Chapter Text
The last place Ian expects to find Mickey is in Pennsylvania, in a grocery store, of all places.
But really, to be absolutely honest he didn't expect to find Mickey anywhere but Southside Chicago. Ian himself had gotten out a few years ago, moving slightly towards the Northside to be closer to his work but not close enough to actually warrant excessive teasing from his family. Last he heard, Mickey was still sleazing and scamming his way through the Southside.
He had obviously heard wrong.
On closer inspection, Mickey is standing in front of a rack full of dental hygiene products, and seems to be contemplating....toothpaste.
Wow. Things really were different.
Ian is staring at Mickey's back, slightly entranced, when someone prods him on the shoulder.
"I'm just going to grab some juice, okay?" Michael says, and Ian starts.
Right. Michael. His current boyfriend. Who is the whole reason why he's missing work back home. Whom he ..loves.
"Sure, okay," Ian says distractedly, and Michael pats him affectionately on the back before striding off.
He looks back at Mickey, who is still contemplating toothpaste.
Ah, fuck it, Ian thinks.
"Hey," he says hesitantly, nudging Mickey gently, and Mickey nearly drops the toothpaste.
"Gallagher?" he says, surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same," Ian says, and Mickey shrugs. "Buying toothpaste."
"I didn't know you brushed your teeth," Ian teases. Mickey doesn't smile. But the slight tensing of his shoulders didn't go unnoticed.
That's when Ian finally takes in the changes in Mickey that is sort of disconcerting.
For one, he's paler. Which is rather amazing, considering that he was already pasty as fuck to begin with. It makes the light bruising along his cheekbone stand out starkly. He's lost muscle mass, and looks hollow , maybe even a little sad.
Mickey isn't standing tall, or deliberately slouching either. He looks uneasy, shifting from foot to foot and hunching his shoulders, as though he was trying to curl into himself.
He looks ill. Ian doesn't know why he feels a sudden stab of guilt.
"I'm just here with someone. On business," Ian says, and Mickey nods distractedly.
"It's nice here," Ian adds, and Mickey shrugs.
"Yeah. It is."
He doesn't say anything else.
"Mick, look, I'm really sorry about what happened all those years ago. I just didn't want to hurt you."
"I know," Mickey says simply, and turns around to pick out...dental floss.
"Are you just going to stand there and stare at fucking dental products?" Ian snaps. "Didn't you want to talk about the break up?"
"That was six years ago," Mickey says. "I have to go."
He drops two boxes of dental floss into his shopping cart, and shuffles away. Doesn't even insult or punch Ian. It's slightly worrying. Mickey isn't acting like...Mickey.
But then Michael comes back, and Ian pushes all thoughts of his ex-lover to the back of his head.
*
Ian finds himself hanging out at the grocery store a few days later, while Michael is meeting some business contacts for lunch. He doesn't know what he expects to find.
(He does. It's Mickey.)
He circles the store close to seven times, and the cashiers are starting to look at him suspiciously when he spots a familiar dark haired ex-con.
This time, Mickey is picking out a bottle of liquor. There is more dental floss in his cart, and a raw steak.
"Fancy seeing you again," Ian says casually, and Mickey nearly drops the bottle. If it were six years ago, Mickey would have hit Ian , or at least hurled a few insults his way. Now, however, he just takes a step back and places the bottle into his cart.
"Can I help you?" he says wearily, and Ian shrugs.
"I just want to talk," Ian explains, and Mickey shakes his head.
"You need to go," he says urgently. "I don't want to talk to you."
"I'm not leaving until you talk to me. We can't avoid this forever, Mickey."
"Yes we can," the brunette hisses. "Just go, Gallagher. Please." His voice drops at the end, and he looks....afraid.
"It's a free country. I can go where I want," Ian shoots back. Mickey is about to reply, when a meaty hand clamps down on his shoulder. He tenses up immediately.
"Who's this?" A tall, heavyset man asks. He's a lot taller than Mickey, and looks like he was made entirely out of muscle. Mickey bites his lip.
"No one," he says quickly, and the man narrows his eyes, unimpressed.
"Let's go," he says firmly, and Mickey nods obediently.
"Hey, hold up. I was just talking to him," Ian snaps. "Don't be fucking rude."
"Shut up, Gallagher," Mickey hisses, and the man turns around to stare at Ian.
"I thought you said you didn't know him."
"I don't," Mickey says hurriedly. The man doesn't look convinced.
