Chapter Text
"Something's up with Ian, and it's serious."
"STD?"
"Fiona—stop. For a second. I'm being fuckin' serious, okay? He's not himself...won't get out of bed, zero appetite, too drained to do anything...it's really freaking me out and he refuses to see a doctor.."
Mickey cracked open a beer and sat beside his older sister, the TV played quietly since the kids were in bed, and so was Mickey. Snoozing in Ian's bed. "Think it could be one of those depression episodes?"
"No. I don't think it's mental. He's weak, like, really weak. He looks weak. He's got these bruises on his back and he keeps getting chest infections. I'm really starting to worry, he keeps saying it's just a cold or something but I can just...I just know it's something more than that.."
~~~
Ian got out of bed that morning, for the first time in days. He looked tired as he walked down the stairs in his baggy sweatpants and hoodie, looking paler than usual. His floppy ginger hair was a mess on his head, and he was practically stumbling as he walked.
He was quiet when he sat at the dining table, not saying good morning to his boyfriend who sat across from him, or to his siblings in the kitchen. "Nice to see you up.." Mickey muttered, eating some of the French toast Fiona had made for him. "Took your meds?"
"I took 'em all week."
"Give me the bottle. Let me count."
"I haven't been out of bed so I can't have flushed them.." His voice was so hoarse from how dry it was. And as he handed the orange pill bottle, his freckled hands shook. Mickey tipped the pills out and counted them in his hand, the correct amount was missing, he had taken them, thank God. "See?"
"So what's with you staying in bed for days? That's not like you." Lip nudged his shoulder.
"Just felt sick. I'm gonna hit the gym today. You gonna come, Mick?"
Mickey met eyes with his ginger boyfriend and nodded in response, syrup dripping down his chin. He tipped the pills back into the container and tossed them to the kitchen counter for Fiona to put away.
The plate of food in front of Ian looked so damn good but the feeling in his stomach told him no. If he ate it, he'd definitely be sick. He felt so hungry but he knew anything he ate would come back up without a doubt.
His siblings all stopped and stared at him, he'd usually be wolfing it down but the last few weeks, he took so long to eat. He left half of it, or most of it with just a few bites taken out. They'd never seen him acting so off. The weak, tired eyes started to alarm everyone.
~~~
He and Mickey hit the gym like Ian wanted to, despite Fiona telling him to stay home and rest or call a doctor. It was probably just his pills. They made him nauseous sometimes. Nothing more than a little dizziness, he thought.
He and Mickey worked out for about an hour before he had another dizzy spell. He had to drop the dumbbells he was holding to grab a cup of water from the dispenser, Mickey too focused on his workout with earphones in to notice.
When Ian came back, his already sweaty hair was now drenched in cold water to try to keep himself conscious. He was reaching to grab the bar for pull ups when he stumbled backwards.
"Ian—woah, relax!" Mickey yelled over his music, snatching his earphones out quickly. Ian tried to walk to him, but his legs gave way, and he collapsed in Mickey's arms. "Hey, Ian. Get up. Not funny." But Ian didn't respond. "Ian. Come on, let's go! Someone call fucking 911!"
~~~
"I'm gonna fucking hurt somebody if they don't tell me what the fucks going on."
Veronica grabbed Mickey's wrist and made him sit back down on the cushioned seats, right next to her and Lip. Ian had never looked so pale and weak than when they lifted him into the ambulance. The paramedics said he probably just exhausted himself at the gym, but Mickey doubted that.
"Mickey...Milkovi-sh?" A tall lady with thick brown hair tied into a ponytail emerged from the ER, with a notepad, and a serious expression on her face when Mickey looked up.
"It's Milkovich. Ian okay?"
"Well, we're not entirely sure what's going on right now. But I'd like to talk to you in private, and I'd like one other family member of Mr Gallagher's as a witness."
Fiona stood up immediately and followed behind Mickey and the woman. She wasn't dressed as a nurse or a doctor, she looked professional, like a lawyer or some shit. Maybe Ian ratted Mickey out for something. If he did, Mickey would kill the ginger fucker himself.
The two sat opposite the lady at her desk, her hands held together. Mickey glanced at Fi, Fiona smiled but he didn't return it. "Mr Gallagher says that Mr Milkovich is his partner, is this correct, Miss Gallagher?"
"I only found out when Ian was in the mental hospital, but yes. He told me he and Mickey have been seeing each other a while. Is—Is there a problem?"
"Don't fuckin' tell me he's got AIDs or something. He fucks me without a condom." Mickey threw his head into his hands, Fiona kicked his leg.
"It's nothing like that, Mr Milkovich. Though, gay sex still requires protection for such things like STDs. We will uh...run a few screenings now that you've told us this information. But this isn't what I wanted to talk to you about."
She stood up from her desk and picked up a small file with Ian's name on, and placed it on Fiona's lap. The black haired boy scooted closer as Fiona opened the yellow file. Inside was photos of Ian's bare chest and arms, all scattered with dark bruises and older yellowing bruises, cuts and scars.
Two hands suddenly grasped Mickey's wrists, pulling them behind him and cuffing him to the chair. "What the fuck?!" He yelled.
"Mr Gallagher has confirmed that you are his partner. But he won't tell us what these bruises are from. Says he doesn't know. He's currently being questioned about them too, but...though this may be completely speculation, are you hurting Mr Gallagher?"
"No I'm fucking not hurting him! The fuck is wrong with you?! He's my boyfriend, not a fuckin' punching bag!"
"Please calm down Mr Milkovich. You defend yourself and claim you are not hitting your partner?"
"I swear I will rip your fucking guts out if you're hitting my brother." Fiona grasped Mickey's cuffed wrist, staring right back into his bright blue eyes.
"Ian would've told you if I hit him. I don't. I love Ian, alright? So, where the fuck are the bruises from?"
The lady gave a sigh again as she uncuffed his wrists. "Bruising can be a number of things. I can see Mr Gallagher isn't taking any sort of blood thinners, so it can't be that. We're sending him for tests. Sepsis is a possibility, blood clots...but we don't see a reason it could be either of those. Mr Gallagher is currently being tested for acute myeloid leukaemia. The symptoms seem to match up but we don't know for sure."
"What the fucks that?" Mickey looked puzzled at Fiona's shocked, clearly panicked face.
"That's cancer...Ian could have cancer?"
"It's more than likely, yes. We'll discuss treatment options as soon as we know for absolute certain. You won't be seeing him tonight so I suggest you all go home and rest, come back during visiting hours tomorrow."
~~~
It all made fucking sense. The symptoms Mickey had searched, the bruises and the dizziness and the constant infections. Having zero energy and zero appetite, his pale skin being way whiter than usual.
He stayed awake all night while the Gallagher's slept, he was restless. Ian was dying and Mickey didn't even notice how badly sick Ian was. Some fucking pathetic excuse of a boyfriend he was, Ian deserved better.
He was so lost in thought that he didn't even notice Fiona in the doorway, her arms folded and two beers in her hands. "Hey. Milkovich." She spoke quickly. "You gonna leave Ian, you do it now. If he's got cancer, don't leave him halfway through his treatment. Get the hell out of his bed if you wanna dump him. We gotta make him feel better and you being fake won't help."
"I'm not gonna fuckin' leave him. I love Ian, alright? I...love him."
"Good. Have a beer. It's been a long day."