Chapter Text
If Ian hadn't decided to take his lunch break in the park a little ways from the hospital, none of this would have happened.
One minute he's relaxed, enjoying an roast beef sandwich and breathing in the early spring air, and the next he turns to see a teenage girl with green-streaked brown hair striding towards him.
"Hey, officer?"
He puts his sandwich down. This happens a lot--people see the navy uniform and just assume. "No, I'm actually--"
She ignores him. "There's a homeless guy masturbating or something on that bench." She points to the bench a few yards down from him, where a shape is huddled. Ian feels a twinge of sympathy for whoever that guy is.
"Could you, like, make him stop?" the girl continues, wrinkling her nose. "It's really gross."
Ian considers telling her that's not his job and that she should call the actual police, but what the hell, he's dealt with plenty of homeless people before. Most of them are either in need of medication (he can relate) or have been living outside so long they've kind of lost their sense of what's socially acceptable. Either way, he knows what to do.
"Yeah, I'll talk to him," Ian says, bagging the remainder of his lunch. "Thanks, ma'am."
She gives him a dirty look for the "ma'am," but keeps walking. With a sigh, Ian stands up and walks toward the bench, turning on his intercom in case he ends up needing back-up. There's no telling if this person is on or coming down off of a bad drug trip, and he's seen EMTs get seriously hurt.
"Excuse me, sir?" he says, stopping a few feet away. "Are you all right?"
The huddled shape unfolds, and he sees a dirty grey hat topping a face that he's tried two years to forget about.
No. It can't be.
"Mickey?"
Mickey squints in his direction. "Gallagher?"
Ian's floored. Everything around him seems to disappear, and his first instinct tells him to run to Mickey and--and do what? Hit him? Make sure he's okay? Call for back-up? He can't think straight.
"What...what are you doing out here?" Ian stammers, taking another step forward. "You were...did you break out of prison?"
"No fucking duh," Mickey says, half sitting up. "What are you doing here?"
Ian's mouth has gone so dry he can barely speak, but Mickey sees his uniform jacket and smirks.
"Nice threads, man.You look hot."
Mickey doesn't look hot at all. He's unshaven, his hair is uncut and hanging down his neck, and his face is pale and puffy. But what did Ian expect, that he'd escape from prison and still be able to shower whenever he wanted?
"Mick, y-you can't be here," Ian stutters. "I-I need you to leave. Just...just go somewhere else and I'll meet you after work, okay? I want to help you, but...I can't right now."
"Gallagher, relax," Mickey says gruffly. "This ain't a rom com, I'm not here to get you back."
That much he believes, anyway. Mickey was never very good at romance.
"There's a shelter down the street," Ian says, pointing in what he hopes is the right direction. "You can go there."
"Nah," Mickey says, rubbing an eye. "I kind of overstayed my welcome. They kicked me out."
"Okay, fine. Um...well, there's also--"
He stops when Mickey lets out a groan and doubles over. Ian's training comes back to him and he runs over to Mickey's side.
"What's wrong? Where does it hurt?"
Mickey's got an arm wrapped around his stomach, which even with the heavy winter coat he's wearing looks distended.
"Mick, I need you to talk to me," Ian urges him. Mickey just shakes his head and grips the slats of the bench so hard that his knuckles go white. Whatever kind of pain he's in, it's intense.
Ian turns on his intercom. "EMT Gallagher requesting back-up. White male, mid-twenties, experiencing severe abdominal pain."
"The fuck are you talking to?" Mickey pants after a few seconds, slowly letting go of the bench.
"EMTs, they're on their way with an ambulance right now," Ian tells him, crouching down so they're eye-level with each other. "Mick, what's going on with you?"
"Fucking nothing," Mickey grunts, edging away from him. "Leave me alone, Gallagher, I'm fine."
"You're not fine," Ian says sternly. "And I'm not leaving until the ambulance gets here and we've checked you out. Now, can you take off your coat for me?"
Mickey leers. "Why, you wanna--"
"See what's wrong with your stomach," Ian interrupts. "Seriously."
Mickey seems reluctant, but he slowly undoes the buttons and Ian almost falls back on his heels when he sees what's really wrong with his ex-boyfriend.
