Ian stopped just outside the gate of the Gallagher home and looked up at it with mixed emotions. On one hand, he couldn't wait to rush inside and scoop up every single one of his siblings in his arms and hug them until they couldn't breathe. Fuck, he'd missed them. On the other hand, he wasn't ready for all the invasive questions and incessant drilling he knew would inevitably follow after all the hugs, kisses, slaps, and tears got out of the way.

Underneath all that, being back there, at that house, meant that his life without Mickey Milkovich would have to resume. He was going to have to move on and act as if Mickey didn't matter to him; act as if his entire world hadn't been tipped off its axis in the past few weeks. He didn't know how the hell he was supposed to do that.

As the mixture of emotions whirled through him, he hesitantly pushed his way through the gate with a deep inhale and made his way up the steps and into the house.

"Hello?" he called out when he stepped inside the foyer, pulling his beanie hat from his head and smoothing out his hair. "Guys? Fiona? Lip?" When he didn't get an immediate answer, he frowned and shrugged out of his coat, tossing it over the back of the couch. He'd expected to be bombarded as soon as he stepped foot inside and found that he was disappointed when it didn't happen. "Debs? Carl?"

He walked into the empty kitchen and looked around, realizing nothing much had changed at all. Even the sink full of dishes and piles of dirty laundry looked exactly the same. He'd only been gone for three weeks, but it sure seemed like a hell of a lot longer. A thought occurred to him then, and he realized his family was most likely over at Kevin and Veronica's, where he'd instructed them to lay low until he got back. He ran a hand over his hair, vaguely thinking about how badly he needed a haircut, and made his way up the stairs to his bedroom, intent on getting at least a little bit of peace and quiet before all hell broke loose.

Just like the kitchen, everything was exactly where he'd left it; his bed had even remained unmade. He flung himself forward onto his bed and deeply inhaled his pillow. Fuck, he'd missed his shitty twin-sized bed. He flipped over onto his back and stared blankly up at the ceiling, at the familiar cracks and chips in the paint. As he stared, his vision blurred as the tears he hadn't wanted to cry spilled anyway.


"Ian? Ian, what the fuck!"

Ian jolted awake and was immediately faced with Lip looming over him. Without a second's hesitation, he jumped up from the bed and engulfed his older brother in a suffocating hug. He exhaled shakily against Lip's shoulder and hung onto him for dear life.

"Shit, man, we've been so fuckin' worried about you," Lip said once they finally broke apart. "Where the hell have you been?"

Ian sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. "Long story."

"Fuck that, tell me everything," Lip insisted. "You can't just disappear for three weeks and not offer up an explanation. Where the fuck were you, asshole? You call us every three days, you don't tell us shit."

Ian slowly sat back down on his bed, deciding to just give Lip the vague details. "I was kidnapped."

"Yeah, I know," Lip retorted. "Fuck, man… by who?"

Ian sighed and gathered his thoughts before diving into a rushed synopsis. "Frank owed someone money, so they kidnapped me to get the money, but Frank, being the heartless asshole he is, didn't fuckin' care at all, so one of my… captors helped me escape, and we ran away for a few weeks to collect the money. We did some pretty fucked-up, illegal shit, got the money, and then we came home."

"Holy shit," Lip breathed.

"Yeah."

Lip frowned and scratched the back of his neck as he tried to process and make sense of it all. "Who kidnapped you? And who have you been with for the past three weeks? I need to know these things, Ian, Christ."

"It doesn't matter anymore, okay?" Ian said tiredly, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and sleep for the next two days straight.

"The fuck it doesn't!"

"It's over, alright?" Ian sighed. "We got the money and everything should just go back to normal now. I just want to put this whole mess behind me if it's all the fuck the same to you."

Lip eyed him warily, clearly not okay with dropping the topic, but he decided not to push. Normally he loved pushing Ian's buttons (thrived on it, actually) but that time he figured he'd cut him some slack. "Alright, man, but don't expect Fiona to be fine with that answer. She's been a nervous wreck since you've been gone. We practically had to hide out the past few weeks, not knowing what the hell was going on."

"Where is everyone, anyway?"

Lip scratched at his temple. "Fiona's at work, Liam is with Veronica, Debs and Carl are at school—"

"School? The hell, Lip! I told you to keep them home," Ian snapped. "It wasn't safe for them!"

"We couldn't really keep them from school without the fucking truancy officers or CPS getting involved," Lip said. "We couldn't risk that."

Ian bristled with irritation and shook his head curtly. He knew Lip was right though. Keeping Debbie and Carl out of school for three weeks would have definitely sent the CPS their way. Shit, his ass should've been in school. He just hoped that wouldn't come back around and bite him in the ass.

"Fine, whatever, everything's cool now."

"Is it?" Lip asked, eyeing Ian warily. "You're sure about that? This is all behind you now, just like that? We're not gonna have some psycho showin' up at our door demanding money?"

