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Liam is 21 years old and he knows he is blessed. As the youngest Gallagher, it seemed like he missed out on the 'hard times' that his siblings reminisce about during the odd times they do get together. He was too young to really recall all the shenanigans of his older sibling's youth but he's sort okay with it. The Gallagher family, they all did good in the end. They aren't rolling in money but they're better. They're comfortable. More importantly, they're still tight knit enough to have mandatory family gatherings every month. Liam cherishes the times when he gets to sit around surrounded by his siblings. They all look like they're doing great. So life is good.
It is in those family gatherings that he really gets to see his siblings. Not just physically, but it opens up recollections of the times when his siblings were his age and younger. He gets to see Fiona's bright smile just dazzle, the tell tale signs of crow's feet crinkling near her eyes when she laughs. He gets to see Lip snort, scoff, and shake his head when he recalls his wonderful college experiences. He gets to see Debbie complain about her hell spawn of a daughter only to be chided by Fiona with a exuberant – karma's a fucking bitch. And on those rare occasions that Carl manages to slink his way over (as he lives a very rewarding life with a prominent military position that treks him all around the world), he gets to shake his head at the recollections of arson, bomb taking and general Tom foolery that he doesn't at all see in Carl now.
Surprisingly it is his outgoing, generally cheery second older brother Ian that manages to hide away from him, despite his obvious physical presence. Ian cajoles with the others, joining in on the teasing and the ribbing and the recalling with practiced and controlled grace. He talks excitedly about his old job as a Paramedic before he climbed the economic ranking and gained a Bachelor of Science in Paramedicine. He chuckles at stories, bemoans at others, and joins the others in the ever loving hell of teasing and lecturing him on his life choices. But Liam notices that Ian rarely offers stories of his past. He offers tidbits, little things such as his time at ROTC or his codependent relationship with their deceased mother. But, they are so few and short that Liam can't help but think that Ian purposely avoids talking about it. He's actually really good at changing the topic of conversation, effortless in the way he weaves through it like it was simply a change in the wind. It takes him a while to pick up on it and when he does all his other siblings simply tell him that there are still things that not everyone is comfortable bringing up. And he gets that, he does, but must all those things be basically most of Ian's youth?
Look, he knows his brother is a troubled man. He's known the words Bipolar and their implications way before most kids even exposed to crap like mental disorders and disabilities. His siblings never hid it from him, with Ian in the forefront of making sure he explained everything as thorough and simple as he could get it. He gets that it isn't Ian's fault. He gets that the neurochemicals and structure of his sibling's brain differs from his. He gets that Ian will have his good days and bad days, a constant balance of trying to live each day one at a time with the best of his ability. He gets that there isn't a simple cure and that it is a lifelong commitment and struggle. He gets that it simply isn't a cocktail of medication that helps but is a combination of all that and a steadfast routine, a slew of therapies, and positive outlook. He gets how hard all of that shit is to deal with. Yeah, he gets it. And he thinks Ian finally got himself in a place where he learned to live with what he's got. He has his good days and his bad days, but Ian is sure damn steadfast, determined and brave enough to live his life as much as he can. He admires the hell out of his brother for that.
But, he really doesn't get Ian's hesitance to open up. He goes to therapy for pete's sake. He's technically not afraid to do it. And it's obvious his siblings are not out of the loop because they're right there with him. They give him hugs, pats in the back, and that indulgent understanding smile that makes Liam go mad with annoyance. Because why? Why the hell is Ian so hesitant to open up to him? What did he do? He's not a baby. He hates how Ian tends to still treat him as such, often sparing him details like he can't handle it. He's 21 years old. He's working on a degree in Mechanical Engineering – yeah fucking take that early educators who dubbed him as mentally incapable – and he's got an internship lined that guarantees him a good paying job for 2 years. He's an adult. He can take whatever Ian could dish out for him.
So he resolves to ask Ian about it. He plans to corner the man during one family gathering and just ask him. Just come right out and ask. Yeah, good plan. Good job Liam. Simple plan. Straight to the point. A straight shooter. Couldn't possibly mess it up. Not even a little.
