Fic: Cold, Kind and Lemon Eyes
Title: Cold, Kind and Lemon Eyes (1/4)
Fandom: Shameless (US)
Characters: Mickey, Mandy, Ian, with some Lip
Pairings: Ian/Mickey
Rating: PG-13 for cursing, and some phlegmy seduction
Summary: Ian scooted over on the couch a little and reached out again, but Mickey jumped back quickly. Ian’s face changed, growing suspicious. “You know, Mandy told me you were afraid of germs, but I thought she was joking.”
A Brief Note: I am actually really, really sorry about this. I literally do not know how this happened. I mean, I don't recall taking any drugs, but that's the only feasible way I could have come up with this concept. Also, ineffort was no help at all and everyone should know that. And I'm even more sorry for the title. As always, comments and feedback are loved. :)
It all started with a cough.
Well, actually, it was lung-tossing hack that would have sounded more appropriate coming from a 68-year-old chain smoker and not Mickey Milkovich’s fifteen-year-old sister. The coughing fit lasted about a minute before Mandy stopped, frozen in place for a second, then went back to playing Black Ops.
Mickey acted immediately, doing the only thing that made sense at the moment. He knocked the controller out of her hand. Mandy whirled on him.
“What the fuck, Mickey?”
“What the fuck, Mandy!” he said right back to her. “You don’t just cough and then…” he waved at her hands, “touch things! That’s fuckin’ digusting.”
Mandy rolled her eyes. “Only to you, assface.”
“Only to me and everyone who plans on living past the age of twenty,” Mickey said, scooting back over. “What was all that coughing? You have a cold or something?” he asked.
“No,” Mandy shook her head. “I never get sick.”
Mickey was unconvinced. “I think you should wash your hands or something before you touch anything else. Or make dinner.” Mandy folded her arms across her chest.
“When was the last time you washed your hands?” she asked.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not the sick one here,” Mickey said.
Mandy groaned. “Fuck you, I’m going to Ian’s where I won’t be treated like a leper for fucking coughing!”
Or at least that was what she tried to say. She was interrupted mid-way by another fit of coughing that made Mickey shudder, and then finished the sentence.
Mickey shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”
“Fine,” Mandy said shortly. She grabbed her jacket off of the coffee table and made a big show of wrapping her scarf around her neck before opening the door. “Don’t wait up.”
“I won’t,” Mickey answered. “Bye, Mandy.” She made sure he saw her scowl as she left and slammed the door behind her.
Mickey waited until he knew she’d be halfway to the Gallaghers’, then grabbed his own coat and started looking around for cash.
*
When Mandy came back at ten that night, she looked worse. Her nose was red, her face was white as a ghost and every three seconds she would hock a fat loogie into a plastic cup she’d apparently reserved for that specific purpose.
She glared at him. “What?”
Mickey shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Good.” She let out another string of rib-rattling coughs and spat into the cup again. “I have a favor to ask,” she said with a sniffle.
“I already got the Lysol,” Mickey said, holding up the can of Lysol he’d taken to carrying around with him and spraying on every item Mandy might have touched recently (the toilet handle, every door-knob, the XBOX controllers, the TV remote, the list went on…) Mandy narrowed her eyes at him.
“No,” she said. She was now trying to kill him with the power of her stare, he was sure.
“There’s 7-Up and Saltines in the fridge already. I got soup in the cabinet,” he told her.
“No, not that,” Mandy repeated.
“I got that little nasal spray shit that we always run out of,” he added. “And some cough drops. They’re in the medicine cabinet.” He’d deliberately stayed away from getting the cough syrup shit, because one of their brothers always drank it for kicks before it actually got used.
“Not that either,” Mandy said, annoyed now. Mickey thought for a second.
“Damn, you’re right,” he snapped his fingers. “Valium. I think Joey and Ferg are still on the streets. I’ll text ‘em to see if they can get any for you.”
The back door jiggled and opened before Mandy could answer.
