Archive of Our Own ^beta

It had been Debbie’s idea. Debbie’s idea, but Fiona’s fault. 

To the entire Gallagher clan’s surprise, Fiona had decided to make an impromptu visit home, her first since she’d left them. 

It had been a normal day, everyone going about their business. Ian and Mickey had been at work. Liam and Carl had been at school. Debbie had the day off so she’d dropped Franny at daycare and spent her time running some necessary errands for the house. Lip spent his morning with Tami and Fred, then parted ways for his own shift at the garage. But when the school day ended and the work hours came to a close and all of the Gallaghers started trickling back into the house on Wallace, they’d all been completely caught off guard by the smell of garlic bread in the oven and the sight of Fiona in the kitchen, watching a pot of boiling spaghetti and stirring a pan of ground beef and tomato sauce. It was such a familiar sight, too, that it had almost felt like she hadn’t even left.

Fiona had just grinned big and greeted everyone with hugs and “I missed you!”s and, though no one would admit it, a few tears were shed all around.

Ian had certainly felt a few slip out as he threw his arms around his sister and held her tightly. It had been even longer since the last time that he’d seen Fiona considering he’d been stuck behind bars when she’d finally stepped onto that plane. They’d spoken on the phone plenty since, but nothing could beat having Fiona here, in the flesh. He’d missed that.

When they’d separated, Fiona’s eyes had flittered past Ian to land on Mickey, where he was helping Liam set the table. “Mickey Milkovich,” she had said, her eyes flashing with something , and for a second, Ian had thought she was going to start something, god forbid. That concern only grew when the grin she’d been wearing faltered, and her eyes widened. “Oh, shit, wait. Is it Gallagher now?” She asked, lifting a hand to her mouth. When she pulled it away, the smile was even bigger, with a teasing edge to it, and Ian felt the relief flood through him.

Mickey dropped the last fork near the place at the head of the table and turned his head. He flicked his eyebrows up once, and a self-satisfied little grin curved onto his lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he’d responded elusively, and Ian laughed out loud at that.

Fiona hadn’t pressed it, instead choosing to set down the serving spoon she’d been holding so she could stalk right over to Mickey and pull him into a hug. It had caught Mickey off guard, for sure, if the way his eyes widened and the surprised o shape his mouth formed were anything to go by. He’d sent Ian a displeased look over her shoulder, but Ian hadn’t come to his rescue, which earned him an ever so loving view of Mickey’s middle finger. Mickey begrudgingly allowed the hug, though, but only for a few seconds before he grumbled out an “okay, that’s enough,” and pushed Fiona back, giving her a tight smile.

After that they’d all helped serve the food and sat down to the first family meal they’d had in a while. Everyone took turns catching Fiona up with what she’d missed in their lives, and Fiona returned the gesture, updating them all on what she’d been up to as well. Ian and Mickey had gone last, and when it was their turn, they regaled Fiona with the story of their wedding day, telling her all about the pitfalls and last minute scrambling they’d had to do.

It was during this conversation that Debbie’s brilliant idea had been born. 

Debbie’s idea, Fiona’s fault.

“Ian, that sounds really great,” Fiona says earnestly. She reaches out to squeeze Ian’s wrist, and the happy smile she’d been wearing during the whole meal so far twists ruefully. She meets Ian’s gaze, and there’s a sad tilt to her eyes. “I'm so sorry I couldn’t be there for it, sweetface,” she tells him.

Ian offers her an understanding smile and he nods. He turns his hand in hers so he can squeeze back. “It’s okay, Fi,” he says, and it is. He had been upset when her invitation had come back checked ‘unable to attend’, but he’d had plenty of time to come to terms with her reasoning for that. And as much as he would’ve loved to have her there, Ian understands why she wasn’t. Things were still too fresh for her, and there was the fear that if she came back she wouldn’t be able to work up the nerve to leave again, that she’d get sucked back in to the life she’d worked so hard to separate herself from. Because she had. Worked hard to separate herself from the role she’d felt no choice but to take in this family, to cut the ties that she had with the Southside and reestablish herself as a new person. As her own person. Ian couldn’t blame her for wanting more for herself and for actually going after that.

Beneath the table, Ian feels Mickey’s foot nudge his before he slides it back and hooks his ankle around Ian’s— the grounding ‘I’m here’ unspoken but ever present.

Ian’s chest swells and he knocks his knee against Mickey’s in response.

