Mickey slipped out of the front door of the Gallagher house a half hour after Ian passed out. He didn't watch him sleep. He didn't wonder what was happening in his dreams while his eyeballs twitched back and forth underneath his closed eyelids.
He didn't.
A fancy looking coffee maker sat on the kitchen counter of his house. Fancy by his standards anyway. It was only slightly worn and it looked more complicated than necessary. It made him ache to see it because it looked desperate. Mandy was decorating her fake little dollhouse.
When they had been little she had loved dolls. He would make her cry whenever he plucked off their heads and burned off their plastic hair making her room smell like something rancid. God he never understood why she gave a fuck. But he could see it now – she still wanted a pretty little dollhouse with a sweet little doll to look after. It was sort of sad.
He tried for a total of 7 minutes to figure out how to make the fucking thing give him a cup of coffee before ripping open the fridge, giving up, and grabbing a beer.
"Jesus what time is it?" Mandy walked into the kitchen rubbing her eyes. She glanced a look over to the crib in the living room. Michaela was still asleep.
"7:48." Mickey deadpanned and took another swig.
His sister looked him up and down confusion forming in the space between her eyebrows. "Why are you awake?"
"I didn't sleep at all. Your damn baby kept me up all night." And by she kept him up he really means he kept her up talking to her about absolute ridiculous shit. No wonder she was still sound asleep in her crib. She probably got only an hour of shuteye the whole night.
Mandy rolled her eyes and walked over to the coffee machine. She pressed two buttons and it started to make a whirring sound signaling life which was already more than he had managed to get out of it. "Wanna trade that beer in for some coffee?"
Yes. "No."
They stayed in silence while she filled a cup with caffeine and he got up to get himself another drink. The house creaked around them, it sounded like it was going to just fall to pieces. Literally cave in on his head, which would be ironic he supposed. A house of crumbling cards.
"What day did dad die?" He looked at his sister, her hair falling loosely around her face. She didn't have any of her gunk makeup painted on yet and he thought she actually looked much younger than her age.
She took a sip of coffee and winced as it burned her lip. "Umm Wednesday I think." Another more tentative sip, "Yea Wednesday night."
Today was the following Friday. "When did Ian get back?"
Mandy paused the cup held firmly in her hands. She looked at him quizzically as if trying to determine if this was a trick or not. "Sunday."
He didn't say anything, just took another gulp big enough to take half the bottle with it.
"You called me on Monday." Their eyes now locked. "Would you have called me if Ian hadn't come back?"
Mandy said nothing, but her silence was everything.
"Am I here for dad or am I here for him Mandy?"
The front door to their house creaked open and Mickey's body tensed preparing for a fight. Lip sauntered through looking disheveled and pausing only to see that his daughter was still asleep before plopping himself down next to Mandy.
"You look like shit." He looked Mickey up and down.
He noticed the general lack of calm in Lip's features. "Right back at ya."
He smiled and took the coffee from Mandy's hand. "Yea I was up with Ian for a bit. He had a thing with Carl." Mandy grabbed the coffee back and Lip scrunched his nose up at her with a tenderness that actually made Mickey want to kill them both.
"Is he okay?" She asked.
Lip nodded and smiled. "Yes he's good. Just a little jumpy still I think."
Mickey slammed his hand down on the table and made Mandy jump. He didn't even realize that he did it. It was like a punch had come out of him. Good? Really? They had to be fucking with him.
"So why is he back?" Mickey ground out.
A flicker of something went across Lip's face but it was gone before he had a chance to really see it. "Honorable Discharge. That's what he said."
That's what he said. You mean that's what he lied through his teeth about. It was glaringly obvious, even his own brother didn't believe him.
But why would he lie? Mickey couldn't understand what would happen to push Ian into lying about something like that. And how the fuck had he managed to even get in the army in the first place? He had never quite worked that one out and he'd left town before trying to find answers.
"You gotta be 18."
"Yea I figured a way around that."
"Where is he now?" Mandy asked while getting up to go check on a now vocal Michaela.
Lip shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno. Woke up and he was gone. Probably went for a run or some crazy shit like that. You know him. Always training even though he doesn't need to anymore I guess."
Mickey stood up abruptly and tossed the now empty beer bottle in the sink. It shattered.
"What the fuck Mickey!" Mandy yelled. Michaela started to cry and he could see her grubby little hands reaching out for something. Reaching for what exactly? Who knew. "Where are you going?" He was half way out the door and didn't bother stopping to give an answer.
Ian never really trained. Sure he was always working out and dodging bullets. Saying stupid army shit over and over again like the more he said it the more real it made it. But in the few times he had suckered Mickey into helping him he noticed that it wasn't training at all. It was running.
Ian was always fucking running from something. So much so he ran right out of the Southside because of it. And sure, he couldn't really blame him for that one because he ran too. The thing that was itching at his skull was why Ian ran all the way back. What was so fucking awful that happened to him over in wherever he was that had him hightailing it back to where it all started?
"I didn't think it would bug me as much as it did.
The line was still ringing in his ears. As what did Ian?
Mandy came running out of the house following him and he really tried hard to ignore her. "Mickey! Don't forget the funeral is tomorrow!"
He had never heard better news in his life. If Gallagher wanted to play a game of clue then fucking fine. What better place then a funeral to make him spill his guts.
