A/N: Mother of fuck, I cannot seem to end this shortly. Just bare with me, people. Apparently this thing has a little more life left in it.
Chapter Fifty-three: Be There
Ian arrived back at the auto shop around ten o'clock, after stopping by the rally that was apparently going on near the Smithsonian Museums. Today he opted for as little attire as was legal, being as it was another melting day. And lathered himself in probably too much sunscreen. Yawning loudly as he crossed the street, Ian barely missed being hit by a motorcycle that appeared from nowhere. His heart was racing as he jumped out of the way and watched the fat biker speed away. Ian shook his head and walked into the garage. Derrick was at the entrance, puffing on a cigar. Ian waved the heavy smoke away from his face as he greeted the mechanic.
Excusing his manners, Derrick lifted his foot and put out the cigar against the heel of his shoe. He coughed a few times into his fist and then nodded at Ian. "You're car's all fixed up nice and new for you," he said, smiling.
Relief washed over Ian. He grinned, grateful. "What was wrong with it?" Ian asked, knitting his brow in curiosity.
Derrick shook his head. He informed Ian that he hadn't been the one to work on it. "You'll have to ask my guy who did her up," he said. With that, he pivoted a little and cupped around his mouth, yelling, "Aaron! Man's here to pick up the Prius!"
It was so loud in the garage that Derrick's yell might have gone unheard. Ian thought for a second that maybe it had, until he heard a clatter from the very back of the garage, around a corner. He peered, squinting a little as he watched the man who had worked on his car kick at the items he was struggling with. He couldn't hear much of what the guy was saying, but Ian could tell the stranger was cussing the rims. Ian looked him over as the man gave up, back still turned to Ian, and dug through his pockets, seconds later lighting a cigarette. Ian watched the smoke puff out around the man. And then the stranger turned. And Ian's heart stopped. His eyes zeroed in on the man's face. While Ian was soaking up every detail of the person walking toward them, the other mechanic was clearly not looking his way, was in fact hardly paying attention to where he was walking.
"You're gonna fall, bust your ass!" Derrick laughed.
Ian watched a smile creep across the face of Mickey Milkovich, who was starring at the ground while he walked. He still hadn't noticed Ian. Was now too focused on watching his footing, seeing as he almost tripped simultaneously with Derrick's words.
"Aye, fuck you, man," Mickey snapped, relaxed as he hopped over someone's legs while they changed oil in a truck. "Clean the hell up around here," he said, stepping only a foot away, "and we might have less accidents," Mickey emphasized, slowly raising his head, cigarette pointed in Derrick's face. Ian didn't miss how Mickey froze in place, face faltering.
Derrick was unaware. He slapped Mickey's hand out of his face. Rolled his eyes. "You're the one makes most of it," Derrick grumbled. "You got hands, mother fucker. You can clean," he laughed. Derrick looked at Ian and thumbed toward Mickey, smirking. "I only keep this asshole on because he's a damn good mechanic. He's awful company. Rude as hell," he teased, then added, "But guarantee you your car runs better than it did fresh out the store."
Hardly able to breathe as he stood there staring at Mickey, Ian fumbled for words. Mickey, however, appeared to suddenly gain composure. Mickey rolled his eyes, and dug through his pockets, pulling out Ian's car keys. He licked the corner of his mouth as he held them out to Ian. Ian thought he might have just lost totally mental capabilities in that moment. He stared hard at Mickey's mouth, where spit glistened a little on his lip. Mickey quickly thumbed his mouth, ridding himself of the saliva, as was habit. A nervous habit. Ian took the keys, swallowing hard.
Thankfully, a new customer pulled in before Derrick could look anymore confused by the interaction. His attention was pulled away, and Ian stood there in front of Mickey.
Mickey jerked his head toward the outside and turned, taking a drag from his cigarette. "Come on," he said casually, "and I'll show you what was wrong."
Ian blinked. He shook himself quickly and followed after Mickey. Unable to take his eyes off of Mickey, but also unable to decide where to stare, Ian took in Mickey's greasy jeans and gray v-neck t-shirt. The array of new ink on Mickey's forearms that Ian couldn't quite make out all of because of the angle he was looking from while walking. Mickey's messy black hair. The fact that Mickey had gained the muscle back that he had lost during his stressful stay in Chicago two years ago. The lack of beard. Even the dirt under Mickey's nails. Ian stared at that the longest for some reason, when the two of them approached his car. Mickey rested his hand on the hood, the other partially in his pocket as he stared at Ian.
