#i add tags as i write each one 😑

[gardenerian]

Your 5+1 s are so fun to read. I wish you would write a 5 ways they apologized to each other without saying "I am sorry" + 1 time each of them actually say it

oh i was hoping someone would ask for this! i've been doing a lot of post-canon for these, so this time i'm taking us back in time for the first five 🥺 tw for discussion of canon events in 4x09/5x02! the ficlets take place after they occur, but they will be referenced. some toxic masculinity in the first one, a lil light drug use in the second, surprise smut in the fifth one (it took even me by surprise!), and mentions of their physical fights in the fifth and sixth ones.

1.

mickey's only gone for five fucking minutes but it all goes to shit while he's out back smoking. he steps over the mangled carcasses of what used to be tomatoes as he walks back into the store.

ian sits motionless behind the counter, a beer in front of him, glaring at the floor. the floor that's coated in the grisly remains of a watermelon brutally attacked. it's already sticky as mickey moves to stand in front of ian.

it doesn't take much to know that lip was here. goddamn gallagher nonsense.

"the fuck is this?" mickey snaps, even though he already knows. ian had filled him in on the salutes in the living room, the application mix-up, the fight. the stony silence between brothers.

ian gallagher may be a dramatic ginger dumbass, but he comes by it honestly. and this fruit massacre has lip written all over it.

ian doesn't answer him - just juts his chin out sharply, seething anger rolling off him in waves. his fists, white and shaking, rest tightly clenched in front of him.

and yeah, okay, mickey can see why this pissed lip off so much. to stand in front of ian, to be close enough to touch, and to get none of his attention: it's infuriating. his own fingers itch to throw something.

lip couldn't get a reaction out of ian; mickey thinks maybe he can. he's always been able to goad ian into action. usually it ends in ian bending him over the nearest surface, and mickey wouldn't say no to that right now.

maybe it's what ian needs to calm the fuck down.

"yo, cadet asshole, were you plannin' on cleaning any of this shit up? or were you just sittin' pretty waiting on me to do it?"

ian doesn't say anything.

"this ain't even my job, man, i'm just security. so why don't you run along and get a fucking mop, huh?"

ian doesn't say anything.

"jesus christ, man," mickey spits, kicking at a piece of watermelon. "why don't you just man up and punch him? you really gonna let him walk all over you like this? how you ever gonna make it in the army acting like such a bitch?"

ian doesn't say anything.

and when mickey looks back up at him, he thinks maybe this was the wrong way to go. rather than spurring him into action, mickey seems to have just knocked the wind from ian's sails.

his shoulders sag and he slumps, spineless, with his hands now braced against the countertop. he worries his lip between his teeth and his eyes, just moments before steely and laser-focused, drift aimlessly around the store.

in some other universe, mickey walks around the counter and rubs comforting hands down ian's arms. leans forward and places a kiss to his hair. "i'm sorry," he says, "let me help you."

but mickey is here and he's now. so he heads back to the cooler and grabs a fresh, cold beer. he pops it open and pushes it across the counter to ian.

then he grabs the mop and gets to work.

2.

it's chaos as soon as they burst through the front door.

mickey is shouting and pounding his fists and his ass is bleeding all over the kitchen. there are kids crawling over every surface of the living room. fiona stands in the back doorway, spluttering and covered in dirt, and suddenly debbie’s there, apparently having just drowned some preteen slut.

and then - it’s quiet.

mickey’s carted off and the kids clear out. it’s just the gallaghers, following brittany from dfs around the house and making frantic excuses for the way they live. it doesn’t work, and brittany informs them that she’ll be back to pick them up in the morning.

ian lies in bed that night, his backpack already stuffed with random clothes and some meager possessions, and wonders how far he’d get if he just made a run for it. if he skipped out on dfs and found a place of his own.

and if he knocked on mickey’s window, would he climb down and come with him?

ian smiles in the dark. his lips still burn from their kiss, even after he washed mickey's blood from his face. ian brings a finger to lightly trace his own lips, thinking about mickey and his good heart.

mickey kissed him today, in broad daylight and with his cousins just steps away. mickey stole into ned’s house because ian brought him there, leaving with a bullet in his ass for the trouble.

ian grabs his phone and types out a text: you alone?

when the reply comes in, ian pads quietly down the stairs and slips out the back door. the way to the milkovich house is easy, even in the dark.

mickey is stretched out in bed when ian creeps through the front door, ass up. ian whistles at the sight of him and mickey immediately flips him off.