"We're leaving," he repeats, pulling at Mickey's arm. "Come on."
Mickey follows him meekly, doesn't even turn around to wave goodbye. Ian never thought he would see the day where Mickey was afraid of someone. He wonders who that man was, to be able to strike such fear in the ex-con.
Michael leaves a week later, and Ian stays behind. He tells Michael that a relative needed his help with something. Michael doesn't question it, although he did look concerned, asks if Ian wants him to stay behind to lend a hand.
Ian feels bad about lying to his boyfriend, but he isn't ready to leave just yet. Isn't ready to leave Mickey.
He spends almost half the morning hanging out in the very same grocery store. This time, the cashiers ignore him.
He is about to give up and go back to the hotel sometime around noon, when he spots Mickey. There are a few boxes of band-aids in his cart, and another bottle of liquor.
"Mick, wait," he calls, and Mickey turns around.
"Fuck off," he snarls, and starts to walk away.
"Will you just fucking listen to me?" Ian fumes, grabbing Mickey by the shoulder. Mickey makes a choking sound, and tears his shoulder away from Ian's grip. Ian catches sight of a fading bruise on the back of his neck.
"Don't fucking touch me," he snaps.
Ian raises both hands, and steps back. "Fine. Will you talk to me now?"
"No," Mickey says, "Don't follow me."
He leaves.
Ian is so caught up in Mickey's retreating back that he nearly doesn't notice the battered leather wallet on the floor.
Bingo.
There are a few crumpled bills in there, a small handful of coins and a few band-aids, along with Mickey's ID, on which was printed his address. Ian notes it down, tells himself that he's not being fucking creepy and that he was just going to return the wallet to Mickey.
He spends an extra 10 minutes on his hair, though.
The apartment building that the address brings him to is pretty decent. The street is dotted with trees, a few shops and a couple of other buildings. It's a far cry from where Mickey and Ian grew up.
Ian stands outside the door for a good fifteen minutes before he finally knocks. Almost immediately, the door opens a crack.
"Mickey?" Ian says, peering through the crack between the frame and the door. The door slams shut, nearly clipping him on the nose.
"Go away." Mickey sounds muffled behind the door.
"I just want to return your wallet," Ian says patiently, and the door opens again, this time fully. Mickey is shirtless, clad only in loose sweatpants that hang low on his hips. Ian can't help but notice the darkening bruises forming along one side of Mickey's side, inching up toward his ribs. It's almost morbidly artistic.
"Give it to me," Mickey says, holding out a hand. The skin around his wrist is rubbed raw.
"Jesus, Mick," Ian takes a step forward. "Did you get run over by a bus or something?" As he speaks, he notices a few scratch marks across the side of Mickey's neck, arching out towards the back of his head and god knows where else.
"Fell down the stairs," Mickey replies automatically, his response almost robotic in nature.
"And those scratches?" Ian isn't convinced.
"Aren't you supposed to be returning me my fucking wallet?" Mickey demands, holding out a hand. "Stop fucking interrogating me, and just give me my shit back."
"I'm just concerned about you," Ian says, and immediately regrets it. Mickey's face darkens, and he scowls.
"You lost that right when you left," he mutters and snatches the wallet from Ian's hand.
"Yeah...look. Can we talk about that?" Ian says pleadingly, and Mickey gives him a 'are you fucking kidding me' look.
"Goodbye, Ian," he says, and slams the door shut.
It's only when Ian is back at the hotel, when he realizes that Mickey didn't seem angry. He seemed....scared.
And he had a damn good feeling about who Mickey was scared of.
*
Ian calls Mandy. It's something he hasn't done for awhile, and he hopes that her number is still the same.
The call connects (thankfully) and a man picks up the phone.
"Is Mandy in?" Ian asks.
"Who's asking?"
"I'm an old friend," Ian says, and he hears the man saying something in the background before Mandy comes on.
"Who's this?" she asks, and Ian takes a deep breath.
"Hey, Mands," he says weakly, and Mandy curses. "Piss off," she snaps. "I'm fucking done with you Gallaghers."
"Don't-don't hang up yet," Ian says quickly. "It's about Mickey."
"You fucking crushed him, and now you want me to help you crush him again?"
"That was a mistake, Mands," Ian says, and Mandy snorts.
"Yeah-fucking-right."
"Whatever I can do for him is better than what he has now, and you know it," Ian says, and instantly regrets it. Fuck, he really needed to invest in a filter.
