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Mickey smiles when he feels Ian get out of bed.
It's been two long weeks of depression, tears, and running around to take care of the man. He's so happy to know he's up and moving again. Mickey wants nothing more than to join his husband in the shower, but..his limbs feel so heavy.
He's felt off the past week or so. He's more than tired, despite getting lots of sleep this week. He'll join Ian in a moment, he just wants to rest his eyes a bit longer.
When Ian gets out of the shower, he feels so refreshed. He's gotten more than sick of laying in bed doing nothing.
After brushing his teeth, he grabs his medicine case. He and Mickey have a couples set, with Ian's having small sun designs and Mickey's having moons. Most people wouldn't think matching pill cases are romantic, but what do they know?
Swallowing his pills, Ian can't help but notice that Mickey's case is empty. That's strange, considering it's Tuesday, and they refill their cases every Saturday.
Ian, with a smile, decides to refill his case for him. He pulls Mickey's anxiety meds, antidepressents, and mood stabilizers from the cabinet.
They feel heavier than they should this far into the month. Dumping out and counting one of the bottles, he realizes Mickey has two weeks worth more of pills than he should.
Mickey has been skipping his meds. But why? What could have prompted this sort of thing and why wasn't Ian aware of it? Neither of them are supposed to be off, since things can get messy. Why wouldn't Mickey be taking his pills for the past two..weeks..?
Guilt crashes down on Ian like a tidalwave.
Mickey hasn't been skipping his pills, he just hasn't refilled his case because he's been taking care of Ian.
See, he knows that his husband sometimes skimps out on caring for himself when he's caught up with him. It's something the redhead hates and they argue about often.
It makes him feel guilty. No matter how much Ian protests, Mickey is always putting his stuff off until Ian feels better.
He should be doing the same.
Ian quickly refills the case, taking out today's pills. Next, he makes some eggs on toast and grabs a red gatorade. He brings everything to the bedroom, where he finds Mickey still laying in bed.
Gently, he shakes the man awake. He bites his lip to stop himself from cooing at the soft whines he lets out.
"Mickey..c'mon, baby. You gotta take your pills."
Blue eyes blink open.
"There's my baby. Here, I brought your pills and breakfast."
Mickey groans and rolls over. "Not hungry.."
Ian chews his lip, before sighing. "Baby? Are you feeling heavy? Like, sluggish and tired?"
Mickey whines again and nods.
"Mick, you haven't taken your pills in two weeks.." Those baby blues flash with guilt. "Honey, I think you're having a depressive episode."
As if to prove him wrong, Mickey forces himself to sit up. He can't muster the energy to glare like he wants to.
"I'm not..Ian, I'm not.." Mickey mumbles. It doesn't sound very convincing.
Ian tries not to roll his eyes. He shifts the pillows around until Mickey can lay back. The man sinks into the bed.
"You are," Ian insists. "I'm gonna call your therapist. You need to take your pills and eat something."
Mickey looks away, but Ian can see the tears gathering in his eyes. There's embarrassment in those eyes, those tears. It suddenly clicks for Ian.
"Oh, do you need help to eat?"
His husband bites his lip, either refusing to respond or not having the energy to.
Ian smiles, cupping Mickey's face gently. "Open, c'mon."
He feeds the older man his pills and helps him drink some gatorade. Mickey is silently humiliated throughout the entire thing. Ian picks up the toast next, determined to feed his husband.
Mickey has fed him, clothed him, changed wet sheets, and dealt with the mania, all with a smile. This is the least Ian owes him.
"You always take care of me, Mickey. Let me return the favor."
Mickey somehow musters the energy to roll his eyes, but he allows Ian to feed him. The toast and eggs get eaten in full, but Mickey is looking a bit green by the end of it. He's even more tired than before.
"Lay down, baby. I'll call Fraiser while you get some sleep."
Ian once again helps Mickey lay down. Then, he leaves the room to call his therapist.
Ms. Fraiser is a stern, older black woman. She doesn't stand for Mickey's shit and is down with the Southside life.
Her first reaction to hearing Mickey skipped his pills is to call the man a 'dumbass'. Ian really doesn't know why his husband likes her so much.
"So, yeah..what do I do?"
"Take care of him until the meds kick in and the episode ends. Might take a few days, but there shouldn't be any problems. If he expresses a desire to hurt himself or others—more than usual—you call me right away," Fraiser orders.
Ian nods, despite knowing she can't see him. Something in her voice just makes him stand up straighter.
"Yes ma'am. I'll call right away."
"I'm holding you to that."
She hangs up before Ian can say anything else. Yeah, he really doesn't understand Mickey's taste in therapists.
Ian pockets his phone and looks around. He's got nothing else to do today, after all.
He decides to head to the living room and eat breakfast there. Clicking on 'Desperate Housewives', he tucks in for a comfortable afternoon.
How the fuck does Mickey do this all the time?
Ian is so fucking bored.
The housewives are no longer entertaining, not after three episodes of the same drama. The chores are all done (courtesy of Mickey). Not to mention, he can't even have friends over because his husband is depressed in the next room.
The guilt sits heavy on his chest. How many meals has Mickey eaten sitting alone on this couch after a full day of waiting on Ian hand and foot? How many times was he bored out of his skull, but didn't do anything because Ian could need something?
Chewing his lip, Ian stands again and heads back to the bedroom.
Mickey is still there, lying in the exact same position Ian left him in. He's fast asleep, but he's also a light sleeper. Any movement could have him flying up.
Slowly, Ian creeps into bed with him. He wraps his arms around Mickey's soft middle and pulls him flush with his chest.