Ian thought about Mickey then (but really, it's not like Mickey ever left his mind), wondering what he was doing at that moment, and if he had confronted his dad yet. He cleared his throat and looked down at his shaky hands.

"Yeah, it's taken care of."


Mickey hadn't gone immediately home. After leaving Ian and the motel behind, which had taken every ounce of willpower he had in him to not turn right back around and go back to Ian, he drove around Chicago aimlessly, chain-smoking cigarette after cigarette, his hands unable to stop shaking, and his eyes prickling with unshed tears he refused to succumb to.

He hadn't wanted to leave Ian like that, but he knew it would make it easier. He really didn't think he'd be able to leave Ian face to face, so he'd done it while he was sleeping. It had probably been the pussy way to do it, but it was the only way he could do it. He'd left Ian with the cell phone and some cash so he could easily get home. He figured it was the least he could do for leaving Ian high and dry, with no explanation. But then again, maybe leaving Ian the way he had was a good thing. Maybe it was best if Ian ended up hating him. The sooner Ian could move on and forget about him, the better things would be for him.

After a few hours, Mickey knew he couldn't put off the inevitable any longer, so he headed to Canaryville and, much too soon for his liking, he was blocks away from his house. The neighborhood was gray, dingy, shitty, and cold, just as he'd left it. He cut the engine and sat in silence for a long time, his heart hammering in his chest.

He honestly had no idea how his father was going to react. He knew it was going to be bad, there was no doubt about that. How bad, though, he wasn't sure. His father had threatened to kill him plenty of times over the years and, for the most part, Mickey hadn't taken it completely to heart. Now, he wasn't so sure what his father was or wasn't capable of.

He wiped at his nose and sniffed before finally getting out of the stolen car. With the end of his coat sleeve, he quickly wiped at the steering wheel, door handles, and anywhere else he or Ian may have touched. Finally, there was nothing else left to do but walk into that fucking house of horrors and face whatever form of hell awaited him.

He walked into the Milkovich house, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He immediately looked towards the couch, half-expecting to find his piece-of-shit father lying there like a piece-of-shit lump. He wasn't. He heard movement in the kitchen and strained his neck to find Mandy at the stove. He relaxed a little with a shaky exhale.

Mandy looked up, her eyes growing wide at the sight of her brother. "Where the fuck have you been, shithead?" she exclaimed, hurrying over to Mickey and throwing her arms around his neck. "Asshole."

Mickey remained stiff but pressed a hand to the small of her back. It felt nice to have been missed, but he took very little comfort in the warm welcoming.

Mandy pulled back and slapped him hard on the side of the head. "Where the hell have you been, dipshit? You just up and disappear for three fuckin' weeks without a word? Everyone's been lookin' for you."

Mickey thumbed at his lip and scoffed, muttering, "Yeah, I bet they have."

"So?" Mandy pressed. "Spill, asshole."

Mickey just scratched at the back of his neck, knowing Mandy probably had no clue about any of it, no clue about Ian. His father, brothers, and he had always made it a point to keep her out of their dirty work, to protect her from it. "I've been around, that's all your ass needs to know."

"That's it? You've been around?" Mandy rolled her eyes as she walked back to the stove.

"Where's, uh, where's dad?" Mickey asked, thumbing nervously at his lip again. "He around?"

"Where do you think he is?" Mandy retorted. "Probably getting sloshed down at the Alibi Room with his idiot friends."

"Do you know when he'll be back?" Mickey asked, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

"Who the fuck knows." Mandy shrugged as she went about her business. "You know dad, he'll probably find some Russian whore to screw in the back alley and come stumbling in at three a.m."

Mickey left it at that and turned to head towards his room. Once he was behind the safety of his closed door, he walked to his bed and sat down numbly. He stared into space for a long time before tilting sideways to reach into his pocket. He struggled to release the object at first before finally pulling it out.

He'd gotten rid of the duffel bags full of clothes and other shit from the car, knowing full well he couldn't keep the shit in the stolen car or take it with him back to his house. He had managed to keep one thing, though.

He stared down at Ian's watch. He knew it'd been such a lame thing to do, stealing Ian's watch when he wasn't looking, but it was the only thing he could think to take. He palmed the watch with one hand, rubbing his thumb across the face of it, and swiped a hand down his face with the other.


Ian was sitting on the front porch, numbly puffing away at a cigarette and blankly staring off into space, when he looked up to find Fiona, Debbie, and Carl making their way down the sidewalk. Lip told him that Fiona planned on meeting the kids at their bus stop after school, so he had decided to wait on the porch and surprise them. His heart jumped into his throat, and he shot to his feet.

Debbie said something to Fiona, which caused Fiona to howl, her laughter carrying down the street. As they got closer, Carl was the first to spot him. Carl froze, causing Fiona and Debbie to stop as well, and they looked to see what had caught his attention.

"Ian?" Debbie said first, her disbelief obvious.