But, here's the thing. Yes, there's a fucking thing. Because Liam realizes really quickly that perhaps he's coming out too dogmatic about this. Like, how is he suppose to actually ask Ian? What would he say that doesn't make him sound like some pretentious asshole? 'Oh hey Ian, so listen, what the fuck's your problem dude?' Yeah, try saying that to your beloved older brother without getting well deserved smack on the back of the head. You just don't say that. Not to someone who is well beyond his adult years and use to wipe your ass when you couldn't. Maybe if he said it in a kinder tone like, 'So, I've been noticing you've been kinda blue and avoiding some shit. And I was worried so I just wanted to ask wassup? Yah know? Like...bro to bro?' Oh god, what the fuck was that?! Hell no. That sounds worse. Okay, so maybe Liam isn't really prepared to speak to Ian about this. Certainly not when he feels to stirrings of trepidation seize hold of his fluttering heart. He doesn't think it would be this hard. But suddenly it is.
Apparently, his other siblings pick up on his trepidation easily and leave Ian to him. Fiona flounces away announcing she ordered food that she needs to pick up. Debbie snorts and joins her, all the while tsking away on her phone as she berates another stupid thing Francis decides to pull off that makes Debbie's old heart just palpitate. Lip fucks off somewhere easily, a small comment about checking on the old wife and kids. Liam sends a big finger his way for practically shoving him into Ian's unknowing lap because fuck that asshole for making him face his fears.
Ian, for all his effortless charm, actually doesn't pick up on the mood. He's tired from pulling an extra shift and merely tucks into a cup of tea to soothe his aching back. His red hair, all soft and gelled back looks a bit haphazard, with a few locks licking his pale forehead. Liam has to admit, Ian has always been the more attractive brother. To be fair, all his siblings are attractive. The Gallagher brood was blessed with pretty looking genes which looking back seems to be the only thing they were given from Frank and Monica that they could begrudgingly thank. Aesthetically, Ian is made well with his symmetrical face, built jaw, fit physique, and pretty green eyes. He lacks a certain superior-than-thou look that Lip often emulates at times which makes him all the more open and hospitable looking. Currently he takes a seat on the dingy dining room table – one that Fiona dared not throw away because 'that table hosted a lot of great fucking memories' – and idly sips on his brew. He silently nods for Liam to sit close, intent on having some bonding time with the lad before he fucks off to his new life adventures. While he may look inviting, to Liam he looks a wee bit terrifying.
“How's it going?” Ian asks soothingly, sensing the way Liam shuffles forward and slumps in the seat in front of him. “You doing okay?”
“Uh yeah,” Liam blinks, shrugging his shoulders slightly before twiddling with his fidgeting fingers. Like he looked any less suspicious now with the way Ian narrows his eyes slightly and raises one questioning eyebrow. Ah fuck it. He's just gonna come out and say it. Just rip the band aid right off. “It's just,” he begins, trying to find the correct words that float around his head, “It's just, well, you're kinda...weird.” Yeah, rip it right off along with the whole limb in the process.
Ian blinks at his statement, taking a momentary pause at the way Liam practically falls apart in front of him. Oh shit, he fucked up. He didn't mean to say that Ian was acting out of place like he was manic or something. He knows how sensitive Ian is at that topic despite having years of experience dealing with it. He doesn't mean that. That's not what he meant.
“Weird?” Ian repeats, cocking his head the side. His brow furrows in confusion.
“No! No! I meant...you're just...I just...It's just that sometimes you-” Liam flails momentarily much to Ian's amusement before coughing out a strange garble of, “It's just sometimes you get this really sad look on your face.”
In response Ian merely scrunches his nose, places his tea down gently and leans in comfortably, “Liam, I know we discussed about living with Bipolar Disease and -”
“I know Ian, I know,” Liam mutters waving his attempt at explaining once more, “not what I meant. It's just...sometimes when we're all talking about the good old days,” at this his makes quotation marks as he emphasizes his point, “you just look really put off you know? Like...like really sad. And you don't like talking about it when everyone else doesn't seem to mind. And everyone else seems to know what's going on with you but me, you know? So I thought...if I just asked you, you might be straight up with me.” He says the rest with one long breath, sure that Ian didn't catch all of his rant in the process. But he wants to know why Ian always seemed to look so perpetually lost. He's always searching for something, always grasping for something but never quite getting there. He's always so fidgety. He wants to know why there are times he catches Ian merely look at something with this forlorn look on his face like he remembered something important. He wants to know why Ian sometimes looks like a broken man, always hiding behind an elaborate facade. He wants to know why only he has the privy of seeing it when he is so open to the rest of his siblings. He has the right to do so, he thinks.
