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“Okay, I’m gonna grab a couple things here and then hit up Macy’s, alright?”
“Fine, but don’t get greedy, bitch. You get caught, I’m fuckin’ out. And I’m not kidding, I won’t hesitate to ditch your ass.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sandy shooed him away to start browsing through the racks of the department store.
Sandy had met up with Mickey at the mall after his shift at Old Army that day to get a few things with a five-finger discount. He was off the clock (and had changed out of his stupid ass uniform, thank fuck) so he didn’t really give a shit that Sandy was planning to stuff a few shirts into her gigantic purse she brought along just for the occasion. Mickey wasn’t about to get dragged back to lockup for stealing some dumb fucking clothes but he needed some new vests, so he tagged along to see what he could find. He was just gonna pay for his shit like a fine upstanding citizen. He was a working stiff now anyway, so he could swing it.
But like he told Sandy, if she got busted, he’d be outta there so fast her head would spin. He had no plans to lose his freedom again and he thought Ian might actually kill him if that happened so soon after they just got out. Ian kept harping on about staying on the straight (so to speak) and narrow and out of trouble. Besides, Mickey was excited to get married; he didn’t want anything to fuck that up.
(Well, he did have the small matter of paying for the wedding to think about so he would have to commit at least one more criminal act before he put the life of crime behind him for good. For love. Fuck, he was sappy when it came to Ian.)
They hadn’t set a date yet, but Mickey wasn’t in a rush. He was enjoying being engaged, the concept a bit novel considering the circumstances surrounding his last engagement.
He scanned the racks of clothing and followed after Sandy on the other side of the rails she was currently perusing when his phone dinged to let him know he had a text. Wincing, he hesitated briefly, deciding to ignore it when another ding rang out and he huffed as he pulled his cell out to read the message.
“Jesus, fuck.” Mickey furiously typed a reply to the text messages on his phone before slipping it back into his pocket. He turned his attention back to the clothes, muttering to himself the whole time.
“Wanna share something with the class, Mick?” Sandy asked, eyeing him with a grin.
“It’s nothing,” he replied automatically, sighing as he continued to look through the selection of ugly ass shirts on sale in a futile attempt to distract himself, but it was no use. He bit down on his lip and tapped his finger against his thigh as he debated speaking up.
He was thrilled about getting married to Ian. He was so fucking happy, finally. And even though things between the two of them had never been better, Mickey’d been steadily getting more annoyed with Ian for days; he felt like he was going to explode. After the whole courthouse fiasco the other week, they had agreed to start talking about shit. It was what Ian needed and it’d been Mickey’s lot in life since he was 16 years old to try to give Ian what he needed. And since Ian had made an effort to back up all his fuckin’ talk and put a fuckin’ ring on it like Mickey wanted, he was trying to open up a little bit more, too. He wasn’t sure talking about Ian with Sandy, of all people, was the best idea, but he thought he could do with a little practice.
“Fuckin’ Ian.”
“What’d lover boy do this time?” Sandy sneered, not bothering to hide her feelings on the matter at hand. There was always something with Mickey and Ian and she would say she was starting to get sick of it, but it was more like her bullshit tolerance had severely depleted over time. She’d never been the biggest fan of her cousin’s fiancé, ever since she found out they were together way back when. She didn’t like this hold Ian seemed to have over Mickey, who ended up doing some crazy shit for him over the years. The engagement only dimmed her disdain mildly and she was reserving final judgment until they actually said, “I do.” If they made it down the aisle, that is—Ian was a flighty bitch—so you’ll have to excuse her for being a little hostile. It wasn’t like Mickey would hold a grudge against him so someone had to.
“It’s not like that,” Mickey brushed off her line of thinking. “Everything’s been real good since the whole thing.” He waved his hand in the air dismissively, not wanting to talk about what Sandy had taken to calling the ‘bar betrothal.’ She thought the fact that Ian proposed after he’d beaten the shit out of a few guys was hilarious and it deserved a name equally as hilarious in her eyes. In retrospect, Mickey knew he hadn’t handled the whole thing really well and the way they got engaged was admittedly kind of a shitshow. Even if it was pretty fitting and everything happened to work out, Mickey just wanted to forget the whole mess. He was trying to let it go, leave the past in the past, because they were both moving on together. “He’s been...really fuckin’ great.”
