Ian sat on the dirty floor, grateful to at least get to stretch his legs out. He was sitting back against a column, mindlessly throwing chunks of concrete across the room, causing the sounds to echo throughout the large space.

Meanwhile, Mickey stood at the window as he had been for the past forty-five minutes, impatiently waiting for a call from his brothers. With every minute that passed with no news, he was getting more anxious and pissed off.

"Do you mind, asshole?" he eventually asked. "You're givin' me a goddamn headache with that shit."

"I'm bored. Don't got shit else to do," Ian said before tossing another rock that made Mickey cringe. "You could've at least brought some magazines. You know, something to pass the time, maybe?"

Mickey turned around, giving Ian an annoyed look. "This ain't leisure time, asshole," he retorted. "Be thankful your ass isn't tied up." He caught Ian's eyes and glanced away with a sigh, feeling that unwanted pull in the pit of his stomach again. After a moment, he walked over to Ian and sat beside him, but not too close. He bent his legs and draped his wrists over his knees, his trusty gun still in hand.

Ian bit his lower lip and snuck a sideways glance at him. "Hey, um, would it be too much to ask for you to let me call my sister?"

Mickey looked at him, brows raised. "You serious? Yeah, sure, call your sister so you can tell her everything," he snapped before saying, "I wasn't born yesterday, asshole."

"I won't tell her where I am or who I'm with," Ian said, giving Mickey the scout's honor. "I swear."

"Fuckin' boy scout, huh?" Mickey muttered.

"Please?"

"Forget it, I Love Lucy," Mickey retorted. "No can do."

"I Love Lucy?" Ian asked with a smirk and a playfully arched brow. "Really?"

"Fuck off," Mickey said, unable to stop the amused smirk from tugging at the corner of his mouth. He reined that shit back in; the last thing he needed was to fall victim to the asshole's stupid charm.

"I don't want her to worry," Ian continued with a sigh, unaware of Mickey's internal struggle. "She has enough shit to deal with as it is. She doesn't need to worry about me."

Mickey eyed Ian warily, wondering why he was even considering the ridiculous request. "Jesus. You can make one phone call, and I'm only givin' you two minutes, so make it quick. If you say anything about where you are or who you're-"

"Relax, I won't," Ian interjected.

Mickey surprised Ian by hesitantly reaching into his pocket and handing him the cheap phone. "Make it quick," he warned, "and don't use up all my minutes."

Ian took the phone and flipped it open before frowning down at it. "How do I even use this thing? It's fuckin' ancient."

"It's a phone. The fuck's it matter?"

"Was it the first phone ever invented?"

"You gonna use it or not, dickhead?"

Ian laughed as he dialed the familiar number. Debbie picked up after the third ring. He immediately slumped, his emotions running rampant. "Debs?"

"Ian, hey!" Debbie exclaimed. "Where are you?"

Ian snuck a tentative glance at Mickey, who kept a watchful eye on him. "Uh, I stayed over at a friend's house," he lied. "Is Fiona there?"

"Yeah, hold on!" Debbie said. Thirty seconds passed (in which Mickey gave Ian the wrap-it-up signal) before Fiona was on the line, sounding breathless. "Hello?"

"Fiona," Ian breathed. He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the wall. It took everything in him not to blurt it all out as soon as he heard her voice. "I wanted to let you know I'm fine. I won't be around for a few days, and I can't say why right now, but I'm alright, okay? Don't worry about me."

Mickey watched him, a bit in awe at the affection with which Ian spoke to his sister. He vaguely knew of the Gallagher family (how they were just as fucked up as his own most of the time), but they seemed to care about each other, unlike his own.

"Why can't you tell me where you are?" Fiona asked before screaming at Carl in the background.

"I just can't," Ian said, hoping Fiona wouldn't ask too many questions. "I wanted to call and tell you I'm stayin' with a friend and not to worry. Do you trust me?"

"I trust you," Fiona said, sounding unsure. "Okay, well, I'll see ya in a couple days, then?"

Ian nodded against the phone even though she couldn't see him, his eyes brimming with tears. He blinked rapidly, refusing to cry. "Yeah, two days," he said, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible for Fiona's sake.

"Be careful," Fiona said, still sounding skeptical. "Love ya."

"Love you too," Ian said before skimming his thumb over the end button. He handed the phone back to Mickey as he forced back his tears. "Thanks for that."

"Yeah, whatever," Mickey muttered, his fingers brushing against Ian's as he took the phone. He quickly pulled his hand away at the unexpected spark he felt in the simple touch.

Ian lifted his eyes to meet Mickey's, his brows furrowed the slightest bit. Apparently, he'd also felt something when they touched.

The sound of a car door slamming shut echoed outside. After a moment of stupefied hesitation, Mickey and Ian shot to their feet and scrambled to get to the chair.

"Fuck!" Mickey cursed as he busily attempted to retie Ian's hands with fumbling fingers before his brothers could walk in. If they knew he'd allowed Ian to roam free and let him use his phone, he'd have a lot of explaining to do. Luckily, just as Iggy and Colin appeared, Ian was right as they'd left him.

