#the bitten phone case makes a triumphant return | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yourdeepestfathoms · 5 years

Text

uroboros, the eternal return (part one)

the first installment of the foster AU. the AU as a whole will be called “Ouroboros” (because i thought i was real clever with how it fit so well) and it’s going to be a series of either one-shots or multi-chapters, like this one! i hope you enjoy this adventure :)

TW: Mentioned/referenced child abuse, skin picking, accidental self harm

——————

-A Serpent Biting Its Tail-

“Katherine? Can I talk to you for a moment?”

The girl in question looks up from the book she was reading and nodded at her mother, who took a seat beside her on the couch.

“Yeah! What’s up?”

“What do you think about having a sister?”

Well, she cut right to the chase.

Katherine blinked a few times, toiling over what had been said to her. Then, she spoke:

“You’re pregnant?”

Immediately, Jane was laughing and she quickly waved a hand in the air.

“No! Oh, no, Kat, I’m not-” She snorts and covered her mouth with her hand, which makes Katherine start to giggle, too. “I’m not pregnant. What I mean is that I’m going to foster another girl.”

It’s been four years since Katherine’s adoption. Jane remembered when she first met the girl, who was thirteen and jittery. Looking at her now, she couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride in her chest. Now, at the age of seventeen, she’s really grown since then.

“Oh!” Katherine perked up, which really helped to relieve Jane’s fears, “Oh, that’s so cool!”

“So you don’t mind?”

“Not at all, mum! Besides, it’s not my choice, anyway.”

And so, it was settled.

A week later is when the girl arrived, on a late Friday evening after school.

Joan looked as though she was shattered and pieced back together several times. Her eyes were dull orbs of grey-green, which would have looked so beautiful if they had any life left in them. Blonde hair is cut unevenly, but combed as nicely as possible. She doesn’t look up when the front door is open.

“Hello, Cassandra,” Jane greeted the social worker accompanying the newest Seymour, “And hello there, lovely.”

Joan glanced up when she heard the pet name. Jane’s smile was warm, but she couldn’t trust it, so she looked back down, only offering a quiet, “Hi.”

“She’s a little shy,” Cassandra said, squeezing Joan’s shoulder reassuringly.

“I would be, too,” Jane said dismissively. “Come in! It’s cold out there!”

The house is clean, almost spotless. Joan wondered about how long it took to clean up for her arrival. She also wondered about what it looked like normally, when an intruder wasn’t coming over to stay for god knows how long. If her many suitcases were any indication, then she would probably find out what this place was really like.

The Seymour resident was very cozy, something Joan was almost dismayed about. She had been hoping the house was trashy so she wouldn’t have to stay there. It would be considered inhuman to leave a child in a dump (although that was proven wrong by her fifth family....).

But it wasn’t. Fall decor made the entrance and living room look so colorful and warm. There was a fire going in the fireplace, with a black cat and a tortoiseshell curled up on a green cat bed nearby. A grey pit bull puppy bounded up to greet them.

Joan thought her social worker and this Jane woman were expecting her to flinch, as it was a pit bull charging at her, but she didn’t (she almost WANTED to get bitten...and maybe even bleed out for good). She looked at Jane for permission before kneeling down to pet the dog.

“His name is Creature,” Jane informed.

Joan nodded and stood back up, smoothing her shirt. Jane called for someone named Katherine and, a few moments later, a teenager came walking down the stairs. This must have been her new sister.

She was tall. That’s the first thing Joan’s useless crow brain noted, but then it noticed the unnatural color of hair. The teenager’s hair was dyed pink at the tips, which almost gave her punk vibes, but her eyes were sincere, if not a little bit feisty. She seemed to be nice enough.

“Hey,” She said, approaching the pair of newcomers, “I’m Katherine!”

“Joan,” Joan replied and shook Katherine’s hand.

“Those two are Midna and Medli,” Katherine nodded at the pair of cats.

“Oh- like the Zelda character?”

Katherine whipped her head back around, which makes Joan jump a little. She smiled widely.

“Yeah! You play?”

“Yeah,” Joan admitted sheepishly, “One of my other families had a Wii, so... Twilight Princess was amazing.”

“Wasn’t it?” Katherine exclaimed, “It was SO GOOD!”

Jane couldn’t help but smile when the two girls started to talk to each other. It made her happy that they might get along, but she also noticed the way Joan fidgeted and scratched her nails fervently against her fingertips.

