Mickey didn't believe in God, but that didn't stop him from praying. It had been three hours but it felt more like three centuries. Time had dragged by so slowly, every single time he heard footsteps up his corridor his heart jumped, hoping that the maker of the steps had news about Ian but so far they had always just carried on up the hallway. He kept asking, but they kept saying that when they knew, so would he.
Ian wasn't the kind of guy who would do something like that. Mickey had seen him depressed, fucking hell, he'd seen him on the verge of everlasting sleep but still, at his worst he had never seen him suicidal. He couldn't get what he had seen out of his head. What if he hadn't woke up when he had? Would he have woken up a few hours, minutes or seconds later to find Ian's cold dead body stiff in the corner of the room? A shiver ran through him and he let it rack his body, not being able to control it, not even really trying to.
Then he heard footsteps again, but he didn't bother getting his hopes up, it hadn't worked so far. Why the fuck do people say no news is good news? No news was damn torture. He told himself he'd never ask for anything ever again. He'd never get jealous, he'd never hold him back, and he'd never bring him down if he could just be alive. Mickey nearly jumped out of his skin when Chief Thomas started jangling keys as he unlocked his cell.
'Chief, any news on Ian?' with a desperate tinge to his voice and Mickey didn't like the look the chief gave him as he looked directly at him with a grave look on his face.
'Please tell me he's alive.' It wasn't a question, it was an order, because the alternative wasn't possible, it couldn't be possible. He had nothing without Gallagher. He would rather be separated from him for the rest of his life, watch him make out with a thousand guys against brick walls than hear the fucking alternative.
'He's alive Milkovich, but he isn't out of the woods yet.'
The most powerful relief he had ever felt washed through Mickey as if it had replaced all the blood in his body. His heart was pumping round relief. He was alive. He would treasure that sentence for the rest of his life. He would never take Ian for granted ever again, Mickey had never really understood how precious that fucking redheaded asshole was to him, because he'd never really had to face losing him. Him going away to the army or finishing their turbulent relationship didn't compare because he'd still known he might bump into Gallagher, he'd still known he was there if he ever needed to see him. Had had never really lost him, not until a few hours ago.
'Tell me what you know.' He wanted to be updated, he wanted to know how Ian was. Was he awake? Could he see him? Did he need anything?
'He took a huge overdose Milkovich, the amount of Lithium and Valium in his system slowed his heart down so much it nearly stopped, he very nearly went into cardiac arrest. Luckily the medics were able to stabilise his heart rate and then they pumped his stomach. He's still unconscious at the moment, but they hope he will wake up in the next few hours.'
'Fuck.' Mickey breathed. Why had he been such a fucking dickhead, it was his fault this had happened, he'd driven the person he valued the most to try and take his own life. 'So he's gonna be okay yeah?'
'We hope so, yeah. Do you know how this happened Milkovich?'
Mickey weighed up the positives and negatives of telling the truth and decided for Ian's sake that the truth meant that the infirmary would always make sure he took his medication in the right doses from here on out. So for Gallagher's protection, even though he knew it was a bit late for that, he told the truth.
'The meds he took were for his bipolar disorder, he hadn't been taking them at the infirmary. I didn't know until last night otherwise I'd have made him take them. Then I said some harsh shit, shit I shouldn't have said then I woke up this morning and found him –' but Mickey couldn't finish that sentence before the guilt consumed him and his head hung in shame not wanting to looking the Chief in the eye. He couldn't relive that again, he knew it was his fault.
'I see, well the psych team will make sure he takes his medication from now on.' Chief Thomas said and Mickey's head jerked up at that.
'What d'you mean psych?! I thought he was gonna come back here. If he's gonna be alright why can't he come back here?' Mickey rushed out. He wanted Ian where he could take care of him.
'He tried to take his own life Mickey, the psych team need to work out why before we can release him back into minimum security. Otherwise it could happen again.' Chief replied gently.
'It won't happen again, I won't let it.' Mickey pushed even though he could tell it was useless.
