Ian stopped outside the gate of the Gallagher home and looked up at the house with mixed emotions. On one hand, he couldn't wait to rush inside and scoop up every one of his siblings in his arms and hug them until they couldn't breathe. Fuck, he'd missed them. On the other hand, he wasn't ready for all the invasive questions and incessant drilling he knew would inevitably follow once all the hugs, kisses, slaps, and tears got out of the way.
Underneath all that, being back there, at that house, meant that his life without Mickey Milkovich would have to go on. He would have to move on and act as if Mickey didn't matter to him. He would have to pretend as if his entire world hadn't been tipped off its axis in the past two weeks; he didn't know how the hell he was supposed to do that.
As the mixture of emotions surged through him, he hesitantly pushed his way through the gate and made his way up the steps and into the house.
"Hello?" he called out when he stepped inside the foyer, pulling the beanie hat from his head and smoothing out his hair. "Guys? Fiona? Lip?" When he didn't get an answer, he frowned and shrugged out of his coat, tossing it over the back of the worn couch. He'd expected his siblings to bombard him as soon as he stepped foot inside and found that it disappointed him when it didn't happen. "Debs? Carl?"
He walked into the empty kitchen and glanced around, realizing nothing much had changed at all; even the sink full of dishes and piles of dirty laundry looked the same. He didn't know what he'd been expecting; he'd only been gone for two weeks, but it felt like a lot longer.
A thought occurred to him then, and he realized his family was most likely over at Kevin and Veronica's, where he'd instructed them to lie low until he got back. He sighed and ran a hand over his head, vaguely thinking about how badly he needed a haircut. Deciding to skip going to the neighbors to see his family, for the time being, he made his way up the stairs to his bedroom, intent on getting at least a bit of peace before all hell broke loose.
Just like the kitchen, everything in his room was exactly as he'd left it; his bed had even remained unmade. He flung himself forward onto the mattress and deeply inhaled his pillow. Fuck, he'd missed his shitty twin-sized bed. He flipped over onto his back and looked blankly up at the ceiling, at the familiar cracks and chips in the paint. As he stared, his vision blurred as the tears he hadn't wanted to cry spilled, anyway.
"Ian, what the fuck?"
Ian jolted awake and found Lip looming over him. Without a second's hesitation, he jumped up from the bed and engulfed his older brother in a suffocating hug. He exhaled shakily against Lip's shoulder and clung onto him for dear life.
"Shit, man, we've been so fuckin' worried about you," Lip said once they broke apart. "Where the hell have you been?"
Ian exhaled and rubbed a hand down his face. "Long story."
"Fuck that, tell me everything," Lip insisted. "You can't disappear for two weeks and not offer an explanation. Where the fuck were you? You call us every three days, you don't tell us shit."
Ian sat down on his bed, deciding to give Lip the vague details. "I was kidnapped."
"Yeah, I know," Lip retorted. "Fuck, man, by who?"
Ian sighed and gathered his thoughts before diving into a rushed synopsis. "Frank owed someone money, so they kidnapped me to get the money, but Frank, being the heartless asshole he is, didn't fuckin' care at all, so one of my… kidnappers helped me escape. We ran away for a couple weeks to collect the money. We did some pretty fucked-up and illegal shit, got the money, and then we came home."
"Holy shit," Lip breathed.
"Yeah."
Lip frowned and scratched the back of his neck as he tried to process and make sense of it all. "Who kidnapped you? And who have you been with for the past two weeks? I need to know these things, Ian. Christ!"
"Look, it doesn't matter anymore," Ian said tiredly, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and sleep for the next two days straight.
"The fuck it doesn't!"
"It's over, alright?" Ian sighed. "We got the money and everything should go back to normal now. I just wanna put this whole mess behind me if it's all the fuck the same to you."
Lip eyed him warily, not keen on dropping the topic but deciding not to push. Normally he loved pushing Ian's buttons (thrived on it, actually), but that time he figured he'd cut him some slack. "Alright, man, but don't expect Fiona to be fine with that answer. She's been a nervous fuckin' wreck since you've been gone. We practically had to hide out for the past two weeks, not knowing what the hell was going on."
"Where is everyone, anyway?"
Lip scratched his temple. "Fiona's at work, Liam is with Vee, Debs and Carl are at school—"
"School? What the fuck, Lip! I told you to keep them home," Ian snapped. "It wasn't safe for them!"
"We couldn't keep them from school without the fuckin' truancy officers or CPS getting involved," Lip said. "We couldn't risk that."
Ian bristled with irritation and shook his head curtly. He knew Lip was right; keeping Debbie and Carl out of school for two weeks would have definitely sent CPS their way. Shit, his ass should've been in school. He just hoped that wouldn't come back around and bite him in the ass.
"Fine, whatever, doesn't matter. Everything's cool now."
"Is it?" Lip asked, eyeing him warily. "You're sure about that? This is all behind you, just like that? We're not gonna have some psycho showin' up at our door demanding money?"