“Katherine, why don’t you show Joan to her new room?” Jane suggested so she could talk to Cassandra and Katherine nodded, leading the younger girl up the staircase.

It was an awkward descent, as barely any words were shared. Joan was shown a room that was sparsely furnished, clearly meaning to be a temporary room for guests and not an actual bedroom. Still, it was nice.

“You don’t talk much, huh?”

Joan turned around quickly while she was looking around to look at Katherine, who was leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyebrows were raised.

“Umm... I guess so,” Joan mumbled, turning back to the bed, which she ran her palms over several times. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Katherine said. “We’ll get to know each other soon. You seem cool, Jo!”

Joan furrowed her eyebrows at the nickname, but didn’t refuse it. She almost felt a giddy feeling bloom in her chest.

It didn’t last long when she reminded herself that she didn’t belong there.

After Katherine left to give her some space, Joan roots through her backpack for her phone charger and plugs it in before flopping down on the bed. She made the decision that she wasn’t going to unpack straight away, just in case things went south quickly. Maybe by the end of tonight they’d have enough of her.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Joan?” Cassandra knocks on the door a little bit later, pushing it open. “I’m going to leave now.”

“Okay.”

The social worker steps into the room, sitting on the end of Joan’s bed. There’s a moment of silence between them, not unlike during the car ride there, but the woman eventually speaks up.

“I know you’re disappointed, hurt, and scared. You have every right to be,” She said, “But I promise you that this time it’ll be different. They’ve been waiting for you for a week and--”

“A week?” Joan repeats in a whisper, “You mean you’ve known about this whole thing for a week but you didn’t bother to tell me?! You just thought that it would be a good idea to tell me that things aren’t working out on the same day that you take me to a new placement?”

“I didn’t realize until I came to pick you up that you didn’t know what was going on,” Cassandra said, “They said they’d told you.“

Joan shook her head. She pulled her quivering bottom lip in between her teeth and bit down hard. Tears burned her eyes and she did her best to blink her away.

“It’s never different, Cassie,” She whispered, “You’re a liar.”

Cassandra doesn’t say anything. She can’t blame the poor kid for thinking that way. This was her eleventh family in her young life of fifteen years- those numbers would break down anyone.

“I’m so sorry, Joan.” The woman finally said. She leaned over and gently kissed the top of the girl’s head, which makes her whimper a little, “You’ll be okay. I promise.”

Joan can’t believe her.

———

Joan knew that what she was doing wasn't good for her, watching blood slowly bubble up from where her nails had dug into another itchy scab. A compulsion, one of her many doctors (they switch a lot depending on family) had tried to explain to whatever her guardian was once, it's in her brain.

Joan knew they couldn't understand. They never did. Most of her families thought it was gross, mainly her younger or female siblings. She didn’t blame them.

Lying in bed that night, on the first night at the Seymour residence, was like waiting on death row. She was anxious, tossing and turning constantly. She wanted to turn the lights on- she never liked the dark- but she was afraid of being yelled at for it. It wouldn’t be the first time.

That’s when her finger twitched and the itch arose.

Well, if nothing else was going to calm her down...

Almost as soon as her attention turned to her left arm, up near the shoulder where it would be hidden by her sleeves, her nails were digging into the edges of a scab. The one furthest up on her arm currently, from when she had gotten into a nasty tussle with her old siblings three days ago (maybe that’s why they got rid of her) and somehow gotten a scratch deep enough to bleed. Joan gritted her teeth against the dull pain, as the old scab came off in flakes, and new blood welled around her nail. The ones that flaked annoyed Joan the most, and she bared her teeth at the smearing blood, determined to scratch the entire old scab out. There was one stubborn bit, clinging to the edge of healthy skin, unwilling to be scratched out of existence, but Joan’s determination was stronger than a tiny scab bit, and it eventually conceded defeat, surrendering to the nail of Joan’s middle finger. She let out a triumphant hum, before leaning further down her arm.

That's how she continued, for a little while, scratching and picking and plucking and grating. It felt...good. Familiar. Perfect. The anxiety quieted down as she carved fresh wounds in her flesh.

Perhaps this night wouldn’t be so bad after all...

———

Joan was...different, the Seymour’s had to admit.

She was shut in, had a personal space bubble as big as the perimeter of the moon, and seemed to have a life goal of being as secretive as possible.

