Chapter Text
Ian Calling
Mickey smiled at his phone sitting in the hands free slot against his dash, fishing his earphones from the neck of his shirt quickly, sparing at glance at Louie sleeping like the dead in the passenger seat.
“Hey,” he greeted, the past few days of stress seeping out through his feet at the little chuckle he got through the line.
“Hey, you. On your way home?”
“Yeah, 'bout half way. Just passed Star Mill, I think.” Too many places named 'Mill' out here. It was beautiful and green but after a few hours, it all looked the same.
“You took the toll road?” Ian sounded lightly surprised and like he was moving around.
“Yeah, don't mind though,” Mickey sniffed and rolled his eyes a little. The heating system in his car was nice but fuck, it dried his eyes right out. “The 94 had a fuck load of delays 'cause of collisions and whatever. This way has had one so far and a couple sets of roadworks so, if I gotta pay a toll to get home an hour or seven earlier, I'll pay the toll. No skin off my nose, 'cause now I'm thinkin' about it, it's comin' outta Lou's wallet,” Mickey grinned, glancing across briefly as Louie with a his mouth wide open, face smashed against the window. He'd be cleaning that, too.
Ian laughed and Mickey's cheeks bunched up with his smile. “You'll be passin' the back of where I live then, huh?”
“Yeah, didn't wanna go through MC, heard there's a family there who'll steal the wheels off your car while you're drivin' the fuckin' thing,” Mickey snorted when Ian scoffed and sang go fuck yourself. “How'd it go in Colorado?” Mickey asked, flicking his indicator to overtake. He checked his mirrors and cast his eye over his shoulder to double check as Ian let out a heavy breath and hummed, Mickey hitting the gas a little too hard at the sound.
“Yeah, so, I'm still here,” God did he sound pissed.
“Thought you were leavin'?” to go to LA and then home in two days. To come back into Mickey's life; no more Skype calls to be interrupted by family calls or career bullshit, no more phone calls like this, no more texts but actual words and touches. It'd been a damn month last week. Mickey wasn't best pleased but then he knew it wasn't Ian's fault, and Ian was probably far more pissed off than he was. Certainly sounded like he was, cursing to himself.
“Yeah, so did I. Turns out that no, I've gotta stay a bit longer to finalise events and routines that fall in the guidelines and rule books and all that utter shit. Like they haven't had me a week already? Could have done this days ago but no, I get it dropped on me today as I was packing to get my ass in a plane and get this tour over and done with. Got like, two or three more days here now, something like that anyway,” Mickey could see Ian in his head, hanging his own down, rubbing his jaw, tapping the floor with a heavy foot. “Yet another week added on. Not happy. Makes me rethink my whole career choice,” Ian sighed and Mickey wanted to reassure him that it was only days, he'd have plenty of time off soon, but he didn't – it'd only sound like he was pandering when there was no need. It was a shitty situation and no amount of it'll be OK's would soothe it.
“I said no!” Louie barked from his slumber, the sudden shout giving Mickey such a fright that he swerved into the next lane, checking his mirrors and reseating himself with a scowl. Thankfully, the road was pretty quiet and no 18-wheelers were creeping on him. Fucking sleep-talker.
“Motherfucker, I hate him,” Mickey hissed and Ian sent a laugh trickling into his ear.
“Louie?”
Mickey coughed and double checked his mirrors to make sure the five-o weren't tailing him from that swing he'd done, “Yah. You hear him?”
“No, what'd he do? Is he winding you up 'cause you're on the phone again?” Ian was finding this amusing. Wouldn't in a minute because this wasn't Louie mooning Mickey while at their hotel, or Louie moaning and fucking his pillow for shits and giggles or Louie yelling Mickey! Put your dick away! I told you, I don't wanna fuck you. I know you're desperate but... That punch Mickey hit his titty with was worth the screaming and the scowls he still got.
“He sleep talks,” Mickey said offhand, “Asshole just yelped somethin' and scared the fuck outta me so I swerved into another lane.”
“Oh shit.”
Mickey gave a sidewards nod and flicked his light again, ready to overtake an RV covered in glitzy shit, “Oh shit is right.”
Ian snorted and was quite for a couple of minutes, both content to listen to the other shuffle or sniff or whatever, having gotten used to the silences where'd they'd probably stare at one another had they the choice, the quiets comforting. “So, how did it all go?”
Mickey blew a whistle, low and heavy and he gave no shit if Louie woke up now, was tempted to swing back into his lane now he'd passed the RV, clack Louie's skull off the glass maybe. “As you'd imagine,” Mickey supplied, checking his rear view as he ducked back in, “He didn't wanna go to start with, you know that, and then he got stupidly excited until we passed into Detroit and then I had to lock the doors 'cause, as we got closer to Jake's apartment complex, I wasn't sure if he'd attempt a fuckin' drop and roll out the door. Seriously,” Mickey chuckled as Ian laughed, “He was terrified. Terrified. Don't care how much of an asshole I am but I found it hilarious, actually laughed in his face. His own damn fault. He told me he'd sort it and kept planting his feet so... I gotta step in and drag, right? Can't help it if Louie looked like the fuckin' reaper was tryin' to kiss him. I was inconvenienced, least I could do is enjoy his stressin'.”
“Inconvenienced,” Ian parroted cheekily and Mickey wished he was in the car because he'd maybe pinch his leg, maybe grope him, who knew.
“Yep, sure was.”
