GALLAVICH EVERYTHING

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Source: Archive of our Own

Blog: OnlyHereForGallavich

Word Count: 1213

This is Part 2 of the Gallavich Reunions series.

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TRIGGER WARNINGS: this features a suicide attempt and cutting!

His phone rang. As his eyes shifted to look at the display, his eyes caught the word 'Gallagher' like he was starving. That rogue hope seized him, and then died a quick death as he traced the name 'Fiona'. It took a few seconds to make a decision; he could just ignore the call as he had ignored most since he left the prison, and the Southside, behind. But that name was too familiar, held too much promise for him to ignore it. He grabbed the phone and hit answer. "The fuck do you want?" Mickey snapped, eager to cover up the pitiable desperation that flooded him. "Hi, Mickey," Fiona's weary voice reached him. "I need you to come back. Please." Mickey's heart tripped over itself, and it took him a moment to speak. Fear clouded his mind, choking and unwelcome. "I don't give a fuck what you want. I am not coming back to the Southside." "Mickey. Please. Ian needs you."

The name was a knife to Mickey's heart. Ian Gallagher, the only person Mickey Milkovich had ever loved, the man who had left him like trash, like nothing had ever existed between them. "He doesn't need me," Mickey spat out, bitterness saturating every word, "He made that fuckin' clear over the last couple of years." He was glad she couldn't see his face right now. "Mickey, I know he hurt you, and I'm sorry. But please. He's hurt." He tried. He tried not to care. But his breath caught in his throat, his hands started shaking and worry caught him by the throat.

"What," He choked out, ignoring the obvious desperation in his voice, "What happened to him?" He pushed the phone closer to his ear, like it would get him a quicker response. He heard a shaky breath from the other end of the line. And then what she said next ripped his heart out of his chest and made him drop the phone. He didn't have to think to make his decision, to drop everything, grab a jacket and start the crappy second hand pickup truck he had bought when he moved. The words echoed in his mind, and his fingers shook as he drove.

"Mickey, Ian tried to kill himself. He slit his wrists and his note's got you all fuckin' over it."

It took a couple of hours to drive to the Southside, and Mickey could barely breathe the whole time. He kept thinking, I'm going to be too late, I'll be too late and I will never see his smile again. Mickey was angry at Ian got how he had left him. For a while, he had HATED him, seethed at how callous the other not had been. Then the pain washed over him, rendered him useless, and Mickey had found solace in drawing blades across his skin in search of peace.

But to hear that Ian had done the same in a much more fatal way... Mickey shook his head, trying to eject the thoughts from his head. When he reached the hospital, he parked his car carelessly and ran in. He headed straight for the wooden desk where a pleasant lady eyed him, probably judging his rumpled appearance. Fuck her, Mickey thought harshly. With no preamble he said, "Ian. Ian Gallagher." She seemed to get what he was saying and clicked through her computer. It was just a few moments. It felt like years. Just before he snapped at her, she looked up at him. "Ah, Ian Gallagher. He's in room 184, just down this hall and to the first right." Courtesy demanded Mickey say thank you. But courtesy had never been his focal point. Mickey took off in the same maddened run, to the room he knew held the boy who had broken his heart.

Fiona and Debbie were the only ones in the room when Mickey reached it. He noticed small details: there was a picture of flowers on the wall, Debbie was looking scrawnier, Fiona looked weary. Then his eyes fell on the bed and everything else faded into insignificance.

Ian. Ian six years older, but the same as he remembered. The same boy he had loved, would have died for if it came to it.

Ian, who was awake, but unseeing.

His eyes looked into the distance, not noticing Mickey even as Debbie and Fiona left tactfully.

"Gallagher."

Those eyes landed on his, wide as plates. It reminded Mickey of when Ian had first got diagnosed, when Mickey had only come to see him after days of avoidance.

"Sorry I'm late," he had said. He said it again now. Ian's face crumpled, and he collapsed into heartwrenching sobs that echoed around the room. Mickey's eyes grew dangerously wet, surprising him. He had thought he was all cried out, after Ian had left him. "I love you, I love you, I love you." The younger boy cried quietly. Mickey stood frozen in shock.

He didn't mean it, he was medicated. Mickey tried so hard to suppress the hope that rose in him. And failed. Hesitantly, he sat on the small stool beside Ian's bed. "Ian, don't cry, man." In another life, he would have reached out to touch him. But if Mickey touched him now, it would be a point of no return, the destruction of the little progress he had made in the last six years.

"I missed you," Ian moaned, still covering his face. "I just, I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't know where you were. I tried," Ian looked up, and pierced Mickey with his eyes, "I tried to move on. But I couldn't. And you were gone. Because of me. So I just..." He trailed off, weakly gesturing to the white bandages around his wrists. Mickey's heart broke just looking at them. Fuck this, he thought as he reached out to intertwine their fingers together.

"You shouldn't have hurt yourself. If something happened to you... I couldn't..." He swallowed. He had always been bad with words. But he saw that Ian understood what he was trying to say. Ian's eyes wandered, right on to the arms that were scarred grotesquely, no bandages to cover them up. He rolled down his sleeves defensively, but Ian pushed them back up. "These," he said, voice breaking, "are because of me." He trailed off, tracing the scars with shaking fingers. Mickey rested his hands on Ian's face. "No. I didn't think I could live without you. I can't. But that doesn't make it your fault. You should be with whoever makes you happy." It wasn't easy to say it. He wanted Ian to be HIS. But he meant it. He wanted Ian to be happy.

"YOU make me happy," Ian said quietly, before pressing a tentative kiss against Mickey's lips. Mickey smiled against Ian's mouth, and when he pulled back, Ian smiled the way he had all those years ago, when Mickey had kissed him the first time. Time had changed so much, but it hasn't touched Ian's smile. "I missed you too, Gallagher," Mickey said quietly, "I love you."

He looked down at their arms that lay side by side. Their scars were jagged, like paths leading nowhere. But they weren't. They had lead Mickey and Ian back home.