“Hey, Mandy,” a sniffling mass of red hair and freckles wearing a green jacket slumped past the kitchen and into the living room. “Fiona says thanks.”
It was Mickey’s turn to try and kill Mandy with his eyes. Mandy smiled - as much as someone could smile when they were leaking phlegm.
“Ian’s sick and Fiona doesn’t want him around the other kids because she doesn’t want all of them to get sick,” she shrugged, “so I told her he could stay here until he felt better. I thought I’d better run it past you first, though.” She smiled again, trying her best to look innocent.
Mickey blinked, slightly stunned by what had just happened. Mandy took this as a yes.
“Thanks Mickey. I’ll set up the couch for him.”
*
“Mickey!”
The first shout came at about eight the next day.
“Mickey!” It grew a little louder. Then it became an outright scream. “MICKEY!”
Mickey poured a cup of 7-Up and grabbed a fistful of cough drops before he entered Mandy’s room. Mandy laid in bed, staring straight up at the ceiling.
“Mickey,” she whimpered. She turned her head just the slightest and whispered, “I think I’m dying.” Which was pretty much the reaction that every Milkovich had when they got sick -- except for Mickey, of course, because Mickey never got sick.
He placed the 7-Up and cough drops on her nightstand. “Drink this, eat these. The trash is right here,” he pointed to a trash can he’d put next to her bed. “It’s for puke. If you feel like puking, puke in here, and not on the kitchen floor like last night.”
“Mickey, what if they come back?” Mandy asked, her voice shaking.
“Who, Mandy?”
“The people that glued me to my bed.”
Mickey sighed. “I’ll probably have to kick their asses or something, I don’t know.”
“Mickey!” another shout came from the living room. “Mickey! Mickey! MICKEY!”
Mickey followed the shouts to the couch, where Ian was buried under a mountain of blankets with just his head poking out.
He smiled angelically. “Hi, Mickey.”
“Ian,” Mickey greeted humorlessly. Ian stared up at Mickey and did something that might have been - no, it definitely was - he winked. Mickey was unmoved. “Did you want something, Ian?”
“Where’s your dad?”
“I don’t know,” Mickey shook his head. “Alibi probably.”
“Your mom?”
Another uncertainty, as Mickey’s mom kind of went in and out as she pleased. “I think she went to visit Nicky at the pen.”
“Joey?” Ian asked. “Ferg?”
“Out-of-town job,” Mickey answered.
“So the house is empty?” Ian’s eyes were practically twinkling at the prospect.
No, Mickey corrected himself. They were glistening. With germs.
“No, no,” Mickey took a step out of range just as Ian reached out an arm to touch him. “That’s not happening.” Ian sat up quickly and sniffled heavily.
“What? I’m here, you’re here, we’re alone.”
Mickey pointed to Mandy’s bedroom wordlessly.
“She’s delusional,” Ian whispered. “Last night she came out here and poured milk on her hair.” Mickey groaned. Is that what that smell was? He had been hoping he was imagining it. Now he had to fucking bleach the kitchen floor again…
Ian scooted over on the couch a little and reached out again, but Mickey jumped back quickly. Ian’s face changed, growing suspicious. “You know, Mandy told me you were afraid of germs, but I thought she was joking.”
“Bullshit, I’m not afraid,” Mickey scoffed. But he also wasn’t about to invite them in to snack on his intestines - or whatever it was that germs did. That primetime special last week on how to protect yourself during cold season hadn’t been all that specific about what exactly germs attacked first, but Mickey was sure his intestines were a safe bet.
“Then touch me,” Ian said. “I dare you,” he smirked - then sniffled again, which made his smirk decidedly less sexy than Mickey was sure he was trying to make it.
Mickey opened his mouth to say something about how 90% of germs were spread through needless physical contact (another interesting and useful fact from Silence in the Ward: 20 Common Killers You Won’t Believe Still Lack Cures), then thought better of it and simply said, “No,” before walking off to the kitchen.
Ian slumped back into the couch. “Mickey!”
Mandy’s voice called out from the bedroom - “Mickey!”
“Mickey!”
