By some miracle Ian didn't have a hangover the next morning; although he was sure he deserved it. It was pretty early when he woke up, so he took a long shower and had eggs and bacon for breakfast - he stomach felt strangely empty - with two cups of coffee and a cigarette to follow. He had high hopes that maybe this Monday was going to turn out okay.

Vicki had started work at 5am and was working a double shift, and he was working eight hours, loading and driving forklifts and putting pallets onto trucks in a warehouse almost an hour's drive from where they lived. For anyone else it might be monotonous, but Ian liked the repetition. It was almost like OCD for him.

And today it had the added bonus of him not seeing Vicki. And he didn't really want to see her - oh there was the guilt again - because he just couldn't be sure if she had heard more of what he and Fiona had been saying or whether she had more questions. He was just generally feeling uneasy. And that was something that was making him really angry about all of this. It was getting to the point that he didn't want to be around his own wife.

But the day did pass quickly and without incident. Unless seeing someone from the back with short dark hair and then driving the forklift truck into a tower of pallets counted as an incident. There wasn't any damage, which was fortunate because the pay check wasn't that huge to begin with, so Ian wasn't counting it.

He took himself home afterwards, declining the guys' offer to go for a drink, made himself a sandwich, and watched some of the news. His eyelids were drooping almost as soon as he switched on the TV though, and feeling completely worn out, he climbed into bed only about 12 hours after he had climbed out of it.

It was the same as any other morning really, quite bright and sunny outside for October in Chicago - warm enough to go without a jacket, but not so warm that you could do without an extra layer.

They'd both gotten to work early enough for Mickey to give Ian a quick hand job - "Because it'll make you last longer later, that's all. Don't go thinking you're fuckin' special or nothin'", which Ian knew Mickey was only part joking about, because Mickey wanted it hard and he wanted it fast, but he liked it to last, – and in plenty of time for Ian to get cleaned up and cashed in before their shift started.

It was only about an hour into the day though, with not even remotely what anyone would call a steady stream of customers, that they both began to get antsy. Finally, after one woman came into to do her "weekly grocery shop" which consisted of a carton of half and half, a box of donuts, a pack of cigarettes and a cucumber, Ian looked over at Mickey, exasperated.

Mickey's expression as he watched the woman leave was very much 'what the fuck is she going to do with that cucumber?', his left eyebrow raised in bemusement, then as his eyes lighted on Ian's face, it was quickly followed by "how fast can we get in that store room?"

Ian was clearly of the same mind, as he grasped for a paper bag and scribbled 'Back in 5 mins' on it. He passed it and a roll of duct tape to Mickey, who stuck it to the front door then locked it behind him, turning back towards Ian with hooded eyelids and a smug, lascivious grin on his face. Mickey bit his bearded lip and walked past him towards the back room.

Ian still hadn't really gotten used to the facial hair Mickey had grown. It made him look so different. Older somehow. As if before he'd felt like they were really just the same age, but with the scruff, Ian definitely felt as if he was fucking someone older than him - despite the height difference, and Mickey's tendency to act childishly. Aside from that, he imagined the only difference facial hair would make would be how it felt on his skin if they were kissing. Which they were not.

He pushed the thought aside and made his way to the back of the store, to find Mickey with his pants already off, lounging against some of the stock shelves, palming himself through his graying boxers. He still had his socks on though. Mickey never really made much of an effort.

Ian had already been half hard as he'd been writing the note for the door, in anticipation of what was coming. Now his cock was straining at the tight denim of his jeans as he approached Mickey. He licked his lips, pulling open his fly and shucking off the lower portion of his clothes as quickly as he could. Socks too.

"Come on then, Firecrotch. We haven't got all fuckin' day." Mickey smirked, pushing his boxers down and away too.

Ian feigned angriness at the nickname, even though after all this time he'd grown to love it because he knew Mickey used it as a term of endearment. He pushed Mickey forcefully back against the shelves, a little worried that it might cause Mickey pain and also sort of not, because he knew Mickey liked it when he was rough, and Mickey lifted his leg up onto a lower shelf to allow Ian more access.

"Come on, get in me." Mickey growled out through gritted teeth.

Ian grinned, "Be patient, Mick." Then, never taking his eyes from Mickey's face, he put his own finger into his mouth, licking it and getting it wet.

