Chapter Text
Mickey Milkovich had no idea where he was or where he was going. Literally or figuratively. His heavy boots scuffed the dusty track he walked down and he allowed himself a moment of self-pity to wonder how he got here, trekking through the deserted backroads that surrounded the shithole army base he’d been assigned to for the last three months. It was July in the northern part of Georgia, which meant heat. A lot of heat. The hottest month of the year in these parts if his bunk mate Kenny was to be believed. Kenny talked a lot of shit but Mickey was pretty sure he wouldn’t make up dumb shit about the weather. Besides, it was worlds apart from his hometown of Chicago so he was happy to accept that boiling to death on the side of this road was the way he would die. For the first time since his arrival to the base he was on leave and he had headed out to walk to the nearest town. What he hadn’t bargained for was the blistering sun and the town being more than two hours away by foot.
A horn blaring behind him had Mickey on high alert, stepping onto the grass verge to allow the vehicle to pass. Instead, a dusty black SUV rolled to a stop alongside him and a middle-aged redneck stuck his head out.
“Hey there! Whatchoo doin’ walking in this heat? You lost?”
Mickey rolled his eyes and looked up at the driver. “Not lost, sir. Just walkin.”
“You from the base?”
With gritted teeth, Mickey fought the urge to snap about minding his own business. Why did people think it was acceptable to just roll up on someone and start demanding to know their shit? It took all his inner zen to smile tightly and nod.
“You headed into town? I can give you a lift, if you want.”
Mickey shook his head firmly, sending droplets of sweat spraying out of his hair. “No thanks, I like to walk.”
No fucking way was he getting into a truck with some random sweaty guy who looked like he finished first in a Grizzly Adams lookalike competition.
“You sure?”
Mickey’s smile turned shark-like. “Call it all-weather conditioning training.”
Grizzly grinned back and waved as he revved his engine. “Thank you for your service.”
It took Mickey five more minutes of walking to regret refusing the ride.
When the sign for the bar came into view an hour later, Mickey couldn’t be sure it wasn’t one of those tricks of the mind. Like when you see an oasis in a desert but it winds up being a mirage. He was used to hiking in all weathers but today he was having a tough time keeping his head in the game. The sign read ‘Cam’s Bar’ but the C was missing and the rest was coated in dust. It wasn’t until the handle felt real in his hand that Mickey felt sure the place actually existed.
“Holy fuck.” He gasped involuntarily when the cold air of the AC licked his skin. His army-issue tank top was soaked in sweat and clinging to his body like it was painted on. He felt disgusting. Looking around, he had no need to worry. Besides the old man behind the bar tinkering with an old TV set the only other patron was a tall redhead in the back corner. He was shooting pool and keeping an eye on the wall-mounted TV where a game of ice hockey was playing. Mickey grinned, seeing it was his beloved Chicago Blackhawks.
“What can I getcha buddy?”
Mickey turned back to the bar and checked out the drinks on offer. None of the beer pumps had labels. He scowled at yet another example of how the South hadn’t joined the 21st century yet. Fuckin backward hicks.
“Beer, whatever’s cold.”
The man nodded once and pulled a pint from the pump nearest to him, lord only knows what it was, and set it down on the counter. “Pay now or start a tab?”
Mickey considered that and shrugged. “Open a tab. Nowhere else to go in this godforsaken town…”
”Name?”
”Mickey.”
The old man nodded before turning abruptly away.
With his drink in hand, Mickey looked around for another TV to watch the game – even though he’d worked out that it was actually a rerun of the previous season’s match and he knew exactly how it ended. To his dismay he found the only set was the one next to the pool table and it was too close to the only other man in the place for Mickey’s comfort. He avoided human interaction like most people avoided bacteria. His life had been one fuck up after another thus far and he wasn’t about making friends in a place he had zero interest in spending more than one minute of time more than he needed to. This particular posting was all about getting his unit ready for deployment. Seven years in the army and Mickey had made it as far as patrolling the Mexican border in Bumfuck, Texas. To say he was hoping for a more exciting location when he was deployed was a gross understatement.
“You wanna play?”
Mickey jolted at the voice and turned to find the redhead was now gazing at him carefully like he was afraid to spook him. It took Mickey a moment to make his mind up. Now that his body temperature was regulated and he had a cold beer inside him he found he didn’t feel so strongly about murdering the next person that spoke to him. When he didn’t immediately reply the redhead made a weird gesture with his hands in front of Mickey’s face.
“The fuck you waving at?”
