Chapter Text
They’re happily married, and living in their own apartment. Terry and Frank are dead. Everything should’ve only been going up from here. And it is. Mostly, at least. It’s just…Ian can’t seem to figure out why the fuck Mickey is hoarding food.
It starts with the odd granola bar, a bag of chips, small things. Innocent little snacks stored in Mickey’s bedside drawer. Ian doesn’t think much of it at first…until one day when he’s getting out the cleaning supplies from under the bathroom sink and finds a few half eaten sandwiches haphazardly stacked behind the Ajax.
Ian’s no stranger to food insecurities. Hell, there were times when none of the Gallaghers were sure how they were going to make it through the month. But somehow, Fiona made sure they never starved, not once. Whether because of Kev and V, or some scheme that one of them pulled, food was always available for the Gallaghers in the end. Even with all that the family went through, none of them ever had to resort to hoarding food.
Rather than bringing it up and embarrassing Mickey, or worse, pissing him off entirely, Ian starts to cook more. He was certain his portions previously were enough, but maybe he’d miscalculated. So he makes extra just for Mickey. Rather than fix the issue however, it only seems to make it worse. Mickey always saves the leftovers, always takes a plate somewhere in the house after a meal is finished. Ian’s not blind to the fact that Mickey always tries to gather up as many leftovers as he possibly can before retreating back to their bedroom. He does the only thing he can think of to help: buy more food, and keep the pantry, cupboards, and fridge stocked.
Even still, food continues to disappear at alarming rates, and Ian begins to find more and more leftovers hidden anywhere in the house that Mickey’s able to reach. Ian wonders, if Mickey is so hungry, why doesn’t he just eat instead of storing all the food away in weird spots?
Still, he doesn’t touch the piles of food. And he doesn’t say anything. Until the food starts to go bad, and Mickey gets a bad case of food poisoning. It’s then that Ian knows they have to talk.
He has the presence of mind to at least wait until Mickey isn’t puking his guts up. He waits patiently until his husband is almost completely recovered before he does anything. Mickey is still on bedrest when Ian finally decides to start the conversation.
“So what’s the deal with the rotten food?” He tries to ask the question gently, but without beating around the bush. Mickey has the tendency to brush off questioning if it’s not as straightforward as possible.
“What?” Mickey lifts his head off the pillow, having the audacity to feign surprise as he tries to weasel his way out of talking about it. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Firecrotch.”
“I know about the hoarding, Mick. I know that the food you hid around the house started to spoil, and that you ate it anyway, and that that’s why you got food poisoning. You know you can’t hide anything from me, right?” Ian raises an eyebrow, as if challenging Mickey to try to lie to him or deny anything.
He watches as Mickey’s body tenses, and knows better than to get too frustrated when his husband only responds with a mumbled, “‘S no big deal, man. Just didn’t know it was expired. ‘S all.” Mickey’s always hated talking about feelings anyway.
“That’s not all, baby, and you know it,” Ian goes for a gentler approach with a soft tone. Sometimes when the straight approach doesn’t work, Ian has to slow down and try something different. “I love you, Mickey. And I’m worried. Will you please tell me what’s going on so I can help? You’re my husband, and I wanna help you, Mick, but I can’t unless I know what’s going on.”
He notices the way Mickey begins to rapidly blink, looking anywhere but up at Ian as he curls in on himself a bit. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”
And Ian hears the hidden fear in there: ‘you’ll think I’m stupid.’ And he knows he has to nip that in the bud right away.
He perches on the edge of the bed, taking Mickey’s hand in his own and squeezing tightly, so his husband knows he’s right here, that he isn’t going anywhere. “Mickey, sweetheart, please look at me.” He waits until Mickey reluctantly lifts his head before continuing. “Listen to me, baby. I would never, ever think anything you were struggling with was stupid. Do you think my Bipolar episodes are stupid?”
“Fuck no,” Mickey replies immediately, eyes going hard as if he’s gearing up to tell Ian just how perfect he is. Ian can’t help the small smile. Mickey has always been so protective of him.
“See? I don’t think your issues, whatever they might be, are stupid either,” he replies before Mickey can go off on a tangent of fierce, passionate love towards him. “We’re husbands. We look out for each other. It’s just what we do, Mick.”
Mickey’s eyes soften, and Ian can see the fear and uncertainty in them. “You ain’t gonna laugh or some shit?” He asks, still trying to keep up the pretense that he doesn’t really care what Ian does, even though they both know it’s a ruse. Ian lets him get away with it anyway, because pretending he doesn’t care is how Mickey copes with pain. It’s been the only way he’s survived all these years, by playing the ‘tough guy’ act and not letting anyone in too close. Anyone except Ian, that is.
“Why would I ever laugh at something that’s hurting my baby?” Ian asks, free hand reaching up to cup Mickey’s face gently. And that’s when the tears start to fall. Ian tugs Mickey into his arms in an instant, hugging him tightly and doing his best to make him feel safe and loved and respected. He knows Mickey hasn’t always had these things.
