Work Text:
Some time after the finale...
Ian and Mickey had adapted quite well into living on the west side. Their apartment slowly started to fill up with things that reflected their personalities and the life they wanted together. Much of the furniture was brand-new, but it was comfortable and that's all that mattered. There were little piles of clutter here and there on surfaces. Ian had his stack of random books he picked up from a thrift store spread out on the coffee table. A few sweaters thrown over the mismatched kitchen chairs. They were by no means experts in interior design, but it was theirs and it was comfortable for them. In this apartment, they could be themselves, more so Mickey than Ian.
At first, Ian didn't think anything of it. It was a well known fact that Mickey is a bit of a grumpy person and not the best with other people and a creature of habit. But lately, he was sensitive to everything, not just people. It was like watching him go through an on-going hangover while also battling allergies. Light was too bright. It was too cold. Too warm. Even the texture of certain foods were too much and even made him sick. Ian just thought it was Mickey coming down with a nasty flu or cold, but now he wasn't so sure. He even joked that Mickey was acting like a pregnant woman and that got him the silent treatment and nearly a night on their couch. Ian didn't bring it up with any of his siblings because he knew that Mickey would get pissed off. Especially if Ian talked to Lip. Fiona was unreliable, and Debbie and Carl were too busy with their lives and Liam was still just a kid even if he was mature for his age. Which left talking to his therapist.
"How's your life at home?"
As a condition of his parole, Ian had to attend therapy. A continuation of what he had to do in prison to stay on-top of his bipolar. At first he tried to resist, but the more stable and evened out he got with his meds, the more he realized the benefit of having someone to talk to that wasn't family. He didn't have to worry about their thoughts of who he was pre-diagnosis. He also appreciated that his therapist didn't try to steamroll him like Lip and Fiona tried to do in the past, or silently compare him to Monica.
Ian thinks he lucked out on the therapist he was paired up with; Dr. Mulligan, Rochelle as she insisted on him calling her, was an older woman. She was a bit unconventional, but that's what drew Ian to her. He was so used to the doctors in the past being very rigid and professional that he had that innate compulsion to resist them. With Rochelle, he genuinely believed that she wanted what was best for him and didn't try to push anything onto him. Allowing him to go through his emotions and thoughts.
Now that he was no longer on parole, he decided to keep up with it. Not in a once-per-week, but maybe one-or-twice-per-month. Him and Mickey were doing good for themselves with the transport business. It afforded them things now that they lacked in the past. Now Ian didn't have to worry about not being able to afford his medication. And now he could go to therapy as well. They didn't have to worry about when he went into a low and couldn't help. He wished he didn't need it, but he couldn't afford to mess around anymore. He was married. Mickey was relying on him to stay healthy. And he didn't want to jeopardize that in any way. He also owed it to himself as well. He treated himself terribly whenever he went off his meds, no matter how good the high of a manic episode felt.
"It's good..."
"I'm sensing there's a 'but.' What's going on?"
"Mickey has been a bit weird lately. More sensitive to everything around him." Ian went on to explain just how different Mick had been acting. It felt a bit weird bringing that up to Rochelle, but Mickey is a huge part of Ian's life. It would be hard to look at his life without Mickey being there. And a lot of the shit he had to sort through had his husband involved.
"From what you've told me in the past, it's a common reaction to someone coming down from a highly stressful life. Similar to you coming down from a manic episode."
"What?" That threw Ian.
"From what you've told me of your late father-in-law, and from what I've learned of your husbands life, he was living in a constant state of flight, fight, or freeze. Being in that for years can put a lot of stress on the body to supress what it can't process in order to survive. Now that his father has died and is no longer surrounded by reminders of past trauma, his body is starting to play catch up. His sympathetic nervous system is resetting. It will even out over time. It can be treated with therapy and medication depending on how long it lasts. Like I said, it's similar to being in a manic episode. Your body dial is set too high for a period of time until it shuts down and you're pulled into a deep depression. In Mickey's case, his body is purging all that built up stress the same way the body would fight an illness."
Rochelle explained it so easily that Ian is kind of disappointed that he didn't realize it himself. While his EMT knowledge was quite limited and being so long ago, he had years at this point of knowing how to deal with his own mental health that he didn't think that it could apply to Mickey. Having her relate it to something he knew so well, it was so clear that something similar was happening to Mickey. It was kind of like they were having a bit of a role reversal. Now, though, all Ian could think about was how he could help Mick through it. He also knew his husband would immediately become suspicious of him. Likely the same way Ian would react when people ask him if he's taking his medication.
