Gallavich | Shameless: The Continuation

Chapter 1

Chapter 1 is mostly angst. Ian's getting in his own head after being trapped at home. This takes place almost 9 years after Frank's death.

ANGST/FLUFF

Mention of mpreg. Deal with it

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Ian sat on the couch in his and Mickey's condo, watching the TV mindlessly. He had put on a documentary about the Son of Sam and had the volume down low. He hadn't been paying attention, even though he had been looking forward to watching it. He was too wrapped up in his thoughts. He finally turned off the TV, taking a mental note that he and Mickey could watch it together later. Mickey loved watching shit on serial killers.

Ian sat there, his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and his long legs stretched out across the coffee table, ankles crossed. He had thrown out his back working out and was out of work for a few weeks. Mickey was at work for their security company, Gallagher-Milkovich Security, which now employed Mickey's cousins and brothers and Ian's kid brother Liam, too, as a temporary job while he was working his way through college. The company had gotten big, and they were making huge profits.

Ian and Mickey's daughters were at school, so Ian had the condo to himself. Usually, he would be working out or dancing in the small gym he had put in their house. With his back though, he was pretty much stuck on the couch or in bed. He stared up at the high ceiling, his head clouded with thoughts and his emotions feeling numb. He was worried about slipping, mentally, though he had been on his meds, he could still become depressed.

The front door downstairs opened, and Ian furrowed his brow as he listened. It was only noon time. The hard boots against the stairs tipped him off that Mickey was home.

"Hey," Ian greeted his husband, who shot him a small smile. "Everything okay?"

Mickey took off his belt, which held an excess of weapons, and laid it out on the table. He adjusted his pants and shot his husband a look. "Good thing about being the boss is I can come the fuck home for lunch instead of eating with my shithead brothers."

Ian chuckled as Mickey sauntered past him and rounded into the kitchen, which was clear to see over the island. He watched his husband poke around for something to eat. Ian went back to staring at the ceiling and then took his attention to his phone, checking social media. Mickey was too good at picking up on Ian's moods, and he really didn't want to tip him off that something was wrong.

Mickey sat next to him on the couch with his sandwich, half-wrapped in a paper towel. "What've you been doing?"

Ian shook his head and shrugged. "This." He said, mindlessly scrolling through Facebook. He locked his phone and shoved his phone back into his pocket. "How's work?" He finally looked at Mickey, who was looking back at him with his bright blue eyes. The light in the condo illuminated them. Ian always joked that that's what finally sold him on buying this place. It was on the North End of Chicago, and Mickey fought him tooth and nail saying that he wasn't moving to some "yuppy Stepford Wives neighborhood," but he finally gave in when he saw the condo. It also sold Mickey because he had only just found out he was carrying his and Ian's first daughter at the time.

Mickey's eyes were transfixed on his husband. He knew something was wrong as soon as he walked in and saw Ian sitting there, TV off. He was most likely staring up at the ceiling blankly like he had been pretty much since he got taken out of work a week before.

"Work's work." He answered dully. "What's on your mind?" He asked, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

Fuck. Ian thought to himself. Of course. "A lot." He said quietly, still turning towards his husband, but looking away.