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He doesn’t need a list, he has me.
He did have Mickey. Mickey was always there to ease his anxieties and worries, to snap him out of delusions that make so much sense to only himself and to take care of him when he’s too depressed to take care of himself.
A suicide list. He remembers that day at the doctor’s office, when he was barely seeing through the haze of a fresh diagnosis. Mickey’s heartbroken expression, almost pleading with the doctor that he doesn’t need anyone else except him. He was right.
A list of people to call when he’s suicidal. He thinks it’s kind of stupid, why would he call someone when he’s that low.
But now he’s standing on the bridge and looking down into the dark water below and he gets it. He fucking gets it. He briefly wonders if Monica ever felt like calling him, to say she loves him and she’s sorry for everything.
He wants to call Mickey and apologise for breaking up with him and taking off with Yevgeny. Wants to apologise for cheating on him and doing the porno and filling his house with useless crap. Wants to call and say thank you for taking care of me and I love you more than I can ever explain.
He still has Mickey’s number saved on his phone. Could never go through with deleting it even though he’s opened the contact and hovered over it more times than he can count. Kids himself into thinking he’ll delete it the next day.
He reckons he could never live with himself if he deleted it. Thought it was dramatic that he even had that thought in the first place.
Tonight though, he presses the call button. It rings for what feels like hours, the wind picks up and it whistles through his other ear, the one not pressed against his phone. He thinks about hanging up because why would Mickey still have the same number he had when they were together, why would Mickey even have Ian’s number now after everything.
He’s so lost in his thoughts he almost misses the ringing stopping and a sharp breath in his ear.
“Ian,” the voice says. It’s breathy and rough and absolutely perfect. He can feel himself relax, untensing his shoulders that he didn’t even know were bunched up in the first place.
“Mickey” Ian says back, disbelief clear in his voice. He steers his eyes away from the running water and looks over at the trees with the moon shining dimly behind them. Stars are littered and he’s reminded of Mickey teasing him about wanting to lay out a blanket and stargaze. He would like to stargaze with Mickey.
“You okay?” Mickey asks and then the dam breaks.
Ian’s not a pretty cryer. He’s pale so his face goes blotchy and pink fast and then it clashes terribly. Snot builds up in his nose quickly so he’s sniffing and doing these weird noises because he can’t breathe properly and sounds like he’s drowning and maybe he is because he sure as fuck wishes he was.
“No” he manages to sob out
“Yeah” Mickey mumbles softly “Knew you wouldn’t have called if you were alright”
“I’m on a bridge”
“Oh” There seems to be a shocked tone to his voice. Like he knew Ian would be sad and shit but didn’t realise the extent of what he’s feeling to call him. “Can you step away from the edge then?”
“I just wanted to talk to you” Ian sniffs “I wasn’t sure if you even had the same number”
“Would never get rid of this number, I needed to know you could still reach me when you needed help”
“I think I need help”
“Yeah” Mickey sounds a bit choked up “I know, I’m your safety net or whatever the doctor lady said”
“Suicide list” Ian says
“Yeah, that” Mickey replies “Needed to make sure you could still reach me”
“I did” Ian says desperately “I’m calling”
“I know” Mickey says earnestly “You did a good job by calling me”
“I love you” Ian can’t really breathe right now, feels like if he doesn’t say it right now he’ll do something stupid like jump off a bridge.‘“I’m sorry for everything, you didn’t deserve any of it”
“I” Mickey pauses “I love you too”
They’re silent for a moment and Ian finds himself taking a few steps backwards, away from the edge of the bridge. He can’t see the water crashing into the concrete underneath him anymore.
Cars drive past him, blissfully unaware of the events that could have been taking place. Instead, they see a man pacing up and down a small section of footpath chatting on the phone. It’s sort of calming in a way he can’t explain.
“I don’t know why I called” he confesses “Or at least I can’t explain why I called”
“That’s okay” Mickey replies instantly “It’s good that you called”
“Yeah”
“What’s the weather like back home?”
Ian pauses. Takes in what Mickey said. Home. He still considers Chicago home.
“I’m kinda cold” he says “The bridge is high up and it’s late”
“Yeah, it is late” Mickey agrees
Mickey talks nonsense at him and Ian finds himself staring at the stars again. Mickey’s voice soothes every worry and every problem he has. No one else has power over him quite like Mickey, in that the most mundane sentences seem like the most interesting and beautiful words ever spoken.
“I love your voice” Ian butts in “I, I just thought you’d want to know”
“Oh” Mickey seems bashful “Thanks”
Ian finds himself smiling at this. Only he can make Mickey sound like that. The wind is still whistling in his ear but it’s no longer scathing, it’s gentler and safe.
The sound of tires skidding on the road behind him makes him turn around sharply, the crash of metal against metal drowns out every other sound. He can hear Mickey on the phone frantically asking what the fuck just happened. It goes through deaf ears as one of the car reverses and speeds away and the other car catches fire.
“Fire,” Ian says unintentionally into the phone. Mickey is still talking to him, begging him to tell him what’s going on “Hey! What the fuck, man!”
Ian drops the phone and rushes over to the car where a woman is in the front seat, slumped over and not really moving. The heat is immediate and he briefly wonders stupidly if he’ll get a sunburn from being so close.
He pulls her out, his heart beating wildly in his throat and gasping for air. He drags her to where he stood before across the road and can hear the sound of sirens in the distance. He knows CPR from his army days and just starts chest compressions on autopilot. His phone is nearby and from the brief glance he took at it, he can see that Mickey is still on the line and can probably get the gist of what happened. He’s always been smart like that. The firefights arrive as well as EMTs and they take over and Ian finds himself crawling over to his phone, desperate to be able to say goodbye to Mickey this time.
He gives some half hearted attempt at telling Mickey what happened. Mickey’s calm throughout his nervous rambling before Mickey tells him to go get some sort of check up with a paramedic just in case. Ian nods at the phone without realising Mickey can’t see him and thinks he agrees verbally.
“You need to hang up,” Mickey says. A paramedic is standing in front of him now. “But, you know, you can call me again or whatever”
Ian can so clearly picture Mickey doing his little nervous tic. The thumb rubbing against his nose or his eyebrow. He finds himself smiling despite everything that has happened tonight.
“Yeah” Ian replies, kinda breathlessly whether it was because of an oncoming adrenaline crash or because he’s so fucking in love with Mickey, he doesn’t know but he doesn’t really give a shit either way. “My safety net”