“Mickey!”
“Mickey!”
*
“Mickey!”
Mickey was at Mandy’s door in a second. She glanced over at him.
“The boy in the window keeps staring at me.”
Mickey looked up. Fuckin’ Gallaghers.
“What up, Lip?” Mickey answered the front door. “Stop fuckin’ with Mandy. She’s sick.”
“I noticed,” Lip said, grinning wolfishly. “Came by to see if Ian needed anything: soup, tea, condoms, whatever.” Mickey gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to spray Lip in the eye with disinfectant (Ian would have been pissed.)
A weak voice came from the living room, “Did you bring condoms?”
“He won’t need ‘em,” Mickey said quickly. “But I’m running low on Lysol if you’re offering.”
Lip snapped his fingers. “Got you covered. Anything for the heartless thug that’s taking care of my poor, sick brother. Is there anything else you guys might need in there? Roses? Candles? Chocolates? I think they’re having a two-for-one on Hershey’s chocolate syrup at the grocery store.”
“I’m gonna kick your face in one day, Lip,” Mickey warned him. “And I’m gonna enjoy every second of it.”
“Ooh, too kinky for me,” Lip wrinkled his nose. “But seriously, Lysol? What scent?”
Mickey looked at his can. “Lemon Essence, but if they don’t have any of that then I’m good with Morning Linen too. None of that lavender shit, though, can’t stand the fuckin’ smell of it.”
“Mm-hm,” Lip nodded. “Lavender it is.”
“I swear to god, Gallagher, I’ll break all of your fucking fingers and toes if you buy that lavender shit,” Mickey snarled. He was half-serious too; he couldn’t stand that lavender crap.
“Oh, and for real, thanks for this,” Lip added. “Gallaghers, for some reason or another, all have a genetic predisposition to weak immune systems. One person coughs in the house and everyone’s out of commission for three weeks.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Mickey kept his face purposefully blank. “This is the last time, though, Gallagher.”
“Sure,” Lip smiled knowingly. “Whatever Mickey,” he said before he bounded down the stairs and headed into the street.
“Mickey!” Ian’s voice drifted over to him from the couch. “Can you get the remote for me? I want to watch TV!”
Mickey rolled his eyes, but didn’t turn around. “If it’s in your pants again, I might put you on the street to die, Ian.”
There was a moment of silence before he heard Ian again. “Okay, nevermind.”
*
His mom came home not long after Lip dropped off two cans of Lysol (Lemon Essence, thank fuck).
“What’s this?” she asked, pointing to the couch where Ian was sleeping.
“Ian Gallagher,” Mickey answered. “He’s sick. Mandy too, she’s in her room. I’m taking a few days off to take care of ‘em.”
She looked like she had an avalanche of questions boiling up inside of her, but seemed to ignore them. “You get the Vick’s Vapo Rub for Mandy?” she demanded instead.
Mickey cursed. He knew he’d forgotten something.
“I’ll bring some back after dinner, I’m goin’ out with some of the girls,” she told him. “Don’t wait up, though.”
*
Six hours.
Six fucking beautiful hours of quiet. Somehow, the two invalids had managed to both fall asleep at the same time, leaving Mickey to do whatever the hell he wanted.
So, he read a few Road and Track magazines. He went outside and lifted some weights for a while. He took a thorough shower using some special disinfectant body wash (at least he hoped it was body wash) that he’d picked up earlier. He made himself a sandwich and ate it while watching Family Guy on low volume in the living room, sitting a safe distance away from the lump on the couch. It was fucking heaven.
But all good things come to an end eventually.
The sound of movement from the room behind him alerted Mickey to the fact that Mandy was awake and walking around. He leaned back against the wall, desperate for a few more minutes of peace. Maybe he could pretend he just didn’t hear her…
Well, if she weren’t wandering out into the hallway, he could have maybe. She was in the bathroom soon after that and Mickey had to ask.
“What are you looking for, sis?” he called out, listening to her rummage through the medicine cabinet.
“Tea,” she said brusquely.
