Some absolute angel who I do not remember posted some kind of drabble in which Ian reflected briefly on Fiona and Jimmy-Steve when he’s older and he and Mickey start sleeping in their old room, thinks about how happy they once were and then broke up and holds onto the fact that he has Mickey tighter.
You, my dear, unknown angel, are the inspiration for this post.
TW: allusion to suicide, alcoholism, violence.
Ian leaned on the door of Fiona’s bedroom that night. She held Debbie under one arm, Carl under the other. Jimmy-Steve was sat up behind them, eyes watching, gentle, unsure, protective. He looked up and saw Ian.
Fiona’s eyes followed his without even realising, looking up ar Ian. She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then she nodded her head in a come here gesture.
Ian hesitated, then he landed on the bed next to Debbie. Fiona raised the hand that was wrapped round Debbie’s shoulder and grasped the back of Ian’s neck, smoothing fingers up and down his hair. She awkwardly pulled him closer, letting him overlap their legs, put an arm round her back and hold Debbie and Carl with the other, tuck his head over Debbie’s under Fiona’s neck. She rubbed her cheek against his hair comfortingly, brushed her calf against his shins.
Ian felt a solid weight on his back. Jimmy had move forward, holding onto them all, draping his arms round them. Ian saw him kiss the top of Fiona’s head. She leaned back against his chest, letting him hold her, letting him be the one to comfort her while she was comforting them. And Ian-through the haze of tears and grief-thought that he’d never seen Fiona be loved like that before. Jimmy-Steve was an odd guy. He was a liar. He was a bit frustrating. Ian didn’t like him very much. Certainly he didn’t trust him.
But for once, here was a guy who didn’t treat Fiona like shit. Here was a guy who had seen Frank passed out drunk and hadn’t run away. Here was a guy who had defended Ian when Frank hit him, who had bought Fiona things that she actually needed, like that washing machine instead of a hundred useless roses, and though Ian, like a good, loyal Gallagher, bristled at the fact that Jimmy-Steve kept dumping shit on them like charity, he rather liked it. Not the handouts, but the fact that Fiona had picked a guy who thought about her. Who bought him and Lip tickets and coached Debbie through returning a stolen toddler and gave Lip a place to stay and cleaned their mother’s blood off the kitchen floor and stuck up for him when Frank hit him. He was skeptical because Fiona had chronically awful taste in men, and Jimmy-Steve really did grate on him sometimes because who the fuck gets teenage boys into stealing cars and then runs away, but he’d be lying if he wasn’t happy for her while it was lasting.
Ian nestled closer and cried harder into Fiona’s shoulder quietly, trying not to scare the kids. Fiona rubbed her cheek on his hair and Jimmy squeezed his shoulder. When the kids stoped crying and pulled back from Fiona, Ian took that as a sigh to do the same. Jimmy pulled Fiona closer to him, her back to his chest, and stroked her hair. She leaned back into him.
“Can I sleep in here with you tonight?” hiccuped Debbie. Fiona nodded and patted her cheek.
“Can I, Fiona?” Carl asked hoarsely, his first words since the whole catastrophe in the kitchen. Fiona nodded. As the two of them settled down onto the mattress, Fiona turned to Ian.
“You wanna sleep in here with me too, Ian?” she asked gently. She dropped her voice to a loud whisper. “We can kick Jimmy out, he won’t mind.”
Jimmy-Steve laughed and kissed her on the cheek and Ian noticed how Fiona leaned into it as though no time had passed, how relaxed she was around him like she’d never been with anyone else, except maybe Kev and V.
Ian shook his head. “No, I should-I should sleep with Liam. You know. In case he wakes up or something.”
Fiona sighed. “Oh, God, Liam. She glanced at Jimmy. “Bring him in here, please. Try not to wake him up.”
“Yeah, okay,” he said quietly. He rubbed Fiona’s arm and slid off the bed. Ian raised an eyebrow.
“He back for good?” he asked sceptically.
“He just spent all night helping me clean up downstairs, let’s try and cut him some slack. Lie down, honey.”
It was cramped, really cramped. Fiona had Liam on her chest, Jimmy-Steve lying closest to the wall with his arm wrapped round Fiona. Debs was curled into Fiona’s side, Carl lying half on top of Jimmy-Steve in the minute space where his side met Fiona’s hip. Ian was curled around Debbie, one hand on Liam’s back. It reminded him of when he, Fiona and Lip were really little and they’d be left in the park by Frank and Monica and Fiona would find a bench for them to sleep on and it would be all cramped like this. He could’ve done without Jimmy-Godamn-Steve in his sister’s bed right now. But Ian didn’t miss the way that Jimmy’s hand was tight on Fiona’s shoulder, holding her, taking care of her like no one else did. He just hoped Jimmy-Steve wasn’t screwing it up this time.
Years later, Fiona had moved out while Ian was in prison. Jimmy-Steve had long gone. The old room had flicked between different members of the family at various points. Lip and Tami had just vacated it in favour of the RV parked out back, which meant for the first time since they’d lived in the Milkovich house, Ian had a double bed to share with Mickey. That first night they spent rechristening that old mattress, and when morning came, Ian was the first to wake.
He remembered that night when they’d all crammed into this bed, and Jimmy had held Fiona like she was something precious. He remembered watching how Fiona leaned back into his arms, how she accepted his kisses with an easiness that hadn’t been with any other guy, before or since, how she had nestled into him when she might have pushed others away. How Jimmy didn’t stop fighting for her until he did. He remembered how happy Fiona had been with him. They loved and laughed and fucked and fought in this room, and one thing was clear: Ian had never seen his sister love anyone else like that. He remembered Sean, remembered that Fiona had been very much in love with him, but truly, there had been no one like Jimmy-Steve. And the man had fucked it up. He’d been so in love with her and he fucked it up.