"Oh, shit."
***
It takes the EMTs about ten minutes to get to them, and in that time, Ian and Mickey have somehow managed to come up with a story to prevent Mickey from being taken back to prison as soon as he's out of the hospital. He uses a fake name, tells the EMTs he's been homeless for a year, and Ian vouches for him, saying he's seen him around before. Nobody really cares at the moment, as they're busy with blood pressure cuffs and tons of medical questions for Mickey about his...
...pregnancy. Jesus Christ, Ian still can't believe it. How did this happen? How did Mickey get pregnant? Who's responsible for this?
He doesn't get to ask any of these questions until he's alone with Mickey in his hospital room a few hours later. He's left work early, so he just sits in a chair by the bed while Mickey sleeps. He's not family, and the doctors won't tell him anything beyond the fact that he's dehydrated, at least thirty-four weeks along and was having Braxton-Hicks contractions. He "should be fine," but Ian knows that's bullshit. How is any of this fine?
He calls Mandy and leaves a message (without mention Mickey's name, just to be safe) and he's waiting to hear back. She must know about this...or maybe she doesn't. He's been out of the Milkovich loop for two years, so who knows whether Mickey's kept in touch with her.
In the meantime, he keeps staring at Mickey's belly. It's like a magnet. He can't fully comprehend there's a baby in there. An almost full-term one, too. It's a miracle it's survived everything Mickey's probably put it through.
Definitely a Milkovich, Ian thinks, smiling in spite of himself. Kid's already learning how to deal with the worst.
But really, he can't imagine how Mickey could be any more fucked. No home, no job (at least not a legal one, if he knows Mickey) no way to raise a kid. This baby will probably end up in foster care as soon as it's born. Unless the other dad shows up and wants custody, but somehow Ian can't see that happening.
Mickey slowly opens his eyes and sees Ian. He smiles.
"Hey."
"Hey," Ian replies automatically. "How're you feeling?"
"Awesome," Mickey says dryly. "First time I've slept in a bed in weeks." He raises his left arm and sees the IV drip. "The fuck's this for?"
"You're dehydrated," Ian explains. "They're going to discharge you as soon as you're okay."
Mickey sighs. "Fucking great."
After a long moment of silence, Ian clears his throat.
"You don't have to tell me, but--"
"It's not yours," Mickey interrupts. "Don't worry about it."
Ian's taken aback. "I know it's not mine. We haven't seen each other in two years."
Mickey shrugs. "Twenty-one months, but who's counting?"
Ian hears the tension in his voice. "Look, Mick, you can stay with me for a couple days. But the longer you're in here, the better the chances that someone's going to tell the police. You don't want to go back to prison."
"I don't?" Mickey fires back. "I dunno, man. At least there I got a bed, three meals a day, and a doctor who could at least do a pregnancy test right. Sounds like a better deal than wandering the streets knocked up." He brushes a hand down his belly. "And hey, at least the kid would be with both their parents. Guards get good health insurance, right?"
That tells Ian everything he needs to know, and his stomach clenches.
"Mick...I'm sorry."
Mickey shrugs again. "Forget it."
Ian glances at the door. "Look, I called Mandy because they wouldn't tell me anything. Do you two still keep in touch?"
Mickey scrubs his hands over his face. "She doesn't know about this. You didn't tell her, did you?"
"Why doesn't she know?" Ian demands, avoiding the question. "Mick, she'd help you out, she might--"
"I don't want her to!" Mickey snaps. "She's got her own life now, she doesn't need to be raising some fucking kid, especially if it's not hers."
Ian connects the dots. "You haven't seen her in months, have you? What, did you just take her off your visitors' list?"
"Shut the fuck up, Gallagher!" Mickey yells. "You're not my boyfriend anymore, I don't owe you any fucking explanations! I was in prison, I got knocked up, I broke out. And nobody knows.You happy now?"
It's not the full story, Ian can tell, but there's no use trying to pump Mickey for more information.
A nurse pokes her head in the door, frowning.
"Everything all right in here? I heard yelling."
"We're fine," Ian says quickly. "It was nothing."
She steps into the room to check Mickey's IV, and they avoid looking at each other while she does.
