After finishing their stale sandwiches, Mickey and Ian ceased all conversation, neither of them having anything else to say to each other, not that they had much to talk about, to begin with.

Mickey had moved to the floor hours earlier. He slept with his back against the dirty wall and legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles.

Ian watched Mickey hatefully; he looked relatively peaceful and content while committing a class X felony.

He sighed and wiggled in the chair a bit, trying to get comfortable even while knowing his efforts were futile. Even though he was beyond tired, he knew he wouldn't get much sleep. Not only did his entire body ache from being stuck in the same position for hours, but Mickey was snoring louder than a freight train. Ian used to think Lip's snores were the worst.

A flashlight at Mickey's side and the moonlight barely peaking in through the dusty windows provided the only light in the place, so Ian was cold and exhausted, tied to a chair in the middle of near darkness. He was also sure he'd heard bats flying around above his head minutes before.

He groaned and struggled against his restraints once again, knowing it was a lost cause even as he did so; the rope only seemed to dig into his wrists more.

It didn't surprise Ian that Mickey Milkovich knew how to tie a knot. He wondered how many people Mickey and his brothers had kidnapped in the past. Ian knew of the Milkoviches. They were a bunch of heartless and hateful criminals. He wasn't stupid; he understood he was in a dangerous situation.

"Fuck," he cursed into the darkness when the reality of his situation fully hit him.

"What the hell are you mumblin' over there?" Mickey groused. "Go to sleep."

Ian jumped as Mickey's gruff voice pierced the quiet. "I can't sleep," he admitted after a pause. "Not in this chair. My back is stiff, and my wrists are throbbing."

"Not my fuckin' problem," Mickey spat. "Keep your mouth shut."

"Can you at least loosen the ropes?"

"No."

"Come on," Ian pleaded. "Don't be a dick."

Mickey lifted his head from the wall, aimed the flashlight in Ian's face, and stared at him blankly. "What the fuck do you take me for, an idiot? You really think I'd loosen your ropes? You're outta your damn mind."

"Come on, Mickey," Ian all but begged. "Just loosen 'em a little. My circulation is bein' cut off. I can't feel my fingers!"

"No fuckin' way."

"You have the gun!" Ian bellowed. "I'm not goin' anywhere, trust me."

"I can trust you about as far as I can throw you," Mickey said, his brows raised.

"Says the guy holdin' me at gunpoint," Ian muttered under his breath.

"Go to sleep."

"I already told you! I can't!"

"Do I gotta get you a fuckin' muzzle?"

Ian released an exasperated sigh and rolled his neck back and forth, trying to work out the kink forming there. "Fine, if you wanna be a dick, then I'll be a dick. I can talk all night."

Mickey lifted the gun and aimed it at Ian before cocking it. "Try me."

Ian opened his mouth to say more before deciding against it.

"Go to sleep," Mickey said, hesitating before lowering the gun back to the ground and closing his eyes.

Ian sighed again and remained quiet for a few minutes before deciding to walk on the wild side. "I'm not gonna run, alright? I wouldn't do that. I know how fucked up your family is. I wouldn't do something stupid like that and put my own family in danger. Loosen the ropes, just a little. That's all I'm asking." He paused before adding, "Please?"

Mickey groaned and muttered a few obscenities under his breath before standing up. "You're a demanding fucker, aren't you?" he snarled as he walked behind Ian and loosened the rope; not a lot, but enough to take some pressure off. "I dunno who the hell you think you are."

"Thanks," Ian mumbled as he wiggled his numb fingers to get some feeling back.

"Now, can I go back to sleep?" Mickey asked, waving the gun to the side with his brows arched in annoyance.

"Yep, all good now. Thanks," Ian said with faux sweetness, a sarcastic grin stretching across his freckled face.

Mickey's brows slowly lowered as he regarded Ian warily. "Wipe that smile off your face before I wipe it off," he said, though his words didn't hold that certain edge he'd wanted them to. He walked back to his former spot and slid down the wall to the floor.

After a few moments of silence, Ian said, "I don't think you're as tough as you want everyone to think you are."

"Jesus Christ," Mickey hissed while pinching the bridge of his nose. "Do you ever shut the hell up?"

"No."

"Do I have to break your arm or some shit to get you to realize I ain't fuckin' around here?"

Ian pursed his lips and looked towards a window. Even though he didn't think Mickey would break his arm, he didn't want to take that chance.

Mickey watched him for a few seconds with arched brows until he was sure Ian wouldn't say anything else. He tucked the gun and flashlight next to him before resting his head back, intent on getting at least a bit of sleep. Kidnapping someone was exhausting, especially a rambling, sarcastic, demanding fucker like Ian Gallagher.

"Mickey?" Ian asked after about five minutes, pulling Mickey from his light slumber.

"What the fuck now, Orphan Annie?"

"What if I have to piss?" Ian asked. "Are you gonna hold my dick for me?"

