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It’s four a. m. when Mickey first wakes up, and he’s immediately assaulted by a scent he’s grown to be familiar with over the past few weeks. Banana Ice. The smell is terrible, almost sickeningly artificial and unnaturally sweet.
The cause has to undeniably be his husband, he is proven right when he blinks open his eyes and sees the LED of the vape light up as Ian takes another hit. Vaping is a habit both him and Ian had taken up in an attempt to quit cigarettes, mostly for Liam’s sake. He never stuck to it, but by now, three years in, he’s managed to mostly shake off his smoking habit, except for the rare cigarette. Until recently, Ian was the same way.
Under usual circumstances, he wouldn't mind. Ian started smoking when he was thirteen, and he knows first-hand it’s a hard habit to shake. In usual circumstances, he wouldn’t have minded a sleepless night or two. But these are not usual circumstances, this is just the latest bullshit in what has been weeks of emotional ups and downs, and lefts and rights, an unpredictable emotional turbulence that would’ve had him questioning if Ian had stopped taking his meds if he didn’t watch him do it every morning. And after twelve years of knowing Ian, he already knows this is going to go in one of two ways: They will either talk about it, or he’ll watch as the whole thing explodes all over the life they have been building together.
Before all of this he had thought, like a fucking idiot, that after all the trauma and stress they have both been through in their relationship—and outside of it—this was the peace they deserved. Now he’s wondering if he should have been expecting for the other shoe to drop.
Whatever it is, it must be bad, if Ian is taking up smoking again. He had been really serious about quitting and could smell it on him, like those dogs they have at the airport, whenever he had so much as been around a cigarette. When Ian first picked smoking back up, he had felt a pant of nostalgia take over him. Memories of Ian at fifteen years old, lighting his cigarette by making the tips touch, of hazy days passing cigarettes back and forth, buying one pack for the both of them because they shared so much. But it soon stopped being nostalgic, the smell lingered on their clothes and his mouth tasted like a habit he had not had in years. It felt out of place with the person he is now, the people they both are. So Mickey had asked him if he could have his breakdown in a way that didn’t taste like lung cancer. Ian had, of course, vehemently denied a breakdown, but had ultimately switched to vaping.
A much less offensive habit to the people around him, but his choice of flavor left much to be desired. And so did how often he does it.
It’s not just that, insomnia has at this point become the norm for him. More often than not, when he rolls over his bed to put his arm around his husband, he’s met with an empty bed. Occasionally, like tonight, he’s met with Ian sitting upright, clutching his yellow disposable vape in his fist like it’s the last thing keeping him sane.
Maybe, if it was only the nights he could have handled it. But the insomnia creeps into the day, making Ian irritable and emotional. It doesn’t help that they already have an irritable and emotional person in their house, but at least Liam has the excuse of teenage hormones and growing pains. Now, there is a layer of tension in every interaction, and it doesn’t help that it seems like Ian is trying to pick fights with Liam on purpose.
Liam is not related to him, and this family unit they have been constructing is still fragile. He feels like he’s raising the kid, but it’s only been a few years and Liam still calls them by their first names, so it is weird to parent him. Ian had told him he felt the same way, had said it felt awkward to set rules and boundaries on his younger brother. Lately, it appears he has no qualms about it. Tearing into him for shoplifting, which he agrees with despite the hypocrisy, although yelling wouldn’t have been his preferred method to go about it. Less understandably, he had also forbidden him from going on a weekend trip with a friend from school and his parents. They both know the parents, and they’ve had sleepovers before, so it wasn't a crazy request. Mickey knows it’s kind of a rich people thing, but they can afford this kind of stuff now, and they had both agreed to discuss things relating to Liam together, before making decisions. Ian had decidedly not done that, choosing to put his foot down at the most strange of occasions.