“We got a lot of pictures and shit you can look through,” Mickey offers. “I think Sandy put ‘em all in a book or somethin’. I can tell her to bring it over. How long you here for?” 

“Just until Thursday,” Fiona answers. “And I’d love to see the pictures,” she adds, nodding enthusiastically. “Maybe even make a few copies to take back with me.” She sounds so hopeful about it, and Ian laughs.

“We can get someone to photoshop you in, Fi,” Liam chimes in. He sits back in his chair so casually and casts a cool glance around the table. “I know a guy.”

The table erupts into laughter.

“Oh, hey, you know what,” Lip says, rising from his chair. “I took some pictures at the wedding. Lemme find where I put my phone.” He disappears into the other room for a minute before coming back, phone in hand.

“You were takin’ pictures?” Mickey asks, eyebrows somewhere up near his hairline.

Lip nods and punches in his code. “Yeah, 'course I was.” He pokes around on his phone for a few seconds then sets it in the middle of the table, open to his gallery.

“Why the fuck did we hire a photographer then if we got our very own professional photographer right here in our midst?" Mickey questions sarcastically.

Ian grabs the phone from the middle and taps on one of the pictures. When it loads, it’s nothing but a blur of colors and movement. He grins crookedly and snickers a little. “That’s why,” he answers, and his snickering turns into a full on laugh when Mickey takes one look at it and cackles.

Lip snatches the phone back from Ian and shoves him in the shoulder. “Oh, fuck off, that’s one bad photo,” he replies. “There’s a ton of good ones. Just scroll through ‘em.”

Fiona takes the phone from Lip and everyone crowds around her as she swipes through the photos. There’s a whole slew of photos of the venue from when they first arrived, getting a feel for their setting. Then it switches into snapshot after snapshot from the reception. Kev and V dancing, their twins twirling with each other. There’s a selfie of Lip and Liam, grinning wide as they squish into the camera together. Some of Debbie and Sandy dancing, and Franny in her adorable flower girl dress, and there was even one of Frank at the bar, because Lip couldn’t not capture that. But none of those really compare to the shots Lip managed to capture of Ian and Mickey. And boy, did he get a lot of those. Ian kind of wonders how he missed Lip taking all of these, but as Fiona scrolls past one picture where he’s wearing the widest, dopiest grin and he’s only got eyes for Mickey, he understands why.

Fiona stops on one photo of the two of them where Ian has an arm thrown around Mickey’s neck, and Mickey’s hanging onto him with an arm around his waist. They’re leaning back, each throwing out a leg like they’re part of a showgirl kick line. What really makes the photo, though, is the way they’re grinning wide, happy and carefree, like there’s nothing they could be happier to be doing than acting like a couple of dorks on the dance floor together.

It does a pretty great job of capturing exactly how Ian felt that whole day.

Fiona lets out a wet laugh at that picture and wipes at the corner of her eye. “These are great, Lip,” she says. 

Lip shoots Ian and Mickey a triumphant look and accepts his phone back when Fiona passes it over. “Thanks, Fi. I’m sure Sandy has some more good shots, too.”

“Man, seein’ all these really makes me wish I woulda come,” Fiona says, and the regret is painfully obvious.

“What if there was a way you could,” Debbie chimes in. She sits up straighter in her chair and her eyes are bright in a way that means she’s got something brewing up in her head.

“You mean you found a hot tub that can take us back in time?” Carl asks, snickering at his joke.

Debbie rolls her eyes and she must kick him in the shin beneath the table, because he lets out a sharp “ow!” and jerks back, glaring at Debbie.

“Yeah, what are you talking about, Debs?” Lip asks.

Debbie looks around the table, then sighs. “I’m saying, you’re here until Thursday, right?” She looks to Fiona, who nods her confirmation. “Well then why don’t we just have another wedding?”

The table goes silent for a beat.

“What?” Ian questions, brows furrowing. He almost wants to stick a finger in his ear just to make sure there isn’t anything blocking his eardrum. There’s no way he heard her right. “ Another wedding?”

Beside him Mickey barks out a laugh. “What the fuck do you mean by that?” 

“Yeah,” Debbie starts, brushing off the confused looks and demanding questions being sent her way from all ends of the table. “I think we should do another wedding. For Fiona’s sake,” she explains, but it’s an incredibly lacking explanation that clarifies absolutely nothing.

