Frank is dead. Frank is dead. Frank is dead. Frank is dead. Ian couldn't process it. They had all knew it was coming, but they didn't think it would be just hours after he was up and moving around just fine. It was a fucking shock. He could feel Mickey staring at him as he washed the dishes in their apartment. The anniversary party was excellent, and Ian had been so damn happy. They had rushed home where Ian had given Mickey his present; well, it was more a present for both of them. He had their wedding photos, a copy of the certificate, and a preserved blue stargazer lily artfully put in a shadow box. It was now hung on their wall, surrounded by framed pictures of their families; granted, Mickey's family consisted of just Mandy.
The pain Ian felt in his chest made no fucking sense to him. He wasn't sad or hurt, or he shouldn't be. He didn't feel anger; he knew that for a fact, but he couldn't place the emotion he did feel. He wasn't sure what to do with the feeling. He looked up at the wall now covered with photos noticing there wasn't one of Frank. Ian wasn't sure there was supposed to be one. Ian scoffed to himself. Is he supposed to grieve a man who wasn't his father? A man who had hurt him and neglected him? He wasn't sure, but it seemed like he was. None of it made any fucking sense, but at least he hadn't cried. He was strangely numb until Mickey asked him if he was okay. Then that stupid emotion had bubbled in his chest. Fuck that.
"Time for bed," Ian said.
He grabbed Mickey, pressing hot kisses all over his neck, making him moan. "Fuck, Ian. Your dad just died, are you sure?"
Ian shoved him into the wall covering his body. "He's not going to ruin my fucking night." Ian pressed into Mickey, making sure there was no space between them. "It's been a year, baby." Ian caged Mickey's arms by his side. "I have so many plans for you tonight, and thinking of Frank Fucking Gallagher has no space here."
Mickey ached in the morning. Ian had kept his promise and did things to his body Mickey could not even describe. It's been 366 days since they promised to love each other no matter what; Mickey knew he would have loved Ian for the rest of his days no matter what, but he couldn't take his eyes off of the certificate. No one would ever be able to pull them apart. He looked at all the other photos on the wall with a slight upturn of his lips. Ian was such a sappy mother fucker; not that he could say anything, he planned an entire surprise party to celebrate. His chest ached as he thought about the devastating look on Ian's face when he thought Mickey had forgotten and didn't care, but the utter shock and joy on his face moments later made it worth it.
Mickey looked back to the room where Ian was sleeping, wondering what the day would bring. Ian had insisted that he didn't care that Frank was dead, but he knew his husband better than that. He wouldn't be as upset as Liam, but he would feel it more than the other siblings. Ian had always been soft; that is what Mickey loved about him. He had fallen in love with a sweet, soft marshmallow southside trash-talking mother fucker. He was an enigma, and Mickey loved it. He loved that his man was kind and soft but would rock someone's teeth right out of their skull if provoked. And the man oozed charisma. All in all, Mickey loved that man, and he knew him better than anyone else. That also meant Mickey knew he was hurting but would hide it until he can't anymore.
Mickey could hear Ian's alarm going off in the other room. Mickey expected to hear the bedsprings creak after it cut off as Ian rolled out of bed, but it was silent. Mickey silently slipped into the room and saw Ian sitting on the side of the bed, looking out of the window.
"You good, man?" Mickey called out from the door.
He could see Ian nod, but he didn't say anything. Mickey sighed; he knew he was in for a long day and probably a long week. He stepped around their bed, getting a good look at Ian's face. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but Ian's face was closed off.
"We going over to the house?" Mickey asked.
Ian raised an eyebrow, much like Mickey would have. "The fuck for?"
Mickey scratched his eyebrow. "I don't fucking know, to figure out what to do about Frank."
Ian took a deep, shuddering breath. "Why do I care? That's not my father."
Mickey swallowed. He was trying to reign in his temper because he knew Ian was hurting but of all the dumb-ass things to say. Mickey didn't expect that. "Really, Gallagher?"