He’s worried, under all the irritation he feels, worry gnaws on him like a mouse. He knows Ian is acting off, he’s been going to the gym everyday, wearing layers and layers he doesn’t peel off even when he sweats. He’s been on mandatory leave at work for a few weeks now, and he refuses to share what happened and how long this leave is for. Mickey even saw him reject one of the rare calls from Fiona, the ones he usually treasures. And perhaps, the thing he notices the most, as much as he hates to admit, is that they haven’t had sex in a month. He’s not an asshole, obviously Ian doesn’t have to have sex with him if he doesn’t want to, but it is the complete 180 that concerns him. Just a month ago Ian and him couldn’t keep their hands off each other–much to the dismay of people around them, now it’s like Ian shies away from anything that could lead to sex.
He would think Ian is falling into an episode, but he has been going to therapy every week. Surely, the therapist would be able to tell if something was going on. They have a protocol for when Ian is in the thick of it, but a part of him tells him that that’s not it this time, that there's something else he’s missing.
So, it’s with this all on his mind, that the words out of his mouth are, “What the fuck is wrong, Ian?”
Ian jumps, flinches so hard his shoulders hit his ears, and drops his vape. “Sorry,” he says, a sheepish look on his face, “I didn’t think it would bother you, I can smoke out the window.”
“It’s not about the fucking vape Ian.”
“What?”
He feels the exasperation bubble up to the surface, until it feels like the only thing there. “It’s about your shitty attitude, and your fucking temper tantrums every other day. You’ve been picking fights with Liam, trying to pick fights with me,” his voice rises with each sentence, “And you refuse to talk about any of it, you just sulk like a child!”
He sees the shackles rise up in Ian, knows there's no way to prevent the incoming fight now that he’s put it out there, “Oh, I have temper tantrums? Which one of us is yelling to the other?”
A deflection, obviously. But Ian is right, they have a kid at home, they have to be mindful. Mickey’s tone is calmer when he says, “Something is so clearly wrong, you have to tell me. Did something happen at work?”
“You know I’m suspended, something couldn’t have happened at work.”
“Is that it, then? Are you bored? Bored of your family?”
Ian’s body deflates with his anger, “I love spending time with you and Liam.”
He sounds like he means it too, his tone almost hurt Mickey could think that. Despite himself, he feels his resolve crumble. He puts his hand over Ian’s, and feels the irritation melt away. “Are you feeling good?” he asks, trying not to say it outright. Trying not to have a repeat of the fight they have every time he asks Ian if he is having an episode. “Are you…okay? Do you need to talk to doctor–”
“No,” Ian interrupts. “It’s not that.”
“Okay, so what is it?” he asks.
In response, Ian yanks his hand away from Mickey’s. Not speaking, not even looking him in the eye. He’s going to go fucking insane.
“Is it drugs? Have you started using?” he asks. Head shake. “Is it Lip? Did something happen?” he says, thinking about the people Ian cares about the most, about the people that could get Ian this fucked up. In response, he gets another shake of the head. Okay, he can work with this. “Is it some other Gallagher, then?”. Ian shakes his head again. He tries not to feel upset that this is as much as he can get, four years of marriage and his husband won’t even talk to him or hold his hand. But it fucking stings.
“Are you gambling? Did you lose all of our money? Did you get fired? Did you have a straight fling and get someone pregnant? Do you have an STD? Did you kill someone?”
The more questions he asks, the more Ian shrinks into himself. He gets a horrible sinking feeling, one that makes his eyes well up with tears even thinking about it. God, he’s such a pussy. “Did you meet someone else? Is that it?”
At that, Ian stands up and walks out the room. He would take that as confirmation, if it wasn’t so incredibly out of character. When would he even have had the time to meet someone else? He’s spent the last month or so sulking at their house.
He is surprised, after a few minutes, to not hear the door slam. Ian is still in the house. Is he supposed to go after him now? Or wait until he gets his shit together by himself? After some consideration, he rises to his feet, and only gets as far as the kitchen counter, where he finds him sitting on a stool, three bottles of beer lined up next to him and another one in hand. Jesus Christ.
“Do you want one?” Ian asks, putting down the empty bottle next to the others.
“I’m good.”
“I want to talk to you about it.” Ian says, voice already sounding a little slurred. He forgets how much of a lightweight he is, now that they don’t drink as much. “I really want to talk to you.”
It sounds sincere, but it feels like a load of bullshit. “You’re not acting like you want to talk to me.”