“Are you fuckin’ nuts?” Mickey blurts, and he laughs again and shoots Ian an are you hearing this shit kind of disbelieving look. “Do you know how fuckin’ hard it was to get everything to work the first time around? And you’re tellin’ me you wanna do that all again?” He faces Ian again and claps him on the shoulder. “Look, I love you, and I love bein’ married to you, but we had our big wedding and one of those is enough for me. Count me out of that planning shit, I ain’t doin’ it again.”

Ian snorts, but he can’t deny the pulse of happiness that shoots through him at that kind of a declaration. He doesn’t think he’ll ever not feel giddy hearing Mickey tell him he loves him. No matter how many times he does, it’ll always feel like the first time to Ian.

“Debs,” Ian starts, shaking out of his Mickey induced distraction. “We’re not doing another wedding. Mick’s right, that’s crazy. It’s Monday. There’s no way we’d be able to get everything together before Fiona leaves. It took months just to get everything done for the first one and that didn’t even work out the right way. No way we could pull it off in two days.”

“Oh my god,” Debbie groans and she shakes her head. “I thought you all were smarter than that,” she sighs exasperatedly. “I don’t mean a real second wedding. I just mean a small redo one, something we could do in the backyard. You two could stand in front of us all and promise to love each other forever and all that flowery shit, and then we have a good ‘ol Gallagher celebration,” she explains, and honestly, that makes a whole lot more sense. “For Fiona’s sake,” she adds, nudging her sister in the arm. “My sake, too. I didn’t get to see you guys exchange vows or say ‘I do’ or any of that.”

And shit, she’s right. Ian almost forgot that she’d been distracting Mrs. Wojcik in the kitchen during the ceremony. 

“Fuck Debs,” Ian says. “Why didn’t you just phrase it that way first?” She’d almost given half the table a heart attack making them all think she meant the real deal. Jesus.

“That’d be real sweet, throwin’ a redo weddin’ so Debs and I can see it,” Fiona pipes up, and she looks so excited about the prospect already.

The more Ian rolls the idea around, the more he likes it too. Getting to marry Mickey again? He’d marry him a million times more. And this time they wouldn’t have to be stressing out over a burnt down venue or making sure the right chairs are ordered or the flower arrangements are perfect. They’d just get to take the good parts and share those moments with their closest family. It’s kind of perfect, actually.

Ian glances over at Mickey, studying his profile to see if his answer is written across his face or not. He looks like he’s thinking it over, too, and Ian can’t tell one way or the other. But he’s pretty sure Mickey would do anything if it was with him.  

He nudges his elbow into Mickey’s arm, and tilts his head, looking up at him through his eyelashes. Ian raises an eyebrow in question. “What do you say, Milkovich?” He asks, and the corner of his lips starts to quirk up. “You wanna marry me again?” 

Mickey holds his gaze for a moment, steady and unreadable. But then the corner of his mouth twitches, and his eyes are the first to give him away. The skin around them starts to crinkle as he cracks, and his lips stretch into a smile so big that his teeth start to show. “Alright,” he says, laughing a little as everyone else starts to cheer. “Let’s do it, Gallagher. Let’s get married again.”

They decide to do it on Wednesday so they have enough time to prepare. Debbie takes control of dishing out tasks for everyone. Lip is on cake duty. Carl and Liam need to find suitable decorations. Fiona is meant to get the booze. And Debbie assigns herself the job of finding something for them to wear on such short notice. They’re all supposed to pitch in to help set everything up the day of. 

When Wednesday morning rolls around, Ian is woken up by Mickey starting so harshly in his arms that his elbow jerks sharply back into Ian’s ribs.

Ian’s eyes fly open, muscles tensing as he goes on instant alert. He immediately drops his gaze down to Mickey to assess the damage, and thankfully, Mickey seems unharmed if not just totally disgruntled and slightly pissed off from whatever rude awakening he’d just received. 

Wondering what exactly that rude awakening was, Ian scrambles to prop himself up onto his elbow and peer past Mickey’s body to the rest of the room. Right as he does, however, a bundle of fabric smacks him square in the face.

“What the fuck?” He hisses, swatting at the fabric and rubbing at his nose.

“Fuckin’ Strawberry Shortcake,” Mickey grubles, jutting his chin out towards the door.

Ian follows the gesture to find Debbie standing in their doorway, arms crossed over her chest.

“What the fuck, Debs?” Ian repeats.

“Good morning to you too,” Debbie replies in lieu of an explanation. 

