#THROWING MY HAT DOWN. STOMPING ON IT. /POS

[itsbrucey]

Merry Christmas :]] Imagine that Dulcie’s wearing a really cool christmas sweater hehe

I CAN'T. DO A LITTLE DOODLE REACTION BC IM AT WORK RN BUT OH. MY GOD. IM GONNA. EXPLODE.

LARK STOP YOU SPOIL ME. NO MORE ART FOR ME UNTIL I DRAW YOUR OCS. PLEASE I'LL CRY.

SUCH A FUCKING COZY DRAWINGM .....A...SNIFFLE. waaaaAAAAAAAAA

[unbridgeabledistances]

Prompt: Sandy and Debbie break up and Ian and Mickey each take a side. During the fall out Ian worries that Mickey has the same complaints about Ian that drove Sandy to break up with Debbie. But in the end Mickey reassures Ian that their relationship is nothing like theirs.

hi!<3 thank u so much for this prompt, it was so fun to write! hope u enjoy:)

also this scenario could take place anytime between ep 2 and ep 3 of s11, because ian still has his warehouse job

**

“Jesus, Debbie, calm the fuck down. You’re being dramatic”

“Sandy, if you call me dramatic one more time, I swear to god. I’m not trying to be controlling I’m just asking you where you were last night, which is a perfectly reasonable question—”

“Reasonable if you were my mother, maybe, but I can go wherever the fuck I want without you needing to smother me all the time! I was on a run with Terry, because I have no money and don’t really know what to do with myself, and I’m never fucking good enough for you, and that’s literally all you need to know—”

“Trouble in paradise,” Mickey commented as he poured Ian some coffee, breaking the silence in the kitchen, where everyone was staring at their breakfasts and listening to the voices shouting upstairs.

Ian rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Debs isn’t known to be the most… secure partner in a relationship.”

“You can say that again,” added Liam, wrapping his poptart in a napkin and shoving it into his backpack. “I’m just gonna eat on the way to school. It doesn’t seem like this screaming is going to stop anytime soon, and while you and Mickey having sex twice a day is bad enough, Debbie and Sandy having a lover’s quarrel has somehow pushed me over the edge.”

Ian smirked and sipped his coffee. “Can you drop Franny off on the way?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Liam led Franny out of the kitchen, where Ian and Mickey remained, listening to Debbie’s shrill voice drifting through the floorboards.

“Fine, if I can’t know what’s going on in your life, I guess you don’t need to be in mine anymore!”

“Are you fucking serious, Debbie? Why do you need to know where I am, you can barely handle knowing the whereabouts of your own kid—”

Ian and Mickey traded raised eyebrows while Ian silently took a bite of toast.

“Sandy, get out of this house! I don’t need you and your illegal bullshit anyways, all you’re doing is putting me and Franny at risk with Terry and all of his issues—”

“Okay, little miss perfect, but don’t expect me to give a shit when you come crawling back.”

“Fine!”

The door upstairs finally slammed, and seconds later Sandy came stomping down. She looked at Ian.

“Your prissy fucking sister is a pain in my ass. The sooner your whole family realizes that your garbage father is as bad as Terry is, the sooner you’ll hop off of your superiority complex over the Milkoviches and realize that your way of surviving is literally the same as ours.”

Sandy shoved past the kitchen table and out the back door.

Ian breathed out a laugh. “Well, that was an eventful morning.”

“I’ll say,” Mickey agreed, looking at the door Sandy had just walked through. “Do you think I should go talk to her or some shit?”

Ian shrugged. “Nah, I’m sure it’s fine. I’m sure Sandy’ll grow up and apologize for whatever illegal shit she was doing with Terry, Debs will calm down, and everything will go back to the way it was.”

Mickey looked slightly uncomfortable as he placed his mug down on the table. “I mean, she has got a point. I’m sure whatever Sandy was up to was no big deal, Debbie doesn’t need to be freaking out.”

Ian scoffed. “Yeah, if getting involved in all of your dad’s shit is no big deal. Sandy could at least tell Debs whatever she’s up to, that sounds pretty fair to me.”

Mickey stood up, clearing their plates and walking over to the sink. “Whatever, Gallagher. I’m just saying Sandy does have a point about you being marshmallows. If she’s not telling Debbie what she’s up to, it’s probably for her own good.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Mick? Last time you disappeared on a run with your dad without telling me where you were, I literally thought you murdered our PO. How is that better than just telling me you’re hawking some stolen guns or whatever you get up to?”

Mickey distractedly wrung his hands with the dish towel, looking sightly pissed and defensive that Ian would even bring up that onslaught of memories, of their almost-wedding and Ian’s rejection at the courthouse and everything that followed.

“I don’t know, asshole. Maybe because Sandy’s right, and you all can be a little judgy about all the illegal shit. I get that you’re a goody two shoes breaking your fucking back in a warehouse, but that doesn’t mean that everyone needs to work their ass off to make minimum wage like you. I used to do shit for my dad all the time, so does Sandy and she doesn’t need anyone to be her keeper.”

Ian rolled his eyes, taking a final sip of coffee and standing up. “Alright, whatever. I’m gonna be late.” He pecked the top of Mickey’s head as he put his mug in the sink. “Enjoy your hard day’s work of watching TV and jacking off.”

Mickey turned and flipped him off as Ian strode out of the room.