“Okay,” Sandy drawled, boredom evident in her voice as she picked up a ribbed tank top from the railing and held it up to scrutinize before scanning the sales floor. Deeming it safe, she removed the top from the hanger and slipped it into her purse. “Then what’s the problem?”
Mickey sighed heavily, weighing whether or not to share what was bugging him. He knew Sandy and Ian weren’t exactly best friends but he needed to vent. He normally went to Ian when he needed to complain, but when he needed to talk about Ian, Sandy would just have to do. Fuck it.
“He’s been like a little fuckin’ puppy dog or something since we got out, which is fine. It’s...cute. Kinda reminds me of when we first started banging.”
Mickey looked wistful as he started reminiscing but Sandy didn’t want to hear about those little domestic bitches drooling all over each other with their puppy dog eyes, so she shot him a look to let him know to get to the point.
“It’s just...he won’t stop fuckin’ texting and calling me when we’re not together. Tells me every fuckin’ thing he’s doing, where he’s going, who he’s with. Like he’s competing for over-sharer of the century or some shit.” Mickey paused to take a breath, huffing out his nostrils before diving back into his rant. “And he’s always asking me about stuff and fuckin’ checking in, too. He would text a lot when we first got out but it wasn’t this bad. Thought he was just happy to have a phone again after being locked up or something. But after he proposed it’s just nonstop; it’s annoying as fuck.”
Sandy pursed her lips, thinking it over for a moment before slowly breaking out into a wry grin, laughing derisively.
“What?” he asked, feeling his hackles rise. Sandy just shook her head and shuffled down the aisle. Mickey was already agitated, his cousin being an evasive bitch wasn’t helping matters. “Fuckin’ what?”
“You know why he’s doing that, right?”
“No!” Mickey threw his hands up in frustration. “He was never like this before I went to prison. Wasn’t like this when we were in the joint either.”
“Mickey, come on. It’s not that hard to figure out why he’s acting like a stage five clinger.”
Mickey just raised his eyebrows to let her know she needed to keep talking because he had no fucking clue what she was trying to say.
She rolled her eyes at his idiocy. Why do women have to explain everything to men all the goddamn time?! “You do remember what happened last time you were together, like, officially, right?” Mickey just shook his head, still not connecting the dots. “The mania. The hypersexuality,” she said meaningfully.
Mickey was shocked, taken aback at the implications of what Sandy was trying to tell him.
“It’s probably his sad little way of trying to make it up to you. First time you’ve been a real couple in years. He’s making sure you know nothing’s going on, that it’s all on the up and up or whatever. Maybe the engagement kicked him into overdrive or something.”
Mickey nibbled at his bottom lip as he mulled over Sandy’s explanation. Fuck. It made sense.
But Ian was fine. He’d been fine. Took his pills and went to therapy like a good little patient the whole stint at Beckman. And med compliance was part of his parole, so no way he’d pull another fuckin’ stunt like he did last year. Plus, Mickey’d been observing him to make sure he wasn’t heading toward any major swings. Stealthily, obviously, given the fact that last time Mickey tried taking the lead on his care it hadn’t ended so well.
But he’d been thinking more and more about that lately and he decided he was getting a little sick of the secrecy when he was just trying to check in on Ian. He thought it was time to start being more blatant about it. Maybe instead of discreetly watching him take his pills and tracking his moods so Mickey could tell if he had been dragging or brimming with energy for a little bit longer than usual and he needed someone to look after him, he was just going to ask him, flat out. They were getting married, for fuck’s sake. Ian told Mickey his bipolar disorder was a major concern for him when it came to getting married. If Ian didn’t like the fact that Mickey wanted to make sure his future husband was okay, he could go fuck himself.