“The fuck do you want?” Mickey bites out, pulling at the sheets so they settle higher up his chest.

“Got you these for later today,” Debbie tells them, nodding towards the t-shirts, wherever they’ve landed.

It takes a few seconds for it to click that Debbie’s talking about the redo wedding they agreed to partake in. Shit, is it Wednesday already? Ian thought they still had another day.

Mickey must realize what she’s talking about too if the way he groans and sags back against Ian’s chest is anything to go by.

“You want us to wear t-shirts to our redo wedding?” Mickey asks, and Ian doesn’t even need to see his face to know he’s wearing that adorably confused expression, the one where his eyebrows bunch together and his nose scrunches up a little and his lips curl back in a grimace.

A mischievous grin pulls at Debbie’s lips. “Not just any t-shirts,” she replies, and Ian really hates the sound of that. Whatever she means by that can’t be good.

It’s Ian’s face’s turn to scrunch up in confusion, and he glances around the bed for wherever the fabric that hit him landed. When he can’t find it amongst the blankets, he extends his search to Mickey’s side of the bed, and his eyes roam past Mickey’s body. Out of the corner of his eye he catches a swatch of the fabric lying on the floor. With a groan, Ian swings his legs over Mickey, who grumbles his protests at being fucking climbed over. He’s thankful he had the foresight to put his boxers back on last night before falling asleep, but he’s aware that Mickey didn’t, so he’s careful to avoid giving his sister an unwanted show. Ian stoops down to pickup the shirt and sits down on the edge of the bed. He shakes the fabric out and holds it a few inches in front of him.

It's one of those ridiculous tuxedo print t-shirts, the ones that douchebags that live in their mother's basements playing video games all day consider to be real formal wear. This one's complete with a bow tie and a boutonniere. It's a fucking joke .

Mickey touches his fingers to Ian’s hip and hooks his chin over his shoulder so he can get a good look too. 

Ian rakes his eyes over the print. Then he laughs starkly and shakes his head. “No way,” he says. “You want us to wear these ? To a wedding ?”

“Yeah, not gonna fuckin’ happen, Raggedy Anne,” Mickey chimes in, pulling the shirt from Ian’s hands so he can ball it back up and chuck it right back at Debbie.

Debbie catches it and fixes an unimpressed glare on them before throwing it at Ian once more. She sticks a hand on her hip and lifts one eyebrow challengingly. “Don’t be a bunch of babies,” she says. “You’re wearing the damn shirts and you’re both gonna like it.” There’s no room for discussion in her voice.

Like hell Ian’s going down without a fight, though. Debbie doesn’t scare him. When he opens his mouth to protest though, Debbie holds up a hand. “It’s either that or we go find a couple of real tuxes to rent again.”

Ian immediately wrinkles his nose. As much as he loves seeing Mickey all slick and dressed up (and as much as he loves getting all dressed up himself), it’s nowhere near worth the hassle of trying to find two suits for cheap that fit properly on this short of notice. 

Debbie must know she’s won with that argument. Her grin grows and settles into something too self-satisfied for Ian’s liking. “That’s what I thought,” she says. Then she turns on her heels and starts to walk back down the hall, not bothering to shut the door behind her. “I expect you both down here in those shirts in twenty minutes tops!”

“Fuck,” Mickey breathes out, collapsing back against the pillows after she’s gone.

Ian laughs a little and flops back as well, resting his head against Mickey’s stomach. Almost immediately Mickey’s fingers find their way into his hair. 

“Guess we gotta wear ‘em,” Ian says.

Mickey sighs and nods. “Guess so,” he replies.

Ian rolls onto his stomach and throws a leg over Mickey’s waist, hauling himself up on top of his husband. He frames Mickey’s head with his arms, staring down at him until he sees a smile crack on his face. Then he lowers himself so their chests are pressed together and moves his hands to cup Mickey’s cheeks. “You’re gonna look great no matter what,” he murmurs before leaning in to steal a kiss. “Hot as fuck in that tacky ass shirt.” He grins into the second kiss. “My ridiculously dressed husband.” He swallows Mickey’s laugh with the third.

When they finally make it downstairs, they're begrudgingly dressed in the ridiculous matching tuxedo t-shirts.

Admittedly, they're not that bad once they're on. Albeit a little bit drunk-in-las-vegas-y. But they're kind of cute. Definitely funny.

Mickey doesn't exactly share the sentiment, though. He spent the entire time getting dressed grumbling about the shirts, and he vowed that the second this shit was over he'd be taking it off and destroying it.

