Work Text:
Mickey had had enough.
Had enough?
Had had.
Weeks of this shit, of knowing, hadn’t made him any happier.
Ok, that wasn’t exactly true. His essential happiness levels were higher, but his day to day annoyance and frustration levels were too. It didn’t balance out, fuck no.
Hanging out with Ian now was its own special kinda torture, the careful, specific distance they observed. The things they Did Not Talk About.
But so too was not being together, no hearing from Ian for a few days and wondering if he was ok. If Trevor was being a cunt today, and in what way?
If. There was no if about it. Just a question of frequency and intensity to Trevor’s inherent cuntiness.
Mickey flopped onto the couch, debating calling Sandy to complain, again, when the phone in his hand rang.
---
“Mickey?”
As if someone else would ever dare answer Mickey’s phone.
“Gallagher.”
In case it actually was someone else, fucking with Ian’s phone. His possessive husband, for instance.
“Heyyy.”
After Ian’s drawn out syllable, there was silence between them, drawing thinner and thinner until Mickey had to speak or he’d break.
“You ok?”
“Eh.”
The feelings conveyed, again, in such a simple sound. Mickey could hear fatigue, humor, stress. He could hear Ian trying to cover things up, things he needed to let out.
“What happened?”
Mickey asked, because that’s what friends did. What friends were for. Asking the hard questions and actually listening to the answers. Helping each other carry the heavy shit.
Ian didn’t speak, so Mickey took a stab.
“Work rough?”
“No more than usual.”
Ok, this was good, they were narrowing it down.
“Family?”
“Which one?”
Ah, so he was close. It was either the extended Gallagher clan (and Mickey’s bet would always be on fuckin’ Lip opening his damn mouth) or Trevor.
And if it was Lip, Ian could’ve complained to his husband. He didn’t always, he often brought these petty arguments to Mickey, who would rage on his behalf, all righteous indignation.
“What’d he do now?”
Ian blew out a long breath that crackled against the phone’s speaker.
Mickey waited.
“I guess his work is havin’ a rough time? And so he’s pretty tense. Came down on me about stupid stuff. Petty shit.”
That was very specifically vague.
“What kinda petty shit?”
“The usual, you know. I spend too much time away from home on the weekends, he wants me by his side so he can keep an eye on me, I can’t do anything right if he’s not watching me….”
Mickey imagined, not for the first time, what it might be like to live with a control-freak like Trevor. It didn’t sound very nice. But they’d been through all this before, over and over the same ground. That didn’t usually provoke a mid-week phone call.
“This ain’t new. What happened?”
Mickey got that prickly feeling on the back of his neck, like he knew what was coming. Some kind of ultimatum, some line in the sand. Ian, with his precious fuckin’ obedience to his marriage vows, would no doubt fall into line like always. Leaving Mickey out in the cold, alone.
That was always his nightmare.
To have this small thing, this sliver of Ian’s heart to himself, and then it be snatched away. He didn’t wanna do any more than take it out and look at it, every now and then, when he was lonely, but Trevor wanted to steal it right out of his pocket.
Another sigh. The blow was coming. Mickey steeled himself, telling himself he wouldn’t cry. At least he wouldn’t cry. He’d be chill, take it like a man, no big deal, totally get it, see ya ‘round.
“He called me a slut. Accused me of cheating.”
The line went quiet.
“With me?”
“With you, with my boss, with the fuckin’ mailman, I dunno. You know how he gets. So we just-”
Mickey tensed all the muscles in his neck, clenched his free hand into the tightest fist he could and drove it into his mouth, biting the soft skin of his hand to keep silent.
“-need to find a work around, I guess.”
A workaround.
That was unexpected. Ian, trying to preserve this. Them. Mickey’s attention was caught on something else. He lowered his hand to his belly, not noticing the angry red marks and small trickle of blood he’d drawn.
“He actually called you a slut?” His voice rose in disbelief.
“Mick-” Ian’s tone was warning, but not so sad. Not so beaten or broken.
“Why are you even with him, man?” The question slipped out of Mickey’s mouth like some floppy eel.
“You don’t get it, Mickey. This is marriage. There are hard times. I don’t know what I’m doing, and he does. Maybe this is just normal.”
“Pfff.” Mickey very much doubted that.
Somewhere in the distance, in the cavernous room Ian and Trevor called an open floor plan, Ian’s name was being called.
“Shit, gotta go. I just- thanks. For listening.”
Mickey was halfway through coming up with a reply when the line went dead.
---
“I wanna hurt him, Sands,” Mickey growled across the high table in the trendy bar they’d met up at.
Sandy had just come off a six hour shift slinging drinks on the other side of this bar. Her wife-beater was dark with sweat, and her face had a glow that bespoke the many, many shots various patrons had bought her tonight.
She swirled the bourbon around in her glass. “So fuckin’ hurt him. What’s the worst that happens?”
“The worst? I kill him, go back to jail, Ian moves on, Mickey dies of unrequited love, done.”
“Ok, but how likely is that?”
“If I go at him with my fists? Pretty fuckin’ likely!”
Sandy sighed. “Obvious answer here, Mick, but maybe don’t use your fists.”
Mickey’s eyes widened in surprise. “You want me to hire a hitman?”
“Idiot! No, I want you to use your words.”
Mickey frowned. “Don’t wanna see his stupid ugly face with his stupid hair and his stupid smirk.”
Graciously, Sandy didn’t mention Mickey’s own stupid hair or smirk.
“What about a text message?”
Mickey was disbelieving, “You want me to text Trevor to leave Ian the fuck alone?”
“I want you to text Trevor and fuckin’ eviscerate him.”
“Show me what you have in mind,” Mickey passed over his phone and they bent down together to plan.
---
07:38: Unknown Number: Hey Trevor
07:38: Trevor: Who is this?
07:49: Unknown Number: Just a friendly heads up.
07:54: Trevor: Friendly?
07:54: Unknown Number: Stop being a bully to your husband
07:55: Trevor: Is this Mickey? Mickey, is this you? What the hell?
07:55: Unknown Number: Maybe, maybe not. Maybe, I’m just a friend.
07:55: Trevor: Why don’t you leave Ian alone? He married ME
07:56: Unknown Number: LOL
07:56: Trevor: WTF
07:57: Unknown Number: [picture attached]
Trevor never replied.