Fuckin’ tea.
*
Ian woke up an hour after Mandy went back to sleep. He poked his head out of his turtle shell of blankets and smiled.
“Hey, Mickey.”
“Ian,” Mickey returned.
“I’m really cold, Mickey.”
“You want some tea?” Mickey offered.
“I think I might need something a little… hotter,” Ian said, raising an eyebrow. He coughed for three straight minutes and grabbed three tissues from the box on the coffee table to blow his nose in. “Actually, what kind of tea are we talking about here?”
“Lipton,” Mickey said. “And we got milk, sugar and honey if you want some.”
Ian blew his nose into a tissue. “Do you guys have lemons?”
“I’ll check,” Mickey got up from his chair. “And you better still be fully clothed when I get back.”
“I can’t promise miracles, Mickey.”
By some act of god, Ian had not managed to shed any clothing by the time Mickey returned with the tea. But he’d managed to make his face look as depressed as possible.
“Mickey?” he looked up (with a sniffle). Mickey had a bad feeling already.
“Ian,” he said shortly.
“It’s okay if you don’t…” Ian looked down at his tea, “you know, like me anymore. I understand.”
Oh Jesus.
Mickey wondered if Ian knew he was about as transparent as a piece of plastic wrap. His little pity-me act worked less on Mickey than the outright flirting earlier.
Ian’s lower lip poked out just the slightest - it wouldn’t have even been noticeable to anyone who didn’t have a small preoccupation with his mouth, and Mickey was pretty sure Ian knew it. He continued, “I mean, I guess I was pretty stupid thinking that you would still want me after a year.” He raised the cup to his lips cautiously, but pulled the cup away and hissed. “Ow,” he ran his tongue over his lips.
Oh Jesus.
Ian chuckled. “That’s hot. I guess I should blow on it before I try that again,” he said softly.
He licked his lips again (slowly) and started to pucker, but Mickey grabbed the mug from him before he could… well, blow.
“Don’t worry. We got ice cubes.” And he was damn lucky that he managed to say even that because all that was going through his mind was blowjobs blowjobs blowjobs blowjobs.
*
Thanks to a Valium, crushed up and put in the tea with an ice cube, Ian went back to sleep.
But, of course, since Mickey had no luck, Mandy woke up almost immediately afterwards and stumbled into the living room.
“Mickey,” she reached out, but Mickey leaned way over to avoid her hand. “Mickeyyyy... I’m hungry.”
“I’ll make you some soup,” Mickey told her.
“I want eggs,” Mandy said petulantly. “And bacon.”
“It’s midnight,” Mickey reminded her. “So… I’ll make you soup.” Mandy opened her mouth to complain, but Mickey managed to cut her off before she could make a noise. “Egg and bacon soup,” he lied. Mandy thought it over for a long moment, then whispered a small, “okay.”
He warmed up a can of chicken soup and served it to her on a bowl in the kitchen. Since she lacked taste buds, she ate it happily.
“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly. Startled by her admission, Mickey immediately started looking for whatever she was sorry for - unexpected vomit on the kitchen floor? Maybe she’d dropped her spoon or spilled her water? He couldn’t find anything, so resorted to asking her.
“For what?”
Mandy played around with her soup, pushing the noodles around. “I got sick and you have to take care of me. You always have to take care of me - like when Tall Kaylee threw my iPod in the toilet last year and you went and broke her brother’s fingers to make sure she bought me a new one.”
It honestly hadn’t been as big of a deal as Mandy made it seem. Mickey only had to break one finger (and a pinky at that) before the kid’s sister started crying and promised to buy Mandy a better iPod. No big deal at all.
Since she was half-delirious still and probably wouldn’t remember this whole conversation in the morning, Mickey told her the truth, “Please, I’d be dead by now if I didn’t have you to worry about.”
“You ended a sentence with a preposition,” Mandy pointed out. “It’s a common mistake, not many people know it’s incorrect. You should work on it.”
Mickey gave her a wry smile. “Yeah, whatever. Finish that fuckin’ soup and get back in bed. I’m fuckin’ exhausted.”
