A/N: Chapter 52 was originally going to be the last one, but because it is so long, I'm splitting it into two chapters. It makes more since as two separate ones anyway. BUT the next one will be the end of this mammoth story.
Chapter Fifty-two: Breakdown
Ian honestly hated coming to remembrance ceremonies in Washington, DC. For the last two years he had been attending them begrudgingly. He didn't like putting on his old uniform. Didn't like speaking on the podium. Didn't like the metals they gave him. Didn't like to think about his past, period. Coming to these fucking things made forgetting entirely too difficult.
Sitting in his car, in a huge line of traffic going into a tunnel, Ian tried his hardest to not be late for the ridiculous ceremony. He was fuming. He hadn't even made it to check in to his hotel and put on the uniform. He was still in cargo shorts and flip-flops. Ian turned on the radio, then flipped it back off because he hadn't liked listening to the song currently playing since his junior year in high school. The song reminded him too much of sex with Mickey. Another thing Ian couldn't bare was thinking about Mickey Milkovich. He sighed an put his face closer to the air-conditioner.
Mickey had been missing for two years now, since going on the stand against Julio. Since witness protection. It was hard for Ian to think on the fact that he would never see Mickey again. Besides Mandy, Ian had taken Mickey's disappearance the worst. Mickey's being gone kept Ian up at night. Not always, but usually. Ian wondered what Mickey's new life was like. If he ever thought about Ian or anyone else back in Chicago. Probably. Ian figured it was just as difficult for Mickey, being gone. Maybe worse because Mickey hated dealing with authority; hated being on the radar. With Mickey's life the way it was now, Ian imagined that Mickey was probably miserable. After all, Mickey was likely having to watch every move he made. Ian sort of knew what went into being under the witness protection program. Knew the US Marshals watched every breath a persona took. Mickey was having to live straight edge, no doubt. That was hard for Ian to picture. But he hoped it was true because the alternative was a scary thought. The alternative being that Mickey had broken too many of the program's strict rule and had been thrown out. If that were the case, Mickey was either in hiding of his own accord or dead. Ian hated thinking about Mickey. It hurt too much. So he tried to block out his thoughts by taking deep breaths.
This traffic was driving him mad.
All of this time and Ian's thoughts and hurt over Mickey had not improved much. Kind of like before. But this time the pain was worse. Because Ian and Mickey hadn't parted in anger. And worse was that this time Ian didn't wonder if he loved Mickey. He knew he did. That was the most awful part about Mickey's disappearance. Unlike the last time Ian lost Mickey, this time he wasn't able to let go, probably ever, because he knew.
Finally the line he was in moved enough to satisfy Ian. He made it to the edge of the tunnel and the flow halted again.
"Damn it!" Ian yelled, slamming his hands on the steering wheel. Trying to control himself, Ian put his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. Someone could just honk at him when they moved again. Not long after settling down, Ian sat up to the sound of his car beeping at him. He frowned and looked down at the dash. Gasping and eyes wide, Ian watched his coolant gauge shoot up. Damn if his car wasn't overheating! Quickly, he turned it off to halt the process. Unfortunately it was around that time that the traffic moved. All around him people were honking.
Frantic, Ian restarted his car, cursing the impenitence and lack of sympathy from those around him. As soon as the car started the gauge was on the rise again. He groaned and punched the gas, hoping that his engine didn't explode before he could pull off to a safe area. His luck picked up when Ian managed to pull off, right after leaving the tunnel, the the side of the road. Staring out at the hood of his smoking car, Ian went ballistic, beating the dash angrily until some of his rage settled.
Looking around him, Ian realized that he was in a terrible spot to receive help from a tow truck. Growling, Ian reached into the middle console and grabbed his cellphone. He dialed the operator and dug around his glove box for a pen and something to write on. He found only a pen and rushed to jot on his hand the first four tow company number that the automated operator on the other line rattled off. He hung up and began trying for help. Ian went through all of the numbers and it wasn't until the last one that he reached someone. Someone would be there to pick him up in an hour because of all of the events currently going on, the woman he spoke with informed him. Ian huffed. An hour where he was forced to sit in his car waiting, miles away from a public restroom. And he had just downed a rather large bottle of water not a hour before hand.
He reached down to at least turn the air-conditioning on, but was sorely disappointed to discover that his battery had apparently died. And all because he had forgotten about turning his lights on in the tunnel.
Ian laughed bitterly, sweating bullets.
Two hours and twenty minutes later, bladder about to burst, Ian was thrilled to see a tow truck pulling around. As he had expected, the tow truck driver had a difficult time figuring out a way to get to Ian without holding traffic up worse. Eventually they figured it out. With one problem solved, there was now the matter of finding an auto shop. Apparently there were few and far between in this area, and the towing fee was quite hefty, so Ian didn't want to venture far on his budget. So the company Ian ended up being towed to, the closest one, was more than a little rough around the edges. Which wasn't a problem for Ian, who was used to rough neighborhoods and sketchy buildings.