"What's up, assholes?" Colin walked over to Ian and gripped his chin roughly. He tipped Ian's head back and inspected the red marks around his neck. "Nice," he said with a nod of approval before bringing his hand back and slapping Ian hard across the face for good measure.

"Hey, what the fuck!" Mickey exclaimed, taking a defensive step forward before immediately halting when he realized what he was doing.

Colin scowled at Mickey over his shoulder. "You got a fuckin' problem?"

Mickey rubbed a shaky hand over his mouth as his eyes fell on Ian, who grimaced in pain, his lower lip split open. "I roughed him up enough last night, asshole! Chill the fuck out!"

"There's no such thing as too roughed up," Iggy pointed out with a suck of his teeth. "When did you turn into such a little bitch?"

"This shit is with his dad, alright?" Mickey exclaimed. "As long as the shithead is doin' what he's told, we don't touch him. Got it?"

Colin sneered. "Who the fuck put your stupid ass in charge?"

"Step away from the fuckin' kid."

"Why the hell do you care?" Colin asked with a scowl. "You're usually all for roughin' someone up. What the fuck gives?"

"He's a kid," Mickey reasoned, wishing Colin would drop the subject. "I already roughed him up enough! You see the marks around his neck, don't you?"

"Fuckin' pussy," Colin muttered under his breath as he turned away from Ian, spitting on the ground at Ian's feet as he did so.

Mickey visibly relaxed and let out a shaky exhale once his brother turned his back.

Iggy stepped forward to break the tension. "Still no word from Frank, but we wanted to stop by and drop off some food and water for you. We also brought you a blanket. Temps are s'posed to drop real low tonight."

"I couldn't care less if you froze your fuckin' nuts off, but shithead here insisted," Colin snapped as he lit a cigarette.

Mickey took the blanket and bag of food from Iggy with a grumbled, "Thanks."

"You're not feedin' the fag, are you?" Colin asked, smoke billowing from his mouth as he spoke. "He doesn't get to eat. Not until we get our money."

"Chill the fuck out," Mickey spat. "Don't worry about it. I have it under control."

Colin gave Mickey a baleful look before scoffing in disgust and turning to leave.

"Yo, don't mind Colin," Iggy explained once Colin was out of earshot. "He found out today his bitch has been bangin' that Mexican motherfucker over on Marquette."

"Fuck Colin," Mickey snarled. "I ain't worried about his ass."

Iggy looked back and forth between Mickey and Ian. "You sure you're good here with the kid, bro?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Mickey grumbled, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip, his eyes downcast.

"Aight, see ya," Iggy said before turning to leave. Before disappearing from view, he said, "Call me if you need anything."

Mickey stood in place until he heard the echoing sounds of two doors shutting and an engine revving. He turned to look at Ian once he heard tires peeling on gravel, finding Ian's head hung and blood dripping onto the front of his coat.

"Jesus Christ, Gallagher," he muttered before going over to him. "Hey," he said, placing a hand awkwardly on Ian's shoulder. "Hey, you good?"

"Don't touch me," Ian snapped, shaking off Mickey's hand.

Mickey retracted his hand as if he'd touched fire. "At least let me help you clean it up. You're gettin' blood all over the goddamn place."

"Leave me alone," Ian mumbled.

Mickey walked over to where the cooler was and grabbed a used paper towel. He dipped it into the melted ice in the cooler before walking over to Ian. "Here, let me fuckin' help," he said, awkwardly gripping Ian by the chin and tipping his head back. He dabbed the wet paper towel against Ian's split lip and gently wiped the blood away. Against his better judgment, he lifted his eyes to meet Ian's, and his hand stilled.

Ian's eyes were red-rimmed and sad as he stared up at him.

Mickey's chest inexplicably tightened as he stared back. He removed his hand from Ian's chin before turning his back to him and clearing his throat. He shuffled apprehensively before walking around Ian and untying the lazy rope knots. "You can, uh, you can clean it up yourself."

Ian took the paper towel Mickey handed him and gingerly wiped at his lip. "That brother of yours is a prick," he muttered after a tense silence.

Mickey said nothing to defend Colin because he knew it was true.

An hour later, Mickey and Ian sat side by side on the floor against the wall, still not too close, and stared straight ahead, neither of them saying anything for a long time.

Ian was the first to break the silence. "You know what the funny thing about all this is?" he asked. "Frank's not even my real dad."

With his head still resting against the wall, Mickey lazily averted his eyes to look at him.

"That's some fucked-up shit, isn't it?" Ian said with a mirthless laugh. "I'm bein' held for ransom, and he's not even my father. He doesn't care about his real kids. Why the hell would he give a shit about me?" He snickered before saying, "Prob'ly woulda been better off kidnappin' his booze."

Mickey watched as Ian picked at a thread on his coat, not knowing how to react to that. It seemed like the kid's luck was almost as rotten as his own.

After a pause, Ian asked, "I guess you know a thing or two about fucked-up dads, huh?"

"I don't wanna talk about my dad right now," Mickey warned. "Especially with you."