“Were not. You wanted to do it you fuckin' liar!”
Mickey inhaled in mock scandal and grinned out at the approaching, endless road ahead of him, “Yeah, yeah. Have you ever met sad Louie?” Ian made a negative hum and Mickey flicked his brow up, “Exactly. You don't wanna either. It was long overdue and I hate meddling but I had to...” Mickey did feel awkward still, for having stepped in and meddled as he had but he felt it necessary.
“So what happened after you muscled him out of the car?”
Mickey glanced to see Louie shift, head sliding further down the glass, “He tried to run of course. I'm not kiddin', tried to bolt down the street. So, I chased him and got the back of his shirt and told him to man the fuck up 'cause I did not just drive over five hours for him to chicken out on me. Jake already knew we were comin' so, we turn around and head back to the buildin' and he's standin' next to the doorman with the most painful look on his face. Ian, it hurt to look at him. He looked like disappointment and heartbreak and all kinds of desperate, like he wanted to touch Lou and like he wanted to turn the hell around and never look his way again. Kinda horrible really.”
“Jesus.”
“So,” Mickey took a heavy breath and shifted in his seat a bit, “The first hour in Jake's apartment was so tense I swear I could of gathered the air and beat them both to bits with it. They barely looked at each other, didn't speak, didn't fuckin' move, man. I got 'em outside and tried to break the tension with an activity but like fuck could I find anythin' that could do it so, took them to the hotel we stayed at. I'd booked adjoinin' rooms 'cause of my uh, terrors, and told them to go into Louie's and hash it out but you know, I’d be next door and if they got too aggressive... I have never heard a fight like it. I think punches might have been thrown but I heard no shouts for help or saw any bruises or blood after, but damn. Vicious. I tried to block it out but I had to listen on the off chance that they'd start a brawl. Wouldn't put that passed them again, not after Korea.”
Ian agreed with a hum, sounding like he was eating but deeply curious so Mickey rolled his neck a little and carried on with the last four days. “Second day was not much better but at least they spoke to each other. 'K, it was laced with bitchy comments and sarcasm and scowls but still, progress. Third day we went out and I stayed back, trailed them, but far enough that I couldn't hear anythin'. By the evening, my feet were close to fallin' off but they were smiling and bumpin' each other and behavin' like fuck all had ever happened. Was great, I mean, about fuckin' time, but yeah. Fourth day, yesterday, I got told to go do whatever I wanted and I went and found the ice centre, bumped into some rival players and had a day of it. Louie didn't come back last night and I picked him up from Jake's before we hit the road. Fucker fell asleep within minutes so I actually don't know what's what, but he was smilin' and I swear to fuckin' God he's got a hickey on his ribs. I know they hit each other but Jake's hand ain't that small and Lou went cherry red when I spotted it while he acclimatized his giant ass to my car with a cat stretch.”
Ian ooooh'ed and almost squeaked, his voice clear and happy when he spoke, “So you think it's all sorted and they've worked it out and are makin' a go of it or just... I dunno, got stupid, fucked and are friends again?”
“No idea. All I know is there was smiles and almost fuckin'... bashfulness. On both parts. I got smilies and kisses in a text from Brooker and that's it, nothin' else. All's good but I can't say why yet, gotta badger Louie for the basic details when he wakes up,” Mickey said, smiling to himself. Never would he have thought he'd be a gossip but like he gave a shit? Louie and Jake patching things up had been a trying but good distraction from his own semi-loneliness; Ian had called, or he had called Ian, every few days if Ian could get chance early enough in the day and the last time they'd spoken had been a brief morning conversation as Mickey had been driving to pick Louie up to drag him to Detroit. Louie had thought they were going to Canada to do some pre-NHL things, so he'd packed, and had yelled a lot, for over an hour, once Mickey had told him the truth. All in all though, Louie had conceded that yes, it was needed and hyped himself up for the rest of the journey. Now everything seemed to be on the mend.
“You're a good friend to them, Moo,” Ian said with all the softness he could muster, rustling around on the other end. “So, I've finished my lunch and I'm being waved at by Lana. She looks miffed but then I wouldn't expect any less 'cause she's been in with officials while I've been outside. Gotta go Mick.”
With a lick of his lips and a sigh that deflated his posture to nearly half of what it should be when driving, Mickey nodded to the phone, “A'ight. I'll let you know when I get back so you know I'm OK or whatever.”
“Please! Speak soon, all right? So you can fill me in on the Fael fiasco. Won't be long 'til I can come see you for real, huh? Another week. Any longer and I'm gonna start crackin' skulls.” Ian sounded tired and Mickey could see him half bent over his lunch bag, rubbing his forehead like it might stave the growing migraine.
“Yeah, OK, tough guy,” Mickey snorted and muttered bye when Ian fucking ciao'ed him over-cheerfully, a loud beep sounding as the line cut off. It made Louie stir a little and grumble something in his coma but all the sound served up for Mickey was another thick, body sagging sigh that did nothing to soften the harsh reality of Olympic induced fame. If not for the few pictures he had on his phone and the random phone calls to hear that heavy tone of voice, Mickey knew he'd be struggling to really remember Ian Gallagher in all his fire-haired, smiling, tall-as-a-scraper glory.
A half hour passed to the sound of the road under the wheels of the car and Louie's broken breaths and snores. Mickey glanced across and licked his lip while his brow rose; Louie's hand was in his pants, not moving at all, but it was there, a sleep habit the blond had always had and much as it was some kind of comfort thing – I just gotta make sure it's there, Mick! - it still gave Mickey a disturbing twist in his gut. He looked back out at the road and grinned, spying one of the greatest wake-up calls he could have asked for.