"Nearly done here," she says, adjusting the bag. "Still feeling light-headed?"
"Nah," Mickey mutters.
"Good. I'll let the doctor know."
She leaves, and Ian turns back to him.
"Seriously, you can stay with me. My roommate's out of town for a week, he won't care."
Mickey has one arm over his eyes. "Jesus, Gallagher, when did you become such a Good Samaritan?"
Ian can't help cracking a smile. "Since I passed my exam."
Mickey snorts.
***
Once they're back at Ian's place, Mickey immediately falls asleep on his bed without even getting under the covers. Not that Ian would want him to, that would be...kind of weird. Because they haven't slept together in any context for almost two years, and...
He tries not to think about that while he gives Mandy another call, only to have it go directly to voicemail, and lets her know that "a friend" is staying with him. She'll put it together, he hopes.
In the meantime, he has to figure out what to do about his fugitive ex who has nowhere else to go and could still end up back in prison at any time. Hell, they might only have a few hours before the police are knocking on Ian's door, arresting him for aiding and abetting.
He makes himself dinner, trying to come up with a feasible plan. He decides that if Mandy hasn't contacted him by tomorrow, he'll work something else out with Mickey. Maybe there are people who can help him out, get him somewhere safe.
Mickey shuffles out of the bedroom, sniffing.
"Is that chicken? Can I have some?"
Ian makes a plate for him, and Mickey scarfs it down like he hasn't eaten in days. Come to think of it, that's probably true. Ian pours him a glass of water, too. He has to stay hydrated.
"So, uh, I'll be out of here in a couple days," Mickey says, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "I know someone who's heading to Mexico, and he said he'll take me with him. Best thing to do, right? I can't hang around here."
Ian's surprised. He didn't think Mickey actually had a contingency plan, and a thousand objections come to mind before he realizes that this is probably the best Mickey can do right now--just leave, go somewhere where the American police can't follow, and start a new life.
"When?" Ian asks in spite of himself. He can feel a warning bell go off in his head, telling him not to do it, not to fall back into this world. He may not live in the Southside anymore, he may be a respectfully employed member of the working class, and he might even save lives every now and then. But that can all be gone in a second. He knows that too well.
But. It's Mickey.
"Soon as I can," Mickey says, washing down the sandwich with a gulp of water. "Before I pop, anyway. Can't be squeezing this kid out while I'm crossing the border." He frowns. "Would that make it an anchor baby?"
Ian grimaces both at the term and the visual. He hasn't asked exactly how Mickey's going to give birth, and frankly he doesn't want to know just yet.
"So you've definitely decided on not going back to prison?" he says, just for something to say. Mickey scoffs at him.
"Fuck no, man. I was kidding."
"Even about..." Ian glances at Mickey's stomach. "The guard?"
Mickey's face closes up, and he rubs a hand over his belly.
"It wasn't what you think," he says in a low voice. "He was nice. Redhead, like you."
For some reason, hearing this makes Ian hot with anger. He turns away and tosses his plate into the sink.
"What, you jealous?" Mickey asks. "C'mon, Gallagher, you know what it's like in there."
"Then how do you know he's the dad?" Ian says, turning back around. Mickey still won't look at him.
"Does it matter? The kid won't know who the guy is anyway. We'll be in Mexico by then."
"What if you're not?" Ian pushes. "What if you get caught or go into labor early? What are you gonna do then?"
"What's with the fucking third degree?" Mickey fires back. "Mexico's the only plan I got. Kid'll just have to stay put until then."
He glances around. "Where's your bathroom?"
Ian points to the left, and Mickey heads in that direction, leaving Ian alone with his thoughts once again.
***
It's a pretty ordinary weekend, except for having Mickey around.
Ian doesn't have another shift until Monday, so he goes for a run, does a load of laundry, vaccuums, and does paperwork. Mickey mostly watches TV, sleeps, and eats half of the things in Ian's fridge. Ian would be annoyed if he didn't know that Mickey needs the nutrition more than he does right now.
He keeps himself busy until Saturday night, when he has plans with some work friends, and finds himself reluctant to leave Mickey alone. But it's not like he can ask him along, either.
