A/N: I have a lot of love for caring Mickey. You will see that in this chapter. Sorry, sensitive Mickey is my fave.

Chapter Six

"Yo, Bonnie, Clyde, get up and get your pills, I'm tired of hearing Ian's fucking name over and over again," Ian and Mickey were woken by Jared giving them both a kick.

The dozing couple blearily opened their eyes, Ian a little more reluctantly than Mickey, "Thanks, man," Mickey said, standing up and pulling on his trousers and a t-shirt. "Ian, get up," he shook Ian's shoulder before handing him his pants and the bundle that was his t-shirt and sweatshirt.

"I don't want 'em," Ian grumbled, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

Mickey looked at him firmly and said "Well, Monica, that's real fuckin' nice, but you're havin' 'em," taking the sweatshirt and t-shirt bundle and untangling it.

"Fuck off," Ian hissed, kicking his leg out at Mickey quickly, not allowing the older boy time to react. And by the sound Mickey made, Ian had made a good shot.

"If you were anyone else, I woulda' punched you right back in the nuts, but I'm tryin' to control my anger, so get the fuck up." Mickey coughed a few times after, straightening up and moving the sheets off of Ian, pulling him up and trying to force him in to his clothes. Only now did he notice the blood on Ian's pants and his mattress. "Come on, you need 'em," he sighed, seeing the cuts on Ian's leg that looked like they were still struggling to heal over. He could see the masses of tissue covered in blood beside him. Going over to the chest of drawers, he went in to one of his and pulled out his facecloth, bundling it up slightly and pressing it to Ian's leg.

"Ow!" Ian groaned lowly, looking to Mickey with a venomous look.

"When'd you do this?" Mickey asked as he continued to apply the pressure.

"Breakfast,"

"Then you need it lookin' at," Mickey exhaled, "If you're gonna' do it and not get noticed, you've gotta' learn when it's too much. You need it to heal over on its own, these ain't. Put your clothes on, we'll get your pills and then take you down to the clinic. You don't have a choice in it." In that moment, Mickey felt as though he was Ian's parent, having to watch over him and make sure that he ate his vegetables and washed his hands. In this case, though, it was making sure he took his meds, attended his therapy sessions, and didn't accidentally off himself.

Ian was shaking his head as Mickey tried to dress him, "No, no, I don't wanna'," his arms fighting against the t-shirt that Mickey was forcing over his head.

"Well, you fucking gotta'!" Mickey raised his voice, pulling Ian's sweatshirt over his head and pulling him up to pull his pants up.

"Mickey, nooooo," Ian mumbled, leaning against Mickey's chest limply.

Sighing, Mickey didn't say anything, instead just frog-marching Ian to the pill station, handing over Ian's I.D. card and accepting the pills and water to give to the boy who was leaning against a wall.

Ian stood to the side, his eyes set on the floor as Mickey came towards him, a dispensary nurse beside him, handing the ginger boy the paper cup with his pills in and a cup of water.

"Please, just don't fight me on this one, okay?" Mickey pleaded, forcing the two cups at Ian.

Ian could see the desperation in Mickey's eyes, hear it in his voice as his jaw was firmly set. He didn't want the pills, he didn't want any of this, but he didn't know what else to do, what else to think, and so he just nodded vacantly and accepted the two cups hesitantly. After he'd taken his pills, the nurse checked his mouth before walking away.

In the clinic, Ian was sat on a bed, the curtains pulled around it as the nurse asked him to take his pants off. He did so and laid back on the bed, closing his eyes so he didn't have to see the anxiety in Mickey's own blue ones. He didn't get what Mickey's problem was anyway, he'd only known him for a couple days. Why was the guy worrying so much?

And not to mention, he had fucking told him to do it?!

Ian really struggled to understand Mickey at the best of times.

"Do you mind?" The nurse asked, gesturing to Ian's boxers. He shrugged his shoulders and kept his eyes closed. He didn't have to do anything else (Mickey answered any questions the nurse had), just nod his head when she explained that she needed to put a couple of stitches in his leg. Mickey was good to him, though, and didn't give the nurse too much information, just enough that she knew what to do. The nurse gave him a fresh set of pants, told him to drink a lot of water, be careful, and then sent him off, advising he got some rest. Ian didn't know this, but the nurse had asked Mickey to keep an eye on him, saying that she would vouch for his absence from his timetabled session that afternoon.

Sitting on James' bed, Mickey watched Ian sleeping peacefully, his eyes never leaving the redhead. He wasn't going to let anything happen to Ian, not his Ian.

Suddenly, Mickey was being woken up: "Dude, come on, you've got your own bed," James was saying as he shook Mickey awake.

Mickey looked at him for a moment before looking to see Ian's empty bed. "Sorry. Don't worry, I'm getting up anyway," he mumbled as he was climbing off of the bed and making his way out of their room, looking for Ian. After checking the rec room and the bathroom, he found Ian in the shower room, he only knew it was him in there because he just could see Ian's bright hair through the cheap shower curtains. He was sitting down by the looks of it.

"Ian, it's me," Mickey called out calmly. He didn't get a reply. "You mind coming out?" Still no reply. His heart skipped a beat. He pulled open the curtain, finding Ian sitting down, his skin pink from the hot water pounding down from above him. After reaching in and turning the water off, he bent down to Ian's level and put a hand on his shoulder, "You okay?" Mickey kept his tone as soft as he could. Ian nodded his head. "Just needed space to think?" Again, Ian nodded his head, a few water droplets going in to his eyes. "Come on, let's get you dried off before you freeze," Mickey told him, standing up and taking Ian's towel from the hook. He held it out for Ian to step in to, wrapping it around his shoulders and pulling him against his chest gently.