'That didn't stop him last night Mickey, we need to ensure that Gallagher is safe until he's thinking straight again.'
That was when Mickey knew that Chief Thomas didn't have a clue. He didn't know fucking anything about Ian, not like he did. He knew that Ian never thought straight, his brain wasn't wired like everyone else's. Ian was different and that was one of the many things that Mickey liked about him. He tried to tell himself that at least if Ian was in psych he was alive and well and being looked after, but Mickey couldn't help being selfish, he wanted to look after him.
'How long is he gonna be stuck there for?' Mickey asked.
'As long as he needs to be is the answer to that I'm afraid. If he makes good progress he'll be out soon enough.' Chief answered.
'Can I see him?' it was the only resolve Mickey could think of.
'Depending on how he's doing we might be able to arrange some supervised visits.' That was a consolation at least. At least he could talk to him, apologise, try and make it right.
'Thanks, Chief.' Mickey replied solemnly. The initial relief of Ian's survival was there, but it had been dampened by guilt. Now there was going to be the aftermath to deal with and it wasn't going to be easy. Mickey knew though, that they had never been easy. Being with Ian had always been one the hardest, most complicated things he had in his life but at the same time it was also the best. He would be there for Gallagher every step of the way until he was back sharing this cell with him again, just like he always had been.
When Chief Thomas left Mickey was abandoned in his cell with only his own fucked up head for company. Apparently he was being kept in solitary confinement today, it was probably for the best. He wasn't prepared to answer any nosey ass fuckers questions about what had happened that morning.
One of the things Mickey cherished most about Ian was how for some reason the crazy fucker liked him just the way he was. He'd never asked him to change. Sure he'd asked him to control himself sometimes, but he'd never told Mickey he wasn't good enough, even though he knew that he wasn't.
Mickey had hurt Ian before. He remembered hitting Ian hard in the stomach, punching him so hard he'd hit the floor and then his foot had connected with his face so hard he'd thought he'd knocked at least a couple of teeth out. Just for good measure. He'd need Gallagher to stop running his mouth, the truth was killing him. He'd had to finish another two bottles of whiskey that night just to take the edge off.
'D'you feel better now? D'you feel like a man?'
'Feel better now.'
Mickey closed his eyes trying to block it out. He hadn't felt better, he'd felt like a coward because he had been. He wasn't going to run away this time, he would face the pain he had caused and deal with the consequences.
'Afternoon Milky, I heard that your pretty boy tried to off himself this morning? I'm not surprised really, sharing a cell with you.' Double C taunted as he appeared in front of the bars Mickey so wished weren't locked right now.
His whole body went cold, this fucker had a death wish. Mickey didn't say anything, he got up from his bunk and walked over to the bars, the long cylinders of steel the only things preventing him from cutting Double C's tongue out. Instead his arm flew through one of the gaps between the bars and he pulled him as hard as he could into the metal.
'Don't ever fucking speak about him in my fucking presence again d'you hear me you slimy little bastard.' Mickey spoke with such venom in his voice as Double C struggled in vain to get loose from his grip, his face smashed up against the bars.
'You know what I think? I think you're fucking him. Just you wait Milkovich, the second I know for sure, you're a dead man.'
Mickey loosened his grip on the scumbag in front of him knowing he had to bide his time. Double C scrambled backwards, getting himself out of Mickey's reach.
'Can't fucking wait.' He resolved.
Notes:
I hope you are all enjoying where this is going, this has escalated way beyond what I originally expected it too! I've never written such a long fic before and I really hope that it's worth reading. It's tricky to find the right balance between Mickey having feelings, and actually expressing them! But I hope I'm doing okay.
I just wanted to say I'm not a doctor and have never been in prison, so there might be some issues with the detail in this story, I'm hoping you guys can shrug that off and just stick with me though. I am very welcome if anyone wanted to correct me and expand my knowledge on things I might have got wrong.
Please review/favourite/follow if you feel so inclined and most importantly, keep reading! It's been a pleasure to write for you all and I'm grateful to have all of you on this journey with me. Even I don't know how this is going to end yet!