He leaves Mickey his phone number and tells him to call only in case of an emergency. Mickey nods, turns up the volume on the TV, and seems happy to stay put on the couch.
Ian is actually glad to be out of the apartment, but about an hour in he misses Mickey. He wishes things were different and they could be a normal couple, signing up for Trivia Nights and catching up over drinks. Seeing his friends with their partners makes him feel lonely. It's been a few weeks since he and Trevor ended things, and he still misses him a little.
But not, a voice in his head reminds him, nearly as much as he missed Mickey. Not even close.
That's different. Mickey's a fugitive, heading to Mexico, pregnant with some other guy's baby. There's nothing Ian can do about any of that.
So why does he want to?
***
Ian gets back a little earlier than he meant to, and finds Mickey in his bed, under the covers this time. Resigning himself to a slightly awkward night, Ian changes into his usual sleep shirt and shorts and climbs under the covers.
He immediately realizes what a mistake this is. All the memories of sharing a bed with Mickey come flooding back, and he finds himself instinctively curling towards him. Mickey's warm and smells almost exactly the same, and Ian has to force himself to turn over and face the wall.
He can't let Mickey distract him from his job, his life, everything he's worked so hard for. That's what he tells himself, because he doesn't want to think about what'll happen when Mickey's over the border and he can never see him again.
Well then, what the hell? If this is the last night you ever spend with him, might as well make it count.
"Mick?"
"Mm?"
Ian touches his shoulder. "You awake?"
"Yeah." Mickey turns over slowly. "You wanna?"
Ian blinks. "Uh, I guess, but--"
"Hold on," Mickey grunts, pushing himself up. "Bathroom."
He leaves and Ian lies there, mind racing. Sex would be great, especially since he hasn't had any in over a month, but he didn't mean to imply that was all he wanted from Mickey. He wants to talk. There are things he wants, needs, to say to him, especially if they won't be together much longer.
He sits up, turns on the bedside lamp on his side, and waits for Mickey to get back from the bathroom.
"You got lube?" Mickey says when he returns, and raises an eyebrow when he sees that Ian's still clothed. "What's up? I thought you wanted--"
"We need to talk."
Mickey groans, sinking back onto the bed. "Fuck, Ian. I'm tired. Can we do this pissed-off ex thing later?"
"I'm not pissed off," Ian says. "I just need to say some things."
Mickey re-adjusts the pillows he's bunched behind his back. "Okay, say 'em."
Ian tries to figure out where to start. "I like my life. I've got my shit together. I had a boyfriend for a while, a couple of them, actually, and I'm happy. I don't want to throw all that away."
Mickey looks at him. "I'm not askin' you to."
"I know," Ian replies, even though it doesn't feel that way. "But you're here, and you've got a kid, and you're going to be gone again and I just feel like..." He trails off for a second. "Like you wanted me to find you in that park the other day. Like you wanted my help."
Mickey doesn't immediately contradict him, which is pretty telling.
"Yeah, maybe I did," he says after a minute. "I wasn't trying to go all stalker on you, but...I saw you there before, and I thought maybe I'd take a chance, get your attention. Wasn't planning on the fake labor pains, though, that just happened."
Ian shakes his head. "Mick, all you had to do was talk to me. I'm not the police, I wouldn't have turned you in."
Mickey shrugs. "I couldn't risk it, man."
They're quiet for a few more minutes, until Ian remembers another burning question he has.
"So...what are you going to do when the baby comes?"
Mickey runs his hands slowly over his bump. "I wish I knew. Sometimes I think I could do it, y'know? I did an okay job with Yevgeny before he and Svetlana left. Other times I think, fuck that, I'm not ready to be a single parent. But I don't want this kid ending up in some shitty foster care home, either. Any way I look at it, it's pretty fucked."
Ian looks at him. He's changed in some ways, and not just physically. He's quieter, more beaten down, not like the loud-mouthed, take-charge guy he was before he went to prison. Ian's not sure if it's the lack of choices facing him now or the extremely daunting prospect of starting over in a new country, potentially as a single father, with no support system in place. If it were Ian, he'd been panicking right now.
But it's not him. It's Mickey, and even if he never admits it out loud, he needs help.
"Okay," Ian says finally. "What can I do?"