Ian had just smirked, bunched his fingers into the two dimensional lapels of the t-shirt, and reeled Mickey in again, promising he'd be the one to rid him of it.

The kitchen is empty when they get downstairs, but it looks like a party store threw up all over the room. The table is covered with bags spilling out rolls of streamers and those canisters that spew confetti once their tops are popped. There are two packages of balloons, one still sealed while the other is torn open and looks to be half used. A few inflated balloons are tied together with strings, attached to the back of one of the chairs so they don’t get stuck on the ceiling.

The kitchen counters are littered with party sized bags of chips and a few containers of dip— Ian notices they got the sour cream and onion dip Mickey loves, and he smiles at the fact that they remembered that, too— and Ian bets that if he were to look in the fridge there’d be a couple of two liter bottles of soda and a few packs of beer.

“Never let anyone say the Gallaghers can’t throw a kickass party,” Ian comments with a chuckle.

Mickey snorts as he surveys the room. “No, I guess that is one thing you guys got goin’ for you,” he agrees.

The back door flies open, and Lip backs his way inside. He’s using both hands to hold a sheet cake, and he shoves aside one of the bags with his elbow to make room for it on the table.“So,” he starts, throwing a cursory glance over his shoulder at Ian and Mickey once the cake’s securely set down. “It says happy birthday, but I got one of those tubes of icing so we can just scrape off the birthday part and someone can write wedding instead.”

Lip finally turns around, and as soon as he does, he bursts into laughter. “Oh my god,” he snickers, pointing between them. “Oh, that’s real cute,” he comments. “Real fuckin’ cute. You want some friendship bracelets to go with the matching shirts?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Mickey replies, holding out his arms so the full shirt is on display. He rolls his eyes at Lip and shoots him the bird. “Bet this was your idea, wasn’t it?”

Ian grabs Mickey’s wrist and pushes his hand down. “Nah, he’s not creative enough to think of something like this,” he tells Mickey, grinning as it wipes the amused smile right off of Lip’s face.

“So where exactly are we doing this thing?” Ian asks, changing the subject before Lip can shoot off another smart comment about their clothes.

“Debs and Fiona got the back all decorated and shit,” Lip answers, jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the back door. “Carl and Liam didn’t do half bad with the decorations.”

“What’s it look like?” Ian wonders, curiosity piquing. If anyone could make cheap party decorations into something worthwhile it’s Debbie and Fiona, and this is arguably a pretty special occasion. Ian has no doubt that it probably looks pretty great out there, all things considered.

“You’ll see soon,” Lip replies, and he busies himself with looking for something flat to use to scrape off the birthday written on the cake.

The back door bangs open again, and this time it’s Debbie who walks through. “Oh good, you two are finally down here,” she says. “We’re almost ready if you are,” she tells them. “Lip’s back, so everyone’s here now, and Franny’s getting excited to throw some more flowers— only it’s not flowers this time. It’s just a bunch of ripped up paper and some confetti.”

“Franny wearing her flower girl dress again?” Ian asks, lips quirking up.

Debbie nods. “She was so happy when I told her she got to wear it again,” she says. “She loves that thing.”

“She looked real cute in it last time,” Mickey comments. “Like a little,” he waves his hand around as he searches for the right word, “ballerina or some shit. Glad she gets to give it another spin.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Debbie says. “Which one of you is gonna walk down the aisle? Are you doing that again Mickey?”

Mickey shakes his head. “Nah, you get to walk down the aisle this time,” he says, nudging Ian in the shoulder with a grin. “Lip can give you away.”

“Lip can what?” Lip asks, straightening up from where he was bent over the cake, concentrating on fixing the icing.

“Give me away,” Ian answers.

Lip brightens. “Oh, yeah, sure. If I give you away, though, that means you can’t come back right?” He teases, ducking out of the way as Ian sends a limp balloon rocketing towards his head.

“Great,” Debbie says, clapping her hands together. “Come on outside then, Mickey,” she says, holding her arm out for Mickey to slide his into. She looks to Ian once Mickey does. “Whenever you’re ready.” Then she heads towards the back door, taking Mickey with her.

“See you out there,” Ian calls after him.

“You better,” Mickey calls back, then disappears into the backyard, leaving Ian grinning after him in the kitchen.

Lip’s hand comes down on Ian’s shoulder, and he gives him a little shake. “Marrying Mickey Milkovich twice,” he comments, chuckling. “You ever think that would happen?”

