Work Text:
He's not exactly sure how his day turned out to be so fucked up. He remembers the morning. He remembers waking up getting spooned by Ian, which he would've bitched about, had Ian been awake. He remembers that familiar poke in the back (big poke in the back, goddamn it, Ian), remembers rolling over and on top of his boyfriend. Remembers hand jobs that lead to Ian biting so hard into Mickey's shoulder he can still see the imprint of teeth. Remembers breakfast, remembers the way the sugary filling of the pop tart had felt on his tongue, the way the same filling tasted on Ian's lips. He was sure today would've been a good day, just because he knows this shit. He can tell, just by the way he woke up, how a day's gonna be. Back when he still used to live with his father, he determined the quality of a day by the way Terry woke up. How many shots of vodka he needed in the morning (1 to 3 meant 'good', 4 to anything else meant 'get the fuck outta there'), if he was still drunk or not. He was normally always right. Not today, though.
Today, he spends half of his afternoon holding a bloody washcloth to Ian's face. They're in his office, sitting down on a few old chairs that Mandy gave him when he first got promoted. It's silent except the shrieking noises of the chairs every time one of them moves. Ian sniffs from time to time, but that's all. Complete silence.
“I'm sorry,” Mickey whispers, and if it wasn't so goddamn quiet Ian would've overheard it. The hand he uses to hold the washcloth keeps touching Ian's cheek by accident. “I fucked up.” Because, well, he did. These are his employees. They aren't supposed to get punched in the face because one of the girls got a panic attack and he didn't react quick enough. He's been trained for this kinda shit, but still, seeing someone get triggered so violently still reminds him a little of himself, back in his teenage years. Of Mandy. Of two different group homes and late night calls and of him waking up every night, soaked in sweat. He hesitated. Look where that got them.
Ian sighs, turning his head away from the washcloth that is by now soaked with blood. The cut on his cheek stopped bleeding, finally. “'S not your fault.”
Mickey's body is finally back under control, so he stands up and inspects the wound. Not too bad (he's had worse), doesn't look like it needs stitches (his siblings have had worse).
He gets the washcloth with the disinfectant on it and gets to work. After all, he's had a lot of experience over the years.
“Should probably get some nurse to look at this, someone who knows what they're doing, you know …”
“You know what you're doing.” Ian's hand grabs his free one, rubbing soothing circles on his wrist, right where his blue veins are visible. His heartbeat quickens, the way it always does when Ian touches him. “Come on, we're south side, we've had worse. It was only a punch.”
Mickey grins, swipes his tongue over his lower lip and grabs the tissue from his desk. “A pretty good punch. Who could've known, right?” Ian hisses underneath him when he gently wipes away the blood from his face. His left eye is already bruising. The sight of it, blue on pale white, feels so familiar Mickey zones out for a minute, trying to count how many times he's had colors like this on skin. He would be old and cranky and still wouldn't have figured the exact number out.
“Where's she now? Jayden, I mean?”
“She's calming down,” he replies, inspecting his work for the last time and deeming it nice enough. “If I see you anywhere near her, I'm gonna kick your ass.” He's furious already that Ian refuses to go home and just rest, claiming that he's had worse. He probably has, but still.
“Pretty sure I could take you.”
“Says the guy who got punched by a 14 year old girl.” They both chuckle, even if it really isn't funny. Ian stands up, seemingly wanting to go back to work (who gives up a day off because he wants to work?? He's half convinced by now that Ian is a weird orange alien in human form), but Mickey needs to make sure he's understood. He's had enough bloody cloths for today. So he stops Ian from going by grabbing onto his hand, firm but not enough to be uncomfortable. “I mean it, Gallagher.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Ian-”
He turns around, clearly annoyed. Ian Gallagher pouting is always fun. “Fine, I promise I won't go after her. Happy now?”
Mickey kisses him, just because he wants to, quick and fleeting, before whispering “Asshole” into his pink lips and practically running out of his office. If Ian's cheeks seem to be impossibly red as he passes him, well, that's just bonus.
–
Jayden's one of the new ones. Been in Juvie twice already, her rich dad miraculously getting her out of it and into a group home every time. He remembers what they said to him when they handed her over to him. 'Her dad's an old family friend, a really nice guy. Take good care of her.'
He takes good care of everyone, no matter their father.
