Chapter Text
Thursday, September 24th, 09:00pm
Ian made it to the plane within the last second of boarding, panting and completely out of breath. Last call was already over and the sweat from the run was pooling on his forehead. Those New York airports seemed to get bigger every time he was there. Thankfully, the tall redhead had always been in good shape and had handled what felt like a marathon to catch that damn plane.
Slicking his ’a bit too long already’ red locks back to get them out of his sight, he walked carefully along the narrow aisle. Ian checked his ticket while the plane began leaving its parked position.
17D - this was the seat he was looking for. He didn’t really like planes. He thought he would get used to them over time, but even though his new job was making him fly all over the country for training purposes and what not, he still wasn‘t feeling any better about the idea.
Ian‘s breathing slowed down as he looked for his seat. A flight attendant announced over the radio that the aircraft was fully booked and asked for a fair use of the overhead compartments. Ian sighed. He was hoping for a free spot next to him for more comfort.
17D, finally. Ian was confused about the fact that the seat next to him was still unoccupied, but there wasn’t enough energy left in him to think about it further. He let his whole weight fall down on the aisle seat and was glad he could finally relax. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.
...
Ian Clayton Gallagher was twenty-five years old with freckles splashed all over his face, tall, red hair, and always wore his tongue on his sleeve.
He grew up on the South Side of Chicago with his five siblings: Fiona, Lip, Debbie, Carl and Liam. Fiona, the oldest, has always looked after them. She basically raised them ‘cause their parents, Frank and Monica, weren’t able to do so considering they weren't around much.
When Ian was eight his brother Carl, who had just turned three, got real sick. Monica was gone for weeks straight and Frank, like always, was either getting drunk somewhere or passed out in an alley – and, to be honest, just didn‘t give a shit.
Fiona, who was still a child at fourteen, took care of him. Carl developed a high fever and threw up a lot. After days, even though she did what she always did when any of them caught the flu, it only got worse. When the little boy also got a rash and wasn’t able to talk properly anymore, Fiona got scared. She took the toddler to the ER. There, Carl was diagnosed with bacterial meningitis and treated but the doctor had to tell Fiona that the meningitis was the cause of sensorineural deafness and her brother won‘t be able to hear anymore.
For Carl’s sake, Ian and all their other siblings learned American Sign Language (ASL) with him. It grew on them and soon became just as commonly-used as English was.
Ian gradually became the one most involved with helping Carl, interpreting in different situations. He helped him with doctor appointments as well as just arguments.
School was the only place they had an interpreter for him – this was possible because of the non profit organization “Helping Hands“ who provided interpreters for anyone – especially people who need them but weren’t able to afford one.
Ian always admired Carl‘s interpreter, Tom. He looked up to him, and kind of saw him as a role model. Which was maybe also the reason for Tom being Ian’s first crush and Ian realizing that he was not wired like most of his classmates. This was right before he discovered Justin Timberlake.
Growing up on the South Side of Chicago as a closeted gay kid wasn‘t always easy for him. But after coming out to his family on his fifteenth birthday and none of his siblings acting weird or different about it - he started to feel proud to be who he was, and didn’t try to keep it a secret anymore.
After graduating highschool, Ian worked part time as an unpaid intern at the office of Helping Hands, a job Tom helped Ian to get and maintain while he was studying to get his Bachelor degree.
This was his plan. To work as an interpreter, and help the less fortunate. It has always been his passion to help people and this was the right path for him.
After four years of juggling work and university, he got his Bachelor’s degree and could now get certified by the Registry of Interpreters. Ian could finally, officially, start working for Helping Hands. At long last, a job he got paid for! Since they had a very strict program for new interpreters, Ian had to do a lot of training sessions, mostly in New York.
Ian never considered moving out of the Gallagher house, though. His family, especially Carl, needed him there. Even when Carl told Ian that now, as a twenty-year-old, he was old enough to be on his own; making money as a mechanic and wanting to move in with his current girlfriend. Ian made him promise to text him whenever he needed him. As an interpreter or simply as his brother, he would always know where to find him.