Ian laughs too. “Not like this,” he answers. He pauses and ducks his head a little. “Maybe renewing our vows a few years down the line.” He shrugs bashfully, and Lip pulls him into his side in a half hug.

“That’s romantic as fuck, actually,” Lip says. “Always knew you were a hopeless romantic.” He turns serious then, meeting Ian’s eyes. “I’m glad you two have each other. I know you haven’t been married long yet, but it’s a good look for you both. I’m happy for you, Ian.”

Ian swallows around a sudden lump in his throat, and he squeezes Lip back. “Thanks, Lip,” he says, blinking away the happy tears he feels welling up already. God, this thing hasn’t even started and he’s already getting all weepy. Weddings, man. They do a number on your emotions.

There’s a knock at the back door, and it must be some sort of cue, because Lip holds his arm out for Ian, grins at him, and then Ian’s on his way to marry the love of his life for the second time.

When Ian steps outside, a grin breaks out across his face. He’d been right about Fiona and Debbie making the decorations Carl and Liam brought work. Streamers hang from the railing, and there’s what looks like a plastic tablecloth spread across the grass as a makeshift aisle. On either side of it, a few rows of chairs are set up, a random mix of plastic ones and metal foldable ones and a couple nicer canvas ones, too. They’re a far cry from Mickey’s chiavari’s, but Ian thinks they’ve got character. And the way each one is filled with the members of his family makes them even better.

Carl's holding up his phone, and the traditional wedding march is blasting from the tinny speakers. He flashes Ian a thumbs up.

About halfway down the aisle, Ian catches Fiona’s eye, and what he sees there, reflected back at him is almost too much. Her eyes are shiny from tears unshed, but Ian’s sure that by the end of this makeshift ceremony they’ll have run their course down her cheeks. He knows his will. But beneath the sheen of happy tears, there’s pride. And a wondrous sort of awe, that this is her baby brother, about to marry the love of his life . 

And there he is. The love of Ian’s life. Mickey waits for him at the end of the aisle, a happy smile settled on his face, and it looks so good there. Like it belongs there. Like it was always meant to be there. It makes Ian unbelievably pleased that he’s the one that puts it there.

When Ian reaches him, Lip pats him on the back and steps to the side, and Mickey immediately takes Ian’s hands in his.

“Fancy seeing you here again,” Ian says, laughing softly.

“Fuckin’ dork,” Mickey replies, but he’s grinning so wide. “Can’t believe you got me to do this shit twice,” he says, but it’s obvious he’d do it a thousand more times if Ian asked. And the sentiment is readily returned— Ian would marry Mickey every single time he asked even if it meant doing it every day for the rest of his life.

Since they were already legally married and this whole thing was really more for show than for anything else, Debbie didn’t bother getting ordained online or anything. She makes quick work of reading through whatever short speech she found on the internet, and thankfully she skips through all the purple prose bullshit and jumps straight to the point. 

“Now’s the time if you two have any vows you’d like to exchange,” Debbie offers, glancing between them.

Truth be told Ian wasn’t sure if they were planning to do this part. They’d decided to keep things pretty traditional for their first wedding; getting all gooey with each other wasn’t really their thing, especially not in front of family and friends. Ian sort of figured they’d just skip through that part here, too, or at the very least just recite the same vows they’d shared at the wedding. 

But now, Mickey nods at Debbie, then faces Ian once more. 

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna keep this pretty short ‘cause I don’t do that mushy shit, right,” Mickey laughs, and Ian knows how untrue that is; he’s the only one Mickey would do that mushy shit for. The only one, and he fucking loves that he gets to see that side of Mickey, as rare as it is. Mickey pauses, and they smile at each other for a few beats before he continues. “I just want you to know that I love you, Ian, and I always will love you, no matter what else life’s gonna throw at us. We’ve made it this far, we can make it the rest of the way. I’m yours for life.”

It’s such a powerful declaration, such a meaningful one, and Ian’s knees feel kind of wobbly because of it. His chest feels so full, his heart twelve times bigger as it fills with love for this man in front of him.

Ian gives Mickey a watery smile and squeezes his hands tightly, silently letting him know everything he’s feeling. And he can see that Mickey gets it, knows that Mickey sees him.

“Your turn,” Debbie says softly.