"the fuck you doin' here?"

ian shrugs, moves further into the room. "just came by to check on your ass."

he chuckles when mickey flips him off again, then drags a chair closer to mickey's bed and sits down, looks at him.

"well it's fuckin' wrecked, thanks to you, and not even in the way i like."

ian nods, grimaces. "you on any good shit for it?"

"my cousins left me a couple'a pills," mickey replies, gritting his teeth as he leans up to rest on his forearms. "they've worn off by now.

"hurtin' pretty bad then?"

"no, feels great man." a beat. "what happened with that lady?"

"mmm," ian hums, "she'll be back in the morning to remove us from our troubled environment."

they're quiet for a moment. mickey picks at his comforter, ian studies the posters on the wall. there's not much to say and ian doesn't want to talk about it anyways. he wants to talk about the kiss; he wants to talk about what mickey did for him today.

and how he's in pain because of it, home alone with no one to help him.

ian digs in his pocket for the joint he stole from lip, waves it in front of mickey's face. mickey grins, toothy and wide.

"oh yeah? whatcha been hidin' that for?"

ian just shrugs again, lighting it up and inhaling deep and long. he's instantly warm, instantly loose, and he smiles lazily as he passes it over to mickey.

mickey takes a few pulls, and ian watches his body settle. he brings his head back to rest against his pillow, turned on its side so he can look at ian.

"better?" ian asks, and mickey just hums in contentment.

they pass the joint back and forth between them until it's late and ian knows he has to get back home. to rejoin his siblings for their big ordeal. mickey's eyes have drifted shut, but he's still smiling.

before he goes, ian hunts through the milkovich kitchen for a relatively clean glass. he fills it with water, grabs a box of crackers from the counter. he places them both on mickey's rickety bedside table, along with another pilfered joint.

he wants to reach out, touch mickey's hair. run his hand down his spine, soothing his aches. instead, he just watches mickey breathe for a moment.

"see ya at work, mick," he murmurs from the doorway. mickey mumbles something unintelligible; ian brings a hand to his lips as he flips off the light.

3.

mickey counts his cash in the elevator. about a thousand, enough to keep svetlana off his back for a while. he pockets a few bills for ian, for his help.

as the elevator climbs, he thinks about what just happened.

ian had seemed unsettlingly comfortable with mickey's plan to get some quick cash. as he sat in the closet watching, always watching, mickey heard the practiced ease with which ian spoke. whatever you're into, he'd said. resigned, almost amused when that man put his hands on him, crashing into him.

mickey would keep him safe. mickey would always keep him safe now that he had him close again. but who kept him safe before now?

ian is always moving these days. he was always moving before, of course, but he always moved with purpose then. he moved because he had somewhere to be. now ian moves just to do it.

he's everywhere, all the time.

tonight, ian's sitting on the plush hotel bed when mickey pushes through the door. and he's still fucking moving. his fingers tap along the bedspread, his feet twitch against the carpet. his body trembles with something; he wriggles his shoulders as he stares down at his lap.

then he looks up at mickey and suddenly he's still.

ian's eyes are wide, and so aware as he stares at mickey. they're begging him, pleading with him to act, but mickey doesn't know what ian needs right now. he's not sure ian would know, either.

mickey steps closer, reaches out a hand to touch him. to ground him maybe, to let ian know he's here, that he's listening. but ian jerks back before mickey can touch his skin.

and his eyes widen impossibly further. ian's shaking his head in apology then, his shoulders raised by his ears as if to say that he doesn't know what's happening, either.

he's afraid, mickey realizes.

and mickey can't stand it.

he looks wildly around the room for something that might help. the mini bar is likely stocked, but there's no way they can afford it and ian probably shouldn't have booze like this. he could turn the tv on, but the sound might make things worse.

then his eyes land on the bathroom, on the deep tub in the corner.

"hey," mickey softly, resisting every instinct to touch ian. "sit here for a sec, i'll be right back."

ian raises his head in alarm and mickey holds up a hand to calm the panic. "i'm just goin' in there for a minute. you sit tight."

he rubs his hands over his face when he's in the bathroom, then slaps his cheek lightly to keep focused. the water is too hot at first; mickey cools it slightly as it fills the tub.

ian hesitates when mickey leads him into the bathroom. he brings an arm across his bare chest, covering himself even from mickey's eyes.

mickey turns, faces the wall. "i won't look, man," he promises. "just get in, relax." and he sags with relief when he hears ian unbuckle his jeans and sink into the water.

he turns, just to check on him, and ian's looking at him. his knees are drawn to his chest, but his shoulders are relaxed. he pats the rim of the tub.

tomorrow ian will be moving again. he'll dart around the gallagher house with ideas and plans. he'll run for miles in the cold and still shake with restlessness. he'll bring a fucking knife to man's throat.

and they won't talk about this. not for a long time.

but for tonight, he's still. ian lets mickey cup warm water in his hands and drop it down his back, over his head. he lets mickey rub soap over his skin, washing away the scent of another man.

he kisses mickey with wet lips.