He doesn't expect Ian to draw up such a bittersweet smile at his question. “You don't remember him do you?” he asks, a finger idly curling around the chipped handle of the old Gallagher cock mug.
“Remember who?”
“Mickey,” Ian simply whispers as his shoulders sag slightly, “Mickey Milkovich.”
The name, it doesn't ring any bells in Liam's head. But the way Ian says it, the way his lips pronounce it like he's been whispering it to himself for so long it becomes an integral part of his dictionary, it catches Liam's attention immediately. He sounds so careful with it, like the name conjures up a gentleness in Ian that hasn't seen in a long time. “Who's that?” he ventures to ask. Who is this man that makes Ian look suddenly tired, like he's aged more decades then he actually has? Who is this man whose name Ian whispers with such reverence? Who is Mickey Milkovich?”
Ian sneaks a peek at the murky color of his drink before answering with a resigned tone, “You were very young then. About four or five years old when he was around. Makes sense you don't remember him much.”
“He was around?”
“Yeah,” Ian confirms looking wistfully around the house until his gaze lands just near the kitchen area, close to where they keep the archaic coffee maker, “he used to...he lived just a couple of blocks from here.”
Liam watched as Ian took around his surroundings again, his eyes gazing about him with a special lens that seemed to recall so many memories in Ian's head. He can literally see Ian sag under their sharp reminder, as though each memory was a sharp jutting knife to the gut. “He a friend of yours?” he asks.
Ian's bittersweet smile filters into life for a moment and Liam takes a moment just to stare at him. It looks so lopsided on Ian's handsome face and he wonders how Ian manages to look both so happy and so sad at the same time. “You could say that,” he answers back simply before letting out a small sigh.
Liam isn't stupid. He knows Ian is gay. That was never a secret in the house but just another reality not worth picking at. It's not a bother, it's not something the family gloats about, it just is. It is a fact. Ian enjoys the company of other men, Lip enjoys the company of the opposite sex, Fiona is an odd mix of floating in between at times, Carl turned sexual super commando in the army and Debbie laughs at you for thinking she has time to entertain romantic advancements. With her hectic schedule? Ha. She laughs. She laughs straight at your face.
But, just like the rest of his siblings, they don't really mind talking about their love lives. Fiona came close to marrying again until she discovered that with Liam flouncing about in Uni, she has full reigns of a new type of independence she's never experienced. Lip somehow roped himself a wife and proceeded to create two midgets. How? The fuck he knows how. Debbie and Carl are these odd mix of I have no time and I met this person the other day sort of stories. Ian, though, Ian never ever speaks of his love life. He knew Ian hooked up with guys but relationships? No, not his thing. He's heard of one boyfriend, Trevor, only because he's met the guy before. They're still friends but Ian hasn't entertained much thought in other relationships after Trevor. He once thought Ian was asexual, much to Lip's ultimate amusement that he actually called Ian just to inform him of Liam's revelation. His two elder brothers promptly laughed at his face. Ian gets guys. He doesn't have problems getting guys. But, that's not the point.
“So, he's your ex boyfriend then?”
At this, Ian actually winces.
“You could say that,” he repeats again much to Liam's growing confusion.
“Okay, then who is he to you?”
“He's...” Ian considers, softly tapping the glass mug with his finger, “You could say, he's my soul mate.”
At this Liam can't help but just stare. Soul Mate? Those are mighty big words for someone like Ian. Ian seemed like the type to never just commit himself to one guy. In his youth – when he was around 16 and thought he was dope getting all the girls (Ahem, don't fucking judge him) – Liam saw Ian much like a sexual magnet. He knew his brother was attractive. Ian knew he was attractive. Everyone knew Ian was attractive enough that he could be a walking beacon if you were to shove him into a gay pride parade. And man, Ian could get them. Ian blew away his asexual theory right out of the water when he and Lip dragged him into his first clubbing experience, with Ian finding himself a nice flock of equally good looking men. Ian could flirt and he could do it well. After that was this slew of men hanging off Ian's arm. But they were never permanent. Ian never entered relationships with them. So to actually call someone, one man, his soul mate was jarring.