“Lou?” Mickey asked, lower than would be enough to fully wake his friend. He repeated Louie's name every ten seconds, each one slightly louder and a bit more agitated until he was right behind the 'alarm clock'. Trying not to laugh, Mickey forced himself to sound absolutely terrified as he yelled, “Oh fuck, Louie! Louie!”
Louie jumped awake with a snort akin to a sow and shuffled around erratically as Mickey started yelling swears and noise, pushing right back into his seat for effect. Louie frowned and looked at what Mickey was staring at with utter terror and promptly started back-peddling, yelling and clawing at his seat, the window, the dash, anything he could reach.
“Mickey!”
“Louie!”
“Mickey!”
Mickey swerved the car a little and pulled into the next lane having looked to make sure it was clear while Louie very nearly passed out; Mickey shut up and grinned as he sailed passed the truck towing a van and waited for Louie's violent cursing to come.
In his seat, Louie had gone stiff and Mickey could see him turning oh-so slowly to stare at the side of his friend's head with what would definitely be a stare of complete hatred. Mickey glanced as he pulled back into the lane and saw Louie's sleepy, dead-pan, evil face. “You're a fuckin' asshole, Mick, a fuckin' asshole, you know that?” Louie said lowly, his voice so pissed and betrayed that Mickey cackled and had to shift a bit so he didn't slide into the foot well laughing.
“Shouldn't drool down my damn window then should you, you dipshit,” Mickey managed, wiping one eye while gripping the steering wheel with the other.
“I thought we were about to fuckin' die!” Louie was scowling so deeply that he looked like his face was melting. “It ain't your car.”
“S'my fuckin' car, man,” Mickey grumbled, spying a truck stop or something similar in the distance.
“Thought it was your dads?” Louie's face was open and curious now and red-creased with sleep and pressure marks from the window and door. Mickey shook his head, pursing his mouth a bit with exasperation.
“Told you that so you'd respect the thing a bit better than you would knowin' it's mine. It's brand new and now? Now it's got your fuckin' drool all over it,” Mickey started grinning again as Louie beamed at him like dribbling was some kind of accomplishment now the car was actually Mickey's and not Richard's. “Want some food?”
“Magical words,” Louie sighed, moving around too much in the space he had as he tried to get comfortable, plugging his phone into the stereo system with the AUX he somehow found in all the gadgety pockets. “Music time, Moo-”
“You fuckin' don't do this in my car, bitch, you don't,” Mickey warned with a laugh, knowing exactly what that meant. Louie simply wagged a finger as if to say 'ain't listening. Embrace this' as Baby Got Back belted out and Louie began his mimicking. Mickey took a deep breath and itched his jaw. How much longer until he could kick this idiot out of his car? He drowned out what he could by paying attention to the road and pulling off to get sustenance, maybe a fat doughnut to gag Louie with.
“Mickey got back!”
“Shut up, please God.”
“My anaconda don't want none-”
Mickey groaned out, “Should have left you in Detroit!”
“Dial 1-900-Milkovich-”
“OK, get the fuck outta the car, now...get!” Mickey rushed, un-clipping Louie's belt to shove him at the door.
Getting seated with coffee and stuffed-to-rafters sandwiches was easy enough, but getting Louie to stop fidgeting like he was sitting on glass was another thing. Mickey was sure he'd hadn't ever sighed as much in his entire life as he had done in the last five minutes. Glancing over his sandwich to see if any of the few patrons were getting as irritated by Louie's shifting and whining as Mickey felt, Mickey nailed his friend with a hot stare that said sit the fuck still so Mickey didn't need to bark it for the tenth time. Louie shrugged apologetically and took a huge bite of his lunch, chewing while looking out of the window over fields and road, still for now.
“Goddamn it,” Mickey bemoaned as Louie started moving again. Louie stopped chewing his new mouthful and gave Mickey a quizzical frown to which Mickey put his food down and pinched his nose. “You need some fuckin' diaper cream?” he asked, hands twitching fingers all over the place as Louie's frown went lopsided and one eye narrowed. “Woulda thought Brooker took better care of you considerin' you bein' so inexperienced with takin' it up the a-”
“Hey, fuck, whoa!” Louie choked as he swallowed, eyes watering as he gasped out, “That didn't- fuck, Christ. That didn't happen.”
“Then why you movin' like you've got gravel burn on your ass?” Mickey wondered as Louie gulped down water, picking his sandwich up slowly and knowing that if Louie started shifting again, he'd throw the thing at him.
“Your stupid car is why! Look, believe me or not here, what you think happened, didn't. Things were going that way but it just- just wasn't right to rush into that. See, I thought the car was your pop's so I didn't move the seat back or anything and I was curled up in that tiny as hell spot for a few hours and my damn ass and thighs are still waking up. They're full of pins and fuckin' needles,” Louie bitched, the steady, shared look he held with Mickey indicating that he really wasn't lying.
Mickey nodded a little. “Should have said somethin'. We could've walked around outside a bit,” Mickey shook his head at Louie's shrug and ate the rest of his sandwich, Louie aware of himself enough now that he didn't move all that much.
When he was done eating, Louie rolled his neck and leaned back against the booth, lazily watching Mickey drop his crusts on the plate. “Excited to see Ian?” Louie asked when Mickey was about to take a gulp of coffee.