After being dropped off, Ian practically ran from the tow truck. He paid the driver and turned around to speak with the head mechanic of the rundown shop. The man was average height and build and looked a little like Eddie Murphy. He shook Ian's hand and asked the regular questions about what Ian's car was doing. Ian figured his bladder was about to rupture as he stood there by his dead car, to the left of a rusted metal fence that housed piles of car parts and junk vehicles. Once he had finished briefing the mechanic on the car details, Ian asked if there was a restroom somewhere.
"Nah," the mechanic, whose name was Derick, shook his head, "but the cafe next door has one." He pointed to the building attached to the shop. Ian glanced at the place once, thanked Derick, and made a beeline into the cafe.
The inside of the cafe left much to be desired. Three mismatched tables littered the place, the counter was home to a slouched over mailman munching on a barbeque plate and soda. Ian spotted the bathroom in the far left corner, behind two running floor fans. He rushed inside. Once in, he saw that there was another door in the pitiful excuse for a bathroom. One to the kitchen, where he could hear the dishwasher running and muffled voices. He hurried to get back to the shop and see if they had began looking at his car. He figured not, though, given that he had all but just gotten there. But he hoped. On his way out, he stood before the two fans, relishing in the cool air before going back out into the scorching late May heat wave.
As he slid between the buildings and a line of cars, Ian stepped into a deep puddle of muck and cursed. With one of his flip-flops soaked, Ian trudged back into the garage for the auto shop, in search of Derick. He found the man standing with two other mechanics near the hood of a Volvo. Ian tapped Derick on the shoulder. Derick turned around, face friendly.
"Have you had a chance to look at my car?" Ian asked. He didn't want to seem like a jackass in a rush, so he followed with, "I figure you haven't gotten around to it yet. It's just that I'm supposed to be at the remembrance service, and I also need to let my hotel know how late it will be before I arrive."
Derick wetted his lips and looked out past Ian to the parking lot across the street. He pointed in the direction and Ian followed the man's finger to the car in the distance. "You're up next," he told Ian. "If your hotel isn't far," Derrick continued, "you could take the Metro and go on to check in. Maybe we'll have some news for you by then."
Ian sighed, regretfully smiling. "My hotel is all the way in Laurel, Maryland," he informed, rubbing the back of his neck. He was drenched in sweat and his clothes stuck to him horribly. "The Metro stops five miles shy of it,he finished saying.
The mechanic furrowed his brow and told Ian that was a shame.
"Yeah," Ian said, pulling on his shirt to fan himself. "I'll just have to cancel," he grumbled, looking now at his watch. He had only twenty minutes before his check in time. No way could he make it. At least if he canceled now, he could get his money back and put it toward a closer range hotel.
Ian turned away from the mechanic, peering out of the garage to the distance. The ceremony was long since started. He guess he would just have to miss this one. And there wasn't really a way to let anyone know he wasn't going to be speaking. Oh well. He sighed and plopped down on the bench near the office door, thanking the mechanic before pulling out a cellphone and calling to cancel his hotel reservation. In retrospect, Ian should probably have called around and booked another room first. He wished he had because damned if everything wasn't booked solid.
Ian pulled at his hair, slamming his phone down beside of him on the bench. Growling lowly, he crossed his arms and stretched out. He surveyed the garage and saw Derrick coming his way and cleaning his hands on a greasy towel. The old man raised his brows at Ian and asked if Ian had had any luck finding a room.
Ian huffed and drooped himself over his knees. The sun had gone down some, so he wasn't quite as hot now. But still sticky with dirt and sweat. His right foot caked with mud. He looked up at Derrick and frowned. "None," Ian said, then sighed out, "And I've already canceled the other room."
Derrick whistled. "The festival and some rally are going on right now," he commented. "At's probably why. Plus that ceremony you mentioned," he finished and tucked his hands in his pockets.
Ian looked down at his feet and pursed his lips. Bitter at his luck, he griped, "Guess I can sleep in my damn car."
Laughing lightly, Derrick pointed to his office. "You're having some luck, ain't you?" he chuckled. "You can use the computer if you'd like," he began. "Might find something that's not listed in the books."
Ian brightened a bit with hope. Ten minutes later, sitting in the torn computer chair at Derrick's desk, Ian felt a rush of relief. He had found and booked a room at a Holiday Inn right smack in the middle on the city. Fortunate for him, someone had not shown up and the room had only just opened up when Ian called.
It was almost nine o'clock at this point, and Ian figured, since they hadn't even gotten around to looking at his car yet, he may as well come back in the morning. So he hoofed it three blocks to the underground Metro and only ended up getting lost twice trying to find his hotel.