But if she wasn’t brilliant. The girl was intelligent and very well-mannered, despite barely ever speaking any words. She wasn’t like the foster kids you see on media who yell at their temporary parents or hated living with the new family, rather just dealing with it quietly. She never argued over anything requested of her, not that Jane or Katherine ask much. Even so, she quickly took to doing things like the dishes and got flustered if caught.

Joan just made it so goddamn hard to be mad at. Not intentionally; she just had the docile appearance of a baby sheep that you just couldn’t yell at. It was like hunting in the woods and you come across a gentle doe, but you can’t bring yourself to shoot her.

Not only was Joan soft, she was also a good tenant. She was quiet and never asked of much. Hell, she didn’t even go near Katherine’s room unless invited.

Then again, it’s only been three days. Things could change once the grace period was over.

Monday morning, Joan had to get registered for school, which meant she ended up walking in on the middle of first period.

When she opened the door and peeked in, she almost regretted it and considered fleeing. The teacher stopped talking and turned to look at her with her eyebrows raised. Everyone was staring at this point and Joan knew she couldn’t run now. She pulled herself into the classroom and held out a slip of paper.

“I’m new,” She said as confidently as possible, but there was definitely a wobble in her voice. “I was getting registered.”

The teacher took the paper and scanned it over.

“I’m Joan Meutas, ma’am,” She thrusts her hand out, which the teacher was pleasantly surprised about. They shook hands.

“Mrs. Saunders,” The teacher said and then allows Joan to go take a seat. She ends up sitting down by a strikingly beautiful brunette girl with piercing blue eyes, but she quickly stamped down those feelings.

If her ninth house had taught her anything, it’s that she should always keep her sexuality a secret.

However, apparently she was ogling a little too much because she was confronted about it at lunch. It wasn’t mean, it wasn’t loud, it wasn’t noticed by a ton of people, rather a quick affair with absolutely no homophobic things said, it just...

In that moment, nothing could compare to the pain in Joan’s stomach- a hot ball of shame. She slammed the bathroom stall door shut and gasped, feeling so weak and vulnerable. She desperately wanted to stop crying, but no matter how hard she squeezed her shoulders, the tears just would not stop.

She dug her fingernails into her forearms and cried. She shuddered and sobbed in that stall for a long time, rocking back and forth on her knees. Dizziness shattered her skull like a sledgehammer against her temples. Her eyes screwed shut when everything around her started to spin, making her wooziness worse. Her nails grazed over the flesh on her arm. Her skin prickles and she grits her teeth, scratching to try and satisfy the itch.

It doesn’t work. In fact, it made her feel worse. Joan wanted to die right then and there. She considered drowning herself in the sink.

Then, the door opened and closed, and someone walked in. Joan tensed up and held her breath.

“Hello? Is anyone in here?”

Joan doesn’t know what made her get up, but she did, for some reason, and wrestled her robe back on. After wiping her eyes and making herself look somewhat less pathetic, she pushed open the stall door and looked out.

A girl was standing out there, obviously. It was the girl’s bathroom after all.

She had frizzy, curly hair that made her look like a lion, but her eyes were sweet. She’s a little taller than Joan and looks slightly older, maybe by a year, but they’re both in the same grade. She remembers seeing her in her second period.

When she sees her, she smiled warmly, obviously trying to let her know she wasn’t a threat.

“Hey,” She said.

“Shouldn’t you be at lunch?” Joan points out, stepping out of the stall fully and crossing her arms over her chest. She’s trying to seem cool and collective, but the way she had to lean against the wall and the tear stains down her cheeks betrays what she wants.

“Yeah,” The girl replied, laughing a little, “I’m Maria de Salinas.”

Joan wrinkles her nose. She doesn’t understand what she’s trying to do or what she wants.

Like there’s sand in her throat, she coughs and then laughs dryly, pain grating down the muscles in her neck like claws of ice.

“Listen,” She grits out, carving bloody half-moons in her palms with her fingernails, “I don’t know what you want, but I’m sorry for looking at your friend. If you’re going to hit me, can you just get it over with?”

A seriously concerned look crosses Maria’s face. She stared at Joan in shocked silence before shaking her head.

“I would never.” She said.

Joan raised an eyebrow before daring to move off the wall. She wants to flee and hide somewhere, away from everyone.

“Yeah, okay,” She muttered through her busted lips.

“It’s true!” Maria said, following her with her eyes.

Joan snorted lightly at that.