Mickey stirs in his arms, mumbling something unintelligable.
"Just me, Mick…go back to sleep, baby.."
Just his voice lulls Mickey back into the comforts of sleep. This trust was so hard to earn, but Ian feels it was worth it.
Ian wakes with a jolt when he hears banging at the door. Mickey whines and squirms next to him, but he shushes him back to sleep.
They live in a nice apartment, in a nice part of town, but that doesn't mean robberies don't happen.
Grabbing the metal bat by the door, Ian creeps closer to it. He looks through the keyhole, only to sag in relief.
It's just his siblings.
Then, he remembers Mickey.
Fuck, it's his siblings.
Ian opens the door only a quarter. Enough to see them, but not enough for them to barge in.
"Heeyyy, guys.." He says awkwardly.
"Dude, where have you been?" Lip asks. "You were supposed to meet us for lunch, Tami was really excited about it."
"Oh fuck, I'm sorry," Ian says. It truly slipped his mind. "Some things came up and..y'know."
Debbie rolls her eyes. "A text would've been nice."
Ian tries not to scoff. "I was busy, okay? Are you guys just here to complain?"
"We brought drinks! Even those shitty beers Mickey likes," Carl says, holding up the case.
Ian's heart swells at the attention Carl pays to his husband.
"Guys, this is really not a good time," Ian says, glancing back at the bedroom where Mickey has probably not even twitched.
"What? Are you guys fucking or something? You don't seem out of breath," Debbie says bluntly.
"No, guys. Mickey just isn't feeling well, okay?"
Carl frowns. He's actually quite fond of the Milkovich. "Aw man, can we see him? Y'know, wish him well and all?"
Ian chews his lip again. He hates when his family actually shows they care about Mickey. It melts his heart and makes him do whatever they want.
He sighs, body sagging with it.
"Stay in the living room while I talk to him."
Carl whoops, but Lip and Debbie just roll their eyes at his antics.
Ian leaves them in the living room, going to check on Mickey. He carefully leans down, kissing his cheek until his husband's eyes flutter open.
"Baby..Lip, Debbie, and Carl are here. I told them you aren't feeling well and they're worried...okay, don't look at me like that. Carl is worried," Ian corrects with a chuckle.
Even depressed in bed, Mickey still makes him laugh.
"Can I tell them what's going on? Maybe let them say hi to you? It's okay if 'no'. I'll kick their asses to the curb any day."
There's a twinkle in Mickey's eyes that tells him he would be laughing if he had the energy.
He waits patiently for his husband's answer, idly petting his head. Finally, Mickey nods once. The determination in his eyes is still present, even like this.
Ian nods back and kisses his head before heading back to his siblings. They've all made themselves comfortable on his couch, so Ian stands before them.
Carl sits up fully when he comes back. "So? Can we see him?"
Ian nods, but cuts off Carl's excitement. "There are rules, okay?"
"Rules? Jesus, what's up with your husband today?" Lip asks.
"You guys know how to act during my depressive episodes, right? Soft voice, no judgement, and some patience?"
He waits until he gets nods from them.
"Well..Mickey has chronic depression. While he was taking care of me during my last episode, he wasn't taking his meds consistantly. And..now, he's gonna be kinda down until his meds stabilize again.." Ian tries to keep the guilt out of his voice. He feels terrible, like he caused this.
His siblings remain quiet, processing what he just said.
"Hold on. You let a depressed person take care of you?" Debbie asks.
"He's not depressed all the time. In fact, he's been really stable for months. As long as he takes his meds, this isn't a problem."
"So…he's, like, all sad and stuff? Not moving or eating?" Carl asks.
"I got him to keep down some toast and eggs. But, yeah, he hasn't moved at all today."
"Can we see him or not?" Lip asks. Ian is taken aback by his eagerness. Usually, Mickey is the last person Lip wants to see.
Ian nods despite his surprise. He leads them down the hall and into their bedroom. Mickey hasn't move an inch from where he was last time. In fact, the older man has fallen right back asleep.
Ian crouches down again to kiss his cheek. Mickey stirs and blinks at him. His eyes flick to the other Gallaghers.
For a moment, he forces himself to shift, to maybe try to sit up. Lip stops him, though.
"Don't force yourself to move." He speaks more harshly to Mickey than he would Ian, but the sentiment is there. Ian glares at him anyway.
It's effective, though. Mickey sinks back into the mattress.
Debbie walks over and sits near him on the bed. She rubs his back, and Mickey does little to protest the contact.
"Hey, Mick..hear you're not feelin' too hot," Carl says, awkwardly standing nearby.
Mickey—predictably—doesn’t respond.
“That really sucks man.”
“God, you fucking suck at this, Carl,” Debbie says.
“I don’t see you trying anything!”
Mickey shakes with his soft giggles. He doesn’t have much energy to actually laugh, but who can keep a straight face around the Gallaghers?
Ian can’t help the way he lights up at his husband’s happiness.
He finally thinks things are gonna be okay.
The next few days are rough.
It only makes Ian appreciate everything Mickey does for him even more.
Bit by bit, Mickey gets his energy back. He’s eating with minimal prompting before long. He even starts allowing Ian to carry him to the couch so they can cuddle and watch trashy TV.
His siblings come visit a few times, too. They mostly sit around with them, but the company is nice. It definitely helps with Mickey’s morale.
Ian smiles when he feels Mickey get out of bed for the first time in days. He sits up when he hears the shower start running.
With a growing grin, he hops out of bed to join his husband. He shoots a quick text to his siblings, warning them not to come over for a few days.
They have a lot of missed sex to make up for.