Mickey's eyes were glued to Ian's finger, pupils blown from the minute it entered his mouth until it disappeared from view between them.

Ian smiled his little lopsided smile as he slowly, torturously slowly pushed his finger inside Mickey, the smile disappearing as Mickey pushed against it, a low growl escaping from him. Ian didn't need to do much preparation though. Mickey was ready. Mickey was always ready, but Ian liked this part, if only just to see Mickey getting frustrated because he didn't have his cock inside him yet.

"Fuck patience, Gallagher. Come on."

Ian wanted to argue, but he really couldn't. He pulled out his finger, pretending to ignore Mickey's grunt of disappointment, and quickly slipped on a condom. It felt good just rolling it onto his cock, it was so sensitive already. When he was lubed and ready, he lined himself up and started to ease in. The feeling for Ian was exquisite, made even more so watching Mickey's eyes roll back in his head until his eyelids closed over the whites.

The angle wasn't quite right though, so Ian pinned Mickey harder to the shelves with his forearm and lifted his other leg up over his shoulder, pushing his cock inside even deeper on every thrust.

Mickey never made any deliberate noise when they were fucking, apart from gasps of breath and the occasional words of, well Ian liked to call it encouragement, but mostly they were orders. Even when he came, it was more of a muted grunt than actually expressing what he was feeling – not like Ian who swore and moaned until the moment had passed - but Ian could tell Mickey was enjoying himself from his slack-jawed expression and the way he was fingers were gripping almost painfully at Ian's waist.

Ian, on the other hand, was grunting and moaning from the exertion, breathing hard and thrusting again and again. He could feel his orgasm building up, his stomach was getting into a knot and sweat was dripping from his forehead onto Mickey's vest as he watched Mickey work his own cock hard.

He was just about to bite down on Mickey's shoulder when they both sprang up startled, knocking several things from the shelves, Ian still buried deep inside Mickey, not really knowing what the hell to do as they heard Frank's voice from behind them.

"Hello boys. Front door was locked so I came in the back. No pun intended."

They disengaged and pulled on their clothes as quickly as they could, whilst Frank took a bunch of things from the shelves and even had the audacity to steal money from the register, rambling something about his tab.

At Frank's parting words, Ian could feel Mickey's eyes on him, but he couldn't make eye contact yet. He really didn't want to acknowledge the fact that he'd allowed them to get caught again.

As Mickey paced up and down, Ian couldn't help but compare this to the time Kash had caught them almost a year before. So much had changed since then. Aside from the fact that he'd forgotten to lock the back door again – shit. For a start, Mickey was now willingly facing him every time they had sex – that was a pretty big deal, especially after the fuss he made the first time Ian had pinned him down and made him do it that way round – and secondly, Mickey hadn't bolted out the door the minute he heard Frank's voice. Still, any hopes Ian had of Mickey not overreacting were quashed the instant Mickey opened his mouth.

"We gotta kill him."

Despite Ian's attempts to reason with him, Mickey was determined. The rest of that day and even into the next seemed to pass by in a blur of trying to find Mickey who was apparently on a rampage around town with his brothers and had been everywhere except to maybe talk it through with Ian.

In the end, Ian gave up searching. He went to bed, but barely slept. It was a long night of tossing and turning. So many times he was tempted to get a hold of Lip and go find Mickey. But Lip had his own stuff going on so he just laid there and figured when no phone call came to say that Frank was hurt or missing or anything, Mickey hadn't found him.

The next morning he got up, showered, and went in search of Frank at Sheila's house to try to convince him not to say anything to anyone about what he had seen. He found a drunk and high, of course, Frank and discovered that actually he didn't give a shit who Ian was fucking, which was… good. But he still couldn't convince Frank how serious the situation was.

So he headed back to work and waited for Mickey to come to him. When Mickey finally came back to the store, the expression on his face was light years away from the one that Ian had put there only 24 hours before.

"Where the fuck is he?"

"I don't know!"

"BULLSHIT! You warned him."

"I hate him more than you do."

Ian watched as Mickey took cash from the register, saying it was what he was owed, that he was quitting. The he said four words that made Ian's chest tighten.

"I'm done. Done. Done." As Mickey said the words, he gestured at the store and then at Ian, indicating that he was done with the job and the fucking.