Shaking his head a bit, Mickey looked into his mug, “Was. He's been delayed a bit longer.”
“Ah shit, bro,” Louie's tone was gentle and apologetic, as if him apologising would make it any better. The gesture was gratefully received though, Mickey kicking Louie's foot a little under the table, settling in comfortable silence twinned with disappointed sadness. “Hey,” Louie piped up after a few minutes, his shy smile plenty to catch Mickey's attention, “Worked out the tension with Jake and uh, working on...now? Us? Don't fuckin' know really, but we've got passed what I did and he's willing to work with me as long as I'm honest about what I'm feeling, thinking, that kind of thing, you know?”
Mickey felt a smile work its way across his face slowly at hearing that. Worked out the tension was an understatement from what Mickey had heard through the walls and across tables; Jake had given Louie serious hell for his behaviour and though Louie had argued back for a while, eventually, he'd opened his eyes and taken notice. He nudged Louie's foot again. “You OK with that?”
“I'm really OK with that,” Louie laughed out, “Said I should have spoken to him about my confusion and conflicting thoughts or whatever, or spoken to you. Don't know why I didn't- maybe fear of being rejected or havin' ya'll run off on me which, yes, I know wouldn't happen, but it felt like that. Maybe it was all too new and I was so used to being me that this new element fucked with me and I let it. It was an idiot move and I hurt him, me and you, well, messed you around more... I won't do it again, hopefully. He's willing to give this, whatever we got going on, another go as long as I give him a chance to help me understand and accept things for what they are. He's pretty decent.”
Mickey sipped the last of his coffee and gave Louie a smug look; open mouthed, teeth licking, folded arms, the lot. “I did tell you he was, man,” he said, “If that- if Jake is what you want, then I'm happy for you... You come talk to me if you can't talk to him, 'K? I don't want you hurtin' 'cause you've hurt him again, I don't want him hurt or both of you miserable or anythin' 'cause you've got stuff on your mind that you can't work out on your own, right? You told me years ago that it makes you no less of a person if you ask for help from those who love you, so practise your preachin', hm?”
Louie smiled softly and kicked Mickey's foot. “In all things but DNA... love you, man.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mickey scoffed, digging out his wallet. “Just want you happy... and now, needle free before you go gettin' back in my car. Out, c'mon, I need a nicotine hit and you need to walk yourself around. I am not havin' your fidgetin' ass for another few hours. Plenty of places to dump a body out here-”
“You are such an asshole!” Louie squawked as they left the stop to go out into the sunshine, though it was chillier than a walk-in fridge in the bright light. Mickey lit up and leaned against his car while Louie did laps around five 18-wheelers, getting stopped on his fourth round by a trucker whose cab was filled with Blackhawks memorabilia. The guy didn't want any pictures, but simply gushed about wins and watching the Games on the TV and in-game manoeuvres until his gushing slowed and he apologised for keeping them.
“No problem, man, seriously,” Mickey said, holding up his almost done cigarette for emphasis. The guy nodded and beamed.
“Come say hi after the next game we're in, yeah? Your excitement is contagious, dude, I gotta get me more of it!” Louie laughed and Mickey nodded in agreement. The trucker went a bit red faced and shyly said he would before jogging inside the stop. “I like fans like that.”
“Yeah, we all do, but you just like havin' fans in general,” Mickey snorted, striding over to his car before Louie could swat at him. “C'mon!”
The rest of the ride consisted of Louie screaming along to noughtie's club music, even managing to have Mickey yelling along to Cascada, but he ran out of steam as they entered the hectic streets of Chicago, the route taking Louie home first.
“Sure you don't wanna come up for a drink or some seriously out of control excitement a la Thor?” Louie asked as Mickey pulled up to the curb and cut the engine.
“Not today, man, nothin' personal or anythin',” Mickey said with a tight smile. His friend gave him a gentle smile back and twisted in the seat to face him. “What?”
“Thanks for forcing my hand, Mick. Needed to be done and I was too chicken shit to do it myself.”
Louie's shy words had Mickey reaching out to cup his jaw, “It was nothin', Lou-”
“Wasn't 'nothing', Moo. You drove me to Detroit, then put up with arguments and awkward shit and you did it all because you care so fuckin' much, man. You were pretty much by yourself the whole time, even when you weren't, and I … I just. You're so damn kind, Mickey ,and I love you so much, I really do,” Louie said fiercely and breeched the distance to hug Mickey as tight as the awkward lean would let him, planting a kiss to Mickey's forehead before pressing them together there.
“Just wanted you back, that's all. All the in-between bits were nothin' if I got that,” Mickey smiled and pushed Louie back before he could start ragging him about with more kisses and stupid smiles. “Get out of my car and go get attacked by your crazy dog so I can go home and shower.”
“The crazy dog you bought me, you mean.”
Mickey waved Louie off as he got out of the car and went to rummage in the boot for his bag. He came back to the driver window and yanked Mickey through it to kiss him on the cheek. “Yeah, get off me, c'mon, control yourself.”
“But you're so fuckin' pretty, Mickey! And your car is sexy as fuck too!” Louie chirped as he backed away, Mickey starting the engine.
“You think that when you thought it was my dad's?”
“Well, yeah, it's a fuckin' Mustang, Mick... See you soon, yeah?”
