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They had good days and they had bad days.
Mickey was used to dealing with the things that came with Ian’s disorder but being used to it didn’t make it any easier, for either of them, and he could almost feel the expectancy from the rest of Ian’s family…the assumption that they’d fail because Monica had failed and they couldn’t see Ian as anything but a carbon copy of his mother.
It was fucking stupid because Ian wasn’t anything like Monica, at least not from what Mickey had been told and he didn’t get why they’d want to lump him together with her in the first place.
He’d loved his Ma like drowning and he knew that one of the reasons why Terry hated his ass as much as he did was because Mickey had reminded the man of her. It didn’t mean he wanted people to see his Ma when they looked at him though, because he wouldn’t have cut out like that…wouldn’t have left his kids to deal with Terry for a second more than he had to.
Not like she had.
Ian wasn’t Monica any more than Mickey was his Ma so when shit hit the fan Mickey buckled down and did what he did best…he figured shit out and dealt with it.
Mickey had seen the signs coming a mile off. It was in the way that Ian started picking up new hobbies before dropping them in the blink of an eye. Always moving forward, faster and faster because there was something new right around the fucking corner and it was like Ian would catch fire if he didn’t get there soon enough.
Mickey didn’t mention a damn thing but he counted Ian’s pills whenever he got the chance, just fucking hoping that there would be more than there was supposed to be so that he could drag Ian’s ass back home and force them down Ian’s throat himself.
The pills were never skewered…there was always just the right amount and when Ian beamed at Mickey while he took the rest Mickey had to look away because when Ian was like this it was almost like looking at the sun and Mickey knew he’d have to pick up the pieces when Ian burned out.
*O*
“The fuck is this shit?” Mickey demanded, slamming the door behind him despite the grin on Ian’s face because he was fucking tired and all he wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep for a fucking year but Ian had all their shit spread out on the living room floor and the bright look in his eyes told Mickey that neither of them was going to get any sleep.
“I’m thinking of going on a trip. I mean I haven’t been on one in a while and we’ve never been on one together,” Ian muttered as he stuffed some clothes into a bag and it was on the tip of Mickey’s tongue to remind him that the last time Ian had been on a trip was when he’d fucked off with Monica.
He didn’t say it though because three years had taught him that mentioning Ian’s mom was a sure fire way to start a fight.
Rubbing at his temple with one hand, Mickey tightened his fingers around the car keys in the other.
“You’ve got work tomorrow. How the fuck are you going on a trip?”
Ian shrugged, the move an attempt at nonchalance but Mickey could see the tension creeping into Ian’s frame and he knew that this wasn’t going to end well…or easily.
“They can get someone to cover for me, no big. I just…I need to go on this trip, okay?” he replied, his voice less enthusiastic than before.
“No, it’s not fucking okay, Ian. You love your job and you’ve got clients, they can’t just cover for you out of the blue,” Mickey shot back and Ian’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowed and God Mickey hadn’t missed the way that Ian could flip from being the cute energizer bunny to this shit right here where Ian looked like he’d go through Mickey to get at whatever shit he wanted.
“I’m not telling you to fucking come with me. If you’ve got such a problem you can stay, alright?” Ian snapped. “I just need to get out of here, I’ve got all these places I want to see and I can’t fucking do it while I’m stuck here.”
A few years ago Mickey would’ve told Ian to pack his shit and go wherever the fuck he wanted but now he just stared at him until Ian glanced away, his body twitching like he was on something.
Exhaling slowly through his nose, Mickey counted to ten to fight the urge to tell Ian to just fuck off.
“Alright,” he murmured and Ian’s eyes flickered to his face. “Alright, pack your shit and I’ll call your job. Gonna have to sort some shit out with Rob as well,” Mickey sighed and Ian was on his feet in an instant.
“Are you serious?” he whispered, stepping into Mickey’s personal space and Mickey let him because there was something fragile stretched across Ian’s face and the last thing he wanted was to fuck that up.
Ian’s therapist would probably flip her shit when she found out about this.