Ian’s gaze shifted to the man in his own arms. Mickey was fast asleep, head on Ian’s chest, hand protective on his bicep. Ian had his arms wrapped around him, thumb brushing his cheek. The lines on his forehead were smoothed in sleep. He looked so peaceful. Mickey spent a lot of time asleep now actually. Ian had met his PO the day prior-Jesus fuck Mickey had lucked out-who was looking for a job for him, but he said it could take a few weeks. Mickey had been itching to getting back into stealing shit-Ian had put his foot down on that-because there wasn’t much else for him to do. Larry had suggested he just rest. After so many years either incarecerated or on the run, plus growing up in the environment that he did, Mickey’s body was bound to crash from the constant state of adrenaline at some point. So he suggested he take a few weeks to just rest, adjust to life to the outside again.
“What am I, a Godamn pussy?” Mickey had snapped. Ian had squeezed his shoulder.
“Maybe he has a point, Mick,” he said gently. “I’ve seen it before. You’ve spent your whole life on fight or flight, you’re gonna end up crashing. I can take some time off work, spend it with you.”
Mickey was listening. Somewhat. The last couple of days out of prison, his boyfriend spent a lot of time adjusting, and a lot of time asleep, or with Ian. He was a little restless, Ian could tell, aching to be scamming his way back into rent money (“I’m not Godamn freeloading, Gallagher”) or at the Alibi. Kev and V said they’d consider letting him help out sometimes in exchange for a small cut to keep him going.
Today, Ian was taking off work, pretending he was sick. Paula didn’t really seem to care, probably because Ian was trouble for her. Ian leaned down and breathed the scent of Mickey’s hair. It felt so surreal, lying in this bed with the man he loved. Who would have thought that Ian-homosexual bipolar-would be the one with the chance at love? He was never letting go of Mickey. Jimmy-Steve had lain with Fiona in his arms on mornings like this a hundred times and still let her go. Ian wasn’t going to do that. He had his entire world in his arms right now, fast asleep on his chest, and he was never letting go of him.
Mickey stirred, let out a soft groan. He opened those beautiful blue eyes and stared up at Ian, as though trying to see if he was really real. He must have decided that he was, because after a moment, Mickey’s face broke out into a smile and he kissed Ian’s chest. Ian stroked his hair fondly. “You sleep okay, baby?” he asked gently. Mickey rolled his eyes.
“What’d I tell you bout calling me that?” he grumbled, but Ian knew he didn’t mind.
Mickey propped himself up and frowned at Ian.
“Whatcha thinkin, Gallagher?”
Mickey frowend and smoothed a hand over his boyfriend’s forehead. “Don’t lie. I can see it. You’re thinkin about something.”
Ian smiled at him and ran his own fingers through Mickey’s hair. “You remember Jimmy-Steve right?”
“The car thief that used to date your sister? Sure I remember him. What about him?”
“Nothin….just….I was thinking about Thanksgiving. When you were in juvie.”
“Yeah,” Ian said, the memory of his mother’s bloodied form flashing in his mind for a second. He shuddered and tightened his hold on Mickey. “But erm-that night, we all slept in here. Me, Debs, Carl, and Liam. And Jimmy-he was just holding Fiona. That whole night. It’s just….I never liked him, but she really loved him, you know?”
Mickey stared up at him, completely baffled.
“Mandy slept in here a lot too, when she was staying with us.”
Mickey wrinkled his nose. “Gross.”
Ian chuckled. “It’s just….she really loved Lip-“
“And Fiona really loved Jimmy. Like, really loved him. And who knows where he is now? Fuck knows where he went. It’s just…crazy, you know? He was just here until he wasn’t, and he loved Fiona and they aren’t together. They spent so long in this room together and all for what now?”
Mickey still raised his eyebrows in confusion. “Okay?”
“What I mean is….” He leaned down and held his forehead to Mickey’s, running a hand through his lover’s hair. “I’m fuckin glad it worked out with us,” Ian said. “They’ve all had their turns. It’s ours now.”
Mickey shrugged up at him and buried his face in Ian’s chest. “S’too early for your existential shit man,” he mumbled. “Haven’t even kissed me yet.”
“Can’t kiss you if you’re not facing me, dumbass.”
Mickey lifted his face. “There. Kiss me and lemme go back to sleep,” he muttered. Ian chuckled fondly and pressed a gentle kiss to his boyfriend’s mouth.
“I’m glad I’m here too, if that’s what you mean,” Mickey mumbled. He lay back down, head on Ian’s beating heart, and Ian tightened his hold. “Go back to sleep.”
Ian took one last long look around the room. Unlike every other couple that had come and gone in this room, Ian was gonna make this one last. He hoped Fiona found Jimmy again, one day. He’d never seen anyone love Fiona like that. He hoped it wouldn’t go to waste. Just like he’d never loved anyone like Mickey. Like hell was he letting that go to waste.
Ian stroked Mickey’s dark hair-his boyfriend had already fallen asleep on his chest again, and Ian’s heart melted at the sight of Mickey so small and vulnerable and trusting in his arms-pressed a kiss to the top of his head, rubbed his cheek against it, and allowed the scent of his lover to lull him back to sleep.
He’s never letting him go again. He wasn’t gonna make the same mistake Jimmy-Steve did. He’s never gonna let his greatest love go.