“So, what...uh..,” Liam trails of trying to reorganize his thoughts, “What...where...what happened with him?”
At this Ian's bittersweet smile diminishes until he is left with such a broke expression Liam wanted to reach over and just hug him. Because man, he's never seen Ian look like that before. It was unbecoming for a 36 year old man at this point. “I let him go,” he concludes.
Ian seemed content on ending that story with those words, with the way his breath quickens for a moment and he lets out an uneven sigh. He sounds like he's actually about to cry. And Ian rarely cries. Even when he's on a downswing and depressed. He doesn't cry that easily. But Liam had to know. He had to know of this Mickey Milkovich, Ian's supposed Soul Mate who seemed to have broken Ian so much he's this sad facade of a man living half a life.
“But-”
“Listen Liam,” Ian says, suddenly looking solemn, “one day, one day you will stumble on this wonderful human that just completes the hell out of you. And you're gonna feel like he's your one, your person to love and care for. And it's going to scare the hell out of you.”
He's not sure when this probing suddenly turned to a life lecture but Liam shuts his mouth and allows Ian to say his piece. Because by the looks of it, Ian's distraught face looks like he's seen and felt some shit and Liam better wise up and learn something from it. “And life,” Ian continues, “Life is going to try to come between you. It's gonna try it's damn hardest to test you. To test the both of you. And you're going to win and you're going to lose, that's how life works. But please don't, don't you dare give up on each other.”
He shoots Liam a pleading look which he returns with a small nod of his head. What else can he say or do at this point? The way Ian looks at him, the way his green eyes cloud over like he's recalling a sort of turmoil in his life that Liam hasn't felt yet, it is chilling. Ian doesn't seem satisfied with his answer with the way he rears back and literally pleads with him, “Promise me Liam, promise me you'll do whatever the hell you need to do to make sure you stay together. Don't...don't be like me.”
“I...I promise,” Liam squeaks in response. It is empty words at this point. Liam can't possibly understand Ian in this way. Not yet. Not when Liam has barely felt the feeling of being so positively in love with someone. He doesn't understand the feeling of emotion that melds deep in the recesses of the human psyche for just this one special person. He doesn't understand the pain, the giddiness, the need, the pure emotion that is felt when you find that special someone. He's too young. He's not like Ian who stumbled upon his Soul Mate at such an ill fitting young age when he didn't have the equipment to properly deal with all of this weight. He's not like Ian in the sense that he's never met his special someone yet. Ian prays that when he does, Liam can draw upon his siblings' many many many mistakes when it comes to love. Because, one Gallagher deserves a shot at love that doesn't completely corrupt him. They all still hope Liam would come out unscathed. Perhaps they still baby him too much because of it.
“But Ian,” Liam meekly pushes, “I don't understand. What happened?”
What didn't happen, was the better question, Ian supposes. “I let him go,” he reiterates with another sad shrug. That is what he did in the end. He doesn't regret it. Not in that way. It's just, it's all complicated. Because, deep within himself, he does regret it. He regrets how it all went down. But, he also doesn't regret it, because he let him go. At this point he just sounds pedantic, with useless paradoxes mirroring the confusion and doubt of his mind.
Logically, yes, he did the right thing letting Mickey go. Mickey needed to go away. Mickey needed to go to Mexico for a fresh start. Mickey needed a new beginning away from all the bullshit that was South Side Chicago. He was a wanted man. He was an unwanted man. Wanted man by the federal government for outsmarting them by his literal use of dick – to which Ian will give ultimate kudos to. Unwanted by the hordes of people in his life who couldn't give two fucks whether he rot away in prison or fucked off to who-knows-where. To him, with the way it ended, Ian was just one of those people in the end. The thought hurt, it stung him deeply.
Logically, he knew he couldn't follow. Not the way he is. “This isn't him anymore.” Those were his words and he is correct. Ian wasn't the same boy who endlessly loved Mickey, despite all of the shit he's thrown at him. Ian was now a man stricken by a disease he didn't ask for, finding himself climbing and stumbling over to stability with the precarious knowledge that just a tip would send him toppling back to the abyss of ruin. He was too afraid. Stability was gratifying because it gave him control of his life, something that he had tried his damn hardest to grasp with nibble, stiff, bloated fingers. He couldn't throw that all away and just leave. He was finally in a safe place. And he was correct, in choosing his health that day.
