Chapter 19
The next few days passed pretty much uneventfully. Mickey worked extra time rehearsing the kids' performance for the Spring Festival scheduled in two weeks, and Ian spent most of the time Mickey was at home, either sleeping or reading in Mickey's bedroom.
It wasn't surprising that Ian was avoiding him, really. It was what Ian did. Running away from distressing feelings and emotions was a survival technique he had learned very long ago. Hearing Mickey saying he loved him had stirred a hurricane inside of him, and the confusion, fear and insecurities had kicked into high gear.
Ian didn't know if he could ever accept that someone loved him, or if he could allow himself to love someone. That was a dream he had lost any hope of achieving long ago. He had had to armor his heart over years of pain and disappointment to make it possible to bear living without anyone who cared about him.
But after he had met Mickey… so many things had changed. His stone cold heart was reviving, remembering all the things he had once cherished, things too painful to think about, his childish broken dreams, the warmth of a home, the safety of a loving embrace, everything once so familiar to him. He couldn't deny that a part of him was desperately trying to cling to those memories, to stop living that shadow of an existence. He could feel his heart trying to break out of the icy cage that surrounded it, beating back to life, emerging from hiding to risk being wounded again.
Ian had a hard time trusting anyone and just when he had begun to trust Mickey, that had only led to more pain. Everything he had ever counted on had fallen apart, letting him fall without a safety net. How long until he suffered the next disappointment? A small voice in Ian's head tried to convince him that Mickey wasn't deceitful, that he meant it, when he said he cared about him, but he couldn't help thinking he probably just felt sorry for him, like he would any stray dog.
How long would it be until Mickey realized he could do so much better? How long before the Milkovichs pulled the rug out from under him, and he was forced to return to the horrible alley he had come from? He couldn't bear to see the rejection on Mickey's eyes when he came to his senses and decided he didn't want a relationship with a common prostitute. Mickey was from a completely different world – a world where Ian would simply never fit in.
He knew his time to make a decision was fast coming. He was growing stronger and healthier every day and soon he had to decide what he was going to do with his life. Was he going through all this just to go back to the streets? Would he ever be able to quit the only life he knew? Ian hated everything about that life, but he had to eat and he had to live somewhere. Did he have any other skills he could use to earn a living? Grace Milkovich's words echoed in his head for the millionth time: I could use your kind of talent. Did Ian actually have any talent at all? Or was she only being nice?
The more he thought, the more confused he became, as time ran out and it became more and more imperative that he figure out what he was going to do.
Mickey had put away all of the crayons in their boxes and was hanging the last of the drawings on the art wall when he noticed little Wendy Adams, sitting on the floor in the corner of the classroom, looking dejected as she hugged her Tangled backpack.
"Hey Wendy," Mickey frowned and walked towards her. "What's up? What are you still doing there?"
"My Mommy forgot to pick me up again," she said sadly.
"Oh, I see," Mickey sat on one of the tiny chairs closest to her. "Well, why don't you come here and sit here with me and we'll wait for her together? I'm sure she'll be here soon."
"Okay," she shuffled to her feet and sat on the chair next to Mickey, looking only a little less miserable.
"Don't be so sad, honey. I'm sure she didn't forget you. She's probably just running a little late," Mickey said comfortingly.
"She left me behind in the supermarket last weekend," Wendy replied resentfully, not looking up at Mickey. She seemed very upset. "She's always forgetting about me since my baby brother was born…"
Mickey smiled sadly down at her. Wendy's mom had recently had a baby with a new boyfriend and all the changes in their lives had been hard on Wendy. Mickey had been keeping an eye on her for a while now, but she had seemed okay lately. He wished he could tell her mother she needed to do a better job at showing her daughter she still cared about her, even if she had added two new members to her family so abruptly. Wendy's real dad had moved out of the state for work – and the poor kid was devastated, feeling like nobody wanted her.
"I'm sure she's just really tired, When. Babies are very demanding and she's still adjusting. But she would never forget about you. She's adjusting. Plus, once your brother grows up a little, you'll always have someone to play with at home. Everything will be okay soon, you'll see," Mickey said, trying to infuse his voice with encouragement. He would need to have a chat with Wendy's mother before he could actually say anything else about it to the girl. "You're a big sister now, that's a big deal."
"Do you have a baby brother, too?" Wendy asked curiously.
"No, I have a big brother. And you know what, he's the best. We had so much fun playing together when we were kids…" Mickey decided to omit the fact that Iggy could be a self-centered asshole most of the time, because it was the sentiment that counted, right? "He always looked after me, because that's what big brothers – and big sisters – do."