"I just hate it," Ian mumbled in to Mickey's shoulder.

Mickey nodded his head, reassuring him that his pills would start to kick in soon.

When it came to getting up the next day for breakfast, Ian felt a little willing. He didn't feel like everything was coming down on top of him, he felt like he was able to smile without it looking like a pained and forced grimace. Today felt… better. Not great, but better. After he'd showered (two showers a day seemed like it would become a gradual habit), Ian went back in to his room to find Mickey stripping the blood-covered sheets from his bed. Ian thanked him. "I'll show you where the laundry chute is," Mickey told Ian as he threw the sheets in to the pile of dirty laundry in the corner, which Ian assumed belonged to the rest of the room. "Each room gets their laundry done together, we get it back by lunch. Grab some of that and help me get it down to the chute." Ian did as he was told and then followed Mickey out of their room, going towards the pill station. On the left of it was a section of the wall that was slightly more set back with six different laundry chutes like the one they had at home, but each one was numbered according to the rooms.

They dropped the laundry in to the chute before heading down for breakfast, sitting down with James, Henry, and Jared. Mickey and Ian sat speaking together, Mickey mentioning that Ian should nip down to the nurse just to get his stitches checked after he'd gotten them wet.

"Don't know about you guys, but I'm feeling a bit like an extra wheel on this table, Jared said, looking to James and Henry with a grin.

With a completely straight face, Mickey looked at Jared and said "Course you are, tables ain't meant to have fuckin' wheels," and then looked back at Ian to carry on the conversation they were having. When Mickey looked at Ian, he noticed a small smile on his face.

"I liked that one," Ian commented, taking a bite of his toast. Mickey just smiled back at him, saying that they would go to the nurse after they'd gotten his pills if there was time. Ian nodded, noticing a slight sadness to Mickey's tone. He put his hand under the table and gave Mickey's leg a gentle squeeze before returning to his breakfast.

Mickey and Ian got their pills after breakfast, leaving the table before the others, and then headed down to the nurse with ten minutes before their first timetabled session. The nurse looked at the pair as they entered, "Becoming regular customers," she chuckled lightly as she gestured them to a bed.

Ian sat down and pulled his pants down as Mickey said "He got his stitches wet in the shower," when the nurse looked to them questioningly.

"Okay, I'll just take the bandages off and take a look at those for you," the nurse explained, unwrapping the bandages from the top of Ian's leg. "They look as though you've dried them well enough. Just keep an eye on them. You know what to look out for, don't you, Mickey?" He nodded gently. "Okay, well, I'll give you some spare bandages and gauze and I'll put some fresh on now. Just make sure that if you are showering you're trying to avoid the stitches getting wet." She smiled softly as she re-bandaged Ian's leg. "Mickey, would you like to go and get some spares from the drawers over there?" The nurse asked, pointing towards a sterile-looking chest of drawers in the corner. When Mickey had gone, she looked to Ian briefly before saying "You've got a good one. Mickey's a nice guy, he just needs someone to keep him… level," she mentioned quietly, smiling as she tied off the bandage. Ian smiled a small smile back at her.

After that, Ian and Mickey were heading to the session where he would do his therapy task. He discovered that this was done in the communal hall on Willow, with everyone just sitting at the table completing their tasks (they were set in a folder, each of which was in a box that was ordered alphabetically).

Ian sat down at a table, Mickey coming to sit beside him, and they both opened up their folders. Ian had a set of handwritten instructions, an A5 notebook, and a pen.

Make a diary entry.

Write anything and everything. How you're feeling, what you're thinking. Anything. We will use this to monitor your episodes and use them to help us learn the indicators of a manic or depressive episode.

See you next session, Ian.

Tanya.

Ian flipped through the pages of the book, just checking that they were all empty. He actually found the flipping of the pages quite relaxing. Opening the book, Ian began to write:

Um, okay, this is kind of weird. It's a bit girly, isn't it? I dunno', whatever. Mickey told me to be open-minded, said it would get me out of here quicker, so that's what I'm trying to do.

I'm feeling a little better. Today's probably like a -1.5 or something, maybe a -1. I dunno', better. I don't really know what else to write.

And then Ian looked up to Mickey. He had a look of concentration on his face as he scribbled in to a book similar to Ian's, but Ian couldn't see what he was writing. He didn't think he needed to see anyway, though.

"What am I supposed to do now?"

"Just… put your head down and pretend you're writing shit. Monitors don't let you go early, so you can usually just sit and talk so long as you look like you're writing," Mickey mumbled out, his voice sounding slightly irritated.

A swift nod and then Ian was down and writing in his 'diary' again.

I don't know what's up with Mickey. He seems off today. He's been off since breakfast. Nothing really happened then, though. The guys made a joke, but it was a joke, so I don't think that bothered him. He gave as good as he got anyway, so I really doubt it bothered him.

I dunno', I worry about him, but I think it's only because I still don't understand it. BPD. I still don't understand it, even after he tried to explain. I don't understand a lot of this place, though, so I guess it doesn't really make a difference.

I'd just… I'd like to help him, like he's helping me.