"I'm hanging up now," Mandy says icily. "Have a nice life."
She doesn't hang up.
"Aren't you going to hang up?" Ian asks. "Or shall I hang up first?"
"Fuck you," she snaps, but there's no real venom in her voice. "Just so you know, I'm not doing this for you."
"I know," Ian says eagerly.
"And I will hunt you down and hold you down while Iggy rips your balls out if you dare hurt him again," she adds. "I'm serious."
"Point taken," Ian replies. "In fact, I'll tear them off myself."
Mandy sighs, and Ian can practically feel her unhappiness over the phone. "Chad is a dick."
"I know, I sort of figured."
Mandy swallows, and exhales thinly. "No, he's a real bastard. He's ten times worse than you, and that's saying something."
"Gee, thanks, Mandy."
"He beats Mickey," she says softly. "He treats Mickey like shit, and my brother just lets him. I try telling Mickey, but he just gets all defensive and angry and tells me to fuck off. He..he hasn't called me in ages and he's not answering his phone, right now."
"This might sound insensitive," Ian warns, "But I sort of doubt Mickey is the sort to be abused. I mean, he's a fucking Milkovich."
"Exactly," Mandy whispers, and Ian realizes.
"Mickey doesn't have people to help him out of this. He only has me and maybe Iggy. We Milkoviches always pick the best ones, don't we?" She lets out a choked sob, and Ian wishes that she was with him then, that he could give her a hug. "The only difference is, he was able to help me. I can't help him," she sounds on the verge of tears. "I can't help him, Ian, none of us can. And it's fucking horrible, y'know? The last time I saw him, he couldn't even walk properly because Chad got fired from his job and felt that it was right for him to take his anger out on my brother. As though it was Mickey's fault that that asshat is incompetent at everything he does. And Mickey just let him." She pauses, and sighs heavily. "I want to know what the fuck happened to my brother, Ian. I want to know where Mickey Milkovich went."
She promptly breaks down, and Ian clutches the phone desperately. "Mandy...."
"This is your fucking fault, Gallagher," she snarls. "Fucking fix it, or I swear to god I will end you, Ian. My brother's aren't the only ones who can get their hands dirty. Fucking fix Mickey, please, or I..I..." she breaks off and swallows noisily. "Please," she whispers. "I can't do anything, but you can."
"I'll try," Ian says quietly.
They sit in silence for a while, Ian holding the phone gingerly while Mandy composed herself. Some time passes, and Ian tries not to think of the bill he's going to get for this call.
"Have you gone to the police?" Ian asks timidly.
"I wouldn't do that to my brother," she says softly. "Chad is bad for him, but if I force Chad away from him, it would just about wreck him. Mickey has some sort of weird, twisted attraction to him, and I can't just fucking wrench it away from him like that again. He..he has to see for himself, make his own decision so he won't get crushed like..like.."
"Like what I did to him," Ian finishes, and he can almost hear Mandy smile down the phone.
"Fix it, Ian," she says. "You're not really my number one choice, but I'll take what I can."
She hangs up.
And the many years of guilt starts to come crashing down on Ian.
*
The next time Ian sees Mickey is purely coincidental.
It's at a diner, some ways from his hotel, and Mickey is curled up in a booth with someone whom Ian is almost willing to bet is the Chad that Mandy mentioned. He nibbling at a pancake, nodding rhythmatically to whatever Chad says. His eyes look empty, and Ian feels the urge to slam Chad's head into the table and pour hot coffee down his shirt.
Instead, Ian sidles up to their table like the smooth bastard he is. (Not really.)
"Heeeeyyy Mickey," he says, ,and Mickey starts. "Gallagher?" he hisses, and Ian grins sunnily. "Fancy seeing you here."
"It's a diner," Mickey says warily, and Chad narrows his eyes. Ian spitefully notes how fucking ugly he is, a little like an overfed mix between a body builder and bulldog. His muscles are the size of Ian's head. It's disgusting.
(It's really not, but Ian likes to think it is.)
"I know you," he says dangerously. "You're that little twink from the grocery store."
"Ian Gallagher," Ian says, holding out a hand. Chad takes hold of it slowly and shakes it, his grip tightening to an almost bone-crushing degree.
"Is there anything you need?" he asks slowly, and Ian shrugs. "I just wanted to say hi to Mickey."
"You need to leave," Mickey says lowly.
"I was hoping we could catch up," Ian says, and looks at Chad daringly.