"So… you are the baby brother?" Wendy tilted her head to the side, evidently confused. Mickey laughed.
"You know what? Yes, I am the baby brother in my family," he ran a hand through her honey brown curls and kissed the top of her head. "Now, would you like to read a story while we wait for your mom?"
"Can you read the Mrs. Tittlemouse book?" She looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes, and Mickey couldn't refuse. He found the book in their little library section and returned to the table to sit next to Wendy.
Mickey had finished reading The Tale of Mrs. Tittlemouse and was halfway through The Tale of Tom Kitten before Wendy's mother showed up, apologizing profusely and thanking Mickey for staying with her daughter. As mother and daughter walked down the hallway towards the exit, Mickey could hear the woman promising that it would never happen again. Wendy's tiny little voice saying 'okay' sounded unconvincing, almost breaking Mickey's heart.
Mickey finished tidying up the classroom for tomorrow, to arrive home exhausted almost two hours later than usual. He was looking forward to a shower and some dinner, and maybe Ian would finally leave the bedroom long enough to watch a movie with him. He knew Ian had withdrawn into his shell again, frightened when he confessed his feelings. Mickey was trying to give him time to work through all that stuff, but he still missed Ian. He wanted to spend time with him…
"Where the hell were you?"
Mickey froze, barely a foot into his apartment and stared wide-eyed in surprise at Ian. He had been pacing across the living room and stopped as soon as he saw him come in. Ian looked upset, and anxious, and Mickey immediately worried.
"What's wrong?" He asked, putting his messenger bag down and walking towards Ian.
"What's wrong? What's wrong?! You scared me, that's what! Look at the time! You're fucking hours late, Mickey! I thought you were hurt or something!" Ian exclaimed furiously.
Mickey looked at him in shock. "I'm sorry. Wendy's mom was late so I stayed with her until she could pick her up… are you sure you're okay, Ian?"
"No, I'm not okay! I don't know how it works in your world, but in mine, when someone doesn't arrive home on time, it's because they're probably lying dead in a ditch somewhere!" Ian replied, voice echoing against the walls.
The realization suddenly came to Mickey, that Ian was worried about him. Ian cared.. "Ian, I'm sorry… I should've called and let you know I'd be late. I'm sorry. I'm okay, I swear."
"You're such an idiot," Ian muttered angrily, turning towards the kitchen. Mickey followed and watched as Ian poured himself a glass of water. Mickey leaned on the counter and watched him, unable to hide his smile. Ian narrowed his eyes at him. "What?"
"Nothing, just…" Mickey bit his lip coyly and looked down at his shoes for a moment, before meeting Ian's eyes again. "I've never really had anyone waiting for me at home, worried because I was running late…"
"Right, well…" Ian shifted awkwardly. He took a sip of water. "Just… don't ever do that again."
"I won't, I promise," Mickey smiled gently at him. "Next time I'll call and let you know if I'll be late."
It seemed so natural, thinking that Ian would be around to pick up the call; that he would never have to come home to an empty apartment again.
It was going to hurt, when reality crushed that illusion into dust.
Terry Milkovich smiled at Ian, as he slowly put his shirt back on, after a final checkup. They were alone, on a sunny Friday morning, since Mickey had left for work a couple of hours ago.
"So?" Ian asked.
"Better, so much better," Terry said, sounding gratified. "You'll always have to be careful of not getting hurt again on that side, but all in all, you're in a good shape. If you were in a hospital, I'd get an xray to confirm those ribs are knitting properly, but I think since they aren't as painful anymore, we can concede that they are doing fine. By Monday, you should be nearly back to normal."
"Oh," Ian's eyes went a little wide. "Well. Uhm. Good. I'm sure Mickey will be happy to get his bedroom back."
The smile faded from Terry's face. He gestured to the couch where Ian was sitting. "May I speak candidly?"
"Of course," Ian scooted aside to make room for him, a little nervously and unsure of where this was going.
"Look, Ian. I… I don't want to overstep, but… after what happened at the anniversary party, Mickey told us a bit of your background, and confessed what he had done and how he had met you," Terry explained, choosing his words delicately. "We don't think any differently of you because of what you had to do to make a living. You're a good man, Ian, and that's not something you can fake – we know that the man we came to know that week is someone we can still respect."
Ian swallowed thickly and looked down at his own hands, grateful for Terry's kindness. "Thank you. I can feel a 'but' coming, though…"
"We would never presume to judge you," Terry continued gently. "But…"
Ian felt his stomach dropping through the floor, dreading his next words. At some point, not disappointing the Milkovichs had become very important to him.
