I don't own Shameless.
Just Don't Let Me Down: Chapter 2
Mickey stood with his back against the alley wall behind the store, sucking desperately at his cigarette for any kind of relief. He let out a shaky breath before running a hand through his hair, cursing when he messed up his gelled locks. With one last sigh he threw the stub of a cigarette to the ground and pushed himself off the wall. He hesitated just a moment before walking back inside.
Linda stood behind the register, reading a newspaper with a worried look on her face. When she looked up, her trademark frown dropped off her face. Mickey knew Ian had told her about him when he had got the job a month previously, and surprisingly that didn't bother Mickey. He moved behind the counter and didn't put up much of a fight as she pushed him down on a stool.
"You don't have to stay, Mickey," she said quietly and Mickey shrugged. "You can go home if you want to. I'm sure there's something you'd rather be doing after…after this morning."
Mickey didn't move. He kept his eyes trained on the rack of Twinkies in front of him. The red on the wrapper made him think of Ian's hair and he had to force himself to look away. Linda squeezed his shoulder and he finally looked up.
"If I go home," he started slowly, his voice monotone. "If I got home, I'm going to kill myself." Linda gasped slightly, her hand never leaving his shoulder. "If I don't have something to do, I'm going to keep thinking about what they did to him and how I wasn't there. And If I keep thinking about it, I swear to God I'm going to kill myself. So fucking give me something to do."
Linda sighed and nodded. She pulled out a notebook from under the counter and started making a list. They were mostly shit jobs, things that only got done around the store once a year but if that meant keeping Mickey from doing something stupid they could be done again.
"Let me know if you hear anything, Mick," she said quietly as she dropped the list in his lap. She paused at the doughnut box and pulled out a sprinkle covered ring. She gave Mickey a small smile as she placed it in front of him before walking upstairs.
Mickey was sitting on the floor, taking every can of soup of the rack and dusting the shelf before returning them. He paused for a moment when the bell rang above the door but didn't bother getting up. He spun a can of tomato soup around in circles, his eyes not really focusing on what he was going. He cursed and shook his head, forcing himself to focus.
"Mick?" someone called, and Mickey looked up to see Lip standing at the front counter.
"Yeah?" He said back, and Lip poked his head around the corner.
"Why are you on the floor?" Lip asked, walking down the aisle.
"Linda's version of suicide watch," Mickey answered, nodding up to the camera that was trained on him. Lip bit his lip and nodded, dropping down to sit next to Mickey. The two boy's stayed silent for a while and Mickey kept putting soup back on the shelf. Finally Mickey couldn't wait any longer. "So? I know you're here for a reason."
Lip looked up at the camera, longing for a cigarette but knowing that was one sure way to have Linda flying down the stairs. He hugged his knees close to his chest, a move he was sure he picked up from Ian before sighing.
"Fiona called about an hour ago. He's out of surgery. I guess it was pretty touch and go for a while though. But he's stable for now. Fiona said there were a lot of injuries that she's not sure how the doctor described them so I'm going to head down there soon to talk with the doctors."
"Shit," Mickey mumbled, letting out a sigh of relief. He let his head fall back on the freezer behind him and closed his eyes. "Anything else?"
"The only thing she was sure of when I talked to her was his lungs. I guess whoever did this to him broke a couple of his ribs. One of them punctured a lung so they've got him on some machine so it can breathe for him. Fiona said that they were going to keep him sedated for couple days. You know, give his lung a chance to heal up a bit and to make sure he doesn't wake up with a tube down his throat and freak out."
"Trust me, he can take a lot down his-" Mickey started but stopped when Lip punched his arm.
"So help me, Mickey, if you start making comments about my brother's sex life, even if they are true, I will kill you."
"Sorry, force of habit," Mickey whispered back.
The two boys sat quietly, Mickey silently thanking God that Ian was still alive. He looked over at Lip, biting his lip.
"When can I see him?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Lip sighed, trying to think.
"Not tonight, Dude," he started, climbing to his feet. "Fiona took the night off work and I don't think she plans on leaving. But she'll have to go back to work tomorrow night since we'll be paying on these bills forever, so then I guess. We have to…we have to make a list of people that are cleared to see him since he's in the ICU. I'll make something up to get you on the list without telling Fiona the real reason."
"Thanks, dude." Mickey said, offering a hand out to Lip. The two boys stared at each other for a moment before Lip shook his hand. "Just let me know when your sis is gone tomorrow. I'll be there right after." Lip nodded and let himself out.
"Well I got you on the list," Fiona said, brushing her hair out of her face, a pen clutched tight in her hand.
"That's it?" Lip said, sitting across from her with a cup of coffee in his hand.
"The doctor said no one under thirteen so that leaves out Debbie, Carl, and Liam. Frank doesn't have to be on the damn list since he's considered his Legal Guardian. Which, by the way, don't let me forget to track Frank down and have him sign this once we're done."
"Will do. Don't forget Veronica and Kevin. And Mandy." Lip took a sip of his coffee, trying to play it off as natural.
"She still bearding for him even now that I know?" Fiona said, writing the three names in her loopy script.
"Yeah, I guess you can say that. And you might want to add Mickey. They've become pretty good friends while Mickey was in Juvie. Pen-pals and all that shit."
"Pen-pals?" Fiona asked, her eyebrow cocked. "Ian never got any mail?"
"He'd send it to Mandy and she'd give it to Ian." Fiona sighed and nodded, writing Mickey's name after Mandy's.
"We'll I think that's our list. Now to go find Frank and head back to the hospital. Make sure Debbie and Carl go to bed before midnight. Um, I'm not sure about dinner…V might have something for you guys."