Something inside Mickey snapped then. He didn't know why, but before he realized what he was doing, he shot to his feet and lunged at Ian. He grabbed Ian roughly by the throat. He pressed his face an inch from Ian's, their breathing unsteady, hot, and mingling as they stared each other down.

"Don't ever say shit like that to me again, you got it?" he warned through gritted teeth.

Ian glared up at him with an intense stare, his Adam's apple bobbing hard against Mickey's hand, and slightly nodded his head in understanding.

"Good," Mickey spat before removing his hand from around Ian's neck, noticing that he'd left marks on Ian's skin. He walked back to his spot and slid down the wall to sit on the floor.

Ian said nothing else for the rest of the night.

Mickey grunted and squeezed his eyes shut, the backs of his eyelids painted orange. He stretched his legs and arms out before blinking his eyes open. He squinted against the sunlight pouring in through a clear spot in the window.

"Fuck," he muttered as he struggled to stand up on sore legs. He gripped his aching lower back and snuck a look over at his captive. He stilled a bit as he watched Ian sleep. Ian sat uncomfortably slumped in the chair, his head bent forward, chin to chest. Despite the awkward position, Ian looked peaceful and innocent.

Mickey looked away and roughly rubbed his bleary eyes before reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone. "What the fuck," he swore under his breath when he saw there were no calls from his brothers or father. How long did they expect him to wait there with the stupid kid?

He walked to the cooler and grabbed a sandwich and a Coke. "Breakfast of fuckin' champions," he muttered to himself. He sat down in the empty chair and ate his meal in silence, occasionally sneaking glances in Ian's direction.

Ian stirred a short while later, groaning and grunting as he struggled weakly against his restraints. He looked around with tired eyes, realization dawning on him as he remembered where he was.

"Rise and fuckin' shine, Cinderella," Mickey grumbled around his mouthful of food.

Ian's eyes landed on him. He glanced away quickly, his eyes glistening as he realized it hadn't all been a nightmare.

Mickey thickly swallowed his food, hating the guilty feeling in his gut that wouldn't go away, no matter how badly he wanted it to. After an awkward silence, he asked, "You want somethin' to eat? We only have bologna left, so take it or leave it."

Ian said nothing as he fought back his emotions.

"You want it or not?"

Ian remained silent.

Mickey sighed and rubbed the corner of his mouth with his thumb. He'd never met anyone in his life more stubborn than Ian Gallagher. He then wondered why he was even pushing so hard to get the kid to engage with him.

"K, no food. How about a drink?"

"I don't want anything from you," Ian snapped.

"Oh, so you can speak?"

"Yeah," Ian retorted. "Fuck you."

Mickey raised his brows, thinking the kid had some balls. After a brief staredown, his eyes dropped to Ian's neck. He immediately felt bad about the bruises on Ian's pale skin. He didn't know what had gotten into him the night before. He'd planned on intimidating the guy with a gun, but he hadn't intended to put his hands on him.

"You gotta eat something, man," he said. Not wanting Ian to think he cared too much, Mickey quickly added, "We have to keep you alive if we want our money. You're already skinny as shit. We can't have you wastin' away."

"I could kick your ass in a fight," Ian said before turning his intense green eyes on him. "Untie me, and let's duke this out, man to man. No fuckin' guns."

Mickey smirked before walking over to the cooler to grab a sandwich. He approached Ian, unwrapped it, and said, "Eat."

"I don't want it!"

"Fine," Mickey retorted, tossing the sandwich back into the cooler. "I ain't gonna argue with you. Starve for all I care."

"You don't care about anything, do you?" Ian challenged. "Why are you even doin' this? I've never done shit to you."

Mickey ignored his questions and walked to the window to scope out the deserted area outside.

"Answer me, Mickey!" Ian shouted. "Don't you have a sister? Her name's Mandy, right? She's in my grade. What would she think about all this?"

Mickey turned to face Ian with a menacing expression. "Don't bring my sister into this, asshole. She doesn't need to be involved in any of this shit. I told you, I ain't gonna hurt you, so calm the fuck down."

"Not hurt me, huh?" Ian's voice wavered, and his eyes glistened with tears. "Is that why you almost choked the shit outta me last night?"

"Shut up," Mickey retorted, pinching his nose. "Please."

"Let me go," Ian begged, his voice trembling despite his earlier bravado. "I'll run away, okay? I'll go to New York, or California, or wherever, and you won't ever have to see me again. You can always kill Frank. No one needs him, anyway."

"Please, shut the fuck up!" Mickey exclaimed.

Ian bit his lower lip and glanced away, looking and feeling hopeless at the moment.

"Look, I don't have a choice in this, alright?" Mickey said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Even if I wanted to let you go, which I don't, I fuckin' can't."

Ian shook his head gently and released an exasperated puff of air.

Mickey sighed before walking over to him, stopping a few feet away. He scratched his temple and hesitated before saying, "Alright, look, I didn't mean to choke you like that last night. You talk too fuckin' much, and I snapped."

