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Fiona opens the door mid-knock.
To her surprise, Mickey Milkovich is standing on their porch, looking significantly less filthy than the last time she saw him, pants down and bleeding in her kitchen. He seems vaguely nervous, shifting backwards and forwards slightly on the balls of his feet.
Even before he says anything, Fiona has the sudden notion that he’s trying to be polite, make a good impression. For some reason she’s reminded of the boys in middle school who came to pick her up before a date, terrified they might be interrogated by Frank.
If he’s here for Debbie, she’s going to fucking kill him.
He nods at her. “Gallagher here?”
She eyes him, somewhat warily. “I got a house full of Gallaghers, Mickey. You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“GI Joe.”
Oh, thank god. “Ian’s at ROTC.”
He shakes his head. “That’s Tuesdays and Fridays.”
Fiona’s pretty surprised that Mickey Milkovich knows her brother’s schedule. She’s suddenly suspicious; if he’s selling Ian drugs, well, at least anything stronger than pot, she’s going to fucking kill him. “That’s weird, I’m pretty sure he left here in the uniform. I can get him to call or come find you when he gets in?”
Mickey hesitates, then nods, turns to leave. He takes a few steps away, then stops short, looking like he’s trying to decide something. He’s holding a piece of paper in one hand, the other playing restless with the hem of his shirt. He turns back to her.
She hasn’t moved out of the doorway. “You forget something?”
“I think he might be about to do something stupid”.
Fiona snorts. “Oh yeah? Coming from the expert in doing stupid things? I seem to remember you had an ass cheek full of bullets last time I saw you.”
He looks frustrated. “Jesus, I just figured that because you’re like the replacement Mom, or whatever, you might want to know that he’s trying to get himself shipped out. Apparently this shitty neighbourhood ain’t enough of a warzone for him, he wants to go find the real thing. Like, now.”
“What?”
“I think he’s planning on going down to the Recruitment office, signing himself up.” Mickey looks uncharacteristically concerned.
“That’s impossible, he’s 17. He hasn’t even finished high school yet!”
“As Phillip Gallagher.”
“I’m gonna kill him.”
She storms out of the house and is halfway down the steps before she realises she’s not wearing shoes. Sprinting back into the house, she pulls on shoes while she’s walking, calling up the stairs, “Debs! I need you to watch Liam for a couple of hours, okay?”
“Okay!”
She’s at the drivers-side door, car keys in hand before she realises Mickey Milkovich is still standing there, looking at her like he’s a part of this, or something. “You coming or not?”
He looks kind of thrown, doesn’t make eye contact, looking at the paper, but his voice is tough. “Nah, he’s kinda pissed at me for something, probably doesn’t want to see me.”
She nods.
The car is halfway down the driveway before she stops and winds down the window. Calls out, “Mickey!”
He stops on the footpath.
“Thank you. Really.” Hell has officially frozen over, she’s just thanked a Milkovich.
“Just don’t say I told you any of this, alright?” Mickey looks again at the folded piece of paper in his hand. Something about the way he shifts first his eyes, then his feet. She understands, immediately. Oh. OH. Fuck.
Fiona nods. “I won’t.”
She drives as fast as she can.
He’s wasn’t at the Recruitment Office at Washington Park, but when she pulls up in front of the one on 47th she can see him through the window, sitting at a desk opposite a burly Army guy, looking through a thick stack of documents. Ian has a pen in his hand.
She pushes the door open loudly. Ian glances over and she sees the moment where he spots her and panics. She walks over to their table.
Ian’s half out of his seat before she gets there. “Fi! What are you doing here?”
The Army guy registers the sudden mood change. He stands, “Is everything okay, Phillip?”
Jesus, Mickey was right. She smiles, sickly sweet. “I’m sorry,” she glances at his name tag, “Gary-”
Ian hisses at her “Commander Rogers, Jesus, Fiona.”
She smiles quickly. “Commander Rogers. I just need to borrow Phillip for a few minutes before you get through all the paperwork.”
“Of course, young lady. Making the decision to honor your country by serving in the military is no small thing. Phillip here is a brave young man.” He claps his enormous hand onto Ian’s shoulder. He’s slick like a used car salesman. “I can see how it might take some serious discussion for his family to accept his choice. You take all the time you need.”
Outside and half a block away, fake smile dropped, she rounds on him, furious. “Ian Clayton Gallagher. What in the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?”
He’s defensive, unsurprisingly. “How did you even know where I was?”
“Cause I got eyes in the back of my fucking head, never mind how I know you’re here. What are you doing, huh? You’re enlisting?! Did you leave a note in the house somewhere, or were you just going to call us from boot camp to break the news?”
