petite blonde with violet eyes that seemed to recognise him even though he had never seen her before in his life. She was the sort of person you remembered.
The envelope was crumbled from being stuffed in her pocket, but his name was scrawled clearly in black ink on the front. He picked it up with numb fingers, like it was going to bite him and slid a nail under the lip, tearing it open.
'Tell Mandy Happy Birthday and tell her I'm fine. Tell yourself that I still mean what I said.'
It wasn't signed, but it didn't have to be. Ian recognised the crappy handwriting and he ran his fingertips over the page again and again, like he could get something of Mickey's touch from it. One piece of paper and his world shattered again.
Because they'd given up. Or at least Mandy had and Ian just hadn't had the energy or the ideas to carry on searching. It had been six years, they'd felt like they were allowed to give up. But now, now that was all going down the drain. Because he wasn't dead on some street corner somewhere, he hadn't taken a bullet to the back of the head. He was fine.
It sort of made Ian hate him, but even after six years, he still gave a shit about the guy. How did that make sense?
And he said that he still meant what he'd said. Ian prayed he meant that he still meant the very last thing he'd said to him. That was the only thing that stuck in Ian's mind.
He tried not to overthink it and dialled Mandy's mobile, his grip white knuckled on the phone in his hand.
-000-
Of all people, it was Carl who married the rich girl.
None of them knew how the hell he'd managed it, but he had done. He'd married the rich girl and moved to Florida using her parent's money. It was Jimmy who paid for them to all fly down there and it was hot, stiflingly hot and it was supposed to be fun, but Ian hadn't felt like he'd really had fun in a very long time.
"I've found the perfect place to have dinner," Carl's wife Lily said, latching onto his arm like her being happy enough for the both of them would make him feel better. It wouldn't, but he had to give her credit for trying.
And so she dragged them all to this little restaurant that she'd picked simply because she thought it looked cute. And a dark-haired waitress led them to a large pre-booked table and took their drinks orders.
Around him, everyone chatted and talked and joked and they all pretty much ignored him because they were used to him being depressed and boring. He just didn't have the energy to be happy anymore.
"Oy Gallagher, you going to hurry up with those drinks or not?"
All of them turned around to look at the man who was shouting, wondered if he was talking to them, but he was looking across the room to where someone stood at the bar, his back to them as he prepared the drinks.
"Shut the fuck up, or do you want to wear it?" the guy tossed back over his shoulder and in his chest, Ian's hear stuttered.
He was pretty convinced that it stopped when the guy turned around.
This Gallagher was short and stocky, his dark hair sticking up in complete disarray all over his head. But even with slightly tanned skin, clean clothes and a smile on his face, that Gallagher was still Mickey Milkovich.
There was a crash when their eyes met and Mickey dropped the tray. Glass and liquid flew everywhere, but Mickey didn't seem to notice. He just stared at Ian and Ian stared right back. A small blonde girl, the girl from the Kash and Grab all those years ago ran out from the kitchen and stood in front of Mickey.
"Mick, what the hell?" she pushed at his chest, trying to get his attention, but she obviously saw something in his expression because her hands reached up to touch his face, pulling his eyes down to meet hers.
-000-
Amy's hands closed around the sides of his face, pulling his attention to her, but he hardly even noticed. It was like he'd shut down, because his brain didn't know how to register what it was he was seeing.
Ian Gallagher.
"Mickey?" she asked, her thumbs stroking over his cheeks, "What's wrong?"
"I think I'm gonna be sick," he muttered and then she was shoving him towards the stairs that led up to their apartment. They only made it to the top before Mickey crashed to his knees. He didn't feel like he was going to be sick now he'd moved, but he did feel like his world was collapsing.
If Ian had found him, they would too.
"Mickey, what's wrong?" she was pushing her hands through his hair, trying to get him to focus on her.
"I'm a dead man," he muttered, because it was true, "I'm dead, I'm dead."
It had been a long time since he'd broken down and been like this and he could see it was freaking her out. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing her lips close to his ear. "They're not going to find you, Mickey," she said, smoothing a hand down his back, "They're not going to get you."
"But Ian's here," he whispered through lips that didn't want to move, "He's going to tell Mandy and Mandy will let them know and they'll find me, I'm a dead man."
She tensed up a little, pulled him to his feet and pushed him towards the apartment. "Go sit down," she said, forcing him in through the door, "Don't run, just go sit down, I'll sort this out, okay?"
And he nodded numbly, because really, what else could he do?
He was torn between wanting to run downstairs and see Ian, to see his Gallagher and just running.
