Set a Match to it (gallavich)

1

The buzzing cell phone on the makeshift night stand broke Ian from his dream, leaving that gross feeling of nostalgia rest uncomfortably in his stomach. Running his hand through his hair, he pressed snooze and tried his best take himself back into the dream.

A blanket, the moon, the taste of warm beer, the smell of cigarettes, the smell of him. "Jesus Chris, you wanna spread a blanket out and look for shooting stars next?"

The returned buzzing chased the last of the dream away, and he decided it was time to force himself to go through another day. The sunlight burnt his eyes as he looked out the window. The last bit of dirty snow littered the side walk as the morning crowed walked past, bundled up with permanent small clouds escaping their lips.

Ian hadn't dreamt of him in a while, it was like irritating a scab that was almost finished healing. Again, and again, and again. 

"You take baby today. No?" The thick Russian accent asked from the door way. Now that Svetlana stole The Alibi from Kev and V,  Ian has been staying at the apartment above the bar the nights he didn't want to go home. No one really stayed at the house anymore. Fiona didn't have the heart to sell it though. Not yet anyways.

"Sorry, I have work today. I can tomorrow though." Ian responded, his voice still thick with sleep. She slid the kid in Ian's arms anyways, muttering in Russian. Svetlana finally trusted him with her son again, it took a while and many trials of observation to see he had the disorder under control. Yevgeny squirmed as Ian pressed his nose into the baby's soft head, inhaling. Geny looked up with pale blue eyes; and the scab got irritated again. 

"Svetlana, I need to get ready! I can't be late for work!" Ian shouted before placing the child on the bed. For some odd reason, Ian was slightly more sensitive today. 

"Fine. Tomorrow then." She placed his backpack next to her son and went to give Ian a kiss on the cheek. "You don't look healthy. Black bags under eyes. You take medicine? No lose shit around baby."

"Don't worry. I'm fine. I promise. Look." He finished sliding on his jacket, and grabbed the medication and Gatorade bottle; the breakfast of champions. He swallowed in one big gulp, and even exaggerated by opening his mouth wide and sticking out his tongue to prove a point. 

"You still look sick. Maybe you should stay home. Sleep." She peered at him above the rim of her glasses. 

"No can do. Thanks though, Svet. Bye little man." He depended down the stairs, passing Frank who was nursing a cup of beer, measuring the amount with a ruler.

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Ian took a seat on the L, and tried staring out the window to pass time before his everyday stop. He felt anxious and restless, couldn't help it. He was on Ian's mind today. 

Ian opened his back pack and stuck his hand towards the bottom, searching blindly for the tiny rectangle. Finally finding it, Ian took out the small flip phone Mickey gave him months ago, he kept it with him at all times. Flipping it open, Ian released a breath of disappointment. Of course the phone was dead, he had charged it a couple of times in the past but hasn't anytime recently. Ian's distorted reflection stared back at him through the blank 2x4 dull screen. 

About two weeks after Ian watched Mickey drive off in that stupid fucking wig and dress, he got shit faced off two drinks and accidently found the phone after angrily throwing the still untouched bag he took with him on that road trip. The phone slid under the bed after the impact, surprising him. Ian remembered staring at the phone for five minutes before picking it up, his drunken subconscious called the number Mickey used when he was last in Chicago. Of course the number was disconnected. Ian cried a lot that night, like some kind of bitch. An old queen. A twink. 

The train stopped with a slight jolt, yanking him back into the present. He followed the small early crowd, not looking forward to work at all.

Ten minutes into Ian's shift they got a call; a young man had been shot after am almost deadly family fight.  After arriving at the scene, the respondents immediately took notice of an older man being dragged into a cop car, his face visibly angry behind the blood pouring from a split eyebrow.  His beaten face shouted angry words with such hatred Ian didn't have to hear him to know he was fucking pissed. Ian didn't know the story and he already hated him with his whole being. his fists clenched and he treid to keep frok shaking. The man reminded him of another shitty father being thrown into a squad car a couple years ago.

"Ian? Respond to the scene, Ian." His boss said, her eyes looked slightly worried, "You okay?" 

"Ya, uh, I'm on it. Sorry." Stepping out of the truck Ian took in his surroundings, falling into a sprint as he found a young man with jet balck hair clutching his side, slumped against the wall. An African American male hovered over the black haired guy. Looking as if he didn't want to touch him, but didn't want to do nothing either. Both looked about two or three years younger then Ian himself. Once the man who was shot was strapped safely into the back of the van, the other guy jumped in after. He sat down and kept on running his hands through his curly hair, trying to steady his breath.

Ian kept busy, making sure the patient was stable. A weak voice broke his concentration, "Manny stop trying to yank out your hair, don't worry my dad didn't beat the fag out of me this time." He winked, completely ignoring  Manny's worried glances toward Ian. "He might next time, if he goes for the ribs again." The black haired guy continued to joke, as  Ian continued to treat his bullet wound.

"Shut up, Craig." Manny warned, still clearly worried. 

"Can you tell me what happened? I want to make sure I can treat all injuries necessary." Ian asked the pair.

Manny spoke up first. "Well you see, Craig's old man walked in on us doing something he didn't like, and, uh, kinda went fucking nuts, man. He went straight for Craig, and I pulled a gun on him. Except I'm on probation, see? So I kinda hesitated and the dad came at me and..." The boy continued, clearly trying to fight unwanted tears as his lover started to nod off.

It was safe to say Ian's metaphoric scab was ripped clean off, he might as well be the one who needed medical attention. 

After successfully escorting Manny and Craig off at the hospital, Ian drove back to the station in silence, his mind was completely occupied of old memories he normally kept tucked away deep, much like the other demons he hid in his closet. 

"You seem off today," Sue finally broke the awkward , "I think we'd be set here if you took the rest of the day off."

Ian didn't even argue, he was off, but it wasn't because of his disease.

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Ian didn't go back to Svetlana's, he went back home. Liam was sitting on the couch watching a show about dinosaurs and Frank was passed out on the foot of the stairs. Steppimg over his dead beat dad, he took the stairs two at a time. Walking into his room he took in his surroundings, Carl's bed remained untouched; he returned to boot camp right after Monica's funeral. Liam's bed was now in Debby's old room, now that she is married to that dude who always blurted stupid shit out. 

Ian sat down on his old bed and the springs squeaked loudly in protest under his weight. He let out a sigh and rubbed his hands together. Getting his mind straight, Ian immediately found the old charger still plugged into the wall. No one bothered stealing it, everyone had some kind of smart phone that wouldn't work with it anyways. He plugged in the small flip phone, lighting a cigarette and resting his head against the thin wall and old posters, waiting to hear the phone's song of returned energy. Ian didn't know why he was so caught up on this phone today. maybe it had to do with that stupid dream he had this morning.

After several minutes, the slightly scratched screen lit up, his shaking fingers held the small device and just stared at it, letting the smoke burn between his lips. 

Two notifications flashed on the screen. Two more then there has ever been.