Another chapter of Ian, just thought he should get another say in the story, but I still prefer writing from Mickey's point of view.

Fiona was sitting by his bed, chewing her lip and Ian knew she wanted to say something. He knew what it was going to be about. He had even been expecting it. But he still wished she would just keep her mouth shut for longer. Hopefully indefinitely.

He didn't want her to ruin this.

"I don't like him always hanging around here," she said eventually, making it sound like a confession, like it was completely out of the blue. And he loved his sister, he owed her almost everything and he knew she was just worrying about him, but Ian still sighed and looked at her, annoyed. "And I know you like having him around for some reason, but he's a Milkovich and I can't help thinking that he's trying to get something out of this."

Ian didn't know what anybody could possibly get from this situation, but he didn't say that. He figured that Fiona could probably see his thoughts on the matte well enough from the expression on his face. "You don't know him," he said bluntly, "And I want him here."

He didn't know what he'd do if Mickey wasn't here.

She sighed, like she'd known full well that would be his answer. If you knew I was going to say that, why are we having this conversation at all? he wondered, but it was pointless to say that and Fiona was doing so much for him, had done so much for him. It wasn't fair to be rude to her. Even if she was being stupid.

"I know you do," she said, "I'm just afraid that you're becoming a little too dependent on him."

"Yeah, I am," he replied simply, because there was no point in denying it. Mickey was the one out of the two of them that was good to lying to the world, to all of his family and it wasn't like Ian didn't understand, it was just that he wasn't quite capable of being like that. He already felt like he owed Fiona so much simply for not trusting her for so long with the information he was gay – of course she'd known anyway, but that wasn't the point. He still felt like he'd betrayed her somehow by now confiding in her sooner.

The only problem was that when it came to Mickey, they weren't just his secrets to confide.

"I just don't understand, Ian," she said, sounding exasperated and in a way he found it understandable, but it still annoyed him, "Of all people, why be dependent on Mickey? He doesn't exactly have a very good track record of. . . anything."

And no, Ian couldn't deny that. Mickey wasn't the nicest person in the world, he had a strange aversion to being clean, didn't like people getting anywhere close to his personal space let alone in it. He was violent, unpredictable, rude, swore far too much and his gut reaction when backed into a corner was to fight his way out of it, no matter who he hated.

But underneath all of that, there was someone who cared. He gave a shit about some things. Not many things, but some things. And if he gave a shit, people should probably steer clear of those things for fear of getting their head bashed in. Mickey wasn't charming or lovely and he wasn't the sort of person you fell in love with, or even wanted to spend all that much time with, but Ian found that the unpredictability of the situations he found himself in because of Mickey were endearing. If you could get him to talk, he was actually a laugh and if you got him high, then he was downright chatty sometimes.

Ian felt like he knew him, but that wasn't why he clung to Mickey with such determination.

He clung on because out of everybody, Mickey was the one who never expected anything from him. He wanted Ian to keep his mouth shut about them, but he didn't ask Ian to change in anyway. He'd take the piss sometimes, express his displeasure for some things Ian wore or what he said, but he never seemed to expect him to stop. Mickey just took him as he was and sure, that was probably because Mickey didn't give have any desire to change himself, so why should he expect anything from anybody else. Ian sort of liked how true Mickey was to himself, but that was easy to do when the majority of the neighbourhood was scared of you.

Sometimes it was hard for him to really peg down why he liked Mickey so much. Why he loved him, but would never admit to it because the ex-con would probably gut him like a fish if he did. Some days, he just put it down to the fact that Mickey was a damn good fuck and left it at that.

Ian just shrugged again, pleased when the action didn't hurt like it used to. His ribs were mostly healed up now. "You don't know him," he repeated adamantly, wondering if anybody actually knew Mickey. If Mickey even knew Mickey. "And does anybody in our neighbourhood have a good track record?"