Anyway, back to the point — there’d been no sign his meds had stopped working, he was acting like Ian. He was fine.
“He’s not manic,” Mickey finally explained.
Sandy scrunched her nose up as she shook her head in confusion. “The fuck’s that gotta do with anything?”
“Why the fuck would I think he’s fuckin’ around on me?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Sandy replied, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe ‘cause he’s done it before?”
“He’s not manic,” Mickey repeated. What was Sandy not getting about this?
“Wasn’t manic when he cheated on his boyfriend with you and ran off to Mexico.”
“That was different,” Mickey argued.
Sandy cocked an eyebrow back at him, leaning her elbows against the top of the clothing rack to look at him disbelievingly on the other side. “Please explain that logic to me.”
“One,” he held up the index finger on his left hand to start counting out. “That dude was barely a boyfriend, they’d only been fucking for like a month before I came back.” Sandy rolled her eyes — like that meant anything. Mickey’s middle finger joined his index finger. “Two, if you’re gonna blame him you gotta blame me, too. He told me about the guy and I didn’t give a shit ‘cause Ian was and always will be mine.” Finally, he held up his ring finger to join the others and wiggled it to emphasize his engagement ring. “And three, he cheated with me, and I’m fuckin’ irresistible, so you really can’t blame the guy.” Mickey smiled wickedly as Sandy’s eyes rolled to the back of her head this time and Mickey dropped his index and ring fingers so he was left flipping her off. “Doesn’t really count when it’s us.”
“Still wrong.” It wasn’t like the Milkoviches had no morals, they were just questionable, is all. Sandy knew Mickey didn’t exactly think clearly when Ian was involved so she thought he needed a wake-up call. She started to remind him of the old adage, “Once a cheater—”
But Mickey spoke up before she could finish. “Fuck that, I know he’d never do that if he was stable. It’s how I knew something was really wrong in the first place.” His face hardened, and with an edge to his voice said, “Ian loves me. He’d never hurt me on purpose like that.”
Sandy snorted rudely. She wasn’t about to go down that cursed rabbit hole. “Whatever you say.”
But Mickey wasn’t done. He was too riled up and thrown by the very idea of Ian overcorrecting shit—in Mickey’s opinion—he didn’t need to. His annoyance had vanished completely, preoccupied with figuring out how to bring it up to Ian. If he even should say something in the first place. Fuck, they promised to talk to each other about shit, though. He definitely needed to say something. “And stop being such a bitch to him. He knows you don’t like him, don’t gotta remind him every fuckin’ time you’re in the same room.”
Sandy narrowed her eyes at him. “Please, like he gives a shit, he doesn’t like me either.”
It was true, there was no love lost between the two, but Ian wasn’t going anywhere so Sandy needed to get in line or fuck off. “He doesn’t actively badmouth you every chance he gets, unlike somebody I know. We’re getting married so just chill your tits, okay? Cut him some slack.”
“What the fuck ever.” She was clearly done with the conversation. She disentangled herself from the clothes she had gotten caught up in and headed down the aisle to look for more stuff that would comfortably fit in her handbag, leaving Mickey behind to stew in his thoughts.
—
Mickey barged through the back door of the Gallagher house expecting the typical chaos, but he was greeted with unusual silence.
“Hey! Anybody home? Ian?”
“Up here!” Came the muffled reply from his fiancé upstairs. It was stupid, but he couldn’t help smiling every time he thought of Ian as his fiancé. He couldn’t wait to see what it felt like to call him husband.
He trudged up the back staircase and down the hall until he reached their room. The accordion door was open and he could see Ian lounging on the bed reading like the nerdy book worm he was. Mickey’s heart constricted at the sight of Ian’s bandaged leg in the knee brace perched up on the mattress, knowing Ian wouldn’t be hurt if Mickey hadn’t been so impulsive and let his emotions get the better of him that day at City Hall.