Maria tilted her head at her. She’s very pale, and the younger girl looks more dead than alive at this point, broken down by something Maria wasn’t aware of just yet. When she notices her swaying, she gently grabs Joan by the arm and guides her back over to the wall.

“You’re Joan Meutas, yes?” She questioned.

“Unfortunately,” She answered in a drained, tired voice. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m being nice,” Maria states, “You look like you need a friend. You seemed lonely in second. And I saw you run in here crying, so...”

Joan’s ears burned and she dips her head. She tried to tell her that maybe Maria was genuinely trying to be nice, but she couldn’t trust anyone anymore.

She was still for a moment before trying to jerk away. It sends her reeling, temples throbbing, skin burning, vision blurring. Hands grasp her forearms and steadies her. She doesn’t look at Maria, keeping her head bowed. Her breathing is audible and shaky. She wants to tell her to let go of her, but she suddenly can’t get enough air into her lungs.

Maria notices.

“Easy, easy,” She coaches gently, “Take a deep breath. Like me. Try following along with me. Just breathe me with. It’s going to be okay.”

Joan tried, doing pretty well aside from the fact that she stuttered on her breathing and forced more air into her already full lungs. Her chest stings in disagreement and she exhales, though it comes out sounding more like a wheeze.

“Why are you doing this for me?” She croaked.

“Hun, look at me. Do I really look like the kind of person who will judge you for crying?”

Joan looks up and Maria’s eyebrows are raised. She sniffles.

“Well… I don’t know.” She shrugged and the older girl laughed slightly.

She leans back a little, shifting her weight onto one leg. It still feels like pins and needles are raining down on her skin, but it’s a little bit easier to ignore with Maria around. She doesn’t know why.

“Thanks,” She said, picking at some lint on her jacket, “For coming in here, I mean.”

“No problem, love.”

Maria eases an arm around her shoulder, which she actually allows, and she smiled a little before hissing in between her teeth. The curly-haired girl thinks she’s done something wrong and goes to pull away, but Joan grabs her by the wrist and keeps herself securely in her embrace.

“I left all my stuff in the cafeteria when I ran out,” She clarified with a sigh, “I have to go get it.”

She goes to move, but, this time, it’s Maria who keeps the embrace going.

“Joey, if I may,” He said, “Are you really sure you should be going back out there? If you were crying in a school bathroom, I bet whatever happened wasn’t good.”

“I’m really over exaggerating what happened... It doesn’t matter.”

Maria makes a small, disgruntled noise, but doesn’t stop her. Instead, she goes along with her.

“You didn’t have to come.” Joan said.

“Joey,” Maria clipped, “I’m going.”

And Joan couldn’t help but smile a little more at that.

———

School feels safer than home and Joan doesn’t know why. Maybe because school is brutally honest. People make it known that they don’t like you, not hide it from you. Although it hurt, Joan preferred it that way. She rather be told out front that she wasn’t wanted rather than someone acting like that actually wanted her around.

Joan is mostly silent as she pokes at her dinner. She’s sure Jane is staring at her with a disgruntled expression because she was being so picky, but she wasn’t completely sure as her head was angled down towards the table.

“Joan,” Jane eventually started and Joan couldn’t help but tense up, “I was cleaning your room today. I wanted to ask why there was blood on your sheets.”

Joan was paralyzed. Her hands clenched around her fork and she didn’t dare look up.

“Is something wrong, honey?” Jane asked gently, “Are you hurt? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Because she was scared. Scared of bothering Jane, scared of being yelled at, scared of being told that if she wanted pain, then it could be inflicted on her.

“Joan?” Jane called out when she heard a tight whimper.

Joan suddenly shot up from her seat and bolted up the stairs. Tears explode from her eyes and she’s sobbing by the time she gets into her bedroom (no. it’s not her bedroom. not anymore). The first thing she does is start packing.

She was so stupid! How could she think Jane would be different? Of course she would invade her privacy and search for anything that could prove that she was a horrible mess of a person. Nobody ever respected her things.

They all just wanted a reason to get her out.

“Joan?”

Jane is now standing in her doorway.

“Joan, why are you packing?”

Joan prepares herself for a beating or berating- one final act of humiliation before she was kicked out again.

“Joan-”

Joan shrieks when Jane touched her shoulder. It was as soft as Maria’s touch (she missed Maria already) earlier that day but something about it was different. This was an adult touching her, and she couldn’t trust them anymore.