“'Course you will, bro,” Mickey called, grinning as he pulled off to Louie's elated laugh of fucking bro. With traffic, it took Mickey another forty five minutes to get home- his dad's house in the upper side, in the area of Boys Town, of all damn places, close to Belmont Harbour. I wasn't like the Boys Town everyone knew, far less clubby and more suburban with the tall houses and iron fenced frontages. Everything associated with the area, the things anyone thought of when some said Boys Town, was a good distance from the house. Mickey had lived there for three years before he'd realised what the area was called, so different it was. He pulled into West Hawthorne Place and hoped there was a spot to park near the house and thanked his stars when he saw an empty slot right out front. Living at home again was tight now he was a lot older and had moved out once, but still, it was home and it was comforting and safe while he hunted for his own place again. It wasn't something he was in a rush to do and wanted to take his time looking; Luke had taken his apartment from him before, something he'd worked on doing up and making his own so it wasn't a thing he was going to run at until he was ready to do it again. Bad memories would eventually be erased and be ready to be replaced with better, but for now, Mickey was good with staying home and neither of his parents minded in the least.
“I told you to call me when you left Detroit!” Mickey was greeted with the bark from Dean in the kitchen when he came through the door. “I've been worrying my heart to death here!”
“Whoa, hey, I could've been pop's comin' in for all you knew!” Mickey snapped back, grinning while hanging up his jacket and taking off his shoes.
“Yeah, no. I'm in here!” Richard chuckled from where his study was at the back of the house, behind the kitchen. Mickey shook his head and padded into the large kitchen, smirk dropping and hands up immediately when Dean rounded the counters to come at him with a raging face.
“I thought all sorts! Death, injury, muggings, shootings... Mikhaylo!”
“I'm sorry, I should have-” Mickey was cut off by a tight hug, his hands falling to Dean's back, “Called.”
“Yeah,” Richard's voice wafted through, drawn out and gentle in agreement, shortly before he appeared in the doorway leading from the kitchen to a short hall into his study, leaning on the frame in all his dark suited presence, a smile on his face, arms folded like he wanted to be childish and smug for no reason. “Glad you're not dead,” he said honestly, but gave Mickey finger guns and winked.
“What the fuck, Dick?” Dean snapped in shock, letting go of his son in favour of giving his husband a nasty look while Mickey merely saluted his pops and sniggered his way across the room to the fridge for a cold pepsi. How easily his dad's nickname could be used as a call and an insult. Before he forgot to, Mickey fired off a quick I'm back safe text to Ian, pocketed his phone and seriously considered a bath over a shower.
Mickey was watching something in the living room when Dean slid in quietly and sat on the massive foot rest right in front of Mickey, between him and the TV. “What?” Mickey sighed, turning the TV off because why bother even trying to focus on what he'd been getting into.
“Where's the boy?”
Mickey frowned and shook his face because what? “Excuse me? What d'you mean...Oh. He's uh, been delayed a few more days, s'all. Don't give me that look, I'm fine, see?” Mickey gestured to his sprawled self on the sofa but Dean popped an eyebrow and looked less than convinced. “Dad, I've been used to this limbo for weeks. First, yeah, OK, it was rough, but I'm so used to it being phone calls and texts that him being absent a little while longer really isn't settin' anythin' off, I swear.”
Dean still didn't look like he really believed Mickey but he caved with a few bobs of his head and licked his lip. “You should go out with Louie.”
Mickey gave his dad a long look. “I've just spent the best part of a week with him, two long car rides... I only dropped him home a few hours ago! I don't need to go out, dad. Not tonight.”
“OK, but there's a friendly hockey game going on down at the open rink... it's gonna be gone tomorrow because the weather's turning,” Dean said in a manner only a coercing parent could, all lilting tones and an air of I'm not really trying to trick you but I really am. Mickey's hard look deflated the egging tone and Dean sagged. “Bub, you look bored as fuck and an hour or two doing what you do best could lift you a bit, get you through the next few days.”
Mickey knew his dad meant well but he also knew what he was doing. “You want me out of the house?”
“It's not like that-”
“Seriously, Jesus,” Mickey sighed, his own teasing lilt in play as he got up and really played at being 'pushed out', “If you wanted to fuck, you only gotta say you know? Don't need to do all this idea planting bullshit with me.”
“I don't- Mickey!” Dean looked affronted when Mickey turned to look at him from the doorway. “I am not throwing you out to... I'm not.”
Mickey folded his arms and grinned at Dean's flustered look. “Liar.”
“Engaged in such things before you got home, kid, so he's telling you the truth,” Richard said from behind Mickey, making him jump a bit and crease his face as the words sank in. “Look, you know how Louie's moping was really starting to upset you and worry you? You saw him dropping so you got him out and helped fix things. We're doing the same here. You might say you're OK, but you aren't. Besides, we're going to this friendly game ourselves and thought it'd be fun if you guys went and hashed it out, had a bit of fun now you've got things sorted... they are sorted, aren't they? God, please tell me they are because I can't deal with Louie moping around, eating my fucking ice-cream tubs any more than you could.”
Mickey put his hand up and quickly put an end to Richard's near childish frustration. “Ye-yeah, Christ. They're good as far as Louie says and I believe him 'cause his whole fuckin' aura has changed. You really think I'm moping?”