"Do it outside," he says gruffly. "And hurry back."
"I don't really-"
"Go, Mickey." Chad says. Mickey jumps up as though he has been scalded, and shoots Ian a dirty glare. Ian pulls him out of the diner and onto the street.
"I know," Ian says. "I know about Chad."
"No you don't," Mickey replies crossly. "You need to stop following me around, Gallagher. It's getting annoying."
"Look, I just want to help you-"
"I don't need help," Mickey says angrily. "Look, just...just go home, alright? You have a boyfriend now, don't you? You go back to yours, I go back to mine. Stop trying to ruin this for me."
"Ruin this?" Ian looks incredulous. "This isn't healthy, Mickey."
"You and your goddamn hero complex," Mickey spits. "You're just fucking selfish, aren't you? You took everything away from me, and now you want to take Chad too. That's low, Gallagher, even for you."
Ian tries not to flinch.
"Don't look for me again," Mickey says. "Chad doesn't like it."
And he goes back into the diner.
Well that went spectacularly, Ian thinks.
*
Michael calls him that night.
"How's everything going?" he asks, and Ian feels his stomach curl in on itself with guilt. Here, he's trying to chase his ex while his current boyfriend, his sweet, thoughtful boyfriend, is concerned about him. Ian feels like a horrible person.
"It's going fine," he says. "I might need to stay here a bit longer, though."
"What's up with that relative, anyway?" Michael asks curiously.
Ian bites his tongue, and decides to tell him. "He's...my cousin. And he's in an abusive relationship. I...I don't know what to do."
"There's nothing you can do though," Michael says. "He can only help himself."
"But there must be something I can do to speed up the process," Ian says, frustrated. "I owe it to him. He's..um..he helped me out with something before, and I can't just let him live his life like this."
"Trying talking to him," Michael suggests. "It could help him see things."
"I've tried," Ian argues. "It doesn't work."
"No, you haven't," Michael chuckles. "Is it talking, or pitying?"
Ian has a 'well fuck' moment then and there.
"Thanks," he says. "I...thanks, really." The pit of guilt is getting wider.
"No problem, babe," Michael says. "Tell me how it goes. Love you."
"Me too," Ian says. He doesn't really mean it.
*
He visits Mickey again, armed with junk food and a copy of The Avengers.
He knocks on the door.
Mickey answers, looking sleepy. His hair is sticking up all over the place, and it would have been adorable if not for the purpling bruise on his bare torso and a split lip.
"Can't you take a fucking hint?" he groans. "It's too early for this shit."
"Is Chad home?" Ian peers in . Mickey eyes him suspiciously before deciding that it wasn't worth the effort trying to chase the redhead away.
"He's at work," Mickey yawns. "Whatever you have to say, get it over and done with so I can go back to bed."
Ian holds up a bag of Doritos in response. "They didn't have Pringles," he says apologetically. Mickey just looks confused.
"I'm not here to convince you to leave Chad or anything," Ian adds. "But maybe we could hang for a bit?" He pulls out the DVD. "I brought superheroes."
"The Avengers?" Mickey looks skeptical.
"Fuck off," Ian says, grinning. "I know you love them."
"Whatever you say, Gallagher," he replies. "Chad...Chad doesn't like me having people over, though."
"Chad's not here, is he?" Ian says. "Besides, we're just hanging out. Watching a movie." He waves the bag of chips at Mickey. "It's Cool Ranch."
"Fine," Mickey says, rolling his eyes. "You're fucking annoying, you know that?"
"I've been told," Ian says cheerily and steps into the apartment.
He doesn't know what he's expecting. A dark, creep bloodstained lair with chains all over the place, maybe. A wall full of whips or a knife display.
The apartment is, however, surprisingly normal. Pretty cozy, even. There's a large couch with a fluffy blanket thrown over it and a flat screen TV. There's a few photo frames sitting atop an end table, one of Mickey and Mandy that he has seen before, another of Chad and some other guys and a few of Mickey and Chad.
Mickey looks happy in those photos. Like, genuinely happy.
"This is nice," he says, picking up one of the frames. Mickey tenses immediately. "Where did you guys go?"
"The beach," Mickey says, as though Ian is very dumb. "Gallagher, there's sand in that picture."
"So there is," Ian says. "I've not gone there in ages."
He replaces the photograph without saying anything else, and Mickey relaxes visibly.
"Get the movie started, I'll just put on a shirt," Mickey says.