The girl reeled away as if she had been electrocuted and stumbled, tumbling to the ground. Jane is immediately upon her and she scrambled into the corner, raising her arms and preparing to try and protect her head. Jane froze and softened her voice.

“I’m not going to hurt you, honey,” She murmured, “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to startle you.” She glanced back at the bag that was messily half-packed, “Why were you packing?”

“A-aren’t you gonna give me away now?” Joan stuttered over her shaky breathing, “B-because-”

“Oh, no, honey, no,” Jane said, “I would never. Certainly not over something so inconvenient.”

Joan didn’t ease up from her huddle, but allows Jane to crouch in front of her. She sniffled again, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

“You’re not?” She squeaked out.

“I’m not,” Jane assured her. She sat down cross-legged in front of Joan, keeping a safe distance between the two of them, “I just want to know where the blood came from. Do you think you can tell me?”

It took a moment for Joan to answer, as she was focused on steadying her breathing. She pressed her head against the wall, taking deep, calming breaths. She opened her eyes eventually and Jane’s patient, loving expression was the first thing she saw.

Then, she tugged up her sleeves and held out her ugly, gross, scabbed arm.

Jane gasped softly and Joan prepared to be yelled at for her skin-picking habit, but she wasn’t. Instead, Jane asked to touch and held Joan’s hand delicately when permission was given. She carefully grazed her fingertips over the scars, which still makes Joan whimper in distress and fright.

“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. I promise.” Jane told her, squeezing her hand comfortingly, “I’ll help you, okay? Kitty and I both. And I know that may be hard for you to believe, and I don’t blame you for that, but know that I’ll never hurt you. You don’t have to like me, you don’t have to think of me as you mother, but give me a chance. Please.”

Joan looked at her, looked deep into her steel grey eyes which held so much compassion and motherly warmth, so much...promise and security.

Then, she dared to nod in agreement.

#foster au #i didnt do it justice at all im so sorry #this part sucks ass #part two will be better i promise!!#joan on the keys #jane seymour #katherine howard #maria on the drums #six the musical #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical au #tw: child abuse #tw: skin picking #tw: self harm

39 notes · View notes

shamelessly4shameless-blog · 7 years

Text

The Sand In Your Shoe (pt 6)

The telephone in the bar starts ringing just as Mickey is changing a barrel. He yells for someone else to get it but no one does.

“Hey! Can someone get the fuckin’ phone, please?”

The barrel slips and lands painfully on his bare foot.

“Mother fucker!!”

Mickey punches the metal casing sharply and stands up, glaring at it.

“I’ll just do everything my fuckin’ self shall I?”

He yells at no one in particular in the split second before he snatches the ringing phone off the hook

“Yeah, what?”

“Collect call from Chicago, Illinois. Will you accept the charges?”

A friendly automated voice asks and Mickey tells it to go fuck itself before hanging up and stomping out to the kitchen where Juan is chopping limes and flirting with Mandy.

“Didn’t you two assholes hear me yelling?

“Yeah but you’re always yelling so we ignored it.”

Mandy grins at her brother and receives a raised middle finger in return

“I’m goin’ upstairs. Juan, change the fuckin’ barrel ...”

“Which one boss?”

“The one that’s fuckin’ empty! Jesus Christ! Oh and leave my sister the fuck alone. You can do better.”

Mickey gives Mandy a sarcastic, open-mouthed grin before turning and heading to his room and she raises her own single-digit salute to his retreating back.

“Dick-splash!”

Mandy calls affectionately

“Cock guzzler.”

Mickey yells back

“Takes one to know one.”

Mandy’s voice is triumphant and Mickey tongues the inside of his cheek, refusing to laugh but he doesn’t yell anything back either, grudgingly conceding the win to her.

He blames the collect call. It is the code he and Svetlana use for emergencies. If she is calling then someone is dead, in prison or the Feds are sniffing around for him again.

Mickey takes the stairs to his room two at a time and rifles through his clothes drawer to find a fresh burner phone. He always has two or three ready to use just in case although Svetlana is as cautious about contacting him as he is. Mickey knows that this has very little to do with his actual wellbeing more the fact that he sends money for Yevgeny every month and whatever is best for Yevgeny, that is what Svetlana will do. Mickey likes that about her.

He punches the number in and waits. Svetlana answers after two rings

“Yevgeny OK?”

Mickey asks without preamble and he hears the smile in her voice when she answers

“He’s fine. You are getting better at asking that though. It almost sounds like you care.”