Dean gave a lopsided smile and shrugged. “Yep. Just want you to have a bit of fun, take your mind into something else you love.” Mickey declined to deny what his dad meant and conceded after a few moments of looking between the softly encouraging faces of his dads. Tired as he was, he was bored and endlessly trying to remember the last time he'd seen Ian and touched him was starting make his bones ache with the need to see his smiling face, and soon. Hockey was always a good distraction and something that Mickey's blood ran for and so, forgave his dad's over-the-top foam hands and ridiculous jersey's, and drove them to the rink half hour later with his stick, skates and a basic training kit in a bag.
“Thought...shit, hell on fire, ah!” Louie wheezed after twenty minutes of play, circling Mickey even as he bent to put his hands on his knees and gasp like a fish. “Seriously, thought this was meant to be a friendly thing?” he panted, looking out over the rink of playing guys with a genuine wave of disbelief and suspicion.
“What, you got pins and needles again, baby boy?” Mickey taunted, biting his tongue cheekily as Louie scowled at him. “It is a friendly. I ain't been hit or nothin' yet.”
“Yeah, 'cause all the fuckers are coming after me!” Louie hissed, glaring and shading his eyes when the flood lights came on due to twilight setting in. It's was all kinds of beautiful across the lake with the sky pinking through blues and orange. A whistle blew and Mickey shoved his mouth-guard back in and shot out to play with Louie groaning and cursing behind him; his noises lasted seconds before he was swearing loud for having been tackled again. Mickey could only wonder at how many parents were going to chew his ass after the game about his louder-than-necessary language. No doubt Louie would charm them quiet, he always managed to, if he got out of this alive. Mickey very nearly slid into the barrier wall with how much of his attention got stolen by Louie in a ball, cursing and whining.
“You're shamin' the Hawk name, man!” Mickey laughed out and got a thick, gloved middle finger for it. Though it was a friendly, and far more so than the one they'd had with Britain in South Korea, Mickey did get checked a few times and lost his footing on the unkempt ice on a fast, swoop of a bend, very nearly upending himself over the barrier wall and into where the coolers and substitute kit was. He did, however, lose his stick over it and lost sight of it when it collided with the stand holding the rest, sending them scattering off the gangway and down the grass beneath. “Fuckin' great,” he groaned, trying to spy the tiny smiley face but getting no luck in the darkened space. The whistle blew and Mickey was grateful, though he wanted to play some more; the rink was to be swept and opened for the public to throw themselves all over and Mickey could take his now freed up time to scrounge through about forty hockey sticks for his own.
“Mick! Mick, come get a drink?” Louie shouted over the din of people and skates, standing at the side with Dean and Richard leaning on the wall next to him holding bottles of bud and steaming hot boxes of something.
“Thanks,” Mickey grumbled as he took a bottle from Richard and nodded down at the box in his hand to distract from freaking out over losing one of his sticks; he had four, he could lose one but not that one, and not without a fucking fight. “S'that? Smells good.”
“Freshly fried doughnuts with sugar. Dean has chilli cheese fries but you know he won't be sharing those.”
Mickey was barely listening as he took a hot doughnut and started looking over to where he'd lost his third arm. “Sup with over there, man? You wanna take out the barrier for blocking your fall?” Louie laughed.
“Lost my fuckin' stick over it.”
“Oohh not the Olympic smiley one?!”
“Yahuh,” Mickey licked his mouth of sugar and handed the half munched treat and his bottle back to Richard without his pop's being ready, hardly able to take the arm-full with his own full hands. “Not being rude but I really am- gonna go get it before someone else does. Two minutes.”
“Take your time!” Louie called after him which got Mickey frowning a little; he'd find his stick in point three seconds flat and then he'd be chugging his Bud and scarfing doughnuts like a ravenous child on the little ramp, hopefully watching people dorking around so much on skates that a fair few hit the ice with their asses. To say that walking on grass of out deep winter was difficult and near ankle-breaking in his boots would be the understatement of the year so far. Mickey was struggling to even get to the pile of sticks and those scattered everywhere let alone begin his search.
“Son of a bitch, I'm gonna break somethin'...” in the end, Mickey got on his knees and started collecting the sticks, eyeing each one that looked like his as he went along the ground.
“Need some help?” someone offered close by, thick-voiced and sounding grumpy.
“Nah, I'm cool, man.”
There was a hum and Mickey sniffed, his nose chilling in the cooling air, and cursed out the amount on the ground. So much for fun.
“This one's yours.” Approaching feet had Mickey sighing because he really didn't need some idiot thinking they knew what fucking stick he was looking for, interrupting what he was very nearly done doing. The end of a stick was put in his line of sight and he glanced at it half-assed, then stared at the golden smiley peeking at him.
“How'd you know it was mine?” Mickey wondered as he got up, thinking himself a dumbass straight away because it was most likely some die hard fan who took notice of the make-up of the tools their team played with. He brushed off his knees and was ready to greet this guy with a cheery disposition, maybe offer him a beer for being kind enough to come help in the first place, but the whole thought died immediately when his brain screamed and his heart dropped to his feet in shock at who he was looking at holding the other end of his stick with a smile.
“Louie and his gold smilies... got one on my skates.”