“I’m sorry,” Ian says, exhaling shakily. “I just can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Mickey asks. Unsurprisingly, Ian does not reply. Just opens the fridge, gets yet another beer, like he’s trying to speedrun liver failure. He’d be mad if he wasn’t so fucking worried. “You’re scaring me,” he confesses. He feels embarrassed to even say it.
It seems to break through his husband, at least. “I’m sorry.” Ian says, voice thick with tears and alcohol, “I don’t want to scare you.”
Mickey walks up to him, and manhandles Ian until they are face to face. He seems startled, but lets it happen. “Then you gotta talk to me.”
“I can’t,” Ian says looking down. It simply won’t do. He reaches for his face, and tilts it up until they are looking into each other’s eyes again.
“I don’t know how to tell you, there’s not a lot of things you could do that would scare me away” Mickey tells him.
Tears start openly flowing from Ian’s face now, running on top of dried tear tracks that are already there. His eyes scare him, they are completely devoid of emotion and there’s big dark bags under them. “I really don’t know why I’m acting like this after so long.” Ian says, almost to himself. “Nothing has happened recently, nothing in my life has changed.”
“You can tell me.”
“Remember Kash?” Ian asks, shaking his hands away and hopping off the stool, choosing to pace around the room instead. The question is ridiculous, the notion of him forgetting the creep that shot him is insane. Still, he says yes, humoring the question. “When he and I first got together…I had just turned fourteen.”
Mickey remembers being seventeen. Finding out about fifteen-year old Ian sleeping with thirty-something-year old Kash. He knows his feelings of wrongness came from somewhere beyond jealousy, knows it was fucked up and wrong. But back then, to Mickey, they both had seemed older. Logically a man in his thirties and a fifteen year old was wrong, but he and Ian were the kind of kids that weren’t really kids. And he was scared, terrified really, that if he ever told someone they would find out about him. So he kept quiet. He still curses himself for it sometimes.
Now, finding out it started even before he knew? His stomach sinks. Maybe, if Ian had told him this when he was seventeen he wouldn’t have thought it was a big deal. But Liam is turning 14 next month, and no matter how grown up he thinks he is, he’s a child. Just like Ian had been.
“I applied to work for him at thirteen. He told me he couldn’t officially hire me until my birthday, but I could start working and he would pay me under the table. He called it our special secret.” Ian says those last words bitterly, like he’s chastising himself for accepting that. Like he thinks it’s his fault. “And he was nice, he let me take some food home if I didn’t tell Linda he ate pork rinds, he gave me gifts…I thought he was affectionate, thought he was my friend. And then, on my fourteenth birthday, he gave me my gift and then he kissed me.” Ian stops his pacing around the room now, he is just staring at space almost like he’s haunted by the memory.
“Shit…” he breathes out, unintentionally. Ian chuckles darkly.
“He told me he saw the way I looked at him…saw that I wanted him to kiss me.” Ian says, “I had thought he was attractive, but I didn’t think…I didn’t really think I was doing that.”
It’s so beyond fucked up, the notion of thirteen year old Ian sending signals to a fucking grown man. He has to shut it down. “You weren’t,” he tells him firmly.
“Maybe I was,” Ian says quietly, he wants to protest again, but he knows that if he wants to hear how Ian is feeling he has to let him talk, “I mean…I was lonely.” Ian has told him as much. Has told him growing up his siblings felt like they were divided into two teams, and he always slipped through the cracks. “And I liked it, after he kissed me”, Ian confesses almost shamefully, “I was the one that took it further.”
He can’t hear it anymore. Can't listen to Ian act like it was all his fault, when there’s obviously only one person in the wrong. “That doesn’t matter,” he says, “It wasn’t your fault. He shouldn’t have started anything with you.” Mickey tries to get closer, but Ian steps away as soon as he gets near. He steps back, he understands he needs space now, but it feels awful to see his husband twisting himself up in knots and not being able to do anything about it
“I thought it was okay. I thought it was okay because he loved me.” Ian says, letting the tears fall from his eyes without wiping them away.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he repeats, hoping that it gets through to Ian.