Guilt churned inside Ian's stomach. Ian knew how shitty that environment was. He was intimately privy to just how violent the former Milkovich patriarch was. He was lucky in comparison. Not by much, but still degrees more than Mickey. Now that they didn't live in the South Side, it was starting to become more clear. You don't see the box for what it is until you're no longer inside. So caught up in trying to make the best of a situation that when you're finally outside of it for long enough, you start to see just how fucked up it was in the first place. That was usually how Ian's brain worked when he'd come out of the mania and realized everything he had done during. At least, what he could remember.
The appointment didn't last much longer afterwards. Rochelle gave Ian a lot to think about. He wanted to go and take care of Mick, the way he did when he himself was in a low. But he also knew that Mickey was extremely independent, and just suddenly doting and caring for him would make Mick resistant. He could just wait it out, but the carer in him bristled at that idea.
Stepping outside of his therapists office, the newly repainted ambulance was waiting for him just a ways down the block. Mickey was sitting in the drivers seat, his attention drawn to his phone in one hand while the other was resting against the door holding a half finished smoke. Once he looked up and caught sight of Ian, he watched Mick toss the smoke and busy himself with starting up the rig. Ian was relieved when Mickey didn't ask him about his session; unsure if he could keep up a casual conversation with what Rochelle explained to him. It didn't stop him from looking over at his husband while he was preoccupied with driving.
The silence during the drive wasn't unheard of. Both men were fine just existing in the same space as each other without having to fill it with chatter. Something they had picked up being stuck in a cell together for months on end. But now, Ian felt fidgety. He wanted to tell Mick what Rochelle told him, but he could imagine Mick's "fuck off with that shit" so clearly.
So Ian left it alone. The thoughts didn't go away, how could they? If anything, Ian became more attentive and observant of Mickey. But apparently Mickey caught on and cornered Ian after their last pick up for the week. Parking the rig in an empty parking lot.
"What's going on in that alien head of yours?" Cranking down the window, Ian watched Mickey light up a cigarette. Ian tried to shrug off the question but was leveled with raised brows and disbelieving eyes.
"It's..." Ian sighed, unsure how to phrase his words. "Just something Rochelle and I talked about during my session."
"Okay? Does this have anything to do with why you've been up my ass for the last week?" Ian knew what Mickey meant, and tried not to snort in amusement.
"Kind of? I was worried about you and she put some things-"
"The fuck you worried about me for?"
"Because you're my husband." Ian remembers when Mickey said the same thing to him back at the Gallagher house. He had never felt so in-love with Mickey until that moment. That subtle reminder that they were bound to each other. The feeling so similar to reciting their vows to the other. The physical proof was one thing but hearing and feeling it is entirely different. Hearing that from Mickey literally made him speechless. Hearing Mickey refer to Ian as his husband never failed to make his heart flip and lungs freeze. It was everything. So being able to say the same thing to Mickey carried so much emotion and meaning for Ian.
The questioning look from Mickey had melted into a much softer look that only Ian was privy to. Ian was hesitant to continue but knew he had to explain. "I mentioned how you were acting the last couple of weeks and she said it was similar to me coming down from a manic episode and going into a depressive one."
Ian could see the cogs working in Mickey's mind, trying to translate and understand what Ian was trying to tell him.
"She said that the reason why you've been feeling so off is because your body doesn't have to hold onto the stress that Terry caused you. It's your body's way of letting it all go." Mickey's eyes rolled at the mention of his father, but Ian could see that Mickey was really thinking about what he said.
Mickey busied himself with his smoke as he thought. Ian watched him quietly. He knew from his own experience that he had to be the one to make sense of it, no matter how many people tried to explain it to him. Some things you just have to figure out on your own.
"You're a sap you know that, right?" Mickey flicked the smoke out the window, looking at Ian with humorous eyes and a smirk.
With his hands now free, they quickly clasped onto either side of Ian's jaw, pulling his body close to his. The armrests dug into his stomach uncomfortably, but that only lasted a moment until Ian's mouth was covered by Mickey's. It was chaste, loving, reassuring. Brief contact between them but it felt like so much more.
Pulling away, Mickey kept his hands on Ian, only allowing a few inches of space.
"So fucking soft, Milkovich," Mickey whispered, his eyes roaming all over Ian's face.
"Love you too, Gallagher."