Fandom: Shameless (US)
Characters: Mickey, Mandy, Ian, with some Lip
Pairings: Ian/Mickey
Rating: PG-13 for cursing, and some phlegmy seduction
Summary: Ian scooted over on the couch a little and reached out again, but Mickey jumped back quickly. Ian’s face changed, growing suspicious. “You know, Mandy told me you were afraid of germs, but I thought she was joking.”
A Brief Note: I am actually really, really sorry about this. I literally do not know how this happened. I mean, I don't recall taking any drugs, but that's the only feasible way I could have come up with this concept. Also, ineffort was no help at all and everyone should know that. And I'm even more sorry for the title. As always, comments and feedback are loved. :)
It all started with a cough.
Well, actually, it was lung-tossing hack that would have sounded more appropriate coming from a 68-year-old chain smoker and not Mickey Milkovich’s fifteen-year-old sister. The coughing fit lasted about a minute before Mandy stopped, frozen in place for a second, then went back to playing Black Ops.
Mickey acted immediately, doing the only thing that made sense at the moment. He knocked the controller out of her hand. Mandy whirled on him.
“What the fuck, Mickey?”
“What the fuck, Mandy!” he said right back to her. “You don’t just cough and then…” he waved at her hands, “touch things! That’s fuckin’ digusting.”
Mandy rolled her eyes. “Only to you, assface.”
“Only to me and everyone who plans on living past the age of twenty,” Mickey said, scooting back over. “What was all that coughing? You have a cold or something?” he asked.
“No,” Mandy shook her head. “I never get sick.”
Mickey was unconvinced. “I think you should wash your hands or something before you touch anything else. Or make dinner.” Mandy folded her arms across her chest.
“When was the last time you washed your hands?” she asked.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not the sick one here,” Mickey said.
Mandy groaned. “Fuck you, I’m going to Ian’s where I won’t be treated like a leper for fucking coughing!”
Or at least that was what she tried to say. She was interrupted mid-way by another fit of coughing that made Mickey shudder, and then finished the sentence.
Mickey shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”
“Fine,” Mandy said shortly. She grabbed her jacket off of the coffee table and made a big show of wrapping her scarf around her neck before opening the door. “Don’t wait up.”
“I won’t,” Mickey answered. “Bye, Mandy.” She made sure he saw her scowl as she left and slammed the door behind her.
Mickey waited until he knew she’d be halfway to the Gallaghers’, then grabbed his own coat and started looking around for cash.
*
When Mandy came back at ten that night, she looked worse. Her nose was red, her face was white as a ghost and every three seconds she would hock a fat loogie into a plastic cup she’d apparently reserved for that specific purpose.
She glared at him. “What?”
Mickey shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Good.” She let out another string of rib-rattling coughs and spat into the cup again. “I have a favor to ask,” she said with a sniffle.
“I already got the Lysol,” Mickey said, holding up the can of Lysol he’d taken to carrying around with him and spraying on every item Mandy might have touched recently (the toilet handle, every door-knob, the XBOX controllers, the TV remote, the list went on…) Mandy narrowed her eyes at him.
“No,” she said. She was now trying to kill him with the power of her stare, he was sure.
“There’s 7-Up and Saltines in the fridge already. I got soup in the cabinet,” he told her.
“No, not that,” Mandy repeated.
“I got that little nasal spray shit that we always run out of,” he added. “And some cough drops. They’re in the medicine cabinet.” He’d deliberately stayed away from getting the cough syrup shit, because one of their brothers always drank it for kicks before it actually got used.
“Not that either,” Mandy said, annoyed now. Mickey thought for a second.
“Damn, you’re right,” he snapped his fingers. “Valium. I think Joey and Ferg are still on the streets. I’ll text ‘em to see if they can get any for you.”
The back door jiggled and opened before Mandy could answer.
“Hey, Mandy,” a sniffling mass of red hair and freckles wearing a green jacket slumped past the kitchen and into the living room. “Fiona says thanks.”