Ian had said he didn’t blame Mickey, but Mickey blamed himself enough for the both of them. Once the initial regret had subsided, he’d been too pissed and hurt and preoccupied with his plan to get Ian to wise the fuck up immediately afterward—righteous anger and all that—to let himself feel much guilt, even as Ian hobbled after him that entire week, but once they got back together it hit him like a ton of bricks. He was sick of them hurting each other, in every single way, and he wasn’t sure if bringing up what he wanted to bring up would help with that endeavor or make it worse. But he was thrown from his thoughts when Ian sensed he was there and looked up, smiling so brightly Mickey felt like melting.
Ian felt his whole face light up when Mickey dropped his shopping bags to the side and toed off his boots, knowing he was about to get snuggly Mickey. After a long day of work and then shopping with Sandy, Mickey must have been drained, in need of some time to recharge. Happy to help, Ian scooted over to make room for Mickey before he flopped down onto the bed. They came together instantly, naturally; Ian sighed as they settled into each other, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.
Ian had been looking forward to Mickey coming home all day. After his first corrupt parole officer, Paula, died he’d been without a work assignment. A stroke of luck found him sharing a PO with Mickey, and Ian was glad to be Larry Seaver’s newest parolee. But since the guy actually gave a shit about his charges, he was taking care to find something Ian would actually like and be good at. Plus, he was kind of limited in range at the moment because of his injury so Larry didn’t seem to be in too much of a hurry.
Ian was going a little stir crazy, though, and he couldn’t wait to get back into the working world. Until then, he tried occupying his time as best he could until Mickey got home from work every day. That meant a lot of reading which made him feel like he was back in prison again. It wasn’t a great feeling but he did his best to lose himself in the imaginary worlds on the page; his head was never really a great place to stay for long.
“Mmm, you smell good.”
“You always say that,” Mickey replied with a small smile.
Ian shrugged. “You always smell good.”
Fuck, see? Ian was being cute as fuck, his resolve to talk it out almost crumbling completely. Yeah, he was annoyed about Ian’s constant communication attempts, but it was a small price to pay for this. Mickey let himself soak up the moment, feeling at peace in Ian’s arms.
But he had to say something. They needed to get ahead of shit like this and take care of problems when they were small and solvable. They’d be better off in the long run if he said something. Right?
“I gotta talk to you.”
Ian froze, his stomach dropping to his feet, fear curling around his heart. That didn’t sound good. Those words were never good.
Was Mickey going to break up with him? Did he finally realize he’d made a mistake when he took Ian back? Did he just want one last cuddle before he said goodbye? Ian shot up to sitting, feeling too vulnerable laying down. He was regretting the engagement, Ian was sure of it. Ian knew it was just a matter of time. If this was happening he needed—he didn’t know, he just knew he needed to be sitting. He needed this to not be happening, he needed Mickey—
“Whoa, calm down, Ian.” Mickey had followed Ian up and reached out a hand to the back of Ian’s neck to try to steady him. “It’s not that bad, I promise, okay? Just hear me out.”
Ian nodded, breathing out shakily, avoiding Mickey trying to catch his eye. Shit, he needed to get it together. He couldn’t freeze up and spiral like this every time Mickey wanted to talk. It’s what he wanted for them, to be able to talk about shit without it escalating and taking a turn for the worse, but he just couldn’t help how he reacted. Wounds still too fresh, too raw.
When Mickey finally managed to meet Ian’s eye line he tried his best to give him a reassuring look. Mickey moved in slower than he normally did and pressed his mouth to Ian’s. His eyes fell shut as he savored the taste and the feel of Ian’s lips against his. They kissed softly, sweetly, Mickey trying to remove all of Ian’s fears the way he knew how: by showing him how he was loved.
They pulled apart and Mickey asked, “You good?”
Ian nodded again, this time more certainly. “Yeah, sorry. I’m good.”
After Ian and Mickey settled against the wall by the window and the head of the bed, respectively, Mickey tangling his legs with Ian’s good one, Mickey spoke up. “Alright, I gotta ask you something and don’t be mad, I just wanna know the answer.” Ian gestured for Mickey to go on. Here goes nothing. “Why you texting me all the time?”