He's seen the signs, the subtle shift in tone every time she talks about her dad, the way he was supposed to come pick her up today and she quite literally punched someone. He knows the telltale signs of child abuse when he sees them, and Jayden for him is like a big red warning sign.
She reminds him a little bit of the old him. The one that broke people's noses instead of tend to their wounds. He knows that anger, seated deep inside your gut, that makes you want to hurt others. The hate for anyone (everyone), for turning their back on you. For standing idly by while you're on the ground, bleeding. He's felt it his entire life.
The thing is, though, that most people don't see it like that, can't. Never been exposed to the shit he had to go through, probably had dads that didn't hit them and moms that didn't die of an overdose. They only see the exterior. The violent behavior, two Juvie visits, antisocial, uncooperative. Lost cause. Next.
One of the reasons he took this job is because he doesn't want people like Jayden get labeled like that. He doesn't want kids getting put into the system just because they're inconvenient. He knows enough about that shit to write a book.
He finds her in what he calls the 'Calm the fuck down'-room. She's sitting down, staring lifelessly at the balloon thing they made him get in there (they said it would help, as if staring at those big ass eyes is gonna help anyone). Her make up is mushed, black roads running down her cheeks. She looks fucking miserable.
Mickey almost wants to go in when he notices a flash of red by her side, almost getting shielded from the wall, but he would notice that red anywhere. That fucker.
“What are you doing here?” If they were alone, he's sure he'd yell at him, kick the door open with as much power as he can muster, but then again they're not alone. He'll be damned if his screaming is gonna upset Jayden further, so he just puts as much venom in his voice as possible. Ian's visibly flinching when he hears it, so that worked. He looks a little pathetic from his position, one eye swollen and already bruising, a big cut under the other one.
“Look, Mick, I -”
He's so not in the mood for that stupid nickname. “Don't. Just go.”
Ian's already starting to stand up when a small voice, much more feminine, beats them to it. “Don't go. I want him to stay.” It shocks him at first, here he'd be so sure Jayden would become a silent mess, judging from her file, but apparently not. Her voice doesn't even shake one little bit, no anger or fear in it. Nothing, really. She almost sounds like a robot, and she still hasn't moved an inch from her previous position.
“You … you sure?”
“Yeah.”
Mickey sighs. Great. “Fine, then. But I'm staying here.” He plants himself right next to her other side, shooting daggers Ian's way for not following orders that were clearly non-negotiable. Just because he's banging the boss doesn't mean he gets to disobey him.
He's not sure how long they spend there, all staring at the balloon monstrosity in front of them. Ten minutes probably, but it feels way longer than that. It seems like him and Ian have come to the silent agreement that they're just gonna keep their mouths shut and let Jayden talk it out.
After an eternity and a half, Jayden speaks again, mumbling the words into her sweatshirt. “Sorry for punching you.”
“You've got a pretty mean right hook.” She smiles, in a shy sort of way, and it almost feels like a glimpse of the real Jayden. The one under all the 'no bullshit' exterior. He thinks he quite likes that Jayden.
Mickey could leave it at that, but then again this is his job, so he needs to make sure Jayden knows what's up. If he has to interrupt this sweet bonding moment, then so be it. “Jayden, you know you can't just punch people when you're upset.”
“I -”
“No, listen to me. This sort of thing might not seem like a big deal to us because we're trained for this, but if you do that outside these walls, in school maybe, they're not gonna take kindly to us explaining that you were having a panic attack. My brothers have been in and out of Juvie almost their whole childhood, okay? It's not a solution.” He remembers quite a few close calls where he almost got there himself, but he never did. He blames it on the fact that he only lived in the south side til he was 16. He sighs. Not the time. “The next time you feel like freaking out, I want you to have some sorts of coping mechanism. You talk about that in your therapy sessions, don't you?” A nod. “Good. What did they tell you?”
“Same bullshit they always say.” She's playing with the hem of her oversized hoodie, the scars on her wrist visible from time to time. White lines on even whiter skin. Reminds him of his own.
“Hey, watch it! I know it doesn't seem like it now, but those people really know what they talk about.” He's not even aware when Ian started involving himself in the conversation. He feels a little bad for forgetting about him. “Trust me, I know.”