Immediately, Ian went into defense mode. He couldn't let Mickey just walk away. Fuck it. No. "We got nothing to be ashamed of."

"What fuckin' world do you live in?"

"You can't… I don't want you to…" Ian stuttered. What was he going to say? Don't want you to what? Kill Frank? Go back to juvie? Leave me? Tell me you don't love me? Break my fucking heart? All of the above and so much more?

"Done is done. You're nothing but a warm mouth to me." There was more, but those were the last words Ian actually heard Mickey say before he turned and pushed open the door to the store that it nearly banged off its hinges.

Ian's stomach twisted into a knot. Well, at least he hadn't cried in front of him. But wait. What right did Mickey have to just say these things to him and expect him to take it? It was always Mickey calling the fucking shots. It was about time things changed.

Determined now, and angry too, Ian took a step toward the door. Mandy suddenly came barreling through it towards him, "Ian? What's going on? Where's Mickey going now? Are you okay?" She put a hand on his arm.

"Not now Mandy, okay?" he said, shrugging her hand away and pushing past her out of the store.

He looked down the street, watching Mickey striding away from him, and made up his mind. This time he needed to say something, to have the last word, "Hey! Mickey? You don't get to be the one who decides when it's done. I say when it's done. And you know what?" Mickey didn't turn around, or even break stride, "YOU KNOW WHAT? FUCK YOU MICKEY. Fuck you."

Mandy appeared almost instantly by his side again, and placed her hand on his cheek. "Ian?"

"Get off me," he growled at her, trying to pry her hand away.

"Ian?" Mandy asked again, moving both her hands to his shoulders and shaking him now, "Ian?"

And then, just as sometimes a camera flash in a dream is really lightning in reality, Ian was starting to realize it wasn't Mandy calling his name. As he slowly began to wake up, he heard Vicki's voice seeping into his consciousness, her hands shaking him. It was her he was pushing away. He risked a peek through the slits of his eyes and saw her above him, her face concerned, angry, confused, so many emotions on one set of features.

He knew he couldn't stay 'asleep' any longer – as a nurse, Vicki would either know he was faking or think he was having some kind of seizure.

Maybe he was having some kind of seizure. That had all felt so real, even though none of that last part had actually happened.

He had never wanted Mickey to just leave like that. It had made him feel so fucking angry and it had literally broken his heart at the same time, but he hadn't had the balls to stop Mickey from going, even though he felt like he had been the brave one the whole way through their relationship. At least yelling at him had made him feel a little bit better if only in the dream.

He opened his eyes, and Vicki finally stopped shaking him. "Ian? Are you okay?"

"I… I think so." He answered groggily.

"Good. So, " Vicki sat back on her heels, "Mickey?"

Ian shuffled himself back until he was resting against the headboard, "Huh?"

"You were shouting about Mickey."

There was a split second when Ian thought it was a good idea to lie again. "No, no. You must have heard me wrong. I was shouting 'Vicki'", he ventured.

There was a large sigh. "Look Ian. One way or another, we've got a problem here. Either you were saying my name, which I hope not, because why would you be saying "fuck you Vicki, get the hell off me"? Or there's this Mickey person who obviously means or meant a lot more to you than you're letting on to me because you won't tell me anything lately and you've lied to my face twice in two days." She stopped to take a breath, closing her eyes for a moment. "And I know it's the second one."

Ian rubbed his hands over his face. This was a seriously huge moment in his life. He was unprepared for it and he could feel he was about to fuck up everything.

"Just tell me Ian. What's going on?"

He looked at her. Just stared at her for what felt like the longest time. He looked into her brown eyes and saw how they'd softened. He wondered if he'd ever really loved her or if it was more an infatuation with someone who was just the best friend he'd ever had since Mandy. He thought about all the things she'd done for him. How she'd been there for him through so many things. He remembered how wonderful she'd been over the years, how beautiful she'd looked on their wedding day, how she'd just accepted the craziness that was his family without even blinking and how he'd felt when they'd all loved her too. Yes, he had loved her. He still did. And now he couldn't look at her without thinking how he'd crush her if he told her the truth.

Of course, this train of thought took mere seconds. He lowered his eyes, and spoke quietly. "I don't know."