“Mickey,” Ian starts, and he laughs at the tears he already has gathering in the corners of his eyes. “I love you. I love you and I have for such a long time now. You've always had my back, through everything, and I promise that I'm always going to have yours too. I promise that I'm going to try to make you smile every day. And that I'm going to make you pizza rolls on your birthday, 'cause I know they're your favorite. And that I'm going to patch you up when you're hurt, and pretend that I don't steal all the sheets at night even though we both know I do, and I'm going to grow old with you. Because you're mine and I'm yours, for the rest of our lives. I promise I'm going to love you for the rest of our lives." 

It's Mickey's turn to let out a wet laugh, and though none of his tears have fallen, Ian's close enough to see that they're there, gathered on the ends of his eyelashes, in the corners of his eyes. He wants to kiss them away, even though they're good tears. 

"You do fuckin' steal all the sheets," he murmurs, and Ian grins. 

Debbie clears her throat gently, and suddenly that same anticipation Ian had felt the first time around starts to fill him up this time too. He knows what's next, and god, it can't come soon enough. He looks eagerly towards Debbie for her cue. He can hear Mickey chuckling softly at him, and he’ll probably get called an ‘eager fuckin’ puppy dog’ again sometime later, but Ian doesn’t care, dammit. Kissing Mickey has always been one of his favorite things, and getting to do it as husbands makes it all the more special. Makes it even more electrifying.

Debbie grins at him, then glances towards Mickey. “By the power not vested in me by the state of Illinois, you may now kiss your husband.”

And then Ian’s hands are on Mickey’s face, cupping his cheeks as their mouths draw together like magnets. He can feel one of Mickey’s hands curl around his wrist, the other snaking to the back of his neck to pull him in even closer.

The Gallaghers in the audience burst into cheers and whistles and whoops, and Ian feels just as giddy as the first time when he and Mickey finally part and clasps hands to walk down the aisle as husbands.

As soon as the ceremony ends, Carl cranks up the music, and the drinks start flowing, and everyone hits the makeshift dance floor to celebrate. Debbie twirls a giggling Franny around, Liam tries to teach Carl the newest online dance craze, Lip and Fiona swing each other back and forth, throwing their hands up and jumping around to the beat.

Ian even manages to goad Mickey into letting loose and dancing with him. Ian’s hands are on Mickey’s waist, Mickey’s back pressed up against his chest, and their hips move together as they feel the music and each other.

At some point Kev and V crash the party, bringing higher spirits and even more booze with them. Ian thinks they might have a nose for Gallagher parties, always sniffing them out whenever they happen. He loves them too much to be anything but happy that they’ve joined the mix.

The party is in full swing when Ian takes a break from the dance flood and finally grabs his first beer of the night. He sits down on the back porch to drink it, watching as Mickey gesticulates wildly as he narrates some story to Kev where they're still in the middle of the action.

“Hey, mind if I join you?” Fiona asks, nudging the toe of her shoe into the side of Ian’s.

Ian pulls his eyes away from where he’s watching Mickey shake and shimmy with Liam and Franny and nods at his sister, patting the space on the step beside him.

Fiona lowers herself into the spot. “Thanks,” she says, taking a sip of her beer before setting the bottle down behind him. She turns to Ian and smiles at him. “Congratulations,” she says, bumping her shoulder into his. “You’re a husband ,” she says, and she laughs. “God, who knew you’d be gettin’ married before me?”

Ian takes a sip of his beer and points the end of it at Fiona. “Not true!” He says. “You got married to that, uh, ah fuck, what was his name? That musician dude? Gro… Gar… Guh… Gus! Yeah, Gus. Don’t tell me you forgot about that already.”

Fiona buries her face into her hands and groans. “Don’t remind me,” she says, but she’s laughing when she drops her hands. “That doesn’t count.”

Ian joins in on the laughter, and Fiona leans her head onto his shoulder. Ian rests his head back against hers.

“I think,” Fiona starts slowly, “if you woulda told me before that you and Mickey Milkovich would end up bein’ the most stable relationship any of us would have, I probably would’ve never believed it.”

It’s not really a surprising thing to hear. It’s never been a secret that Ian’s family hadn’t exactly been on board with his and Mickey’s relationship in the beginning. None of them had ever understood what they had between them, how new it had been for both of them. How special. They’d all just taken one look at Mickey with his scruffy clothes and his dirt smudged face and his awful reputation and written him off just like that. Thought he could never be good enough for their brother.