"But Ian, with all due respect, we think you're intended for something greater than this life you've led so far," Terry said and Ian glanced up at him in surprise. "You've managed to survive this attack, but I'm afraid this occupation is going to kill you, Ian."
Ian had never felt as humiliated as he felt right then. "Do you think I actually want to live like this? I don't. I hate it. I hate every second of my life, Dr. Milkovich. But I… this is all I've ever done, since my father died… what if this is all I'm good for?"
"Well, if what my wife says about you is true, you definitely don't have to worry about finding a new career," Terry put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed it, in exactly the same way his father used to, bringing tears to Ian's eyes. "Listen… I'm a dad, too. I have two wonderful sons who I love more than anything in this world. And I was lucky enough to see them grow into the honest, kind men they are today. I didn't know your father, but I'm sure that he would never blame you for what you had to do to keep yourself alive, even though it would've killed him to see you suffer the way you did – the way you do. And I'm also sure that he would want you to take whatever chance you can to find some happiness. You know better than anyone how fleeting life can be, Ian. It just ends in a minute – and all we can do is ensure it was a life worth living."
Ian turned his head so Terry wouldn't see the tears spilling down his cheeks.
"No one should tell you what you have to do and how to live that life," Terry said quietly. "You're strong and you're brave, and if you decide you want to do something, I know you can do it. I know you can do whatever you dream of doing. But don't go back to the life you had just because you don't think you're good enough to succeed at something else. Don't put yourself through anymore heartbreak and pain, Ian. Give yourself a chance to be who you can be, instead of what others forced you to be."
Ian couldn't hold back any longer. A sob broke through, making his entire frame shake as he cried. What had he done to deserve people like the Milkovichs? They were so kind and supportive, even though he had lied to them, despite what he was. They didn't care about his history. They respected him even though he was nothing but a…
No. No. He could be so much more than that.
Terry rubbed his back soothingly until Ian calmed down. Ian wiped his nose and eyes and glanced at him, ashamed. "It's okay, buddy."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" Ian shook his head. "Why are all of you so good to me?"
"I told you; you're a good person, Ian. Whatever you decide to do, we'll do our best to support you," Terry smiled at him warmly. "And don't be too proud to ask for help, okay?"
Ian couldn't stop himself from hugging the man. It was the first time he had initiated physical contact in so long that he felt uncomfortable instantly, but he relaxed as soon as Terry hugged him back in the same way he would've hugged his own sons.
"Thank you," Ian muttered, feeling moved. "Thank you so much."
"You're welcome," Terry stood after one last friendly pat on the shoulder. "Now, you have to promise me you'll take good care of yourself. You've had a serious injury, so you still have to take extra care, understood?"
"Of course," Ian nodded, standing up as well. "I'll be good, I promise."
"That's what I like to hear," Terry smiled. "Now, I really have to go. I have to get to my office for my afternoon appointments. But call me if you need anything, will you? And please call Grace when you have a minute, to set her mind to rest. She's always worrying about you."
"I will, I promise," Ian walked him to the door and they exchanged a few more words before Terry left, and Ian was all alone again, his mind full of seething thoughts and doubts.
Mickey stepped into his apartment that evening – he was late again, but this time he had let Ian know in advance that he had a meeting with a parent – and put his jacket and messenger bag in the closet before taking the cheesecake he had gotten as a surprise for Ian into the kitchen.
Where he stopped in his tracks.
Ian was standing at the stove, stirring something that smelled delicious in a sauce pan. He was wearing Mickey's purple apron and wasn't in his pajamas, but actually dressed – jeans and a dark blue long sleeved v-neck rolled up to his elbows. The items looked well-used, but cared for, and Ian filled them out a lot more nicely than he would've a few weeks prior.
"Hi?" He said, still a little confused. "You're up."
"Oh hey!" Ian turned to him with a smile.
"You're making dinner?" Mickey asked, walking to the fridge to put away the cheesecake.
It was usually Mickey who made dinner – first because every time Ian attempted to do anything, Mickey fussed around him like a mother hen, and second because… well, lately he had been holed up in Mickey's bedroom all the time, so it was weird seeing him like this.
"Well, yeah, I thought it would be nice to do something for you, for a change," Ian shrugged. "You've done so much for me, the least I can do is make sure there's a hot dinner waiting for you when you come home after a long day."
"I'll never say no to a homemade dinner," Mickey smiled as he leaned against the counter next to him. "What are you making?"
"Just some pasta, but… I'm making my mom's special sauce," Ian stirred the sauce, looking down at the sauce pan intently. "I haven't made it in years and I just… felt like trying it again."