4.

after everyone's gone, after the photos are posted and the pastor's rushed out the door, ian starts to think that maybe he did something wrong.

no, he didn't do anything wrong.

that homophobic prick deserves everything he got, and his fellow soldiers deserve the dignity ian's fought for. he was right, he knows it.

but mickey and mandy don't look happy. they look tense, talking quietly in the kitchen. mandy rubs at her arm as she speaks; mickey's hair is wild from his hands running through it.

every now and then they'll turn to look at him, eyes wide and cautious.

and even though ian knows he did a good thing, did the right thing, he feels a little sad right now. they did such a good thing today, such a clever thing, but now mickey and mandy just look stressed.

he smiles at mandy when she passes him on her way to bed. she smiles back at him, softly, sadly. ian's confused for just a moment before mickey comes to stand in front of him - and then all of his senses are consumed.

mickey reaches out a hand, pulling ian from the sofa. "please tell me you're good to go to bed now," mickey mumbles into his neck.

"'course i'm good," ian tells him. "let's go."

and ian is good. he's good and he wants to make mickey feel so good. when they crawl into bed, ian's on him in an instant, pressing wet kisses against his neck. he runs a hand down mickey's body, over his chest and belly, down between his legs -

where he's completely soft.

ian pulls back to look at him, and mickey doesn't meet his eye. he stares up at the ceiling, chewing his bottom lip between his teeth.

"you don't want...?"

"ian," mickey sighs, "it's just been a helluva day, man." he finally brings his eyes to lock with ian's. "not really in the mood."

and - oh.

ian stressed him out today.

ian fidgets quietly for a moment, embarrassed. he made mickey feel bad today, when they were supposed to be doing something good.

he still wants mickey to feel good.

so he pulls mickey closer, hooking his arm beneath him. mickey goes easily, settling against ian's chest. ian sinks his fingers into mickey's hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.

mickey hums in surprised delight, pressing closer to ian's body. ian feels him loosen as he scratches a little harder, moving his hands down to his neck and shoulders.

ian kisses mickey's head, his hair just illuminated by the moonlight outside. his breaths grow even as they lie in the dark. ian settles down against his own pillow. he won't sleep tonight, but he'll watch mickey rest.

and tomorrow will be a nicer day.

5.

there's not much of a celebration after the engagement is announced, the entire gallagher clan too bogged down by lip's milwaukee news.

they all sit in the living room for a while, toasting quietly with beers and drifting off with their own thoughts.

mickey watches ian fiddle with his beer bottle, not really taking any sips. and, god dammit, fuck lip and his bombshell news. they're getting married, finally; they should be cheering right now, not sitting around the living room like they're at a fucking wake.

when the others get up for second beers and snacks, mickey twists to catch ian's eye. he nods his head towards the stairwell - it's time to go up. ian shrugs in agreement and mickey helps him hobble up the stairs.

they undress quietly and climb into bed. mickey is flooded with disappointment again. this should be the moment for rigorous and athletic celebratory sex, and instead he's lying next to his sullen fiancé with a bum leg.

ian struggles to get comfortable. he wriggles around in bed, pausing every few moments to reach unsuccessfully for his broken leg. a stunted sound escapes his throat - like he wanted to groan in pain but swallowed it.

it's been a few days now. mickey's hurt and anger has settled beneath his skin, and ian's proposal tonight is a soothing salve. they fucked up at the courthouse. they didn't talk; they didn't listen.

and now ian's lying here, on the night of their actual engagement, trying not to let mickey know he's in pain.

"you hurtin'?" mickey asks at last.

"m'alright," ian answers softly. mickey just raises an eyebrow and ian says again, "mickey, i'm alright."

mickey props himself up on his elbow, looking down at ian's pinched face. this won't do. they should be close tonight.

mickey leans over and kisses ian's cheeks, his forehead, his jaw, his mouth. ian responds immediately, bringing his hands to cup mickey's face. he drags his nails down his neck and across his shoulders; mickey's skin is alight with pleasure.

mickey works his way down ian's body, kissing and nibbling and he goes. then, carefully, so gently, he moves ian's castless leg so there's room to settle between them.