It was Mickey’s turn to try and kill Mandy with his eyes. Mandy smiled - as much as someone could smile when they were leaking phlegm.
“Ian’s sick and Fiona doesn’t want him around the other kids because she doesn’t want all of them to get sick,” she shrugged, “so I told her he could stay here until he felt better. I thought I’d better run it past you first, though.” She smiled again, trying her best to look innocent.
Mickey blinked, slightly stunned by what had just happened. Mandy took this as a yes.
“Thanks Mickey. I’ll set up the couch for him.”
*
“Mickey!”
The first shout came at about eight the next day.
“Mickey!” It grew a little louder. Then it became an outright scream. “MICKEY!”
Mickey poured a cup of 7-Up and grabbed a fistful of cough drops before he entered Mandy’s room. Mandy laid in bed, staring straight up at the ceiling.
“Mickey,” she whimpered. She turned her head just the slightest and whispered, “I think I’m dying.” Which was pretty much the reaction that every Milkovich had when they got sick -- except for Mickey, of course, because Mickey never got sick.
He placed the 7-Up and cough drops on her nightstand. “Drink this, eat these. The trash is right here,” he pointed to a trash can he’d put next to her bed. “It’s for puke. If you feel like puking, puke in here, and not on the kitchen floor like last night.”
“Mickey, what if they come back?” Mandy asked, her voice shaking.
“Who, Mandy?”
“The people that glued me to my bed.”
Mickey sighed. “I’ll probably have to kick their asses or something, I don’t know.”
“Mickey!” another shout came from the living room. “Mickey! Mickey! MICKEY!”
Mickey followed the shouts to the couch, where Ian was buried under a mountain of blankets with just his head poking out.
He smiled angelically. “Hi, Mickey.”
“Ian,” Mickey greeted humorlessly. Ian stared up at Mickey and did something that might have been - no, it definitely was - he winked. Mickey was unmoved. “Did you want something, Ian?”
“Where’s your dad?”
“I don’t know,” Mickey shook his head. “Alibi probably.”
“Your mom?”
Another uncertainty, as Mickey’s mom kind of went in and out as she pleased. “I think she went to visit Nicky at the pen.”
“Joey?” Ian asked. “Ferg?”
“Out-of-town job,” Mickey answered.
“So the house is empty?” Ian’s eyes were practically twinkling at the prospect.
No, Mickey corrected himself. They were glistening. With germs.
“No, no,” Mickey took a step out of range just as Ian reached out an arm to touch him. “That’s not happening.” Ian sat up quickly and sniffled heavily.
“What? I’m here, you’re here, we’re alone.”
Mickey pointed to Mandy’s bedroom wordlessly.
“She’s delusional,” Ian whispered. “Last night she came out here and poured milk on her hair.” Mickey groaned. Is that what that smell was? He had been hoping he was imagining it. Now he had to fucking bleach the kitchen floor again…
Ian scooted over on the couch a little and reached out again, but Mickey jumped back quickly. Ian’s face changed, growing suspicious. “You know, Mandy told me you were afraid of germs, but I thought she was joking.”
“Bullshit, I’m not afraid,” Mickey scoffed. But he also wasn’t about to invite them in to snack on his intestines - or whatever it was that germs did. That primetime special last week on how to protect yourself during cold season hadn’t been all that specific about what exactly germs attacked first, but Mickey was sure his intestines were a safe bet.
“Then touch me,” Ian said. “I dare you,” he smirked - then sniffled again, which made his smirk decidedly less sexy than Mickey was sure he was trying to make it.
Mickey opened his mouth to say something about how 90% of germs were spread through needless physical contact (another interesting and useful fact from Silence in the Ward: 20 Common Killers You Won’t Believe Still Lack Cures), then thought better of it and simply said, “No,” before walking off to the kitchen.
Ian slumped back into the couch. “Mickey!”
Mandy’s voice called out from the bedroom - “Mickey!”
“Mickey!”
“Mickey!”
“Mickey!”
*
“Mickey!”
