Without the ever present iron clad that was Mickey's father hanging around them in everything they did. The two of them felt a lot more free then ever before. There was no hiding, and each day Ian could wake up cuddling up to Mickey and see him shift in his sleep. His mouth would often be ever so slightly opened as he slept, giving him a look of innocence that he was sure no one else but he really ever saw, because Mickey wouldn't allow it, and if he was being honest, he wasn't really sure how to show it. But the days of bliss and laughter soon dragged on, and Ian could feel the never ending energy that often surged through his body, slowly drain and drag him down with it. Most times, he'd simply be lazy to do much, preferring to stay in bed rather than doing much of anything. But those moments passed, soon to be forgotten as he'd run around almost as if afraid that the hours of the day were nowhere near long enough to accommodate all the things that he had in mind. He'd work nights at the club, pumped up by the fact that Mickey was back there watching his every move, ready to pounce if some old man lingered in his presence for a bit longer than Mickey wanted him to.
And then he'd get back home, to their home. Making sure that he didn't waste that time sleeping, but rather stripping Mickey down to his perfect naked self as soon as possible. And as they intertwined their limbs, moaned and groaned, he wouldn't stop until Mickey was tucked away in his blankets fast asleep. Ian would go roam around the house, clean things, make breakfast at six in the morning, go for a run then visit his siblings as they were waking up. He'd jump from one idea to the next, never fixating to anything for too long, there was no time to really think about the flaws of his plans. He just had them, so many good ideas permanently swishing in his mind. He'd manage to sleep now and again, forcing himself or better yet letting Mickey force him to get two or three hours, before he was up and about again. He took care of the baby, went shopping, wrote his ideas down in the old torn out book.
But now, as he clung to the sheets of the bed, He couldn't fathom the idea of getting up, or moving. He wasn't sleeping as much as he was unable to exist outside the comfort of the bed, not that the bed gave him a sense of comfort, rather it was more like a plush prison, enslaving him in a tight grasp. His limbs felt like they were filled with metal, impossible to move. And every time Mickey would get into the room trying to coax him out, like he was some scarred little wild animal, he'd simply pull the sheets over his head and stay there until he heard the door close and the heavy silence set in back again.
"I don't know what to do, he's been like that for days now. "
Mickey stared at his bedroom door with such intensity, one would think he was trying to make them open by his impressive will of mind.
"Look Lip, I tried everything. Maybe he's just tired. You know he's been fuckin' jumping around like a dog on heat for the past week. It's normal right?"
He knew it wasn't. He didn't need Lip or anyone else to tell him that. This was something, but normal was not it. And sure enough, the rest of Ian's siblings came to visit, each one getting into the room where he could hear whispered talks, and then they'd walk out. If he wasn't so worried about Ian, he would have thought this to be hilarious. Because they looked like they were waiting in line to go on some poor panel show where they might win a broken toaster. Who the fuck even knew what was happening. Ian's mom was mentioned, and that it was possible that Ian was bipolar.
"What the fuck are you all talking about? He's just in a shitty mood, we need to wait it out and before you know it, He'll be up and about, running back and forth from making pancakes to running eight miles in the morning."
The more Fiona and the rest of them talked about doctors and hospitals the more he got mad. He had been hearing this for the past three days since he went to their house and told Lip what was happening. And since then, he felt like he was the only voice of reason there. That's not what you do to family, you don't just give up, take them to the hospital and let some idiotic doctor pump them full of pills.
"We are all going to take care of him, do any of you hear me? If any one of you even tries to do anything I will fucking kill someone. And I don't want to hear it okay. Ian is staying with me. I will take care of him. I'm not sending him anywhere."
Fiona would try to plead with him, but it never really worked, not even a little bit, and soon she'd give up and so would the rest of them. Mickey had to go to work, but he always had someone in charge of looking after Ian. And as one day dragged into the next, he couldn't help but worry even more. He'd often be sitting by Ian's bed, talking to him for hours about all the stupid shit he'd been up to that day. He'd never get a response out of him, a get out now and again. But mostly he'd smoke, have a few beers and just talk to Ian's back or his lanky figure under the covers.
And as he woke up the next day, after another night of trying to make Ian do something, say something. He turned around waiting to see the familiar shape of his back staring right back him with some kind of resilience, and yet there was nothing. Ian wasn't there. In his half sleepy mindset he wondered if Fiona and Lip had somehow managed to carry out Ian last night or early this morning when Mickey finally fell asleep. His hands tapped over the surface where Ian had been in for the past couple of days as if to make sure he wasn's still dreaming. As his hands made contact with the flat surface of the bed. He had jumped up, instantly yanking the door open and rushing into the kitchen to see where he could be. But before he had time to call for a nation's search for fire crotch. Ian greeted him with the widest grin, already a fresh batch of pancakes in front of him.
"Hey Mickey, I wanted to wake you up, but you looked so peaceful. "
Ian walked over to him, placing a peck on his lips and then kissing him again as if realizing that he made a mistake by thinking a simple peck would be enough.
"What the fuck Gallagher?"
Was Mickey's response, but not allowing Ian to say anything. He closed the little distance that was between them and kisses him himself this time, again as if to make sure that he wasn't dreaming.
"I hope you had a nice rest."
His tone was somewhat sarcastic, but only to hide the relief that now made him feel like he was buzzing in every speck of his being.
"Coffee."
Was Ian's only reply as he poured some of the steaming black liquid into two mismatched mugs. Carefully and without seemingly any effort he placed a few pancakes on two plates. And finally sat down at the old corner table in the kitchen. He had the newspaper in front of him, with the crossword puzzle already filled out.
"I was thinking that maybe today we could go out. We haven't been out in a while."
Somehow all the weight that was pulling him down had been lifted, and even though he knew somewhere in a very alter part of his mind, that this wasn't just him being tired as he heard Mickey tell everyone, nor was it any type of thing he felt before, Ian knew, he simply knew that his family hadn't finished fucking his life over, and this would be one of many things that you got handed to when you came from the Gallaghers. But at the same time, the other part of his brain was telling him that he was just being a drama queen. And as he watched Mickey sat down at the table, carefully lifting the mug to his nose first to sniff it and then slowly taking a sip. He knew everything would be right. He didn't have what his mother did. He couldn't possibly have that. And that in turn was his own little mantra, prayer, call it whatever you'd want.
"So where do you wanna go? I ain't going on a date if that's what you had in mind?"
Ian couldn't help but laugh. Of course Mickey would instantly assume that he was trying to lure him into some romantic trap filled with wine and flowers. Like that had ever happened or like he'd ever try anything like that. Not that it didn't cross his mind a few times, but somehow even in his mind that always ended up by either Mickey laughing at him or punching him somewhere.
"You're such a bad boyfriend."
He edged him on.
"No, maybe go by Kev's, have a few drinks. You know, so I can take advantage of you later. "
[I just got really inspired so these chapters are coming faster. I want this story to deal a lot more in detail about Ian's and Mickey's personalities and their relationship, more so then we see in the show. So I hope to everyone that reads it, that you like it and of course if you have any ideas, feel free to leave them in the comments.]