“What?” Okay, Ian was definitely not expecting that.
“You’re going overboard on the calls and texts and shit lately, man. It’s a pain in my ass—and not in a good way.”
Ian frowned. He didn’t think Mickey would notice that he’d been doing that. He was just trying to be fully transparent with Mickey. He didn’t want secrets between them, he wanted them to talk to each other. Ian felt better when they were constantly in touch all day. A little bit of it was because the short period of time they spent apart recently had shaken him; he hated the feeling of not knowing where Mickey was, what he was doing, and worst of all, who he was doing it with. And if he’d thought that when they were only apart for a few days and deserving of Mickey’s radio silence, he didn’t even want to think about what it’d been like for Mickey all those years ago when Ian was sick and Mickey hadn’t done anything wrong. So, it was mostly because Ian knew he had a lot of making up to do for everything that had happened at the beginning of the end, and this had been his solution.
“I...I just don’t want you worrying.”
Mickey breathed out through his nose, fighting the urge to light up a cigarette. “Whaddya think I’m worrying ‘bout?”
Ian’s gaze dropped to his intertwined hands in his lap, fiddling with his ring. “Me.”
Mickey sighed. “You don’t gotta do that shit. I’m not worryin’ ‘bout your ass all the goddamn time, ya know? It’s fuckin’ overkill.”
Ian nodded but Mickey wasn’t convinced. Ian was refusing to look at him again; he could tell Ian’s mind was racing.
“What makes you think you gotta do that anyway, huh?”
Ian shrugged. Mickey was trying, he really was, but maybe because he thought he already knew the answer, he was losing patience. Ian just needed to say something. Fucking anything.
“Sandy thinks it’s ‘cause you feel guilty.” It really wasn’t possible for Ian to avoid Mickey’s eyes any more than he already was, but he sure as shit tried.
Finally, Ian asked softly, “You ever think about back before I got diagnosed?”
“Yeah, sure.” Mickey shrugged easily.
“No, I mean, do you ever think about…” Ian was struggling. It hurt too much to even think about the things he did before—the things he could remember, anyway—let alone say them out loud. But, that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? They thought ignoring the problems would make them go away. Most of the time, that just made them worse.
But Mickey knew. Ian could tell by the way Mickey subtly froze that he knew exactly what Ian was trying to say. Ian wished he didn’t, but, of course, he knew. Ian wanted to be stronger. He wanted to say the words, be brave enough to own up to all the shit he put Mickey through (intentionally or not) but as it stood, that day all he could get out was, “You ever think about the shit I did.” To you hung heavily in the air, unspoken.
“I don’t— it’s not something I’m constantly thinkin’ ‘bout, but… Do I think about it sometimes? Yeah.”
“I do,” Ian said quietly. “I think about it all the time. And I hate myself for refusing to see what was happening.”
He’d thought a lot about the early days of his bipolar disorder kicking in. He should have seen what was happening. He should have admitted to himself that something was wrong. But it never felt wrong in the moment.
It was always afterwards that the doubt crept in. The shame. The disgust with himself for getting into those situations. The crushing guilt.
He wished every day he could go back in time, do it all over. Do everything differently. He just knew he wouldn’t fuck up a second chance if he was allowed one.
And that’s what he was trying to do now. He wouldn’t let anyone or anything take Mickey from him this time around, even if he thought Mickey should have ran for the hills a million times by now.
“Ian—”
“Mickey, don’t.” Ian finally brought his eyes up to meet Mickey’s. “I don’t want you makin’ excuses for me. Sometimes I think you shoulda stayed the fuck away from me.” He brushed away a tear from the corner of his eye quickly before it fell. “But mostly, I’m really fuckin’ selfish because I never want you to leave me again.”