Mickey's body was stuck, rooted, never to be moved from this moment of unreal brilliance. “Holy fuck... ho- fuck, Ian,” he breathed, flushing warm when the smile on Ian's face grew into teeth and rosy cheeks and shining eyes. Greens eyes quickly looked around and up over the lip of the gangway to see if anyone was actually paying attention, Mickey staring at Ian with his mouth gradually dropping open, before he gave a hard tug on the stick and cradled Mickey's head in one big hand, the other fisting in the material at Mickey's hip. The kiss was fiercely lit with all of the longing that last month had been alive with, need and want and passion and emotion coming out bright and it was as ever consuming as it had begun the first time they'd kissed. Mickey was burning with electric currents all through his system with every slide of lips, every rushed breath through Ian's nose, with every touch of each fingertip in his hair, like lightning forking across the sky, he felt Ian everywhere.
“I've missed you,” Ian managed to get in as he changed angle, Mickey humming at the statement while he clung to Ian's coat and let the guy step as close as possible, his feet either side of Mickey's blades. Shit as the grass was and despite having sunk into it, Mickey was very close in height to his skater, so much so that their noses bumped often and Mickey gave up one hand to cup it around the column of Ian's neck. The weight of just how much he'd missed this guy hit Mickey hard, a horse kick in the chest hard, and he felt so elated and high and alive that his blood pressure was racing into faint-worthy territory.
“Thought-” Mickey broke away to get some air and calm himself down a bit, Ian panting and grinning in his hold very nearly destroying that and rendering him completely breathless. “How are you here?”
“I lied and I'm sorry. Kinda wanted to do this whole surprise thing, be all romantic and stuff...I left LA yesterday, made sure I got ahead of my schedule, or rather, Lana did.”
Mickey raised his brow and licked his lip, “Surprised the shit outta me, man. Sappy as hell but Christ, Ian... you're here.”
Ian beamed and ran his hand down the side of Mickey's face gently, thoughtful and serene, “I realised that I couldn't be too sappy though, not once I'd seen you. All I wanted was to kiss you and touch you, fuck flowers and sweeping you off your feet in front of your parents and Louie... you losing the stick was very fortuitous indeed, Moo.”
Even though Mickey now knew his parents had something to do with this, he wasn't even a tiny bit annoyed with that, not now he was holding Ian as tight as Ian was holding him, hugging in the dark, surrounded by scattered sticks and battered grass and the sound of laughter and chatter with slicing blades and gentle music. Pulling off his gloves so he could feel Ian's hair under his fingers, Mickey inhaled the warm smell of his skin where he pressed his nose against Ian's neck, his body trying to press impossibly close when Ian overlapped his arms around the base of Mickey's back and pulled him a little.
“Mick?” Ian said after a long silence of breathing together and relishing in this being very real, each man solid for the other rather than some crackly voice or dodgy skype connection.
Mickey pulled back as Ian loosened his arms and gave a little shake of his head with a hmm to say 'yeah' without breaking the moment with his shattered voice. Ian simply smiled and kissed him alight with gentle swoops of his lips and chasing licks of his tongue and sure touches to his face and neck with long, sure fingers with pads that held memory, Mickey powerless to stop himself from doing the same back, Ian all but melting against him with a groan so deep it shouldn't have been heard.
Mickey's phone buzzing deep within his zipped up pockets had them break apart slowly, hardly wanting to at all. Even opening the text, Mickey kept one hand gently pressed to Ian's jaw, thumbing the soft skin near his beautifully gentle doe-eye.
From: Dad
Come get your things xxx
In other words – bring me the boy. Mickey snorted and tipped his head in the direction of the gangway. “Someone wants me to share for a minute. You comin' with me this way? I gotta use the gangway, can't walk on these on the grass and gravel, gonna break my ankles.”
Ian nodded and picked up Mickey's stick. “Could carry you?”
“Not today, solider,” Mickey chuckled, holding onto Ian's hand as he hobbled, not letting go until they were in full view of the skating public. Ian was no further than a step behind Mickey's clanking boots, head ducked a little, maybe trying to hide in his coat collar or maybe because he was feeling shy all of a sudden, about to be accosted by Mickey's dads and Louie. Mickey couldn't help but smile stupidly at his feet as he approached the back of Dean bouncing on his feet like he was searching through everyone to get a peek of his son.
“Thank you,” Mickey said into Dean's ear as he hugged him from behind. Dean relaxed straight away and gripped Mickey's hand tightly.
“You're welcome, Moo,” he said with a smile lacing his voice, turning as Mickey let go after one hard squeeze. “Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes!” Dean beamed at Ian, hooking his hand with Ian's as he put it out with a laugh, hugging quickly.
“Hello, Sir.”
“Oh don't with that, good grief!”
“Fire cracker!” Louie's yell was loud and clear from behind and Ian went rigid in preparation for the back tackle that came not a second after, Louie nearly taking him clean out. “Was he where I said?”
“Yeah, Lou-”
Mickey gawked a bit and tried to give a very betrayed look but Louie's wiggly brows and grin put an end to that. “You knew he was here?”
“He was in my apartment. Got there about an hour before we did!” Louie cheered. “I knew you were gonna refuse a drink so... I know you better than anyone, bro,” Louie winked. “I'm so fuckin' happy to see that smile on your face, man, so I can't feel bad for hiding him from you for that little bit longer.”
Mickey couldn't say anything to Louie's smile and hugged him tight when he came close for it, kissed the blond all over his sunny face for being a secretive little fuck. Ian was released from Richard's hold with a laugh at something he'd said as Mickey felt his bag bump against his leg.
“So, you'll want your shoes, right? We've got our things. Already knew about it before we left the house so, we're all set to go home with Louie and Dickie pulled a fast one so we're in the city tonight. Posh hotel! So,” Dean smiled, kissing Mickey's cheek before hushing in his ear, “You get a night with him, alone, and I get to-”
“Please don't finish that!"