"And brush your teeth?"
"Fuck off," Mickey calls, and it's almost like old times.
Except that Ian is sitting on another man's couch, and Mickey is wearing the bruises of said man.
They watch The Avengers, mostly in silence. Mickey devours the Doritos like a hungry chipmunk, and merely grins smugly when Ian tells him so.
"I'll bring more next time," he says, and Mickey looks delighted. "You'd better."
Ian can't help but think about how there will be a next time, about how Mickey is open to the idea.
By the time the movie ends, Mickey is staring mournfully at the empty bag.
"I miss this," he says softly.
"Me?" Ian asks before he can stop himself.
"Hah, no," Mickey gives him a look. "This. Junk food."
"They sell this at the grocery store, you know," Ian says dryly, and Mickey shrugs casually.
"Chad doesn't let me have them."
"Why?" Ian asks, fighting the urge to say fuck Chad.
"He calls them empty calories. Says that they'll make me fat."
"That would be an improvement," Ian mutters. "You're too fucking thin. Plus, have you seen him? He's like three times your size and height."
"Chad likes how I look, even if you don't," Mickey shoots. "And you're exaggerating. Don't you pull short jokes on me now, Gallagher."
"You don't look bad," Ian says. "I just...I'm just saying that you can afford to splurge on whatever junk food you want. Go nuts."
"Bring me Pringles," Mickey says, and Ian grins.
Ian orders in a pizza when lunchtime comes creeping up, and pays for it.
Mickey looks as though Christmas and his birthday had come at the same time. It's almost heartbreaking, how he had been denied this for so long that even lukewarm pizza with stringy cheese was a treat for him.
"I might have to keep you around," Mickey says. Ian fights the urge to agree, to tell him to fucking leave Chad and follow me home.
He gives Mickey his phone number before he leaves. "Call me if you want to hang or, y'know, whatever."
"I still have your number, you know," Mickey comments dryly.
"No you don't," Ian says, mouth quirking. "I changed it."
This time round, Ian calls Michael.
"Hey," Michael sounds happy. "How are things going on your end?"
"You were right," Ian says. "We hung out today. He seemed almost normal. "
"He is," Michael replies. "He just made a bad decision, is all."
"It's not his fault," Ian mumbles. "I think I might be getting somewhere."
"Remember to be patient, though. It will probably take some time," Michael suggests.
"I might have to stay on a little longer," Ian admits. "I should find somewhere else to crash. The hotel is getting expensive."
"Don't worry about it," Michael says generously. "Help your cousin. You're a good person, Ian."
Ian has never felt worse in his life.
"Yeah," he says. "Thanks. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Sure. Remember your meds. Love you."
Ian hangs up and bangs his head against the wall.
"I'm a terrible person," he says out loud.
*
They develop a routine, Ian and Mickey.
Ian would come over sometime during the day but before Chad came home, usually with a movie or, on one memorable occasion, a porno.
"It's some weird octopus shit that I saw at one of those sex shops," Ian says. "It looked cool."
"It looked cool," Mickey parrots. "I wonder what the poor cashier thought."
"Just play it," Ian says, grinning. "It could be hot."
It's not hot. It's not hot at all, and Mickey looks slightly horrified about fifteen minutes in.
"I hear Mean Girls is playing on HBO," he says.
"Mean Girls?" Ian says, raising an eyebrows.
"Tentacle porn?" Mickey counters, and ejects the disc, tossing it at Ian's head.
*
Two weeks in, Michael gets into a car crash.
"Fuck," Ian says, when Fiona calls him. "Fuck fuck fuck."
"Where the hell have you been, anyway?" she asks. "I've not seen you in ages. You two missed so many family dinners." She sounds almost accusing.
"Busy," Ian says. "Shit, I have to go back."
"You left?" she sounds surprised.
"It's nothing," Ian says quickly, and hangs up.
Five minutes later, he has booked an evening flight home. He is packing his suitcase when the phone rings.
"Can you come?" Mickey asks.
"I'm...I'm a little tied up now," Ian says, apologetically.
"Please," Mickey says, and he sounds...desperate.
Ian sighs.
"I'll be there in fifteen," Ian says, grabbing the keys to his rental car.
"I'm not home," Mickey says. "I'm...umm..."
"I can pick you up."
"It's okay. Can you meet me at the diner? The one where you-"
"Yeah, I remember. Okay."
Ian hangs up and buries his face in his hands.