Ian kept looking away. A tear escaped and ran down his cheek, and it pissed him off that he couldn't reach up and wipe it off. The last thing he wanted was for Mickey Milkovich to see him cry.

"No one is gonna hurt you." Mickey watched as Ian turned his head and looked up at him. "Alright?"

"Cut the bullshit, Mickey. You think I'm just some dumb kid, but I'm not," Ian said. "You say that you won't hurt me, but what's gonna happen when Frank doesn't come through with the money, huh? What are your brothers or dad gonna do to me then?"

Mickey stared at Ian, not knowing how to answer that. Any other time, he couldn't care less about what his dad or brothers did to a captive, but that time (for a reason he couldn't fully grasp), he wondered what they would do if it came down to it. He didn't like the unexpected uneasiness that settled in the pit of his stomach at the thought.

Just then, the phone in his pocket vibrated. He reached inside to retrieve it, all the while keeping his eyes locked on Ian.

"What?" Mickey barked into the phone.

"Yo, it's Ig."

"The fuck's goin' on?"

"Pops got the word out to Gallagher. Now we're waitin' to hear back," Iggy said. "We're givin' him two days to get the money to us."

"What the fuck are we s'posed to do 'til then?" Mickey asked before letting his eyes drop to Ian's chest and watching as it rapidly rose and fell with his shallow breaths.

"One of us is gonna have to stay with him," Iggy said. "Want me to swing by and keep the little shit company for a few hours? I can rough him up a bit to keep his pasty ass in check."

"No," Mickey said while itching the side of his head with the barrel of the gun. "Nah, I'll stay with him. I got shit under control."

"Aight, suit yourself," Iggy said. "I'll keep you posted if shit changes."

"Yeah, bye," Mickey spat before breaking off the call. He slipped the phone into his pocket and focused his attention on Ian. "Frank knows about you. He has until Wednesday to come up with the money."

"Two days, huh?" Ian asked before chuckling mirthlessly, knowing deep down that Frank could never come up with that kind of money, and also knowing Frank wouldn't even try to come up with it.

Mickey looked away, not liking the glum expression on Ian's face. When did he become so fuckin' soft? He didn't know what it was about the guy that made him give a shit; all he knew was that he hated it. When the silence dragged on for too long, Mickey rubbed a hand down his face and asked irritably, "You gonna eat?"

"I already told you," Ian retorted. "I'm not hungry."

"Whatever, man," Mickey groused. "I ain't gonna beg you to eat."

"Good, then don't."

Mickey shook his head. "Stubborn little shit."

"I do gotta piss, though," Ian said. "I've been holdin' it for hours now. It fuckin' hurts."

"I ain't holdin' your dick for you," Mickey said as he walked behind Ian and reluctantly untied him. "Remember, try anything stupid, and I won't hesitate to shoot you."

Once Mickey relieved him from his restraints, Ian brought his hands around to inspect them and rubbed at the sore welts that encircled his wrists.

Mickey stared down at the offensive marks and swallowed thickly. He then watched as Ian stood up on wobbly legs. He felt like a dick and looked away.

He was no stranger to doing his dad's dirty work; he'd been doing it for a few years. Mickey was used to roughing up and holding men twice his age hostage until his dad got what he wanted out of them. Ian was the youngest captive Mickey had ever had to deal with. He knew that was most likely the only reason he had reservations about the whole situation; it had to be the only reason. Mickey knew he had to get the fuck over it fast.

"There, uh, there's a bucket right over there," he grumbled, pointing to the gray bucket in the corner. "You can piss in that."

"God forbid if I gotta poop," Ian muttered, which earned him an amused look from Mickey behind his back. He took the bucket across the room for privacy and emptied his bladder. "Christ, this feels so fuckin' good. I've never had to piss so bad in my life."

Mickey rocked back and forth in place for a minute, feeling awkward in the situation. He snuck a sideways glance in Ian's direction before looking away quickly. "Can you not fuckin' moan while you do that?" he groused before walking back to the window.

When Ian finished peeing, he walked back to the chair and sat down. "I'm done. You can tie me back up now."

Mickey glanced at Ian over his shoulder before sighing heavily despite himself. "Look, I don't gotta tie you up again yet. Walk around and stretch out or whatever." He locked eyes with Ian and immediately looked away. "Just remember: try anything stupid, and I'm done playin' nice," he added on for good measure.

"Yeah, you said that already," Ian said before smiling faintly, "but thanks."

"Don't thank me," Mickey retorted. "As soon as one of my brothers pull up, I'm tyin' your ass back up."

"Right," Ian said, still smiling a little. "We wouldn't want anyone to think you've gone soft."

"Don't get cute, shithead," Mickey snapped. "Soft is the last thing I am." He realized those were a terrible choice of words as soon as they left his mouth, but it was too late to take them back.

Ian turned and walked over to the cooler to grab a sandwich.

"I thought you said you weren't hungry?"

"I lied."

"Asshole," Mickey grumbled under his breath.

As he turned to light up a cigarette a few seconds later, he realized he was smiling a little too.