"you good?" mickey asks, ready to stop if it's too much.

"good," ian breathes, watching mickey through heavy, hooded eyes.

mickey runs his tongue along the waistband of ian's boxers. he brings his lips to mouth along the line of his cock under the fabric. ian stirs, rocking his hips a bit.

"hey," mickey warns, lips still pressed against him, "you stay still."

"you can't do that and expect me not to move, mickey," ian laughs.

mickey reaches up to hold ian's hips in place. "don't move," he warns. "we're not fuckin' up this leg anymore."

ian's grin slips a little and he nods, swallowing thickly.

mickey returns his attention to ian's cock. he slides his boxers down, and kisses every inch of exposed skin. mickey's mouth is everywhere: around his hips, his belly, his thighs, and then - he licks up ian's length and feels ian jerk against him.

a rush of pure want runs through him. mickey loves this part, when ian's gasping above him, panting as he waits for it - for the heat, for the wet warmth of mickey's mouth.

and he loves giving it to him.

he takes ian in, feeling the stretch at his lips as he slides down. he moves slowly, deliberately, flicking his tongue as he goes.

"oh," ian breathes, "love you."

mickey hums and ian jerks again. he starts a steady, pulsing rhythm, sinking down and rising up, swirling his tongue at the tip.

"fuck," ian moans. "fuck, i can't wait to marry that mouth."

and mickey's got his hands on himself in an instant. he bobs mercilessly on ian's cock, keeping in time with his hard, rapid pulls on his own.

they come with gasping breaths, and ian reaches for mickey before he's even swallowed. he kisses mickey's face, his neck, his hair. "i love you," he laughs, "i love you."

mickey kisses at the fading bruise beneath ian's eye. tries not to hate himself for it. "love you," he promises. "i love, you too."

+1

it's a quiet evening at home. no gallaghers are having any emergencies, no one's tried to rob them lately, and they've got plenty of cash to order takeout for dinner.

so, naturally, something has to go wrong.

ian's flipping through channels when mickey decides it's time to eat. his phone is charging in the bedroom and he could go get it, but ian's legs are draped across his lap, and he doesn't really want to. he nabs ian's from the coffee table.

"can i borrow this?" he asks, already punching in the passcode.

"'course," ian chirps. then, a breath. "wait, mick - "

but mickey's already unlocked the phone, and now stares disbelievingly at the webpage ian left up. "how criminal charges can affect your right to adopt a child," he reads flatly.

ian's face is twisted in guilt when mickey looks back at him.

"thought we agreed to let this go for a while," mickey accuses. "you gonna pick up a kid without tellin' me?"

"jesus, mickey, no," ian sighs. "i was just lookin' at it."

"why, though?" mickey demands, pushing ian's legs off and standing. "why, after we agreed to shelve this, are you readin' shit like this?"

ian stands and grabs his phone back.

"because i can't just let it go," ian shouts. he tosses his phone on the couch and grabs mickey by the shoulders. "look," he says, softer, quieter. "i'm sorry you were surprised with that. sorry i didn't close the page. but, mick - i wasn't gonna say anything."

mickey breathes out harshly. his defenses soften, and he gestures for ian to continue.

"i'm not gonna pester you. but this is something i wanna prepare for. it's something i want to think about. that way, when you're ready, we're ready."

a series of images speeds through mickey's mind then. ian, face down in the bloody gravel at mickey's feet. himself, split lipped and terrified, rolling around with ian in the grass at the baseball diamond. ian again, clutching his leg at the bottom of the courthouse steps.

the two of them, a tangle of limbs on the alibi floor.

not once did they apologize. not once did they tend to each other's wounded bodies or hearts. they just wiped the blood away and moved on.

and they did fine. they healed. they came back together, scars and all.

but this is a different way to go. this thing they've been learning, this push and pull called marriage. mickey doesn't want to go to bed angry tonight. and he doesn't want ian to feel like he can't think about their future. not when they finally have one.

he brings his hands to grasp at ian's wrists.

"m'sorry for freaking out," mickey tells him. keeps his voice steady, his eyes steady. "sorry for snappin' like that. you can read whatever you want - you should."

ian dips down to kiss him then, and it feels like they've done something tonight. avoided something that could have otherwise unraveled them for days.

and mickey feels like maybe, someday, they'll be ready for the next big thing.