“Did you know I almost died when I was nine?” Ian tells him, the subject change almost gives him whiplash, but he doesn’t interrupt, he’ll be damned if Ian stops talking because of him. “Frank was fucking wasted, and he beat me until I passed out.” He shuts his eyes, tries not to imagine it, a freckled, baby faced Ian, bleeding, unconscious. “Fiona and Lip almost shit themselves, when I woke up they told me they thought I was dead.”
He wants to hurl. Wants to resuscitate Frank Gallagher just so he can kill him again. Wants to go back in time and stop anything bad from ever happening to Ian.
“I think, maybe it would’ve been better if I had died that day. Like I was supposed to.”
Ian keeps talking, like he didn’t just break his heart in pieces. Like the revelation doesn’t want to make him call Ian’s therapist. “It’s not just Kash,” he says, “It’s Ned. It’s every old man at the Fairy Tail, that drugged me up so they could fuck me. There has to be something about me. Something that makes people…”
He can’t think about it. His husband. The love of his life. At nine, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, being hurt over and over.
“Ian, can I touch you?” he asks, not wanting to spring contact on him again.
When Ian looks at him, his whole body is trembling by the force of his tears, “You still want to?” he asks, like he can’t quite believe it.
“Always,” he responds.
Before he can even process it, Ian has flung himself onto him from across the room, almost collapsing in his arms. They’re pressed so tight against the other, he feels like if they get any closer their skin would fuse together. The angle is kind of awkward, because Mickey is shorter, but Ian is still nestled to his chest. He doesn’t dare let go.
“I’m sorry,” Ian sobs into his chest, “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about, you hear me? It’s not your fault” He repeats, for what feels like the hundredth time this night. He’ll keep saying it everyday if he has to, Ian needs to understand, “You were fourteen, he was your boss. He took advantage of that.”
Ian pulls away, but Mickey’s arms are still holding onto his. He tries to give them a comforting squeeze as Ian gathers his thoughts.
“I thought…I thought the rules were there to protect other kids, I thought I was different. I thought he could see that I was different, he could see I was a man. And I thought…even if it was bad, it happened, it’s done.” Ian tells him, more composed now than he’s been the rest of the night. “But I can't stop thinking about it now, not since–”
He cuts himself off with a heavy breath, and then doesn’t continue.
“Not since?” he prompts.
“Liam is turning fourteen next month, he’s just a kid,” Ian whispers, he doesn’t have to say more, Mickey had just been thinking it. “He–If anyone even touched him…” he trails off.
“We would kill them,” he completes. “You were just a kid too.”
It makes Ian press their bodies together again, hands clutch the back of his shirt as he works himself up again. He knows he has to let it happen, but it breaks his heart to hear Ian dissolve into sobs again.
“Why would he do that to me?” Ian asks, words muffled by both sobbing and Mickey’s neck.
“I don’t know,” he answers. Hates to say it, even if it’s true. Give him anything beyond the fact that some people are just twisted. He rocks them side to side, strokes his back trying to soothe him. It doesn’t work. “I wish I could explain it, but I can’t. Some people are just sick.”
“Maybe I made him sick. Maybe I'm the sickness,” Ian says, more like he’s trying to convince himself than because he believes it. He understands. If it’s not because of him, then it’s because of them. And that’s a lot more horrible. Separate people have all hurt him the very same way, and he couldn’t do anything to prevent it.
He pulls back from the hug, and instead chooses to put his hands on Ian’s face. He wipes the tears on his cheeks and waits for him to fully calm down before saying, “You didn’t. You’re not a sickness, you didn’t cause any of this. People, shitty people, have hurt you, and you are still here. You have a husband, a job, and a kid brother that fucking loves you. You did that.”
“I am going to fuck it up. I always do.”
“If you do,” Mickey says, holding Ian’s head in place so he is looking at him, “I’ll be here. I’ll always be here, loving you.”
Ian knows he loves him. He knows he does. But Mickey never says it like this, sincerity for the sake of it is still rare in their relationship. Ian’s face is filled with disbelief as he pulls him in for a kiss.
It’s going to be hard work, convincing Ian that it’s not his fault, explaining to Liam why Ian has been acting the way he is. But for now, he just holds his husband until he stops crying.
They can handle the rest together.