Ian thought about Mickey then (but really, it's not like he ever left his mind), wondering what he was doing at that moment, and if he had confronted his dad yet. He cleared his throat and looked down at his shaky hands.
"Yeah," he muttered. "It's taken care of."
Mickey hadn't gone home immediately. After leaving Ian and the motel behind (which had taken every ounce of willpower he had in him to not turn around and go back to him), he drove around Chicago aimlessly, chain-smoking cigarettes, his hands unable to stop shaking, and his eyes prickling with unshed tears he refused to succumb to.
He hadn't wanted to leave Ian like that, but he knew it would make it easier. He didn't think he'd be able to leave him face to face, so he'd done it while he was sleeping. It had probably been the pussy way to do it, but it was the only way he could do it. He'd left Ian with the phone and some cash so he could easily get home. He figured it was the least he could do for leaving him high and dry, with no explanation. But then again, maybe leaving Ian the way he had was a good thing. Maybe it was best if Ian ended up hating him. The sooner Ian could move on and forget about him, the better things would be for him.
After a few hours, he knew he couldn't put off the inevitable any longer, so he headed to Canaryville, and, much too soon for his liking, he was blocks away from his house. The neighborhood was gray, dingy, shitty, and cold, just as he'd left it. He cut the engine and sat in silence for a long time, his heart hammering in his chest.
He honestly didn't how his father was going to react. He knew it would be bad, there was no doubt about that. How bad, though, he wasn't sure. His father had threatened to kill him plenty of times over the years and, mostly, Mickey hadn't taken it to heart. Now, he wasn't so sure what his father was or wasn't capable of.
He wiped at his nose and sniffed before eventually getting out of the stolen car. With the end of his coat sleeve, he quickly wiped at the steering wheel, door handles, and anywhere else he or Ian may have touched. Finally, there was nothing else left to do but walk into that house of fucking horrors and face whatever form of hell awaited him.
He walked into the Milkovich home, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He immediately glanced towards the couch, half-expecting to find his piece-of-shit father lying there like a piece-of-shit lump; he wasn't. He heard movement in the kitchen and craned his neck to find Mandy at the stove. He relaxed a bit with a shaky exhale.
Mandy looked up, her eyes growing wide at the sight of him. "Where the fuck have you been, shithead?" she exclaimed, hurrying over to him and throwing her arms around his neck. "Asshole."
Mickey remained rigid, not hugging her back. It felt nice to know that someone had missed him, but he took little comfort in the warm welcome.
Mandy pulled back and slapped him hard on the side of the head. "Where the hell have you been? You just up and disappear for two fuckin' weeks without a word? Everyone's been lookin' for you."
Mickey thumbed at his lip and scoffed before muttering, "Yeah, I bet they've been."
"So?" she pressed. "Spill, asshole."
Mickey scratched the back of his neck, knowing she probably had no clue about any of it. His father, brothers, and he had always made it a point to keep her out of their dirty work, to protect her from it. "I've been around, that's all your ass needs to know."
"That's it? You've been around?" She rolled her eyes as she walked back to the stove.
"Where, uh, where's dad?" he asked, thumbing nervously at his lip again. "He around?"
"Where do you think he is?" she retorted. "Prob'ly gettin' sloshed down at the Alibi Room with his idiot friends."
"Do you know when he'll be back?" he asked, his brows shooting upwards.
"Who the fuck knows." She shrugged as she went about her business. "You know dad, he'll prob'ly find some Russian whore to screw in the back alley and come stumbling in at three in the morning."
Mickey left it at that and turned to head towards his room. Once he was behind the safety of his closed door, he walked to his bed and sat down numbly. He stared into space for a few beats before tilting sideways to reach into his back pocket. He struggled to release the object at first before finally pulling it out.
He'd gotten rid of the duffel bags full of clothes and other shit from the car, knowing full well he couldn't keep the shit in the stolen car or take it with him back to his house.
He had kept one thing, though.
He looked down at Ian's watch. He knew it was a lame thing to do, stealing Ian's watch while he hadn't been looking, but it was the only thing he could think to take. He fiddled with the cheap watch in his left hand and swiped a palm down his face with the right one. After a few beats, he attached the watch to his left wrist and laid back. He stared up at the water-damaged ceiling, his mind filled with thoughts of Ian before eventually passing out almost an hour later.
Ian was sitting on the front stoop, numbly dragging away on a cigarette and blankly staring off into space when he glanced up to find Fiona, Debbie, and Carl making their way down the sidewalk. Lip had told him that Fiona planned on meeting the kids at their bus stop after school, so he'd waited on the porch to surprise them. His heart jumped into his throat as he shot to his feet.
Debbie said something to Fiona, which caused Fiona to cackle, her laughter carrying down the street. As they got closer, Carl was the first to spot him. Carl froze, causing Fiona and Debbie to halt and look to see what had caught his attention.
"Ian?" Debbie uttered first, her disbelief obvious.