The answer was no and they both knew it. You did what you had to survive around where they lived, otherwise you just got left behind in the dirt. Not that anybody was actually going anywhere. Ian had used to think he was going somewhere, that he was getting out, but that wasn't happening now. Thinking about that made him want to cry, but he didn't, he swallowed the pain down.

"That's not the point," she said, glaring at him slightly, but there wasn't any real anger or any real emotion behind it really, "Mickey's not a good person to have around, he's like a bomb waiting to go off and you know it. I just don't understand why he's here."

Of course she didn't, but Ian wasn't exactly going to enlighten her.

He couldn't enlighten her.

"Fiona, don't make him leave," he knew he sounded whiney, like he was practically begging. And maybe he was. "I need him here, you can't make him leave." He could just feel the darkness inside his own mind starting to creep up on him again, but he pushed back with all he had. He didn't want to go back there again, the darkness made him numb, but at the same time it made him scream and want to literally try and claw the memories out of his own brain.

"Trust me I've tried to make him leave and it isn't that easy," she replied, looking at him sadly, "But I'm just worried that you're starting to depend on him too much and when he decides he's bored or whatever little scheme he's working on comes to an end, he'll get up and leave you." She sighed, "I just don't want to see you get worse now that you're getting better."

"I'm only getting better because of him," he said before he could stop himself, "Mickey makes me feel better, he takes my mind off everything else and there isn't any scheme going on and sure, maybe one day he will get bored, but I'll find a way to cope."

She didn't look like she was so sure he would be able to, but he didn't comment.

"Just remember that the kid's a fuck up," she said and he couldn't help but find her words especially harsh, "He's not worth falling for." And that was when he saw why she was really so concerned. It wasn't so much that she didn't understand why Mickey was hanging around, it was just that she did understand why Ian was letting him stay. Out of the two of them, Ian had always been the one to make his feelings so much more obvious. He didn't know how he felt about Mickey being able to hide them so well.

He was jealous at the same time as being disappointed, it was strange.

"He's no more of a fuck-up than I am," Ian said and he hoped his tone carried the conviction that he felt, "Difference is, he doesn't try to hide it." Sometimes, Ian thought that Mickey was even a little bit proud of being a fuck-up. But then other days, he chalked that up to Mickey not ever knowing how to be anything else.

Fiona shrugged, seeming to have withdrawn inside of herself a little, "He's nothing like you Ian."

And was he going mad, or was there a message in that? Something she was trying to say without really coming out and saying it?

He resisted the urge to say that Mickey was a lot more like him that she or anybody else realised.

Mickey walked into the room then and Ian wondered how much he had heard. It was like a curtain had fallen behind Mickey's eyes and his expression was blank so Ian couldn't tell. He was guessing he'd heard something though, or at least enough, otherwise he wouldn't have looked like that. Otherwise he probably would have already been making some stupid, crude comment.

"Nice boiler suit," he commented to try and break the tension, ignoring the pointed glares that Fiona was giving Mickey.

Mickey was dressed up in a dark blue boiler suit, his hands pushed deep into the pockets. "Shut up," he said, literally throwing himself down into the chair beside the bed. He kicked his feet up onto the mattress and seemed to relax a little bit. "Reminds me of Juvie."

The dress was a little the same now Ian came to think about it.

"Of course, you'd know all about being in there, wouldn't you Mickey?" Fiona asked, not even trying to hide her snide tone. Ian thought he hated her a little bit in that moment, but only a little bit. He was more disappointed in her. "How many times is it you've been in there now, three, four times?"

Mickey didn't react, which Ian thought was a miracle. "Two," he replied and then looked away from her, back at Ian, "There's this bloke down the hall from you with blisters all over his face, he looks fucking disgusting."

Ian couldn't help but smile at the random comment. Since he'd started working at the hospital it had become Mickey's favourite hobby to pop in and inform Ian of what disgusting patient he'd found that day. It made Ian wish he could get out of the bed to go see these people Mickey talked about, but with all of the metal contraptions holding his kneecaps together while they healed, it wasn't really possible.