"What! No!" Fiona exclaimed before tearing the gate open and practically running up the steps to pull her little brother into her arms. "Oh my god, is this for real, are you really back? Oh my god, you piece of shit! You're back! You had me so worried! Where the hell were you?"

Ian hugged Fiona back tightly, burying his face in her shoulder. Soon, Debbie and Carl were wrapped around them as well.


They all sat around the kitchen table as a pot of water boiled on the stove for spaghetti. Ian would never have guessed he'd miss Fiona's spaghetti so much. He was never going to complain when she made it again.

"So, tell me everything," Fiona said, reaching over to run a hand affectionately over the top of Ian's head. "Where the hell ya been, we've been worried sick."

"Would you accept it if I said I didn't wanna talk about it?"

"Shit no," Fiona replied, eyes wide.

"Did you kill someone?" Carl asked, his tone hopeful. "Did you leave town to dump the body?"

"Carl!" Fiona reprimanded with a soft slap to the boy's head before looking at Ian with an arched brow. "You didn't, did you?"

"No. Jesus!" Ian exclaimed as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Fiona eyed him for a moment before looking at Debbie and Carl. "Alright, go upstairs, you two, and get washed up for dinner. I wanna talk to Ian alone."

"What!" Debbie and Carl whined simultaneously.

"Don't argue with me, go!"

"This is so not fair," Debbie declared.

"This blows," Carl piped in as he and Debbie left the kitchen to watch TV.

Once they were alone, Ian looked at Fiona, his distress over the whole situation written all over his face.

"Jesus, Ian, what the hell happened to you?" Fiona asked, reaching over to grab his hand.

"I was kidnapped," Ian began, his voice quivering. He then scrubbed a hand over his face; saying the words out loud made it seem even more surreal.

"Who the hell did this to you?"

Ian ran a hand over his face, knowing he wasn't going to be able to keep anything from Fiona. She would only nag and probe him endlessly until she got it out of him. "Terry Milkovich," he began. "Frank owed him money, so Terry had his kids kidnap me."

"Fucking Frank!" Fiona exclaimed, gripping her forehead and shaking her head, her anger evident. "That piece of shit! Why am I not surprised he had somethin' to do with this?"

Ian continued, eager to get the conversation over with. "When it was clear that Frank wasn't gonna pay up, um, one of his sons decided to help me out, so we skipped town and did some stuff to come up with the money."

"One of his kids helped you?" Fiona asked, completely baffled by that information. "A Milkovich helped you?"

"Yeah," Ian replied apprehensively. "His son, Mickey."

"Mickey Milkovich helped you?" Fiona exclaimed in complete and utter disbelief, apparently quite familiar with the neighborhood thug.

"Yes," Ian said with an aggravated sigh. The last thing he wanted to do was listen to the defamation of Mickey's character. "Look, Fi, I'm really tired. It's been a long three weeks. Can we talk about this later? Please?"

"Yeah," Fiona said after some hesitation. "Yeah, sure, but we are gonna talk about this. This isn't just something we're gonna sweep under the goddamn rug, Ian."

Ian didn't say anything else, he just nodded curtly and stood up to make his way upstairs.

Fiona stared at the empty chair where Ian had been sitting, wondering why her little brother wasn't happier to be home.


When Mickey woke later that night, he glanced over at his bedside clock to see that he had slept for nine hours straight. It was now past two o'clock in the morning, and the rest of the house was silent. He grunted and groaned as he rolled out of bed, every muscle in his body aching, intent on heading to the bathroom to relieve his full bladder.

As soon as Mickey opened his bedroom door and stepped out into the dark hallway, he was roughly shoved back against the wall, the air completely knocked out of him.

"Where the fuck have you been, boy!" his father roared in his face, pinning Mickey against the wall with a firm forearm to his throat.

Mickey sputtered and choked as he gripped at his father's arm desperately, fighting for air. "Pops," he choked. "Pops, I have… I have the money."

"Where the fuck have you been!"

Before Mickey could say anything, a fist connected hard with his jaw, and the arm that had been crushing him against the wall dropped away, and he slumped to the floor in pain.

His father bent over and began to completely pummel him.

Mickey did the best he could to protect his head from his father's blows, using his arms to shield himself from the unrelenting punching and kicking. He could smell the whiskey on his father's breath and clothes, potent and strong. He didn't dare fight back. He knew there was no use in doing so. He just laid there and took it as his dad unleashed his fury on him.

"Disrespect me! Disobey me! Who the hell do you think you are!" his father roared between hits. "This'll teach you to go against me!"

When his father had finally had enough, the old man spat on Mickey and walked away grumbling obscenities under his breath, leaving his youngest son battered and curled in the fetal position in the hallway, his arms still shielding his head as hot tears rolled down his cheeks.

Next to his ear, he vaguely heard and registered the faint ticking coming from Ian's watch, and he allowed himself to take some comfort in that at least, as he teetered on the edge of unconsciousness.