But his soul, his poor lovable, piteous soul had screamed bloody hell at him that day. Because he felt like he betrayed himself. His soul had ran itself ragged screaming at the confines of his beating heart, clashing against his creaking ribs. His soul called foul at all of his short comings until Ian just wanted to curl up into himself and just decay. Because how could he? How could he just throw all that he and Mickey worked for down the drain like cheap trash? How could he stand there, claiming his love, when this very act seemed so fucking mutinous. How could he?! His soul rages at the motion, until he is left a sobbing mess as the Greyhound inches its way back to Chicago that very day. All the bravery, all the love that he convinces himself he had for Mickey, melts away until there was nothing left but empty sorrow. There is his soul who mourns for the loss of a beautiful relationship, silently promising revenge once it bandages himself up.
His mind, his mind keeps him plenty preoccupied. Before he even got back to Chicago, his mind whirls with all the news that hits him. Monica's dead. Trevor's angry. Mickey's gone. Damage control. He allows his mind to take the reigns, trusting himself enough to pilot through all the utter bullshit that he faces. And he comes out okay. He does well at his job. His relationship with his siblings are more substantial then when he was young. He has friends. He gets himself a small apartment near the Northside that makes him warm and giddy with pride. He's doing well. But ever so often, his soul would quip. Like it's reminding him that he fucked up and he's never owned up. It's the little things that he is reminded of that tears him down.
When he moved, he stumbled upon an old shirt that definitely was not his. It's Mickey's. He knows it is his by they way the shirt's sleeves are shrewn off and the way it is tight around his shoulder blades. It is then when his brain quips. “You don't love him.” And that, that idea is simply abhorrent to him that even his mind hisses at the thought. He loves Mickey. He loves Mickey so much that he let him go to his freedom without him. Because he, Ian Gallagher, is holding him back somehow with all of his baggage and problems that is so inherently tied to the Southside. And Mickey needed that clean break, away from all of it. He loved him so much, he let go.
Except his soul reminds him of all the shit he's fucked up. He reminds him that had Mickey actually not break away from prison, he would still be content in the arms of another man. Had Mickey not reminded him of his presence - “Miss me?” - Ian would be content living his life as Mickey rotted away in prison for more than a decade. Without a visit. Without a hello. With the empty promises swirling in his mind from Ian's own poisonous mouth. Did you love him then Ian? Did you love him then when he was so fucking stuck and you wanted nothing more but the move away from all of this bullshit because you couldn't deal? Did you love him then when you jumped head first into the arms of other men, suddenly finding awe in experiencing real dating moments like romantic dinners and scheduled outings? Did you love him then when you were so intent on forgetting about him?
You don't love him.
It's not true, his mind reasons. Ian loves Mickey. He always will because Mickey has stolen a piece of his heart, his mind, his everything. Mickey is his first love. He's changed his life in more ways than he can imagine or point out. He loves Mickey. He will always love Mickey.
Except when it's not convenient, his soul quips just as harsh. When it's not convenient for you. When it doesn't go your way. You turned your back. Twice? Three times? Four times. The fifth time – the final time. You were willing to turn your back and walk away. Every single time. False. All of his weepings are false because in the end, Ian has done exactly as he had done in the past. He walked away.
You can't blame him for that. It was the right thing to do. Self preservation is not a mistake. It isn't a mistake to chose his health, his mental stability, himself. It isn't. He wasn't allowing himself to go down that road because it was dangerous. His thoughts, pulling himself to and fro into uncertain grounds, was dangerous. He had to thread carefully. If only his soul would shut the fuck up.
It takes him a while, a long ass fucking while, to understand why his soul wouldn't just shut the hell up and deal like his mind was. It was the guilt that was pressing hard on his conscience. The guilt for how it all went down. It was a mess. That trip was a loaded mess. Ian owed Mickey a whole hell of a lot more than just more borrowed time in this bubble of pleasant abyss where they could pretend to be okay. Ian owed Mickey more than just another empty promise of love. He owed him an apology, a clear fucking apology where Ian would have bowed to his knees. He owed Mickey a clear and concise Thank You for everything. For staying with him. For helping him. For making sure he didn't lose his shit and murder people. For trying to help him through it. For Nursing him. He resented it. He knew he fucking resented being babied, being treated like a breakable thing that Mickey had to physically watch himself around him. He hated all of it. But Mickey tried. God, he tried his damn best and not everyone would be willing to do that for him. For that he deserves a thank you. For that, Mickey deserved the world. And in the end, Ian had said nothing. He said nothing and he kicks himself everyday for it.