“-eat nice food, in bed, and have a night of peace myself, knowing you're happier than you've been since you came out of the airport.”
Ian was red faced and flustered once he;d been given goodbye squeezes, thanks and kisses, the latter from only Louie, though Dean very nearly planted one on him. Mickey watched on as he tied his shoes and zipped up his bag.
“Just gonna pop these in the car,” he said and Ian walked at his side with a smile the entire way to it, nudging their shoulders with sky looks and chuckles.
“This one?” Ian said as Mickey popped the boot of his dark blue Mustang, passing over the stick absently.
“Yeah. Nice, right?”
“Fucking gorgeous, Mickey,” Ian marveled, his eyes bright and praising as he looked over the motor. Mickey leaned against it once he'd shut the boot down and smiled shyly when Ian's eyes landed on him. “Truly beautiful,” Ian said softly, not trying to hide the fact that he wasn't talking about the car any more, just what he could see in front of him. Ian was looking at Mickey like nothing else existed in the quite of the car park, or in the world for that matter and it was soul-stunning.
“Wanna go?” Mickey asked quietly when Ian's smile threatened to stick permanently. Total dork.
“Oh, can we go look at the lake for a minute? I haven't seen it in ages, and I'm pretty sure that last time I did, it was stormy and rough, not clam and clear like now. D'you mind if we do that?”
Mickey smiled and pushed off his car, “'Course not.”
Ian was stealthy, but Mickey had forgotten just how much of a creature of stealth he was, and was a little shocked when Ian took a hold of his hand, walking so close to Mickey's side that if anyone were to look, they'd not see the hold Mickey was revelling in; looking about out of habit, Mickey saw nobody where they had walked to, nothing and nobody, all too caught up in the rink and the better spots further down or closer to the harbour further up. Ian gave Mickey a knowing smile of I don't mind, I checked too.
They stood and leaned against the railings, quietly watching the blinking of the buoys and passing boats far out on the inky water, touching arms but saying nothing. Mickey took to watching Ian looking out over the lake like he'd never seen it before, his face open with fascinated awe, mouth parted like he wanted to keep saying 'wow' because it was written all over him. His clear wonder had Mickey viewing him, and the lake, like he'd been gifted with the most heavenly vision to come from the universe.
“Mickey?” Ian called gently after a long time, his soft voice breaking through the sound of the lake water tapping against the shoreline and the distant sounds of the ice rink. Mickey was looking out at the reflection of the moon on the surface, remembering a story Richard had read him about a mouse, or something, believing the moon had fallen from the sky and was drowning in the pond. “I love you, Mick.”
There was no second guessing exactly what he'd just heard because Ian had said it honestly, clear and genuine even though his voice was soft and full of the meaning. Mickey's body flashed hot; through every vein he had ran liquid fire, ice skates and green eyes and smiles that he would never tire of being gifted with and safety and honest trust and loyalty.
“You love me?” Mickey could hardly get the words out of his drying throat as he turned his head and spied Ian smiling out at the lake, warm and dream-like.
“Like the lake loves the moon,” Ian breathed with a sharp nod, pushing away from railing to turn Mickey and press him back against it with gentle moves and sighs so sweet. “Because of the moon, the water moves-”
“The sea does that-”
Ian laughed and pressed a finger over Mickey's lips. “Can you not smart-ass me right now? The water moves, and without it, they wouldn't. Every time the lake can't see it, the vision of the moon is all it has to hold on to, a memory but it knows it's there, and when it can, it has the moon within it's hold, like tonight. And I'm sure it doesn't ever want to let go, like I don't.”
“You think the moon loves the lake?” Mickey asked quietly, stunned by Ian and his gentleness and heart-aching honesty Mickey hadn't heard for so long. Ian hummed like he thought so, tracing his hands up Mickey's arms to his jaw.
“I'd like to think so, because it goes into the lake's embrace whenever it can, and though it may have hidden behind clouds for a while, it never went away truly,” Ian said matter of factly, a wink or two with a smart ass smile to boot. “The moon is quiet and may not speak, but it looks at the water with more than words while the lake sings away, happy with everything it-”
Mickey shut him up with a deep kiss of his own, his heart banging with the words and references and how Ian still knew how he worked. But Ian, even through phone calls and video chats, had always been wide-eyed and watched or listened to Mickey like he was everything. “If you'll keep me, I'll keep you,” Mickey said slowly as he nosed Ian's jaw and felt a sense of consuming want, to have every part of the guy, as Ian closed his eyes and felt the touch as though for the first time. “I love you.”
Ian had never smiled so satisfactorily, not even a medal had brought out such a stunning sight, and even with his eyes closed, Mickey could see his fucking soul burning through. Shaking with his admittance, and knowing how real it all was, Mickey pushed his face into Ian's collar and felt the steady heart beat from his throat tapping under the skin. And Mickey's, despite feeling like he was spiralling, matched its song as the man who owned it dropped his nose into Mickey's hair and breathed in, circling Mickey tight within his arms. The contented, grounding feeling Mickey was awash with was all very new, and though it was, it somehow felt like it wasn't, like it'd always been in him but only now, because of this fire-haired anchor he honestly loved, only now was it coming alive.
Mickey could feel the smile against his head and barked a wet laugh when Ian said, “Fucking oranges,” through a kiss to the dark softness. Mickey kind of really loved oranges.