He knows Ian's still going to therapy. Knows that it's mostly check ups, seeing if he's stable, if he takes his meds. Mickey never goes with him (sometimes he wants to), though, and they hardly talk about it. He remembers the big talk they had after he got sight of the scars, but that was months ago. At the beginning of their relationship, if you will. He's never seen him willingly talk to someone about that kinda stuff outside of his home. He guesses that's about to change, though.
“You wanna see mine?” Ian asks, pointing towards his own wrist and then pulling his sleeve up. They're almost gone, those white lines. Different from the ones on Jayden's wrist, these ones are only there to tell a story, now. Mickey knows what it feels like to kiss those lines, to run his tongue along them and remember the story about them.
He can hear Jayden asking something, but he's still fixated on those scars to pay attention.
“You know what's the worst thing about having a mental illness? Not the mania, or the mood swings. It's the way your head is so full with voices that you just, I don't know, kinda lose yourself. It's like living in a head with different personalities, different ideas, who all want you to do something, say something, go that way or this way. Think of it as the angel and the devil on your shoulder, and then multiply those by thousand. When I was manic I used to write all of it down, every thought, but I couldn't even finish a sentence before I would start another. Once the roller coaster comes down to the ground, once I couldn't get out of bed anymore, those voices were still there. Just quieter, more destructive.” He stops, closes his eyes, blinks the memory away, opens them again. “That's pretty scary, for someone who's been in control of his decisions his whole life, who needed that control more than anything. Suddenly you feel powerless, weak. And that is the scariest feeling in the world, when you can't even control your own mind.”
“Why did you do it?”
Ian smiles, a weak and small smile. Mickey wants to take him home and never let him leave again. “Made the voices stop, I guess. Made my mind stop running 24/7. But that's only temporary. Hurting yourself never really helps you in the long run, it just leaves you with more scars to deal with. And afterward you're more miserable than you were to begin with.”
“Do you still think of doing it now?”, she asks, voice small but there. She's no longer playing with her shirt.
“Sometimes,” Ian says, shrugging, “but there's other stuff you can do than hurt yourself. Read a book, for example. Write all of the stuff down you're feeling, go do some exercises. I like going jogging when I feel down, that always clears my head. I'm sure your therapist already told you about that, though.”
Jayden nods, topic apparently finished, while Mickey's left feeling like his heart is bursting out of his chest. He's never seen Ian talk so freely about this, and he's never seen him comfort a kid like that. It's not like he doesn't know that he does his job well, he's just never been around when he talks about stuff like that, or vice versa. Mickey almost wants to say 'fuck the rules' and kiss him right there, but he's refraining himself. Barely.
“I hate that thing,” Jayden says after a moment, pointing towards the balloon thing.
Mickey sighs. “Me too.” He contemplates for a minute. “You wanna smash it?”
“Can we even do that?”, Ian asks, looking sideways towards Mickey with one single eyebrow up, a sort of 'Daddy, can I?' look. Jayden looks way more excited about this than she should be, her feet are rapidly tapping on the floor, needing to punch something. He knows the feeling.
No, they technically can't do that. But fuck it. “I won't snitch if you won't,” is all he says before standing up and kicking the thing with a little too much force. It bounces off the walls like the half assed version of a football.
They spend the next 20 minutes or so like that, kicking and punching. Both Ian and Mickey pretend not to hear Jayden's sobs whenever she hits it particularly hard.
–
Jayden is allowed back inside a little after that, and it's like nothing ever happened. She's sitting in her usual spot under the big apple tree that's been there since Mickey started working here, headphones on. Ian's somewhere inside, probably cleaning up the mess Jayden made earlier. It's like that here, if you hold grudges about who kid did what to you, you just end up feeling especially cranky throughout the whole day. The most important lesson to remember here is that these are still kids, and kids do dumb shit sometimes. Most of the time.
Mickey's keeping an eye out for any odd stuff today. This isn't exactly a prison, so the kids are allowed to go outside and go play, but it's not uncommon for someone to run off. He's had to run across the city way too often to not be a little weary. Thing is, once they're outside, he can't touch them. All he can try to do is convince them to come back, but even that fails sometimes. Whatever. Part of the job description.
He almost doesn't notice Ian standing next to him and he nearly jumps out of his own skin when there's a cold finger poking his shoulder. “FU- Do you always have to sneak up on me?!” Back in the day, he used to be able to tell that shit from a mile away, but he's gotten rusty.