Mickey starts to sob out an explanation that Ian can’t understand, due to how muffled his words are against his chest, and so he starts to slowly rub Mickey’s back, trying to get him to slow down.
“Shhhh,” he murmurs, kissing the top of Mickey’s head. “Shhhh, baby. It’s okay. It’s okay. You need to take your time so I can understand, sweetheart. It’s just me. It’s just Ian. Can you take deep breaths and lift your head up when you talk so I can understand what you’re saying?”
Mickey nods, and obediently begins to take a few deep breaths. Ian waits him out, waits until he’s ready. He doesn’t want to rush his husband into anything. He wants Mickey to tell him what’s been bothering him on his terms. Finally, Mickey lifts his head off Ian’s chest to speak.
“I-I know it don’t make sense at all, a-and I know you make more than enough, and that we got plenty of money now to buy any food we want, but I just…I dunno what it is, E. I get scared that someday ‘s gonna run out and I won’t have anything so I gotta store it and eat as much as I can just in case-“ he breaks off with a sob, trembling in Ian’s arms as the redhead grips him more tightly.
“Mickey, baby, do you trust me?”
Mickey nods instantly, looking confused as to why Ian would ask such a question. “‘Course, with all my heart.”
“Then will you trust me if I tell you that no matter what happens to us, I would absolutely never, not even in a million years, let you starve?”
Mickey bites his lip, hesitating for only a few moments before tentatively nodding his head. “I-I trust you. ‘S just…with Terry we never got enough. ‘S why I stole from the Kash & Grab so much. We didn’t have money for food cause Terry spent it all on drugs…and then in prison I barely got much. None of us did. Just slops and shit, and sometimes people would try ta take it, so I never knew if I’d get ta eat certain days. Then bein’ on the run…Mexico. Hard ta eat there too…then fuckin’ prison again. I-fuck, Ian, I don’t think I had a decent meal til I came back to the Gallagher house. And even then there were so many fuckin’ people…I was so fuckin’ terrified that there wasn’t gonna be enough for me when we ate dinner that night.”
“Jesus, Mick,” Ian’s eyes are flooded with concern. “Are you getting enough now that we have our own place? As soon as I saw you hoarding food, I started making more. I thought it would help if I made more.”
“Everything you’ve made or bought’s been so fuckin’ good, E,” Mickey shakes his head ferverently. “It ain’t you. I just worried…what if the money ran out and we couldn’t afford food no more. Better ta hoard as much as I could just in case…”
“Why did you eat the food that was spoiled?” Ian asks, the concern still on his face. “You know if you had asked me I would’ve gotten you as much of anything as you wanted, right? I would….I would never say no to you if you asked me for food, Mickey. Never. You have to know that.”
“I was just…so hungry, E,” Mickey looks embarrassed, ashamed even, and Ian hates that he feels that way for things he can’t control. “I needed to eat. In Terry’s house you don’t turn down anything as long as it’s edible. Ya never know when your next meal will be, so ya eat it even if it’s bad. ‘S just what I’ve always done.”
“I’m sure the food poisoning hasn’t helped though,” Ian keeps Mickey close to his chest, still providing as much comfort as is needed. “You haven’t been able to hold food down until this morning.”
Mickey nods, a nervous look on his face. “Can…Can I have more than just soup today?” He pleads, nervousness turning into desperation. “I know I still ain’t a hundred percent, but I can keep food down now. I swear.”
It breaks Ian’s heart to see and hear his husband practically begging for food as if he hasn’t had a meal in ages. “Since you could hold your soup down earlier, we can try a bit of butter and toast. I don’t wanna give you too much when you’re sick, baby. Especially knowing how terrified you are of going hungry. I don’t want you to accidentally throw up again and then panic even more. But once I’m positive you can keep solids down, you can have anything you’d like. But you have to promise me no more spoiled food, okay? You can keep a snack hoard if you want, because I know having spare food just in case makes you feel safe, but if it’s going bad, tell me so I can help replenish it, please?”
Mickey looks none too thrilled about his food intake being limited, even though they both know it’s for a good reason, but it’s clear he puts a lot of faith in Ian’s promises, so he nods. “Okay…okay…long as I don’t run out. You won’t let me run out will you?”
He still looks so scared, yet so trusting of Ian, that the redhead wouldn’t have even dreamed of doing anything to break that trust. “No baby. I won’t let you go hungry. Never again under my watch. My job’s to take good care of you now. So how about that toast? Hmm?”
Mickey nods, and makes to get out of bed before Ian gently pushes him back into the soft mattress.
“Bedrest, remember? I’ll bring it to you, sweetheart. I promise.”
Mickey nods, squirming restlessly on the bed as Ian hurries off to the kitchen to feed his husband.