Mickey was at Mandy’s door in a second. She glanced over at him.
“The boy in the window keeps staring at me.”
Mickey looked up. Fuckin’ Gallaghers.
“What up, Lip?” Mickey answered the front door. “Stop fuckin’ with Mandy. She’s sick.”
“I noticed,” Lip said, grinning wolfishly. “Came by to see if Ian needed anything: soup, tea, condoms, whatever.” Mickey gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to spray Lip in the eye with disinfectant (Ian would have been pissed.)
A weak voice came from the living room, “Did you bring condoms?”
“He won’t need ‘em,” Mickey said quickly. “But I’m running low on Lysol if you’re offering.”
Lip snapped his fingers. “Got you covered. Anything for the heartless thug that’s taking care of my poor, sick brother. Is there anything else you guys might need in there? Roses? Candles? Chocolates? I think they’re having a two-for-one on Hershey’s chocolate syrup at the grocery store.”
“I’m gonna kick your face in one day, Lip,” Mickey warned him. “And I’m gonna enjoy every second of it.”
“Ooh, too kinky for me,” Lip wrinkled his nose. “But seriously, Lysol? What scent?”
Mickey looked at his can. “Lemon Essence, but if they don’t have any of that then I’m good with Morning Linen too. None of that lavender shit, though, can’t stand the fuckin’ smell of it.”
“Mm-hm,” Lip nodded. “Lavender it is.”
“I swear to god, Gallagher, I’ll break all of your fucking fingers and toes if you buy that lavender shit,” Mickey snarled. He was half-serious too; he couldn’t stand that lavender crap.
“Oh, and for real, thanks for this,” Lip added. “Gallaghers, for some reason or another, all have a genetic predisposition to weak immune systems. One person coughs in the house and everyone’s out of commission for three weeks.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Mickey kept his face purposefully blank. “This is the last time, though, Gallagher.”
“Sure,” Lip smiled knowingly. “Whatever Mickey,” he said before he bounded down the stairs and headed into the street.
“Mickey!” Ian’s voice drifted over to him from the couch. “Can you get the remote for me? I want to watch TV!”
Mickey rolled his eyes, but didn’t turn around. “If it’s in your pants again, I might put you on the street to die, Ian.”
There was a moment of silence before he heard Ian again. “Okay, nevermind.”
*
His mom came home not long after Lip dropped off two cans of Lysol (Lemon Essence, thank fuck).
“What’s this?” she asked, pointing to the couch where Ian was sleeping.
“Ian Gallagher,” Mickey answered. “He’s sick. Mandy too, she’s in her room. I’m taking a few days off to take care of ‘em.”
She looked like she had an avalanche of questions boiling up inside of her, but seemed to ignore them. “You get the Vick’s Vapo Rub for Mandy?” she demanded instead.
Mickey cursed. He knew he’d forgotten something.
“I’ll bring some back after dinner, I’m goin’ out with some of the girls,” she told him. “Don’t wait up, though.”
*
Six hours.
Six fucking beautiful hours of quiet. Somehow, the two invalids had managed to both fall asleep at the same time, leaving Mickey to do whatever the hell he wanted.
So, he read a few Road and Track magazines. He went outside and lifted some weights for a while. He took a thorough shower using some special disinfectant body wash (at least he hoped it was body wash) that he’d picked up earlier. He made himself a sandwich and ate it while watching Family Guy on low volume in the living room, sitting a safe distance away from the lump on the couch. It was fucking heaven.
But all good things come to an end eventually.
The sound of movement from the room behind him alerted Mickey to the fact that Mandy was awake and walking around. He leaned back against the wall, desperate for a few more minutes of peace. Maybe he could pretend he just didn’t hear her…
Well, if she weren’t wandering out into the hallway, he could have maybe. She was in the bathroom soon after that and Mickey had to ask.
“What are you looking for, sis?” he called out, listening to her rummage through the medicine cabinet.
“Tea,” she said brusquely.
Fuckin’ tea.