“Used to be in ROTC, remember?”, Ian says, cheeky grin in place. That fucker likes to brag about that shit every chance he gets. “Plus, I used to live in a house with 5 other siblings, how else was I supposed to sneak out at night?”
“Sneak out to get laid?”
Ian's grin turns wider. “Among other things. But most of the time I used to just go for a run.”
It's so easy to fall into easy banter with Ian. Even back when he'd just gotten placed here, wearing fucking ties to work every day (who wears ties to work?), something seemed to click between them. Maybe it's because they're both south side, or maybe because they're polar opposites, Mickey found himself constantly wondering what Ian was doing right now. That shit used to be scary, how easy it was to fall for this redhead giant with too much energy, but now he just doesn't care anymore. Not like somebody's gonna judge him for letting his guard down. Not anymore, at least.
With Ian so visibly in his space, the scent of his shampoo filling the air, it's hard to remember that he's supposed to not be talking to him right now. “I'm still mad at you, you know,” he mumbles, resuming his earlier watch.
Ian sighs. “I know you are. But I fully intend on making it up to you tonight.” If Mickey were some teenage girl, his cheeks would be the color of Ian's hair right now. But he's not. Not at all.
Ian doesn't seem to notice his change in posture, thank fuck, his eyes have started wandering to where Mickey's currently looking at, too. “You ever wonder what she's writing in there?” he asks, pointing to Jayden under her tree, notebook out like always. He's not sure, but if he would have to take a guess he'd think it was some kind of story. He's seen her scribbling stuff into that way too many times a day to think it's a diary.
“Dunno,” he says, keeping the answers simple now that he's got his mad face on. “Diary, ideas, doodles. Hell, maybe it's a detailed plan on how to kill us all.”
“Well, maybe I'm about to find out.” Mickey's halfway to asking him what the hell he means by that when Ian takes off, seemingly in the direction of Jayden. Mickey's not totally sure if this is such a good idea, but he ain't uninterested about it either. If Ian gets punched a second time, then that's on him, at least.
From Mickey's point of view he can see Ian lightly tapping her shoulder, much in the same way he'd done to Mickey earlier. There's a nervousness in the way Jayden pops the headphones out of her ear, the way she hurriedly closes her worn notebook. It's the posture of someone who's been surprised with bad shit in her life one too many times to not be weary. Can't exactly blame her.
They exchange words, but Mickey's too far away to make out what they're saying. Ian sits down, stretching his long legs out on the grass. More conversation, and then Ian taking one ear bud and putting it on. Jayden looks a little perplexed, reluctantly putting the other ear bud in her ear. Ian starts drumming along to the beat, getting more and more confident by the minute. He also starts humming along and Jayden glances in Mickey's direction, sending him a 'What the fuck is going on' look teenagers are so good at.
Mickey only laughs and shakes his head. He doesn't know either.
Not a bad day after all.
–
Mickey doesn't see Ian after that for the next day, not because he wants to punish him or something, but today was a pretty busy day. Not only for him, but just in general. And while he does love his kids, like they were his own, he's pretty happy he doesn't have the night shift today. Ian, on the other hand, does. But that doesn't stop him from texting Mickey every five seconds.
Going straight to bed after that day seemed like the best solution, he's even too tired to heat up some leftovers, and he's not gonna pretend to know how to cook. He has Ian for that, normally.
He strips right out of his jeans and t-shirt and crawls under the covers, yawning. Hopefully his night will be nightmare free, with how exhausted he is. It doesn't even take him 5 minutes, though, before his phone starts vibrating. Fucker.
IAN
hey btw, there's some leftover in the fridge!! xx
MICKEY
2 tired, 2 much work
IAN
you lazy ass
IAN
speaking of ass, what's the boss wearing?
Mickey huffs. With how Ian behaved today, all the boss will be wearing is a prominent bitch face.
MICKEY
all I will be wearing 4 the next week is a purity belt, u dick
IAN
oh please, u and I both know that u love my dick
That fucker. Mickey's biting his lower lip trying not to smile.
MICKEY
don't u have a job to get to??
IAN
oh shit youre right, can't leave my boss hanging he's kind of an asshole!! bye xx
“Hah, very funny,” he mumbles out loud before he can stop himself. He hates Ian sometimes, a lot of times. Most times. Just because he can, he opens up the camera app to take a picture of him showing Ian the middle finger before sending it to him.
Not such a bad day, after all.