Mickey was stunned. He knew Ian was worried about becoming manic and fucking shit up again, but he didn’t know he felt like that. It wasn’t unusual for Mickey to feel frustration bubbling beneath his skin’s surface. Normally, he had an outlet—something tangible he could beat into submission. Bipolar was a son of a bitch and all he wanted to do was make it all go away. He wanted to fight something, but he couldn’t. There was nothing to fight.
“Shut the fuck up,” he ordered brusquely and Ian furrowed his brows in response. “Look, it’s not like I don’t know why all that shit happened. Yeah, I think about it and it fuckin’ sucks but we did some fucked up shit to each other back then.” Mickey let his gaze fall to Ian’s injured leg and tried not to let the guilt overwhelm him. “Still do, sometimes.”
“Mick—”
“If you’re worried about having another breakdown or whatever, all you gotta do is make sure you don’t let yourself get like that again, right? Then I got nothin’ to worry about it.” Thinking back to earlier and how he wanted to stop hiding how much he cared about Ian’s mental health, he thought: two birds, one stone. “And you’re gonna fuckin’ let me help you, whether you like it or not.”
Ian let Mickey’s words wash over him, comfort and calm him. He couldn’t believe how much more in love he fell with Mickey every day.
But still, he said, “I never wanted to hurt you.”
Mickey huffed and shuffled to sit next to Ian, grabbing his hands and intertwining their fingers. “I know.”
“But I did.”
Mickey nodded.
“I could do it again.”
“You wanna do it again?”
“Fuck no,” Ian breathed out, tightening his grip.
“Then don’t. Do everything you gotta do so you don’t. But you’re not alone, alright? I’m here for you and your dumb ass won’t ever get to that point again if I have anything to say about it. I love you too much to let that happen.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Fuck that, yes I do. You’re a stubborn son of a bitch but so am I. And I know you hate it sometimes, but I want to take care of you. We take care of each other, dick. I know you want to be able to look after yourself and you can.” He nudged Ian’s shoulder with his own, needing to balance out his tough love speech with some affection. “When you’re good, you’re good, but you know how you are. You’ll ignore it until you can’t. Besides, everybody needs help once in a while even without fucking constantly changing brain chemicals.”
“I never wanted this for you,” Ian said sadly.
“You’re not dragging me kicking and screaming anywhere, Gallagher. I’m right where I wanna fuckin’ be.” Mickey didn’t want to bring up that it often felt like it was the other way around. He’d save that conversation for another day.
“For now.”
Mickey rolled his eyes as he raised his hand to smack the back of Ian’s head. Ian sputtered a bit but Mickey just looked at him sternly. “That hasn’t changed in however many years, man. Ain’t changing ever as far as I’m concerned.”
Ian smiled then. “Fuck, I love you.” And he darted forward to kiss Mickey.
“I love you, too.” He settled into Ian’s side and leaned his head on his fiancé’s shoulder, satisfied that their first foray into talking shit out had gone relatively well. “But if you don’t stop texting me all the fuckin’ time I’m gonna shove your phone so far up your ass you’ll be speaking in ringtones for weeks.”
Ian chuckled and kissed the top of Mickey’s head, scratching his scalp as they cozied up together. “Alright, alright. Point taken. No more crazy texting.”
“No more making up for shit, man. It’s unnecessary, I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m not either, alright, but I never wanna hurt you again, Mick. So just promise me you’ll tell me when it gets too much?”
“Promise.” He lets the words sink in, settling something within. “Guess we’re stuck with each other, then, huh?”
“Guess so.”
They both smiled softly to themselves, pleased with the progress they seemed to be making. There was still so much they needed to talk about, but it was a good start; it wasn’t like they’d cracked open the vault and solved every single problem they’d ever faced, but it felt good to acknowledge the past and put at least some of it behind them as best they knew how.
They knew their relationship wasn’t perfect—it probably never would be, but that was okay. They had the rest of their life to work toward perfection. Maybe they’d get there, maybe they wouldn’t. They knew they’d fight each other sometimes, but as long as they fought for each other, too, they knew they would make it.