Work Text:
By the time Ian arrived home from the hospital, Mickey had already been in bed for a couple of hours. Ian had kept him updated on Frank’s condition. Alcoholic dementia. It was a surprise, but also it wasn’t. Frank had a lifetime of drinking under his belt, and it wasn’t a shock that his body had finally decided to give up for a second time. He’d gotten lucky with his liver years ago, but it didn’t seem like fate would be on his side this time.
Mickey laid there as he heard mumbles from downstairs. He couldn’t quite make out what was being said, but he could recognize Ian’s voice. Ian. All he wanted was for his husband to lay next to him and help quiet his brain. He had insisted Ian go to the hospital to be with his family, and after arguing with the redhead for god knows how long, Ian had given in and left. The moment his husband walked out the door though, Mickey had regretted telling him to go. Mickey wanted to be left alone. He wanted everyone to fuck off. That didn’t include Ian. It never included Ian. He needed Ian.
After a few minutes, the voices stopped and were quickly replaced by the sound of the stairs creaking. He swiped at his eyes just to be sure they were dry. Mickey had allowed himself to give Terry five minutes of tears about an hour ago, but he needed to be sure there was no evidence left behind. Turning onto his side with his back to the door, Mickey closed his eyes and waited for his husband.
Mickey could tell Ian was trying to be as quiet as possible as he entered the room and undressed, hoping not to wake him in case he was asleep. Mickey felt the bed dip slightly behind him and instantly recognized the familiar body heat he had been craving. As Ian wrapped an arm around him to gently pull him closer, Mickey slipped his fingers through Ian’s and brought their joined hands to his chest, letting him know he was still awake.
“You okay?” Ian whispered quietly into his ear.
He wasn’t sure how to answer that question honestly, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to, so he gave a hushed “I’m good” and hoped Ian would leave it alone. He knew he wasn’t okay, but he also knew damn well he didn’t want to talk about it right now.
“You know you can talk about it if you want to. You don’t have to-.”
“I said I’m good, Ian. It’s been a long fucking day. Leave it.” As soon as the words had left his mouth, Mickey had instantly wished he hadn’t been so harsh. This shit wasn’t Ian’s fault. He squeezed his husband’s hand and hoped he understood. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
Ian kissed his shoulder and pulled him in close, intertwining their legs.
“It’s okay, let’s just get some sleep, yeah? You’re right, it has been a long fucking day.”
Wrapped in the protective warmth of the love of his life, Mickey slept.
*
He woke up choking on nothing. Tears were streaming down his face, but he couldn’t put effort into stopping them. He felt himself shaking, but he had no way to calm himself. His thoughts were racing but he could only focus on one. The memory he had been dreaming about. That morning. The morning his father had violated him. Had forced him to….fuck. Fuck!
He tried to quiet the noise in his head so he could take a breath, but it felt useless. His body felt too worked up to function properly and for a moment, Mickey almost wished it would give out.
No son of mine is gonna be a goddamn aids monkey.
He felt disgusting.
You marry a man, I’m gonna put a fuckin’ bullet in your head.
Worthless.
You woulda probably made a half-decent son if it weren’t for that whole fudge-packer thing.
Unlovable.
Just when Mickey thought he might finally pass out from the lack of oxygen, he opened his eyes to find Ian in front of him, hands on both sides of his face trying to gain his attention. He looked scared and Mickey wanted to ask what was wrong. He just needed to breathe first. He could see Ian was talking to him, attempting to tell him something, so he focused on trying to hear the words he was saying.
“Mickey. It’s okay. Just calm your breathing,” Ian begged. “Please, Mick. Focus. It’s gonna be alright, okay?” He could feel Ian rubbing his cheeks with his thumbs. He’s not sure if he’s wiping away the tears or if it’s supposed to be a comforting gesture, trying to remind Mickey that he’s with him. Ian’s always with him.
Mickey manages to get in one breath. Two. Three. Four. Ian’s there, counting with each breath Mickey takes. Making sure Mickey keeps breathing and doesn’t lose it again.
“You’re doing great, Mickey. I love you. You’re okay.”
After what feels like hours, maybe only minutes, Mickey allows himself to lean into his husband and cry. He doesn’t want to work himself up into another fit, but he also doesn’t have the strength to hold it together right now. The nightmare opened the floodgates, and he isn’t entirely sure how to close them again. Ian will keep him safe though. He’s there, rubbing his back and whispering comforting words. Doing his best to keep Mickey calm.
“I don’t wanna fucking cry over that asshole,” Mickey says after the tears stop. “I don’t know why I fucking cried.”
“I know,” Ian says simply as he continues to rub Mickey’s back.
“He was a fucking asshole and he beat me and he raped me.” Mickey took a deep breath and sighed. “He made me feel disgusting and that I was impossible to love. I hated him. I don’t know why I care.”
“He was still your dad, Mick. This shit is complicated.”
Understatement of the fucking year, Mickey thought.
Ian cupped his chin and tilted Mickey’s head, forcing him to make eye contact.
“Listen to me, Mickey Milkovich. You are the best person I know, and you deserve everything in this world. Your father was an evil bastard who treated you like shit your entire life and you still did everything you could to take care of him. You might be a grumpy asshole sometimes, but you have the biggest heart and it’s one of the things I love most about you. Terry might’ve made you feel unlovable, but it’s not true. None of it is. I love you more than anything. I need you to know that, Mickey. There’s nothing I love more than you.”
If Mickey had had any tears left in him, he’s sure he probably would’ve broken down again. Instead, he gave a slight smile and tucked his head into the safe space of Ian’s neck.
“I love you, too, you fuckin’ sap.” Ian let out a small laugh as he placed a kiss to the top of Mickey’s head.
“I’ll always be here for you from now on, Mick. I promise.”
Mickey closed his eyes and let himself be comforted by the touch and words of his husband.
Maybe Terry Milkovich was wrong. Maybe he is lovable after all.