Fiona can see a woman with two kids on the other side of the road, watching the exchange, but doesn’t give a single shit. “And what about being an officer? What about West Point? You’ve just decided to give all of that up to be cannon fodder? The idiot at the front line with the faulty equipment?”
“I’m not stupid alright? I looked it all up, even with only my ROTC training I can go in at an E4 or higher, it means it only takes 4 or 5 years more to make it to Officer.”
“Great! That's fantastic news! And how exactly were you planning on using Ian Gallagher’s ROTC history to qualify for shit if you’re his brother, huh?”
Fiona can see Ian’s sudden frustration as he realises his mistake. But he still seems determined. “It doesn’t matter, I can just start at the bottom then, work my way up.”
She’s livid. “Did you even look this shit up? They find out you’re not really Phillip Gallagher and not only will you get a dishonourable discharge, but you could do time. Ian, if that happens, they will never take you back. All for what, another year in high school until you can enlist for real? Jesus Christ, you really got to get away so badly?” Fiona feels all of the anger drain out of her suddenly.
Ian doesn’t say anything. He’s got a square set to his jaw and is stubbornly staring out over the road, but Fiona can see that he’s listening. She rubs her hands across her eyes and then steps closer, takes him by the upper arms. Jesus Christ, he’s bulked out so much in the last year that she hardly recognises her little brother.
“Please, kiddo. Wait a year, finish high school, pick up a few more calculus credits and get into your fancy officer school. You’ll get your training, you’ll get your qualifications, then you can go and get yourself blown up in any war you want, okay? You do not need to fuck up your life by doing this right now. “
Ian’s solid staring competition with nothing wavers and she sighs in relief suddenly. She knows she’s gotten through to him.
They’re in the car on the way back home, when Ian asks, “So, how did you find me?”
Fiona suddenly decides to be completely honest. “Mickey Milkovich.”
She knows it was the right call when she sees Ian’s head shoot up slightly, then sees him pretend it didn’t. “He came over to the house looking for you. Told me he thought you were gonna sign up.”
Ian doesn’t say anything, but he’s listening.
“He seemed worried about you.” She watches him out of the corner of her eye. He’s very carefully looking out the window, but she thinks she can see a small smile on his face. Bingo, she guessed it right, it would seem. Adds, “I guess he’s a sweet kid, after all. I didn’t know you two were that close.”
Ian’s small smile grows before being carefully schooled back into a neutral expression. Fiona keeps her eyes firmly on the road, wants to give him the illusion of privacy, of the secret.
“So, how’d he figure out your plan?”
Ian kind of shrugs, but Fiona can tell he’s still trying to downplay it. “Must’ve found the letter.”
She smacks him on the arm, hard. And again.
“Ouch Fi, stop it!”
“What, you leave your ‘I’m running away to get myself blown up’ note at the wrong family’s house?” She hits him again.
He shoos her off. “No, it was someplace else. I thought it’d be a couple of days before - it doesn’t matter.”
She thinks of the piece of paper in Mickey’s hand and the look on his face, of Ian’s smile and lets it go.
They pull up to the house. As they reach the front door, she stops him. “You know you’re going to qualify right? To West Point?”
“It’s tough competition, I don't know if I can.”
“That’s bullshit. You’re a smart, resourceful kid, I know you’ll make it happen.”
He looks unconvinced.
“Well I know you will. You really think I haven’t started a specific West Point squirrel fund? I mean, it’s only got about a grand in there so far, but I’ve still got a year to get the rest together.”
He’s starting to smile a little. “You know the tuition is free if you get in, right? He puts his duffle down inside the door.
“Yeah, but you think return bus fare to New York for 5 people grows on trees? We’ve got to be able to visit you, dumbass.”
Fiona hasn’t seen him beam like that in forever. It feels like it’s the first time she’s seen her little brother in months. She can’t help pulling him into a hug. All too soon, he starts to pull back. He smiles at her, makes a vague pointing gesture over his shoulder, starts to head towards the door. It’s been ages, years even, since they’ve been this open with each other. She doesn’t want to miss her window.
“Ian. You know you can come to me any time, right?”
“Yeah, I know. Thanks Fi.” She’s heard that tone from him before. The one that says, ‘I know you’re there for me, but you’ve got a lot on your plate, I’m fine, really’
“I mean it, kiddo.” She’s serious.
When he looks at her, this time he can tell. He nods. “Maybe tonight? I’m just. I just need to go-“ He points over his shoulder again, “meet up with someone for a sec.”
“Yeah, of course.” She smiles at him, “Debs’ making spaghetti for dinner.”
He smiles back. “I’ll be here.”
Fiona watches him out the window as he leaves. She’s not all that surprised when Ian heads in the direction of the Milkovich house.