-000-
"Sorry about that folks," she said, relieved that most of the people here were regulars at the restaurant, "You know how Mick can get sometimes."
"Is he okay?" Flora, their other waitress had already cleared up the mess on the floor where Mickey had dropped his tray, "He isn't having another phase again, is he?"
Because Mickey had had phases. They didn't happen so much anymore, but they'd used to be quite regular. It was when he saw something that reminded him of Chicago, or when he saw someone who looked like someone he used to know. He just shut down, hid himself away or sometimes he just broke things.
"Was that Mickey Milkovich?" she heard someone mutter and she looked towards the table of people she didn't recognise. Well, of course, she recognised Ian, but this was one of the moments when she had to pretend that she didn't.
"No, I'm sorry, you have the wrong person," she said, forcing her voice not to shake, making herself sound completely natural, "That was Michael Gallagher and I'm sorry about that, but he's a little fragile, he had these phases, it's nothing to worry about."
She made herself smile, but she could tell they weren't really buying it.
"I want to see him," Ian was rising out of his seat, trying to stare her down.
"Yeah that's not going to happen," she said, folding her arms over her chest, "As I said, he's fragile and he just needs to calm down right now." They all heard the crash from above them and Amy swore, because it sounded distinctly like Mickey had just kicked down the door she'd locked behind her.
He came tearing down the stairs, a bag over his shoulder and panic in his eyes. He stared at her and she could tell that he was trying to make her understand. "I don't want to die," he said adamantly, like she thought he did, "I- I have to go."
She nodded, because she knew it was impossible to argue with him. Mickey had a fight or flight mechanism built in and any other time he'd fight, but when it came to his past he was determined to run as far away from it as possible.
"Mickey."
At the sound of Ian's voice, he bolted and Amy had to say that she was actually pretty pleased that the redhead didn't even hesitate before following.
-000-
Mickey grunted when someone tackled him from behind and he hit the pavement hard, rolling and scrabbling, trying to dislodge the limbs that had wrapped around his torso. Ian wound up on top, pinning him down with his weight, making Mickey's breath stutter out of him in a cough. He would have panicked more if he didn't recognise the face above him, if the feel of Ian's skin against his didn't make him think his skin was on fire.
"You're not leaving," Ian said and he looked different even though he hadn't really changed at all.
"Fuck you," Mickey snapped, but the just because he was wondering asked, "Why the fuck aren't you in the army anyway?" He'd already guessed from the fact Amy had found him working behind the counter in the Kash and Grab that he wasn't in the army.
Ian's hands gripped the front of his shirt and hauled him up until their faces were close. "I didn't get in because I was too fucking busy trying to find you," he said and Mickey hadn't seen Ian angry before, not like this.
It was kind of hot.
"You shouldn't have been trying to find me," he snarled, flipping them so that he was now pinning Ian to the floor, "I didn't ask you to."
He couldn't help but feel pleased that someone had actually wanted to find him for some reason other than to kill him. Just like he couldn't help but feel aroused over the fact he had Ian Gallagher pinned underneath him, all hard muscle and wide eyes and that scowl!
It was the scowl that did it.
"You really think you can go and say something like 'I love you' and then I won't try and track you the fuck down?" Ian asked and Mickey supposed he didn't have a point. He could feel a blush creeping along his cheekbones as he remembered that he had said that.
"Well congratulations," Mickey sneered, because if he wasn't angry he thought he was going to break down, "You've found me, now I'm going to go before I get the back of my head blown out by one of my fucking brothers."
And he tried to get up, he really did, except Ian's legs locked around his thighs and his hands still on the front of his shirt, dragging him down sort of make it difficult. And that only turned Mickey on more, which was just stupid.
"They don't know where you are," Ian growled at him, "But if you're that fucking scared, fine go." He dragged Mickey even closer instead of pushing him away like he expected him to do. "But if you think you're leaving me behind again, you're a fucking idiot."
And Mickey was an idiot, but he was now a stunned idiot.
"What the fuck are you on about, Gallagher?" he asked, sneering, "Why the hell would you want to come with me?"
Ian didn't say anything, but his hands on his shirt pulling Mickey in closer until their lips slammed together and Mickey would have had to have been stupid not to understand, and he would have had to have been even stupider to have pulled away. Especially considering this was still what he kept dreaming about every night.
"Why the fuck do you think?" Ian asked, but for the first time, he was smiling. Mickey had almost forgotten that shit eating grin. He'd almost forgotten that that grin was pretty much guaranteed to make him agree to anything.
He blamed the grin for the reason he nodded. And he also blamed it for a hell of a lot of other things afterwards.