"Well, it smells absolutely delicious," Mickey rested a gentle hand on his arm and pulled back again just after a couple of seconds, not sure if the touch was welcomed or not.
Ian held the spoon up for him, blowing on it so it wouldn't be scalding. "Here, would you like to try it?"
Mickey accepted the spoonful of sauce and immediately closed his eyes in delight. "Oh wow. Ian, that's so good."
"I'm glad you like it," Ian smiled as he checked the pasta. "It'll be ready in five minutes."
"Okay, I'll go wash my hands, then. I'm all covered in crayon and chalk," Mickey rolled his eyes as he walked away, but stopped just before leaving the kitchen, hesitating at the doorway. "Are you… My dad sent me a text. He said you're nearly back in shape. Does that mean…?"
"I just wanted to thank you. You've been… amazing, Mickey, really," Ian said, but his voice sounded a little strained, as if he was holding back his emotions.
Mickey felt a pang in his heart, but smiled at him anyway. Ian was free to do whatever he wanted to. Mickey had never expected him to actually stay, even if he had hoped he might. "Well, I'll… you know, I'll really miss coming home to you. I loved having you here and I loved… well, I just loved spending time with you. I'm sorry it couldn't be under better circumstances but… I'm going to miss you, Ian."
Mickey left before he broke down crying in the middle of the kitchen.
The weekend was difficult. They spent some time together, mostly silent and watching movies, but both trying to soak up the other's company while they could. Neither addressed what was going to happen on Monday – or if anything was going to happen at all. They just knew, somehow, that everything was about to change from the comfortable routine they had fallen into.
It was clear that Mickey needed some alone time, too. He took Nayla out for longer walks than he usually did, lost in thought and distracted. Ian didn't comment on it, but he could still read the quiet sadness in Mickey's eyes. He wanted to make it disappear, but he wasn't sure if he could do or say anything that would help.
At this point, Ian wasn't really sure of anything at all.
When Mickey left for work on Monday morning, Ian was still in his bedroom. He didn't know if he was still sleeping or if he was simply avoiding him, but there was one thing Mickey was sure of.
He would be coming home to an empty apartment later that day.
Ian held his breath. He could feel Mickey standing on the other side of the door. A part of him prayed for Mickey to come in, to say something, to do something. However, after a couple of minutes, he heard his footsteps walk away and then the sound of the front door closing behind him.
Ian was alone.
His heart ached. He realized that it had been aching for a while now, but it had been buried under all the other physical pain he had been suffering. Now, he could feel it burning inside his chest, taking over his body and mind.
He didn't want to go.
It was a sudden realization – and a stupid one at that. He couldn't just stay. Staying with Mickey meant a lot more than just sharing his living space. Staying meant he was ready to give Mickey everything, but he wasn't ready, was he? How could he commit his damaged heart?
Ian slumped back against the pillows, with one cradled to his chest. He was so tired of being afraid and unhappy. But would he ever be brave enough to stand up and make the decision to find happiness for himself? He was leaving Mickey's apartment today, and he still had no idea where he would be going or what he was going to do. He hadn't any money – he couldn't afford to buy food and he was weeks behind on his rent. He had let his life spiral out of control, and now he wasn't sure how to get out.
But… this was the closest to happiness he had found since his dad died. Where could he find something so elusive again? He knew he could be happy with Mickey… but for how long? How long before he let his insecurities about his past get in the way? How long before he ruined everything for both of them?
But he wanted Mickey. God, he loved Mickey. How could he not? He was the kindest, sweetest, most selfless man he had ever met. Mickey looked at him and was able to see beyond his flaws – he saw who he had been before life had broken him into pieces.
Ian cried. Terry (and Grace) had told him how strong and brave he was, but he felt weak and stupid. He had lost control of his life so long ago, that he wasn't sure if he could find the strength to get it back. Everything terrified him and that only made him hate himself more.
Mickey was worth forcing himself to do terrifying things, wasn't he? Wasn't he a man worth risking everything for? Even if things ended badly, even if it led to nothing but disappointment, how could Ian just let someone like Mickey walk away? How could he pass up the only chance he was going to get to have a shot at a happy ending with him?
And just like that, Ian knew that he was willing to risk it all – he would get his heartbroken and his hopes and dreams stomped on a million times if it meant he could have happiness by Mickey's side, however briefly it lasted.
He had needed to heal completely, to find the support of good people, in order to simply believe in himself again. For in this moment, Ian felt like the sixteen year old he had once been – he had hopes again, desperate to love and be loved.
He had ignored that hopeful, innocent boy for too long now. It was time to give him his dreams back.