Yes, he was working for Helping Hands on the North Side, but at the end of the day he would always go home, and be home, on the South Side of Chicago.
...
“Sir? Please fasten your seatbelt and store your backpack under the seat in front of you.” Ian startled out of his semi dream state due to the flight attendant tapping on his shoulder.
“Oh...yeah. Erm. Sorry.“ He stumbled over his own words as he struggled to wake up properly while the young woman dressed head-to-toe in blue waited patiently for him to buckle up.
Storing his backpack, he realized he must have gotten a neighbor while he was out.
Turning to his right, he was taken aback by the beauty of the man sitting next to him. His hair was black and his skin pale. The man was wearing a black long sleeved shirt and when Ian saw tattoos poking out on both arms-- and even on his neck, he got curious as to how that whole body might look without that damn shirt on.
On top of the shirt he was wearing a vest with what seemed to be self-cut off sleeves.
The black haired man was holding a book, and emanating a “do not speak to me“ aura that was almost visible. It was as if the man was in his own little world, blocking out everyone else. At every turn of a page Ian saw some knuckle tats, looking like letters written into his skin, but the redhead wasn‘t able to identify what they said.
“Sir?“ the flight attendant made herself heard. Ian didn’t even realize that she was still there until she spoke up. “Your seatbelt.“ She forcefully pointed at the black belt.
“Yeah, sure. Sorry.“ And with that, he clicked it shut.
Since planes were never his thing, the take off and the landing were when Ian had to try the hardest to make himself comfortable. Up in the air, he was able relax a bit more and he drifted off again.
Ian woke to a flight attendant standing next to him, visibly struggling to talk to the black haired man. Looking to his right, Ian realized that the man was speaking in sign language. He caught the man signing “Whiskey and orange juice, god damn it!“ Voicing it as well, but it was almost inaudible.
While Ian was still trying to fully wake up, he saw the flight attendant leave with a confused look on his face, but nodding nonetheless.
Ian turned back to his neighbor and introduced himself by spelling his name I-A-N followed by his name sign - using the sign for “tall” but signing it with only the pinky, the “I”, finger. A name, which was given to him by a tiny Carl a long time ago, but stuck till this day.
He asked the man for his name as well. His neighbor, who briefly looked stunned about the fact that he had a seat-mate who could sign, quickly finger spelled M-I-C-K-E-Y and then didn‘t show interest in talking any further.
When the flight attendant returned, Ian already saw from afar that he had grabbed the wrong drink. Whiskey and coke-- the usual, Ian thought. But Mickey clearly wanted orange juice.
Seeing the drink upset Mickey, screaming “NO!“ with both eyebrows raised and followed by a loud grunt. The black haired man signed angrily in Ian‘s direction. “Ask him ‘How hard can Whiskey with OJ be?’ He‘s a fucking idiot!“ His eyes darted angrily at the attendant.
Ian, catching Mickey‘s attention, replied quickly. “Do I have to say THAT?“
Mickey huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “He deserves to know!“, raising his eyebrows in challenge.
The attendant was visibly getting annoyed and Ian really wanted to defend Mickey, and rant about how airports and planes are awful for deaf and hard of hearing customers and how most announcements at the airport and during the flight are often just done over the speakers. But he tried to contain himself and let it go. He told the man what happened and ordered the correct drink.
“You pussy sure as hell were way too nice to that fuckhead.“ Mickey stated.
“Oh, shut up!“ Ian countered playfully. “And...you’re welcome!“ he added.
A smile tugged at the corner of Mickey’s mouth and Ian couldn’t help but smile back like an idiot. His neighbor’s attitude was very intriguing. With a quick nod in Ian’s direction and looking back down into his book, Mickey ended the conversation. Ian had no other possibility than to accept it, although getting to know this guy just made the top of his list, since it was already close to the top the second he first caught sight of him.
Leaning his head back into the seat, the redhead just couldn't seem to wipe the huge grin from his face.