Trying to collect his thoughts, Ian rubbed his temples and closed is eyes briefly. When he opened them back up, Mickey hadn't moved. He glanced over his face before holding eye contact. "How are you," Ian breathed, aware that he was probably making some sappy face.
Mickey shrugged, wetting his lips, then chewing at a piece of skin before turning his head to spit the flake. He went right back to looking at Ian. His face was oddly relaxed. Mickey raised his brows, told Ian he was doing all right, "For a fucking rat in a cage," he finished. "But okay, I guess" he said, shrugging again. Pausing for a minute, Mickey gave Ian a once over. "You?" he asked, eyes on Ian's neck.
"I'm. . .I'm okay," Ian half said, half laughed, but barely whispered. "You've been in Washington this whole time?" he couldn't help but ask. Needed to know. Could hardly contain his emotions. Wasn't sure what to settle for.
The older man shook his head, black hair blowing around a bit until a piece fell in his face. Ian liked Mickey with his hair a little longer. Truthfully had always wondered what it would have looked like. "They had me in Wyoming for about four months," Mickey said, licking his teeth, looking a little nervous and glancing around for a second. "But somebody recognized me. Sort of," he swished his hand, then frowned and pressed it back to the hood. "Asked if I was a relation to Terry Milkovich, so the marshal had me moved down south," he continued. "Lived in Texas until about six weeks ago," Mickey finished, eyes very obviously taking in Ian's face.
Ian hummed. "How was Texas?" he asked, scratching his bicep awkwardly.
"Sucked," Mickey spat, then hocked a luggy on the ground.
Ian stared at Mickey and tried but failed to fight the large grin that wiped across his face. "I miss you," Ian couldn't stop himself from saying. "Mandy misses you, too," he added, hoping to sound less desperate.
Ian watched Mickey's adam's apple bob as the ex-con looked down at Ian's feet and crossed his arms. Mickey searched for words, his mouth opening once then slowly closing. He sighed loud enough that Ian could hear it clearly. When he looked back up, Mickey's eyes darted about Ian's face again. Ian could tell Mickey felt uncomfortable with whatever he was thinking. "Yeah well," Mickey began voice low and uncertain, catching Ian slightly off guard, "I miss her, too," he admitted.
Honestly Ian was more than a little shocked. Then again, he had witnessed changes in Mickey during those months shared in Chicago. And anyone would mellow out after all that Mickey had gone through. Also Ian couldn't help but feel Mickey was inadvertently getting across that he also missed the redhead. But Ian wasn't sure if he was just being hopeful.
Suddenly the thought hit Ian that someone would find out Ian had found Mickey. As if reading his mind, Mickey snorted. "Right," Mickey said, wiping sweat from his head and then crossing his arms again, "so if one of my fucking bird watchers finds out you've made me, I'll have to move again."
Ian frowned. "Is that your way of telling me to leave?" he asked, chest aching, a knot in his throat.
Mickey licked his lip, tonguing his cheek slowly, his eyes calculating as he met Ian's eyes firmly. "No," he said. He uncrossed his inked up arms and sucked on his bottom lip, still holding Ian's gaze.
Ian's dick twitched and his heart jumped, a flow on relief heating him from the inside out. He hoped he wasn't blushing, but figured he was.
Mickey smirked a little, cocking his brow and looking off to the side. "What hotel are you staying at?" he asked Ian, looking at him point blank once more.
Taken aback, but happily so, Ian informed Mickey of his temporary whereabouts.
Mickey nodded. "Be there when I get off work," he said, then tossed Ian his keys.
Ian almost didn't catch them because he was too busy watching Mickey turn tail and jog across the street. He opened his mouth, furrowing his brow, then shook his head and stood up straight, and yelled after Mickey, "I don't know when that is!"
Mickey stopped dead center of the street and turned back around, a car whipped by him, blaring the horn. "Kiss my ass!" Mickey screamed at the car, flipping it off. He turned his attention back to Ian in the distance. "Seven!" he called harshly, then walked off into the garage, out of sight.