“Don’t I look like I’m fuckin’ serious? Just get your shit sorted, man,” Mickey muttered and Ian slumped against him, curling his arms around Mickey’s waist as he pressed his face to the spot where Mickey’s neck met his shoulder.
Mickey just trailed his fingers through Ina’s hair and pretended that he couldn’t feel the way that Ian was almost vibrating in his arms.
“I could pack the stuff in the car?” Ian whispered but Mickey’s fingers just tightened around the keys until they were almost cutting into his palm.
“I’ve got this; just go pack some food or something. I don’t wanna starve before you figure out where we’re going,” he responded.
Three years had brought them a long way from the broken trust that had been there after their breakup and Mickey trusted Ian with a lot of things.
Trusting Ian with himself?
That was one of the things he was still working on.
*O*
It took thirteen days.
Thirteen days of watching Ian chase the horizon.
Thirteen days of too little sleep in strange motel rooms while Ian pressed kisses that felt like apologies against his skin.
It took thirteen days for it all to come crashing down.
“I’m fucking sorry, I can’t…why the fuck are you putting up with me?”
The words were muffled against Mickey’s skin but the tears soaking his shirt were harder to hide.
“Thick and thin, I told you this shit already, Gallagher,” Mickey responded and Ian made a sound like he was dying.
“I took the pills, I took all of them…”
“I know,” Mickey whispered, stroking his hand down Ian’s spine.
“It’s not fair, I can’t. They’re not fixing me, Mickey, they’re not fucking working.”
Ian was all out sobbing now and Mickey clenched the fingers of his free hand into a fist.
“They can’t fix shit ‘cause you’re not fucking broken, you hear me? We knew this shit might happen, you just need your meds sorted again then you’ll be back to waking my ass up at fuck’o’clock in the morning for some dumbass shit like going for a run before the sun’s up.”
Ian was silent for a long moment and Mickey let his eyes focus on a strange mark on the ceiling of their room.
He didn’t even want to know what the fuck that was or how it got up there.
“You could leave, you know? No one would blame you for not staying,” Ian whispered and Mickey’s fingers were in Ian’s hair before he realized it, tightening around the strands so that he could drag Ian away from his hiding space.
“The fuck did you just say to me?” he demanded, taking in the blotchiness of Ian’s skin, the tear marks staining his cheeks and the redness of his eyes.
It was fucked up that even looking like shit the fucker still made Mickey’s heart race.
“You didn’t sign on for this,” Ian muttered, his eyes dipping away from Mickey’s and Mickey snorted.
“Yeah? You got my contract hidden somewhere in your shit? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I said thick or fucking thin. You deaf or something? You and me, we’re fuckin stuck together. I knew that shit when you crawled your ass back to me the last time so you don’t get to fucking decide what I do, alright? We’re gonna get your meds fixed and you’re gonna stop being an idiot about this shit, you get me?”
Ian stared at him for a long moment before he pulled away, burying his face in Mickey’s chest.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again and Mickey sighed.
“Ain’t shit to be sorry about, you’ve got a fucked up idea of how this shit works but that’s alright ‘cause it ain’t like I know any better. All I know is that it ain’t running the fuck away, alright? It’s staying put and fixing shit and that’s what we’re gonna do.”
“Okay,” Ian replied and Mickey combed his fingers through his hair as Ian curled even closer like he was trying to sink into Mickey’s skin.
It wasn’t a fix but Mickey knew they’d get there. They’d get Ian’s meds and they’d start the new regime that the therapist set because that was what they did.
They weren’t their mothers and they wouldn’t be running away from a fucking thing…not if Mickey had anything to say about it.
“Love you, fuckhead,” he muttered and Ian laughed; the sound watery against Mickey’s skin.
“That’s not how you’re supposed to say it,” he whispered but Mickey just smirked because his words had had the desired effect even if Ian wouldn’t admit it.
“Love you too,” Ian whispered after a moment and Mickey’s grin softened because this was them.
They were a little cracked at the edge and they didn’t mesh together smoothly but this was them and no matter how hot or quickly Ian burned, Mickey would always be right there with him.