"What? No!" Fiona exclaimed before tearing the gate open and barging up the steps to pull her brother into her arms. "Oh my god, is this for real? Are you really back? Oh my god, you piece a shit! You're back! You had me so worried! Where the hell were you?"
He embraced Fiona back tightly, burying his wet face in her slim shoulder when Debbie and Carl completed the group hug.
They all sat around the kitchen table as a pot of water boiled on the stove for spaghetti. Ian would never have guessed he'd miss Fiona's spaghetti so much. He would never complain when she made it again.
"So, tell me everything," Fiona said, reaching over to run a hand affectionately over the top of Ian's head. "Where the hell ya been? You had us worried sick."
"Would you accept it if I said I didn't wanna talk about it?" Ian asked.
"Shit no," she replied, eyes wide.
"Did you kill someone?" Carl asked, his tone hopeful. "Did you leave town to dump the body?"
"Carl!" Fiona reprimanded with a slap to the boy's head before looking at Ian with an arched brow. "You didn't, did you?"
"No, Jesus!" Ian exclaimed as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't kill anyone."
Fiona regarded him for a moment before looking at Debbie and Carl. "Alright, you two, go upstairs and get washed up for dinner. I wanna talk to Ian alone."
"What!" Debbie and Carl whined simultaneously.
"Don't argue with me, go!"
"This is so not fair," Debbie declared.
"This blows," Carl piped in as he and Debbie begrudgingly trudged up the steps.
Once they were alone, Ian looked at Fiona, his distress over the whole situation written all over his face.
"Jesus, Ian, what the hell happened to you?" she asked, reaching over to grab his hand. Her eyes lingered on the ugly gash on his forehead, but she refrained from asking him about it.
"Someone kidnapped me," Ian began, his voice quivering. He then rubbed a shaky hand down his face. Saying the words out loud made it seem even more surreal.
"I need to know who the hell did this to you."
Ian ran a hand over his hair, knowing he wouldn't be able to keep anything from her; she would only nag and probe him endlessly until she got it out of him. "Terry Milkovich," he began. "Frank owed him money, so Terry had his kids kidnap me."
"Fucking Frank!" Fiona exclaimed, slapping the table hard and shaking her head, her anger clear. "That piece a shit! Why am I not surprised he had somethin' to do with this?"
Ian continued, eager to get the conversation over with. "When it was clear that Frank wouldn't pay up, um, one of his sons decided to help me out, so we skipped town and did some stuff to come up with the money."
"One of his kids helped you?" Fiona asked, completely baffled by that information. "A Milkovich helped you?"
"Yeah…" he replied apprehensively. "His son, Mickey."
"Mickey Milkovich helped you?" she exclaimed in complete and utter disbelief, apparently familiar with the neighborhood thug.
"Yes," Ian said with an aggravated sigh; the last thing he wanted to do was listen to the defamation of Mickey's character. "Look, Fi. I'm exhausted. It's been a long couple of weeks. Can we talk about this later? Please?"
"Yeah," she said after some hesitation. "Yeah, sure, but we are gonna talk about this. This isn't something we're gonna sweep under the goddamn rug, Ian."
Ian said nothing else. He only nodded curtly and stood up to make his way upstairs.
Fiona stared at the empty chair where Ian had been sitting, wondering why her little brother wasn't happier to be home.
When Mickey woke later that night, he glanced over at his bedside clock to see that he had slept for nine hours straight. It was past two in the morning, and the rest of the house was silent. He grunted and groaned as he rolled out of bed, every muscle in his body aching, intent on heading to the bathroom to relieve his full bladder.
As soon as he opened his bedroom door and stepped out into the dark hallway, he was roughly shoved back against the wall, the air completely knocked out of him.
"Where the fuck have you been, boy!" his father roared in his face, pinning Mickey against the wall with a firm forearm to his throat.
Mickey sputtered and choked as he gripped his father's arm desperately, fighting for air. "Pops," he choked. "Pops, I have… I have the money. I have all of it."
"Where the fuck have you been?" Terry bellowed.
Before Mickey could say anything, a fist connected hard with his jaw, and the arm that had been crushing him against the wall dropped away. He slumped to the floor in pain.
His father bent over and pummeled him.
Mickey did the best he could to protect his head and face from his father's furious blows, using his arms to shield himself from the unrelenting punching and kicking. He could smell the whiskey on his father's breath and clothes. He didn't dare fight back. He knew there was no use in doing so. He laid there and took it as his dad unleashed his fury on him.
"Disrespect me! Disobey me! Who the hell do you think you are!" his father roared between hits. "This will teach you to go against me!"
When his father had finally had enough, the old man spat on Mickey and walked away grumbling obscenities under his breath, leaving his youngest son battered and curled in the fetal position in the hallway, his arms still shielding his head as hot tears rolled down his cheeks.
Next to his ear, he vaguely heard and registered the faint ticking coming from Ian's watch. He allowed himself to take some comfort in that, at least, as he teetered on the edge of unconsciousness.