Ian looked over at him, watching as the pinks and oranges from the sunset outside shone in through the windows and brushed across Mickey's face. He had a passing thought that Mickey Milkovich was kind of beautiful. "What kinda dad makes his son kidnap someone and hold them hostage at gunpoint?" he asked. "I thought Frank was shitty."

"Look, don't act like you know a thing about my dad," Mickey snapped. He took in the startled look on Ian's face before continuing, "You wouldn't understand shit about my family, so don't act like you do."

"Considerin' my current situation, I think I got a pretty good idea of how your family works."

"Fuck off."

Ian laughed before shrugging deeper into his coat and biting the collar to steady his chattering teeth.

Mickey snuck a sideways glance at Ian. He hated himself for even asking, "You cold or something?"

"Well, it's the middle of October, and this place isn't insulated worth shit. This coat is a hand-me-down from Lip. He's my older brother." Ian looked down at his coat. "It's got, like, a dozen holes in it and doesn't keep me warm for shit."

"A simple yes would have been enough," Mickey snorted before reaching over and grabbing the threadbare blanket his brothers had dropped off. He tossed it on Ian's lap. "There, maybe now your fuckin' teeth will stop chattering, so I don't have to hear it all night."

Ian reluctantly took the blanket and draped it over himself. "Aren't you cold?"

"Nah. Unlike you, I can handle it," Mickey assured him. "I ain't a pussy."

"Right. I forgot," Ian said as he snuggled into the blanket, already feeling better. He snuck a furtive glance at Mickey, watching as he brought a cigarette to his lips and took a long drag. "Can I get a hit?"

"The fuck? My sandwiches ain't enough; now you wanna share cigarettes?" Mickey asked, his breath billowing out in puffs. He reluctantly handed the cigarette over with a smirk. "Don't get your fuckin' saliva all over it."

"I promise, I don't have cooties," Ian assured, playfully bumping his shoulder against Mickey's.

Mickey watched Ian's soft pink lips as he took a hit from the cigarette. He forced himself to look away. When Ian handed the smoke back to him, he took it without looking and brought it to his mouth. "Fuck, man, you slobbered all over it!" he exclaimed, waving his arms around dramatically.

Ian let out a genuine laugh and rested his head back against the wall, his eyes bright as he stared back at Mickey.

"Asshole," Mickey muttered around the cigarette, even though he wasn't that mad.

"So," Ian continued after his laughter subsided. "How come I don't see you around school anymore? You ever comin' back?"

"The hell did that come from?" Mickey asked, looking uncomfortable with the invasive question.

"I haven't seen you around school lately," Ian answered. "Just wonderin' if you were ever comin' back, is all."

"Yeah, well, you ask too many questions."

"I'm just curious." Ian shrugged. "Tryin' to make conversation, you know?"

"No, I ain't goin' back to school," Mickey retorted. "I'd still be a fuckin' freshman. I haven't passed a single class."

Ian shrugged again. "Still."

"I'm fucked for life anyway, so what's it matter?"

"Is shopliftin' and aggravated kidnappin' your only plans for the future, then?"

"Fuck you," Mickey spat, sending a baleful look in Ian's direction. "Why do you always gotta ruin everything by openin' your stupid mouth?"

"It was only a question."

"Oh, yeah?" Mickey asked, his brows furrowed. "Mind your fuckin' business."

"Look," Ian said with a sigh. "All I'm sayin' is that there's more to life than takin' care of your dad's dirty work."

"What did I say about you talkin' about my dad?"

Ian watched as Mickey took a long drag off his cigarette with an unsteady hand. "I think it's sad, that's all. If someone like me can grow up in that fucked-up neighborhood and still get out, I don't see why you can't."

"Good for you," Mickey snapped before looking at Ian disdainfully. After a tense pause, he asked, "What d'you mean, you got out?"

"Well, I'm not out yet, but I plan on attendin' West Point next year," Ian explained with a shrug, taking the proffered cigarette from him.

"West Point?" Mickey asked with a frown. "What, like, the Army?"

"Uh-huh," Ian said, inhaling the cigarette. On his exhale, he continued, "I'm determined, actually. I've been workin' on my grades and trainin' hard every day after school. I wanna be an officer."

"You wanna be an officer, huh?" Mickey asked. "Don't they usually get shot first?"

Ian smirked as he handed the cigarette out to him.

Mickey waved him off and glanced away before running a hand down his face. "Yeah, well, fuck you," he said, wondering why he was suddenly being so antagonistic but unable to stop the words from pouring out of his mouth. "Some of us are fucked for life, no matter what we do. Some of us don't get to live in fantasyland. We know what life hands us, and we don't try to change it because there's no fuckin' use."

"I'm just sayin' you-"

"Drop it, Gallagher," Mickey snapped. "What the hell do you think this is, the Dr. Phil show? You're lucky I'm even lettin' you live right now, let alone sharin' my cigarettes and food with you, so cut the sentimental bullshit. You don't know me, and I sure as fuck don't know you, so let's keep it that way."

Ian watched as Mickey stood and walked back to his spot by the window. "Don't get your panties in a bunch," he muttered into the blanket.

Mickey replied by shooting him the finger over his shoulder.