“Fuck you. What’s going on then?”

“Carrot Boy, he says Hello.”

Mickey swallows, his throat suddenly dry and closes his eyes. Whatever he expected it wasn’t that.

“Ian?”

“Yes. He says Hello.”

“What did you say back?”

Mickey’s voice sounds strange even to his own ears and he coughs to try and clear the croakiness from it.

“That you are fine and that I would pass his message on. I also took his number.”

“Did you give him mine?”

“Of course not!”

Mickey licks his lip and he nods for a second before realising that Svetlana can’t see him. Of course she wouldn’t have given out his number, she’s smarter than that which is useful because right now Mickey is not.

“You still there?”

“Yes I’m here.”

“Well can I have his number?”

A pause down the end of the line that can’t be more than a few seconds but to Mickey feels like much longer.

“I will post it to you.”

“What the fuck? Why?”

“Because the red one makes you as crazy as he is. You will come running to him, get yourself arrested and make no money and then Yevgeny does not get new school clothes. You must think.”

“Number fuckin’ one, he’s not crazy, he has a fuckin’ illness. Two, you got no right to withhold that phone number from me like I’m some dipshit who can’t take care of his fucking self and three, I’ve been sending plenty of cash so the kid should have new clothes already. You need more money, get on your knees and earn it.”

Mickey can hear his voice rising to a near shout and doesn’t give a flying fuck. He gets on well with Svetlana with a couple thousand miles between them but he’s not above being an asshole when she talks to him like he’s an idiot.

When she answers her voice is level and polite as if she had not heard his outrage at all and that irritates him almost as much as her previous comments.

“I will post it.”

“Fuck sake.”

Mickey wants to hit something but contents himself with a heavy breath through his nose.

“You want to hear about your son now?”

“Sure.”

Mickey really doesn’t have much head space to hear about little league and school reports at the moment but he listens anyway. Svetlana talks for a while and then pauses and says

“Yevgeny stole his first car.”

“Good.”

Micky mumbles absent-mindedly and hears a snort down the line

“I knew you were not listening.”

“I am fucking listening!”

“Really? I just told you your son stole his first car and you said ‘Good’?”

“Yeah. Why? Did he fuck it up?”

Svetlana laughs and Mickey makes an impatient gesture at the phone, confused.

“Thank God for the Mexican border. Good bye Mikhailo.”

“Wait … Ian’s number. C’mon Svet, don’t be an asshole. It’s been four fuckin’ years. I just wanna say hello to him.”

“You already did. He said hello back. That part is done. I will post it.”

The phone goes dead and Mickey stares at the little plastic box in his hand as if he has never seen one before.

“What the fuck just happened?”

He takes a seat on the edge of his bed, fists balled lightly on his knees. He stares into space for a moment, not seeing the poorly painted walls of his room but a carousel of images that flicker through his consciousness one after the other so quickly he is sure that if he blinks he will miss them.

Freckles across the back of broad, capable hands

Green eyes, lit with laughter and a little red from drinking the night before

A smattering of red hair across the planes of a flat belly

Dark red eyelashes sweeping pales cheekbones, casting shadows in the dim light of a lamp as he watches Ian sleep.

A blue plaid shirt stretched across shoulders that Mickey knows are bruised with his kisses.

Gallagher.

Mickey can’t help the smile that spreads across his face, doesn’t even try and stop it.

The thought of hearing Ian’s voice… Mickey sits up and presses his lips together suddenly overwhelmed.

What the Hell will he say?

He shrugs his shoulders and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes wiping away the moisture which threatens to spill over his lashes.

It doesn’t matter. All that matters is he’ll have a chance to say something. Even if it is only fucking ‘Hello’ again.

Mickey tries to go about his day as usual but he is smiling too much and Mandy keeps giving him these amused little looks until she finally takes a couple of beers from the bar fridge and tugs him away from the counter he is wiping down.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s clean Mick, it’s been clean for ten minutes. Come and take a break.”

She leads him outside and they sit side by side on the bar porch, the old wood dusted with sand and bleached almost white by the sun.

“What’s going on? You look like you just got your dick sucked.”

“Fuck off. I can’t smile a little now without something being up?”

“You can but you never do.”

Mandy lights a cigarette and passes it over to him with a smirk that makes her brother roll his eyes impatiently

“If I tell you, you can’t make a fuckin’ fuss about it, you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

Mandy nods, sips her beer and waits.

