biological 》ian gallagher

sixteen

As hours passed by, Rosie and Mickey did nothing but bond, almost forgetting about the apparent 'sick' Frank on the couch, and the depressed Ian upstairs, although he remained at the back of both of their minds.

Soon enough, Lip turned up. He came inside, and, after a moment of cringing at the scent and sight of Frank, continued to the kitchen. Noticing Rosie, he nodded at her, slightly.

"Hey, Rosie. How's it goin'?" Lip asked, making Rosie smile at the sight of him. Mickey stood by, in silence as they greeted each other.

"Good." Rosie smiled, putting her attention back on the play dough on the counter. Lip scruffed Liam's hair, who was dropped off, about an hour ago, by Fiona.

"You're still here?" Lip looked at Mickey, who just shrugged, slightly, in response. Lip pulled two beers from the refrigerator, setting one in front of Mickey. "Ian here?"

"Upstairs. Hasn't gotten outta bed." Mickey stated, pointing up, momentarily, making Lip frown, slightly.

"It's fucking six o'clock." Lip stated, shaking his head, slightly, setting his beer down onto the table to race upstairs. Fiona had texted him that Ian was acting strange, but didn't expect anything like this. Lip wasn't going to let Ian be another Monica.

"There's no point in - okay, what the fuck ever." Mickey sighed, as Lip was clearly out of ear shot to hear him.

Opening the bedroom door, Lip froze for a second, as he stared at Ian, who faced away from him.

"Ian? Get up man, it's six." Lip said, casually, pushing Ian's arm, lightly. Ian pulled the covers over his head.

"Leave me alone." Ian said, quietly, forcing Lip to think the worst. Staring in concern, Lip didn't want to believe it. After all of those years of shit, Ian still allowed himself to be another generation. At least, that's how Lip saw it.

"Ian," Lip stated, almost sternly, "Rosie's downstairs. Come on." Lip tried again, but gained no progress, or a response. Lip shook his head, with a sigh, as he turned back around to leave.

Rosie smiled at Liam, as she helped mold a ball from the play dough. Making a snowman out of it, Liam immediately squashed it with his hands.

"Liam!" Rosie exclaimed in disbelief, with wide eyes. She let a small breath, which soon turned into a laugh. Lip stomped down the stairs, looking the same way Rosie did when Ian told her to go away.

"Are you okay, uncle Lip?" Rosie asked, as he went further into the kitchen. Looking around for a moment, Lip thought of something to forget about what he just saw.

"Uh, yeah." He nodded, looking at the two kids. "You guys hungry?" Lip asked, making the two kids nod, as they continued playing with the clay.

"Ian get up?" Mickey asked, knowing the answer already, but needing to hear it. Lip just shook his head, in fear that Rosie was listening, though it seemed pointless afterwards.

Finally, Debbie and Carl came back downstairs because of the smell of something being cooked. It wouldn't be long until Fiona would come back home, with Sammi and Chuckie close behind her.

"So, I'll help out a lot if I can stay here, at least until dad is better." Rosie perked up at the sound of Fiona scoffing.

"The only way Frank's gettin' better, is if he stops drinkin'." They walked into the kitchen, noticing everyone's presence. "Hey, Lip. How's it goin'?" Fiona smiled at her brother, before hugging quickly.

"It's going good, I guess." Lip's mind still wandered to Ian, school, and his recent yearning for alcohol. Though nobody else knew it yet, Fiona was the one to notice the slight shake of his hands, after being sober for too long. She didn't mention this.

"Did Ian ever...?" Fiona drifted off, looking back and forth between Mickey and Lip, who both shook their head. Tiredly, Fiona set her coat onto the counter.

"Hey, Rosie, why don't you go check on Ian?" Lip asked, mostly to get her out of the room for an upcoming conversation; one that Mickey knew be didn't want to hear.

"Okay." Rosie said, happily, jumping off of the high stool, and racing to the steps.

"Why would you make her do that?" Debbie looked at Lip, suspiciously. They all knew, excluding Mickey, Sammi, and Chuckie, how it felt to see Monica depressed.

"He's not gonna get up." Carl chimed in, being the only one that could tell himself that Ian was, in fact, showing signs of Bipolar disorder.

"Yes, he will." Fiona stared at Carl. Mickey remained silent, staring off into space, day dreaming of Ian.