Ian looked up sharply at Mickey. "What's that man ever done for me? Hurt me? Abandon me?"
"This woe's me shit ain't going to fly with me, buddy." Mickey spat. It was a fucking reflex. Mickey squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Come one, Gallagher, think of Liam. You want to be there for him, right?"
Ian shrunk in on himself, seemingly deflating. "Yeah, let me get dressed."
Ian knew what he was doing. He didn't particularly like it, but he knew what it was. He was forcing it down. He was lying to himself, saying Frank wasn't his dad, so he didn't have to hurt. Even if it didn't seem like it sometimes, Ian was self-aware. He knew what was going on, but he couldn't stop it. He also knew he would break eventually. He just hated that Mickey would have to be there to pick up the pieces.
The house was quiet, which Mickey had expected. Lip was sitting at the table with a coffee in his hand. He looked up when Ian and Mickey walked in but didn't say anything. Debbie had a sleeping Franny in her lap, but she was flipping through a magazine, sitting next to Lip. Ian ran his hands through his short red hair and marched upstairs.
He knocked on Liam's door before opening it. "Hey, bud. How are you?" Mickey was always astonished at the softness in Ian's voice when he was trying to comfort someone. He secretly wondered if it was fake.
Liam shook his head. "I'm not too upset about it."
Ian looked at him with a noticeable frown. "What do you mean?"
Liam pulled out a colored on piece of paper. "It was covid-19, but he wanted to die. I knew that." He handed the paper to Ian, who read over it.
Mickey could see the tears in Ian's eyes. "Where'd you get that, kid?" Mickey asked.
Liam shrugged. "It was with Franny's stuff."
Ian zoned in on the note and couldn't look away. It was funny, and he wanted to laugh, but his body would not work. His body would not listen, and Ian was beginning to panic. He was stuck, and he remembered every moment he had ever had with Frank. They were flashing before his eyes, and it felt like a whirlwind. The bad outweighed the good, but Ian was surprised how much good was there. He felt Mickey grab his shoulder, finally pulling him from his thoughts.
"Hungry?" Mickey asked.
Ian just shook his head no. It wasn't that he wasn't hungry, but more that he didn't think he could eat. His tongue felt like it was glued to the back of his teeth. It was almost as if he didn't know how to open his mouth anymore.
"Let's go see what Lip and Debbie have decided." Mickey grabbed Ian, pulling him to his feet.
Liam scoffed. "Yeah, sure."
Ian was pulled back to Monica's funeral. It was a sham, and Ian didn't want that for Frank. He didn't know how to vocalize that, but he had always felt wrong about Monica's funeral. He loved having a tombstone and having a place to go to visit if he ever wanted to. Not that he ever did, but it wasn't right. Frank and Monica were always floating from one place to another, so it would make more sense to let them float away in the wind. Permanently chaining to one place seemed unethical.
Then he thought of digging Monica up. He couldn't think of a reason to have to dig Frank up, but you never know. And he did not want to do that again. That was a shit show. He brushed up against Mickey as they stood in the kitchen. Ian felt like he'd never speak again, so he focused on Franny's sleeping face. He wondered how she would take it. They had bonded over the past few months, and the thought made Ian ache.
"You remember Monica's funeral?" Debbie asked.
Ian nodded, and Lip scoffed. Mickey obviously didn't since he was in Mexico.
"Why did we let that happen? It was stupid, and we even ended digging her back up." Debbie said with a frown. Mickey looked around, wondering if she was serious about digging up a body.
Lip laughed. "Bill insisted and paid."
"You dug up your mother?" Mickey asked.
"Not the first body we dug up either," Lip said with a smirk.
"What the fuck did you do that for?" Mickey noticed that Ian had not uttered one word since they came downstairs, making him uneasy.
"Fiona buried meth with her," Debbie said.
"And the dealer she stole it from was going to kill us." Lip finished for her.
Carl ambled up from the basement. He ran a hand through his messy hair. He pushed by Mickey to get to the coffee. "We going to go claim the body?" Carl asked as he poured his coffee.