*
Ian woke up an hour after Mandy went back to sleep. He poked his head out of his turtle shell of blankets and smiled.
“Hey, Mickey.”
“Ian,” Mickey returned.
“I’m really cold, Mickey.”
“You want some tea?” Mickey offered.
“I think I might need something a little… hotter,” Ian said, raising an eyebrow. He coughed for three straight minutes and grabbed three tissues from the box on the coffee table to blow his nose in. “Actually, what kind of tea are we talking about here?”
“Lipton,” Mickey said. “And we got milk, sugar and honey if you want some.”
Ian blew his nose into a tissue. “Do you guys have lemons?”
“I’ll check,” Mickey got up from his chair. “And you better still be fully clothed when I get back.”
“I can’t promise miracles, Mickey.”
By some act of god, Ian had not managed to shed any clothing by the time Mickey returned with the tea. But he’d managed to make his face look as depressed as possible.
“Mickey?” he looked up (with a sniffle). Mickey had a bad feeling already.
“Ian,” he said shortly.
“It’s okay if you don’t…” Ian looked down at his tea, “you know, like me anymore. I understand.”
Oh Jesus.
Mickey wondered if Ian knew he was about as transparent as a piece of plastic wrap. His little pity-me act worked less on Mickey than the outright flirting earlier.
Ian’s lower lip poked out just the slightest - it wouldn’t have even been noticeable to anyone who didn’t have a small preoccupation with his mouth, and Mickey was pretty sure Ian knew it. He continued, “I mean, I guess I was pretty stupid thinking that you would still want me after a year.” He raised the cup to his lips cautiously, but pulled the cup away and hissed. “Ow,” he ran his tongue over his lips.
Oh Jesus.
Ian chuckled. “That’s hot. I guess I should blow on it before I try that again,” he said softly.
He licked his lips again (slowly) and started to pucker, but Mickey grabbed the mug from him before he could… well, blow.
“Don’t worry. We got ice cubes.” And he was damn lucky that he managed to say even that because all that was going through his mind was blowjobs blowjobs blowjobs blowjobs.
*
Thanks to a Valium, crushed up and put in the tea with an ice cube, Ian went back to sleep.
But, of course, since Mickey had no luck, Mandy woke up almost immediately afterwards and stumbled into the living room.
“Mickey,” she reached out, but Mickey leaned way over to avoid her hand. “Mickeyyyy... I’m hungry.”
“I’ll make you some soup,” Mickey told her.
“I want eggs,” Mandy said petulantly. “And bacon.”
“It’s midnight,” Mickey reminded her. “So… I’ll make you soup.” Mandy opened her mouth to complain, but Mickey managed to cut her off before she could make a noise. “Egg and bacon soup,” he lied. Mandy thought it over for a long moment, then whispered a small, “okay.”
He warmed up a can of chicken soup and served it to her on a bowl in the kitchen. Since she lacked taste buds, she ate it happily.
“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly. Startled by her admission, Mickey immediately started looking for whatever she was sorry for - unexpected vomit on the kitchen floor? Maybe she’d dropped her spoon or spilled her water? He couldn’t find anything, so resorted to asking her.
“For what?”
Mandy played around with her soup, pushing the noodles around. “I got sick and you have to take care of me. You always have to take care of me - like when Tall Kaylee threw my iPod in the toilet last year and you went and broke her brother’s fingers to make sure she bought me a new one.”
It honestly hadn’t been as big of a deal as Mandy made it seem. Mickey only had to break one finger (and a pinky at that) before the kid’s sister started crying and promised to buy Mandy a better iPod. No big deal at all.
Since she was half-delirious still and probably wouldn’t remember this whole conversation in the morning, Mickey told her the truth, “Please, I’d be dead by now if I didn’t have you to worry about.”
“You ended a sentence with a preposition,” Mandy pointed out. “It’s a common mistake, not many people know it’s incorrect. You should work on it.”
Mickey gave her a wry smile. “Yeah, whatever. Finish that fuckin’ soup and get back in bed. I’m fuckin’ exhausted.”