He said “I love you,” his mind points out dejectedly. He said it and he never ever says it. That should be note worthy. Those aren't words Ian Gallagher said everyday. And god, he should have. He fucking should have. At least to Mickey. He should have said it. Why didn't he ever say it back more than once? Because Mickey said it three times to which Ian had broken his heart every single time. Do you really love him Ian? Do you? I do, I do, I do.
He does. Ian Gallagher still loves Mickey Milkovich. It's stupid to think otherwise at this point in his life. He tried, you know, moving on. He tried to legitimately create a new relationship with someone else. Someone who makes him happy. And he thought he found that a couple of times. He found himself smiling and enjoying himself. He found himself almost saying he actually might love this other person. It's not the same, but he expects that because nothing will ever be the same. It's not as epic, as significant or as dramatic and he learns to be okay with it. Until his soul quips again, this time more venomous than the last. You don't deserve to be loved asshole, for all that you have done. You have too much baggage. You have too much drama. There's always fucking something wrong with you. You saw how much that damaged the one person who loved you so. Why would you be willing to ensnare another victim? Are you that callous? Are you that cruel? Come on Ian Gallagher, deal with your regrets like the stable adult you claim to be. Own it.
And he does. He tries. Every single day. Everyday is a struggle. Not when many things remind him of Mickey. Not when he finds himself wondering what his beautiful Ukrainian thug is doing at the moment. Is he at the beach? Is he happy? Did he learn how to swim? Did he...did he find someone that came make him happier than Ian could ever hope to? Just to spite him, his soul gently agrees with a simple, Mickey will and probably has found someone better because he is resilient. It's true. Mickey is. It makes him want to sob into his hands every time he allows himself to think about it. But, it is all true.
“Ian! Ian! IAN!” Liam screeched with a swift kick to the Ian's shin. He's taken a long pause of silence as he simmers, all the contradictions and depressions of his mind leaking away into his face until Liam was left with no choice but to derail him. He looked rather jilted, staring at Ian as though it were the first time he's ever seen him. And in a way, that is true. Ian was careful in his portrayal of life under Liam's thoughtful gaze. He simply never wanted to burden his youngest sibling with the heavy baggage of his broken heart. He couldn't deal with another simmering sympathetic look. Not when his siblings all direct one at him at some point in their chaotic lives.
“Sorry,” Ian breathed out trying to calm his nerves. He felt the tell tale signs of prickling tears press against his eyes and he blinked until they were waved away, “I was just...it just got heavy for a second.”
Liam takes another long moment to assess him before he presses on even more curious. “If...I see the way you act Ian, you aren't happy.”
“That's not true,” Ian promises, “I'm plenty satisfied with my life Liam. I-”
“But it isn't enough,” Liam supplies back as though he's reading Ian with the back of his hand, “because you always look so fucking lost Ian. It looks like you're always looking for something! If it bothers you so much that you left him, why didn't you go after him?!”
Liam makes it sound so easy. Go after him. Hop into that plan Ian. Search the depths of Mexico for your love. It's so romantic. He's heard all those words before. He use to live by them. “You don't think I tried?”
At this Liam just looked stumped, “You did?”
“I did,” Ian confirms, “As soon as I got the money, I applied for a passport. I bought that plane ticket. I kept telling myself that I'll find him. I'll tell him I'm sorry. I'll tell him Thank you. I'll tell him that I still love him. That it was all a mistake because I was so blind and stupid. I had it all planned out.”
“And...did you...?”