Later that day, as Ian was mechanically checking expiration dates on an order of off-brand crackers, he couldn’t help but replay he and Mickey’s conversation from that morning over and over in his mind. Was Mickey seriously going to defend Sandy for sneaking with Terry behind Debbie’s back? He knew Mickey didn’t give a shit about making minimum wage right now, but was Mickey really going to spend the rest of his life following in his dad’s footsteps, depending on his next heist for cash? And, worst of all, did that mean he was going to live a life of feeling like he needed to hide every move from Ian? Ian knew what he was signing up for when they got married, that being with Mickey always meant some level of scamming and schmoozing; but for some reason, he thought that now that Mickey and his dad had fallen out that Mickey’s existence would stop being so constantly on the brink of incarceration.

He’d expected marriage to be a partnership—but so far, it felt like he and Mickey were on different pages about pretty much everything.

When Ian finally made it home and stumbled in the front door, tired and bleary, Sandy was still noticeably absent from the Gallagher house. Debbie and Franny were in the kitchen, along with Liam who was muddling through his homework at the table. Ian went upstairs and found Mickey laying on their bed, watching some sort of video on his phone at full volume. He didn’t look up when Ian came into the room.

“Hey, Mick. Can we talk for a sec?” Ian asked, taking off his hat and coat and gingerly placing them on the bottom corner of the bed.

Mickey still didn’t look up from his phone. “Don’t know what the fuck you want to talk about.”

Ian sat on the edge of the bed. “Did… Sandy and Debbie make up yet?”

Mickey huffed. “What d’you think.”

“Guess not. How’s Sandy doing?”

“Don’t know, haven’t heard from her yet. Figure she’s just off somewhere blowing off some steam.”

Ian approached the next topic with caution.

“So, uh, I was thinking. And I think we need to talk again about, y’know, our mutual expectations.”

“This shit again? Listen, we already did this, I know we agreed that we aren’t fucking other people—"

“No, no I mean about other stuff. Not even the money stuff again really, just like… if you’re ever going to go back to doing the shit that Terry does. For example.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about man, you know I don’t talk to that asshole anymore.”

“I know, but—what if you want to do stuff with Sandy, or someone makes you an offer for a big job? What if you end up in jail again? What if you feel the way Sandy does and you feel like you need to hide all this stuff from me, meanwhile I’m just here working my ass off trying to make a life for us—”

Mickey paused the video and finally looked up from the phone.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Gallagher?”

Ian ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I just… I don’t want you to not tell me shit, the way Sandy was with Debbie. I’d rather know what illegal bullshit you’re up to, even if you think it’s going to piss me off. I… I don’t want to lose you again. I don’t want you to have to lie to me, and I don’t want you to go to jail again. I just wanna be on the same page.”

Ian inched his hand over the covers and placed it on top of Mickey’s as he kept talking.

“I know we’ve been fighting a lot lately, not agreeing on stuff. But I just…want you to know that I’m in this. I love you, I’m your fucking husband. I want us to work together, and I don’t want you to think that I can’t handle anything, or that we can’t tackle everything together.”

Ian looked down at their hands, letting the silence swell as he traced Mickey’s palm with his thumb.

“Hey, Gallagher. Look at me.”

Ian met Mickey’s eyes—Mickey was looking directly at him, unguarded and open. It reminded him of the look on Mickey’s face when he had tried to break up with Mickey the first time, back when they were both kids sitting on the front stoop and Mickey had sprinted over when Ian called; when Mickey had split himself open, had told Ian how much he loved him, through sickness and health and everything they were about to go through.  

“Sandy’s got her own bullshit to learn. About people caring about her, caring where she is, caring if she throws her life away. But I’ve been here this whole time, and I’ve learned that. Why do you think I used to throw myself into as much risky bullshit as I could, before I was locked up? I was losing myself in everything, because all I ever wanted was this.”

He put his hand up to Ian’s face—a small gesture, but probably the most intimate touch he’d given Ian in weeks. It stung like ice and fire on Ian’s cheek, like electricity was flickering where his fingertips met Ian’s skin.

“I’ve pointed a glock at my asshole dad’s head and been willing to take the bullet for this. I’m not getting involved in any shit that can take you away from me, Gallagher. Am I going to stop forging my payroll for my PO? Or stop selling shitty expired brownie mix? Probably not. But I’m not gonna do anything risky, anything that might take me away from you for good. Never was.”

Ian sighed. He was being stupid, and he knew that. But between all of their senseless bickering the last few weeks, he couldn’t help but worry that Mickey was feeling more and more indifferent about this whole marriage situation, or getting restless about being pinned down. He listened earnestly as Mickey continued talking.

“How many times have I told you—my family was never there for me. You’re the only family I need. And I made that shit official when I put a ring on your finger, or I guess when I forced you to put one on mine. I’ve always been there for you, I’m always gonna be there for you. We fought long and hard enough for this, Gallagher. You just gotta believe in me.”

There it was—that fondness in Mickey’s eyes, the softness that he tried to hard to hide, but showed up anyways as he was tying Ian’s tie, or holding him close through a wave of depression, or kissing his forehead when he gave Ian his meds. Mickey was never going to let anything come between them again, not after all the pitfalls and heartbreak they’d been through—Ian realized that now, even more than he already had.

“I know, Mick. I believe you.”

“You’d better, asshole. Now c’mere.”

Mickey led Ian’s chin forward, and their lips met—just a ghost of a touch, at first, but it made Ian grab the back of Mickey’s neck and pull him in closer, fiercely slotting their lips together again and again.  

They broke apart, and Ian smiled sheepishly. “Sorry for freaking out.”

“I’m all yours, Mr. Milkovich. Whatever shit our families get into can’t change that.”