"I'll figure something out, Fiona, its fine. Just go." Fiona pulled Lip close, taking in the smell of smoke that clung to his hair.
"Be good," she whispered. "And be careful. I can't stand what would happen if something happened to you guys, too." She kissed Lip's forehead, smirking when he wrinkled his nose in disgust.
Mickey was carrying a pile of boxes out to the dumpster the next day when Linda called for him.
"Mickey, Lip's on the phone. Make it quick," Her voice was stern but he could see the worry in her eyes. He licked his lip and nodded, reaching out for the phone.
"'Lo?" He said, his voice shaking.
"Mickey? It's Lip. Fiona's going to be leaving here around five to get ready for work so any time after then is fine. He's on the sixth floor; there's a desk as soon as you get off the elevator that you have to check in at. Don't worry, I got your name on the list so they shouldn't stop you. He's in room 655, but a nurse will probably show you the way. I'll still be here, so I'll see you when you get here."
"How's he doing today?" Mickey asked, looking around to make sure no one heard the gentle tone he used.
"Dude, he just got out of surgery yesterday. Nothing's changed yet. Just let me know when you get here." With that Lip hung up. Mickey sighed, looking at the clock behind where Linda sat. He just had a little bit over an hour before he got off work and Fiona left the hospital. It was a half hour ride on the L to get to General. He bit his lip and went back to work, constantly throwing glances over his shoulder at the clock. After about a half hour, Linda sighed.
"You're making me anxious just watching you, Mickey," She sighed, laying her book on the counter.
"Sorry, can't help it," he mumbled. He bent down to pick up another box, groaning as his back cracked. Linda turned around and looked at the clock before sighing again.
"Finish that box and then you can go," She said, picking her book back up.
"What?" Mickey said, almost dropping the box in his hand.
"I said, finish that box you're working on and then you can leave. Like I said, you're making me anxious. I can close up by myself. Just go to your boy." Mickey and Linda met eyes and held eye contact for a while. Mickey gave a small smile and nodded, quickly putting the cans of beans on the shelf and breaking down the box. He grabbed his bag and paused at the front counter.
"Thanks Linda," he whispered, tapping the counter.
"Just tell Ian we're thinking about him."
An older woman with blue hair in ridiculous pink scrubs with Snoopy all over them looked up over her glasses at Mickey. He shifted from one foot to the other, his fingers digging into the scar on his thigh through his pocket.
"Can I help you?" She said, her voice hoarse from years of smoking.
"Uh, yeah," Mickey said. "I'm here to see Ian Gallagher. I'm on the list." The nurse, whose name tag said Pam, sighed and pulled Ian's chart into her lap.
"Name?"
"Mickey Milkovich," he answered, licking his lips. Pam ran her finger down the short list, stopping on the last name and sighed with a nod.
"Room 655. Down that way. The brother should still be there." She went back to her book, not looking up anymore.
"Ugh, thanks," Mickey said, turning on his toes to walk down the hallway. He paused in front of Ian's room and knocked on the doorframe.
"Shit," he heard Lip mumble as he stumbled to the door. "Mick? That was fast. I thought you didn't get off work until 5? It's only 5:15?"
"I was making Linda nervous so she sent me early. Fiona's gone though, right?"
"Yeah, yeah she's gone. Um, come on. We talked to the doctor's before her and Frank left so I can officially tell you what's wrong." Lip nodded his head into the room and Mickey followed, glancing behind him.
The ex-con stopped short at the foot of the bed, his heart jumping into his throat. Ian was always pale; that and his ginger hair was what Mickey really liked about him. But now his skin was so pale it was almost see through; all of his veins were visible under the skin and he looked so frail. Bulky metal structures had been screwed into different part of his body keeping him still. His chest rose and fell in rhythm with the machine next to his bed.
"Fuck," Mickey said, swaying on his feet.
"Starting from the bottom," Lip said, flicking his nose. "Broken tibia and two shattered knee caps; these metal things are to hold his knee caps together while they heal. Broken pelvis, more metal things. There was some internal bleeding in his stomach, but that's been stopped. Broken right wrist, shattered left hand. Um, there's four broken ribs, one that punctured his lung. They uh, they took a baseball bat to him and broke his back and neck pretty high up," Lip gestured to his own back with his fist. "Like right in there. So the surgeon's put a metal rod along his spine to help it heal. This halo's to keep him from moving his neck so it can heal. It'll probably be on for about three months. Ian was apparently smart enough to protect his head; there's no brain damage or anything so that's good."
"Fuck," Mickey said again, dropping into a chair next to Ian's bed, his eyes not leaving the small boy. Lip sat back down in his own chair, watching Mickey. It amazed him how much he cared about Ian. For someone as tough as Mickey, he was surprisingly sensitive. Lip cleared his throat.
"I…I guess we don't have to worry about West Point anymore," Lip said, his voice low.
"Fuck you," Mickey whispered back. "Too soon, man. Too fucking soon."
"Sorry," Lip whispered.
"He's not going to be the same, is he?" Mickey asked, leaning forward and gently wrapping his pinking in Ian's. He was afraid to touch his boyfriend in case he hurt him. The heart monitor stayed steady next to his bed.
"You mean mentally or physically?" Lip asked, tapping his fingers on the arm rest of his chair.
"Both," Mickey asked, running his thumb over the back of Ian's knuckles.
"Doubtful," Lip answered honestly. It's going to take months of physical therapy before he'll be upright, let alone on two feet. And could you have something like this happen to you and be fine mentally? We've got ourselves a mess, Mickey. And it's just starting."
AN: I hope you liked it. Please review.