It makes a certain sort of pride swell up in Ian’s chest that he could prove them all wrong. That Mickey could prove them all wrong.

Ian huffs out a laugh. “I probably wouldn’t have either,” he admits. He’s glad they got to prove himself wrong too.

Fiona’s hands wrap around Ian’s bicep, and she tugs on the hem of his sleeve a little. “I’m so proud of you, Ian,” she says, and she lifts her head so she can look at him properly. “I mean it. I’m so proud of you.” She holds his gaze as her lower lip starts to wobble, and she laughs wetly. “You’ve come a long way. You both have. And I’m really fuckin’ happy to see you so happy. With him.” She nods. “You two deserve it.”

Her words hit Ian like a truck. He didn’t even realize how much he’d been craving to hear that from her until now. Ian knows he doesn’t need Fiona’s approval or her validation or anything. But fuck , it feels so fucking nice to get it. To know, without a doubt, that she’s happy for him. That his happiness, and the reasons for it, make her happy.

Frankly, it’s kind of overwhelming. But in the best way possible.

Ian doesn’t know what to say to her. There’s so much he wants to say, too much he wants to say, and it’s all swirling around in his head, ricocheting around, and he doesn’t even know how to begin to put it all into words. But there are two words he knows will do. For now, at least.

“Thank you,” he tells her. "I'm… I am really fucking happy. He makes me really fucking happy."

Fiona’s arms are around him in an instant, pulling him in for a real hug. She holds him close as he buries his face into her neck, and god , he missed her hugs. Missed the comforting way it feels to be held by his sister. The safe, invincible, whole feeling it leaves him with.

“I love you, Fi,” Ian says, because he doesn’t think he tells her that enough.

Fiona’s hand comes up to pet his hair, and she gives him a squeeze. “I love you too, sweetface,” she says.

When they break apart, they both have wet eyes, and they share a laugh as Fiona reaches out to swipe her thumb under Ian’s lash line. He ducks his head away, swatting at her hand and wipes at his eyes himself.

They’re still laughing when Mickey walks up. “Hey,” he says, looking between his husband and his sister-in-law. “Everythin’ okay over here?” He asks, and he sounds so cautious, and there’s a hint of protectiveness in his tone that makes Ian’s heart soar.

He sends Mickey a reassuring smile and nods. “Yeah, everything’s good here,” he tells him.

Mickey nods and searches Ian’s face for a few more seconds before he must decide that he’s satisfied with the answer. He sets his nearly empty beer bottle on the flat part of the railing, then holds a hand out for Ian to take so he can help him up. “You mind if I steal him away?” Mickey asks, directing his question at Fiona.

Fiona flicks her eyebrows up at Ian, looking very thrilled by the idea of whatever she thinks Mickey must want him for. She returns her gaze to Mickey and waves a hand in a go ahead motion. “Please, steal away,” she says. “He is your husband, after all,” she adds with a grin.

A zing goes down Ian’s spine at the word husband . He doesn’t think that feeling will ever go away, the pure joy, the unadulterated happiness he feels when Mickey’s referred to as his husband or Ian his. It’s fucking incredible.

“Was kinda hopin’ you’d wanna dance with me,” Mickey tells Ian, giving him a little shrug like him asking Ian to dance doesn’t mean as much as it actually does to either of them. “Finally another slow song playin’. Carl’s playlist is mostly fuckin’ rap shit. Not exactly ideal wedding music,” he snorts.

Ian takes Mickey’s hand in answer, and takes the last few steps feeling lighter than air. When he reaches the bottom of the stairs, Ian glances back at Fiona. “Sorry Fi, gotta go dance with my husband,” he grins.

Fiona laughs and waves them off. “Go! Go, have fun,” she says.

Ian sends her one last smile, then loops his arm around Mickey as they turn to head back towards the makeshift dance floor. 

“That a good conversation?” Mickey asks lightly, sliding his arm around Ian’s waist in return.

Ian starts to nod, but before he can properly respond, Fiona calls out to them.

“Mickey,” she calls, and Mickey stops to look back at her. She catches Ian’s eye, and a warm smile spreads across her face. “Welcome to the family.”

Mickey falters a little, definitely caught off guard by that. But a genuine smile starts to spread across his face, and he gives Fiona a heartfelt nod.

Fiona's validation clearly means just as much to Mickey as it does to Ian.

When they turn away, Ian nuzzles into Mickey’s side, squeezing his waist. “Yeah,” he tells him. “It was a good conversation.”