Ian shook his head in response, gaze dropping down to the cooling tea in front of him. He remembered that trip. He was 27 years old. He was tired of pretending to be happy. He was tired of pretending he didn't miss him. He was tired of lying to himself. So he hopped on that plan. He reiterated his plan in his head a million and one more times until it stuck. He learned elementary grade Spanish and searched to probable towns and cities where he could find a lead on the missing Milkovich boy. In the end, he didn't find a soul. Nothing. Ian Gallagher came out with nothing. That long plane ride home was probably the worst, with Ian in shambles and trying his best to hold back tears. His chest felt like it was on fire with his sould and mind finally converging into one with all the intent of destorying him from the inside. This is karma bitch. This is fate saying you weren't meant to be together. Mickey doesn't want to see you. He made it until he was in Fiona's car before promptly sobbing out all his frustrations. He slipped into mind numbing, catatonic depression that day that lasted for three weeks. And then he slipped into depression soon afterwards, his working mind a haze of putrid self hatred and low self esteem.
But he learned a lot from that trip. He learned that in the end, he was willing to go through the pain again. And again. And again. Ian goes to Mexico to search three more times, pooling all his hard earned cash into searching for his soul mate. As the years have gone by, Ian simply refers to Mickey as such because why else would be subject himself to this form of torture. Because people do crazy stupid things for the people they love, every single time. He gets that now. He gets 'til death do as part and all that shit' like it's his own mantra. It took him a while, but he gets it now. So, he goes down to Mexico every chance he could get. So much that he becomes pretty fluent in the language, quickly creating social connections to give him a ring if they even get a hint of Mickey's presence.
And in the end...
“Mickey didn't want to be found,” Ian finishes. It stings every single time acknowledges that fact. It makes Ian want to dry heave. It leaves him nauseous with guilt, and worry, and irritation, and paranoia, and oh god, every other emotion in between. He has so many questions. So many unanswered questions that only Mickey could ever answer.
Ian is turning 40 soon. He's not blind. He sees time simply pass by him while he's stuck in this piece of shit limbo he's created for himself. Liam is the literal prime example of it. He is 21 years old. He's about to graduate college. He personified all the time that has passed through Ian's grasp. And when Ian sees him, he can't help but think of all the lost time spent mooning over a man whose existence is turning into a mere myth in Ian's eyes. He's exhausted searching. He's getting old. But, he won't stop. He can't stop.
“I'm...I'm sorry Ian,” Liam chokes out. He actually looks close to tears, looking more and more like a distressed puppy that was kicked to the curb, “I didn't mean to force you to open up about all of this.”
“It's okay.”
“For...for what it's worth, I think it's still really brave to keep looking for your Soul Mate.”
Brave? Or Stupid? Ian's mind brings up, only for Ian to frown at him. “Listen to me closely Liam,” Ian says again bringing one hand to pat at Liam's own hand, “not everyone ends up with their Soul Mate. But it doesn't hurt to try alright? Try your best, your hardest to make it work.”
“Do...do you think you'll find him? Eventually?”
“I don't know. I can't tell whether or not I exhausted all my chances or not anymore.” That, his mind simply adds, that or he won't believe it. There is a clear difference, but it matters not to his soul. Not when every fiber of Ian's being would give an arm and leg just to see Mickey again. For one last time if he must, just to lay down all his regrets and clean his slate. Perhaps it would cleanse his soul, assuage his guilt and he could start anew. Perhaps it would actually kill him and he would begin his slow, inevitable descent into madness. Ian doesn't know. At this point, he doesn't care. Ian is just tired. He just wants to rest. He just wants it all to end.
Liam doesn't comment when he spies a renegade tear fall down Ian's cheek. He's been in utter awe to think that Ian could have so much control that it would only take now for him to allow himself to cry. It isn't even dramatic sobbing. It is a stray tear, one that Ian could have easily blamed on a yawn had it not been for the clenched jaw and shaking lips that gave away his desire to bawl. His brother has remarkable control. He has remarkable courage. And my god, Ian has remarkable self awareness. It leaves Liam shaking in his seat.
Liam might be 21 years old. He might be an official adult. But at this moment, he's never felt more like a child in the face of his older sibling. He's opened a can of worms and he's not sure it was the correct thing to do. So he sits and watches as Ian tries to crawl back, away from his mind and stabilize himself until that crooked mask is placed perfectly on top of his face. It use to bother him before, but now he feels the unmistakable urge rip it off and just fix it. But it isn't his mask to fix. Not at all.
He'd like to meet him; This Mickey Milkovich someday. He sincerely just hopes that someday would come sooner rather than later.