"Should leave him there," Lip said, taking a sip of his coffee. "It would be good payback."
Mickey agreed with him but looked to Ian for his reaction when he didn't say anything. When he saw the sheer terror written on Ian's face, he tilted his head in question. What do you want? Why aren't you saying anything? He silently asked.
Ian nodded to Lip but didn't open his mouth. He couldn't force the words out of his chest.
"Nah, man, you cant do that. They put 'em in unmarked graves." Mickey reasoned with Lip.
So," Lip scoffed. "It's not like we need a place to visit him; we barely saw him when he was alive."
Mickey watched Ian's fists clench. His mouth opened like he was going to speak, but the words never came. He looked at Mickey, and his eyes were begging. Speak for me, Mick.
"No, you can cremate him, but don't leave him there." Mickey saw Ian nod, giving him reassurance that was the right thing to say.
"Butt out, Mickey." Lip spat, standing slowly. "This is our father. You don't have a fucking say."
Ian opened his mouth to yell back at Lip, but the words were not coming. He was terrified. What if he was never able to speak again? He did the only thing he could think of to get Lip's attention from Mickey and slammed his fist down on the counter. His hand and wrist throbbed, but it worked. At the same time, though, everyone was staring at him. So, he turned back to the sink, pretending to look out the window.
"Got nothing to say?" Lip said as he circled around the counter, but Mickey stopped him before he got to Ian.
"Easy there, Phillip." Mickey grabbed his shoulder, gently shoving him back. He didn't know what was going on with his husband, but he would have his back.
"Fuck off, Mickey." He tried to push past Mickey. "Are you going to let this fuck speak for you?"
Ian turned sharply, grabbing Lip by the collar and tossing him back. "Fuck off," He tried to say, but it didn't work. Ian clenched his jaw in frustration. He didn't understand what was happening. All of a sudden, he was so fucking exhausted. He felt like he could sleep for days, and that horrified him. It was just Frank. What was his deal?
"Lip, back off. He's gone all emo, again." Carl said with a teasing smirk on his face.
Ian felt a blush work up his neck. He didn't understand what was going on. He shoved past Lip and Mickey rushing outside. He stood on the back steeps gasping for breath.
"What the fuck?" He tried to say, but the sound never came. "Mick!" He tried to yell, but it was silent.
His heart was pounding in his chest, and he was gasping for air. He flopped down and tucked his head between his knees. When the door opened, he flinched but did not look up. He felt the person sit next to him and run a soothing hand up and down his back. It could only be Mickey.
"You good?" Mickey asked, knowing it was a stupid question.
Ian looked up. "No." he tried to say. His mouth made the motions, but the word did not come out.
"Don't push it. I don't know what this is, but fuck man, if your body doesn't want to talk, don't make it."
Ian rubbed the tears from his eyes. He was scared, and he didn't know what to do. "What if I never talk again?" There was still no sound, and the tears began to fall.
"Hey," He grabbed Ian's arm. "Hey, you're good. You are fine."
Ian dropped his head between his knees again. He felt like he was going to be sick. He could feel his stomach recoil, but there was nothing there. He hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours. Still, his mouth watered. He stood quickly and stumbled down the stairs. He fell to his knees and started to dry heave in the grass.
"Fucking hell." He heard Mickey say from behind him.
Ian sat back up, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. He actually felt a little bit better, but he was still so tired.
"Can we go home?" Ian was glad the words came out, even if it was just a whisper.
Mickey helped Ian to his feet. "Soon, but we need to figure out what to do with Frank first. If we leave up to them, he'll be in the mass grave by Monday."
Ian frowned, knowing Mickey was right. "Let his ashes float away in the wind," Ian muttered, but he knew Mickey understood.
"Alright, tough guy. Let's go tell them that, then we can go home. Maybe take a hot bath."
Ian gave Mickey a bright smile. He loved his husband, and no one could change that. Ian knew without a doubt Mickey would always have his back, just like Ian would have his.