“Svet called … She spoke to Ian and he said to say hey.”

“Ian? Gallagher?”

“How many fuckin’ Ian’s do you know? Yes Gallagher.”

Mandy’s face lights up and she reaches across and squeezes Mickey’s hand tightly

“You happy? Course you’re fucking happy. Look at your face.”

Mickey smiles almost shyly and nods.

“It’s good to know he’s still around. I mean, you know, I don’t fuckin’ care what he’s doing or shit like that, but to know he’s still around and he’s OK – that’s good.”

“Do you think he wants to pick up with you?”

“Nah. Probably not.”

Mickey sounds falsely nonchalant and Mandy sees the pulse in his throat jump a little.

“He might, Mickey.”

“You don’t seem fuckin’ surprised. Did you know he was gonna say something?”

“No. Don’t be paranoid. I just always thought he would one day.”

Mandy releases his hand and sits back looking out across the beach spread out before them but slowly, she allows her gaze to rove round and settle on her big brother.

He is a little tanned and his hair is a little longer than she remembers him wearing it in South Side. The tan of his face makes his blue eyes appear even bluer than usual. Mandy has always been jealous of his eyes, they’re clear and beautiful and she wishes she had that same shade inherited from their mother rather than their father’s darker orbs.

Mickey’s body is different too, leaner than it used to be and he holds himself a little differently too. She can’t quite describe how it is different but the effect is that he looks less wary of the world, more at ease in his own skin.

Mexico has been good for him, good for her too and she will always be grateful to him for dragging her out there and helping her get set up. Kenyatta had finally left her alone and she had taken up with another guy, Phil, who she mostly dated because of his name. He was less violent than Kenyatta but not by much and someone must have told Mickey because one day, three years after he disappeared into the Mexican sunset, her brother had appeared at her door and told her to pack her shit.

She’d resisted at first and been pissed at him for interfering. She’d yelled at him, pushed him, bitten his arm hard enough to draw blood when he tried to shut her up and slapped his face hard enough to leave a bruise when he yelled back at her.

Finally they’d worn themselves out and Mickey had offered her a cigarette. As they smoked in tense silence her brother had put an arm around her shoulders and spoken to her more gently than she remembered him speaking her in her life. He had told her he was sorry for not doing more to shelter her before. He told her that she was worth so much more than Kenyatta or Phil and especially Lip Gallagher, that asshole!

He called her beautiful and traced the curve of her cheek bone with one thumb, wiping away her tears with a gentleness she didn’t know he still had and as he spoke the years of confusion and loss fell away leaving only the core of their relationship, naked and fragile as a newly hatched chick.

“Let me take care of you, Mand. I love you.”

So she had gone with him and expected nothing more than a few weeks shitty vacation before he would change his mind and kick her out but Mickey surprised her at every tun and was as good as his word. He took care of her.

Their relationship began to rebuild both of them learning how to exist in a new environment that wasn��t dominated by violence and Terry’s moods. Mickey still got into fights, Mandy still fucked around a little more than she really wanted to, but they were free to make those choices without fear and Mandy would hand Mickey ice for his swollen knuckles without comment and he left her coffee on the bedside table in the mornings when she slept in late. They’ll never be the Walton’s but they’re family all the same.

“The fuck are you lookin’ at?”

Mickey is peering at her impatiently and Mandy smiles to herself, shaking her head

“Nothing.”

She hesitates

“Do you think Ian is going to call you?”

“Svet only took his number.”

“So are you going to call him?”

“Maybe. I dunno what I’d say.”

“Just say what you said to me.”

Mandy smiled the warmth of memory still around her like a shawl.

“Cock-Guzzler?”

“No! Fuck sake, Mickey! Say something sweet to him.”

“I dunno. Yeah. Nah. He knows how I feel.”

He squints into the sun and stubs his smoke out, not quite willing to make eye contact with her.

“Maybe four years ago but if I was him, I’d think you probably hate me. For not coming with you?”

“No. He knows I don’t … I … I fuckin’ wish I could hate him. Ginger prick!”

“Tell him that and then tell him you love him.”

Mandy laughs and stands up kissing his head and heading back into the bar. A lot has changed but she still thinks that women were invented to think for men. In this case she hopes a competent woman is thinking for Ian too.

#shameless #shameless us #shameless fanfiction #ian gallagher #ian x mickey #mickey milkovich #gallavich #Milkovich #mandy milkovich #Mickey and Mandy

6 notes · View notes