His ass had gone way past the point of being numb.

"Lovely," he replied, pulling a face which made Mickey smirked. He smirked more than smiled generally, but Ian had started to take them as meaning one and the same thing. "Kind of makes me think of that Coach we had for baseball that year you pissed on first base, the one with the massive mole on his face."

Mickey grimaced. "That this had fucking hairs on it," he said, shuddering slightly at the memory, "And before you comment, I had every right to piss on that base, the call was complete bollocks." He crossed his arms over his chest and tipped back in the chair slightly.

Ian rolled his eyes. "No, you just over-reacted," he replied, "I was there remember, you can't twist what happened."

He could still remember what it was like to be on the same baseball team as Mickey Milkovich. It had been the first time he'd really noticed the other boy, which didn't make sense to him when he thought about it because Mickey wasn't the sort of person you overlooked. Even back then he'd been full of foul language, prone to violent reactions and he'd probably threatened every single person on both their team and the opposition's with bodily harm.

"Why the hell were you on the team anyway?" he asked when Mickey didn't respond, but then he hadn't really expected him to, "You hate sports." Which was actually a bit of an understatement. Mickey despised playing sports and only just tolerated sitting through a baseball game. Although when he did – and Ian had been with him a few times – he almost got them kicked out for swearing at the players and getting into arguments with the crowd.

No day out with Mickey was a simple one. Not that they'd ever really had many days out. Their meetings had usually consisted of getting high or drunk somewhere where nobody could see them and then fucking until they both passed out. And yet there were the rare occasions when Ian could coax the ex-con into doing something like sneaking into a Sox game or a movie and it would be better than Ian could ever imagine.

Mickey shrugged. "Nicky said I had to be a fag because I spent too much time with Mandy and didn't do things other lads did," he said after a moment, his tone clipped, "So I joined a fucking baseball team."

Ian ignored the outraged look that Fiona was giving Mickey and rolled his eyes. "It probably would have made you look more masculine if you'd actually been any good at the sport," he commented.

"Fuck you," Mickey replied, glaring at him as he rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip.

Ian loved it when he did that, he didn't quite know why. He followed the action with his eyes and Mickey smirked, knowing exactly what he was doing.

"Do you want to know what's fucking killing me more than anything else?" Ian asked when the silence stretched out for a little longer than he liked. He was used to a noisy household, he wasn't good with the whole silence thing. He thought that was probably why he had such a problem at night, the hospital was always too quiet.

Of course, Mickey's snoring helped a lot. Sort of reminded him of Carl, only better.

"What?" Mickey didn't really look like he cared, but Ian knew that was just a façade.

"I haven't been able to have a smoke or a drink in fucking weeks," he said, chewing his bottom lip. The addiction of the nicotine in his veins was practically eating at him and sometimes he just wished he could get smashed to drown out the memories. Of course, he couldn't do anything of the sort, all he could do was lie there doped up on painkillers.

Mickey laughed at him, the sound almost cruel, but Ian knew that was the only way that Mickey knew how to laugh. He didn't laugh often, Ian liked it when he did, no matter what it sounded like. He still savoured the sound.

"Might go have one for you then," he said, pulling out a packet from his pocket even as he stood.

Ian glared at him, "You're a dick, you do know that right."

"Your point?"

He snorted, "Haven't got one."

"Didn't think so," Mickey replied moving towards the door.

"Get me some chocolate."

"Fuck off."

They both knew he'd get Ian the chocolate, no matter what he said on the contrary.

Ian smiled as he watched Mickey saunter out of the room, but it fell from his face when Fiona followed the ex-con out. That wasn't good news, but there wasn't a hell of a lot he could do about it from a hospital bed, wasn't like he could chase after his sister and stop her.

Besides, Mickey was a big boy, he could handle it. Ian hoped.