“Sign language. You didn’t answer, thought you might be deaf.”
Mickey was so startled he actually laughed out loud. “Fuck off.”
The other man grinned and held out the pool cue for Mickey. “You can break, gonna take a leak while you rack em up.”
Mickey watched him head to the opposite corner and disappear behind a wooden door labelled by a hanging sign depicting a stick man crossing his legs. Thoughts burst into his mind, completely unbidden, that made Mickey feel thunderous inside. Thoughts he had flipped his life upside down to avoid rushed into his brain and made him hot and angry at himself. And at the man who unwittingly caused it. When he returned from the restroom Mickey was at the bar ordering a shot of tequila and another beer.
“You okay? Don’t have to play if you don’t wanna. Can just watch the game…”
Mickey reeled around and glared at the stranger. “Don’t wanna be your friend, Red. Gonna be outta this shithole soon enough. Don’t need to make friends now.”
“My name is Ian.”
The words were delivered softly but firmly and Mickey admired the guy’s ability to keep his cool when an arrogant asshole was making an idiot of himself.
“And I wasn’t asking to be your friend. I was just being friendly. Big difference. Sorry to have offended.”
Mickey watched as Ian headed back to his corner and felt irrational anger bubble up inside him. “What? You’re not gonna thank me for my service?”
Ian laughed loudly and hollowly, turning to face Mickey and lifting the hem of his black shirt up to his chin. Mickey gaped at the display of rock hard abs and firm pectoral muscles. It lasted a moment before he spotted the livid red skin of severe but well healed burns covering the left side of Ian’s body from waist to armpit. “You gonna thank me for mine? Didn’t think so. Drink your beer, soldier, I won’t bother you again.”
It was awkward in the bar after that. The bartender had disappeared down into the cellar and hadn’t been seen for the last hour. No other patrons had come in for a drink, which wasn’t all that surprising in a town the size of a postage stamp. Ian kept shooting pool and watching the game like nothing had happened but Mickey felt like shit. He hated himself sometimes. His anger issues, his blatant rage at people who didn’t deserve it, made him a thoroughly unpleasant character. After enlisting at age 18, Mickey thought his problems were behind him. He’d escaped his crazy family. Never in a million years did he think that he’d ever escape his father. Once he realized he didn’t like girls the way his brothers liked girls, he knew then he needed to do something drastic before his father found out and killed him on the spot. Enlisting seemed like the magic ticket he’d been waiting for all his teenage life. A way to toughen him up and make him a man, just like his father wanted. And – fuck, it’s laughable now – all Mickey wanted was to make his dear old Dad proud. Terry Milkovich didn’t care enough about any of his kids to be proud of them. All Mickey and his siblings were put on earth to do was carry on the Milkovich name and make money for their father to drink and snort.
“Who you gotta blow around here to get a goddamn drink?” Mickey snapped loudly to the empty bar.
“That would be me.” A second later Ian was making his way behind the high counter and grabbing a pint glass, filling it with whatever Mickey had already been drinking. He set it down and marked a piece of paper that was, presumably, the tab Mickey had opened. “Enjoy.”
Mickey felt supremely uncomfortable. The man in front of him was everything he enlisted to get away from. Tall, lean but with a hint of muscle and eyes you could join a fan club for, he was ridiculously easy on the eye. Mickey rarely acknowledged his reasons for joining the army even in his own head. He pushed those thoughts to dark recesses of his corrupt mind and shut down anything that tried to bring them into the light. But Ian wasn’t so easy to shut down. He was right there. Right in Mickey’s face, taunting him without knowing what he was doing. It was infuriating.
“Jack of all trades, huh.” Mickey snarked and Ian laughed softly.
“Cam disappears down there most days to smoke weed. There’s always a regular around to serve the masses.”
Mickey’s eyes widened. “Well, fuck, what are we doing up here?”
Ian’s laugh got louder. “You’re willing to risk failing a piss test to sneak down to a dusty cellar and smoke weed with the bastard child of Willie Nelson and Seasick Steve?”
Mickey couldn’t hold back his laugh and the pair of them were suddenly giggling together like the hadn’t spent the last hour being pissed at each other. “Guess you’re right.”
“His son is the town cop and is eternally ashamed of his father. Cam is equally ashamed of his son. It’s actually pretty funny.”
“What’s family without mutual shame?” The words slipped out of Mickey’s mouth and the smile slipped off his face. “I mean, don’t we all disappoint our parents?”
Ian grinned and didn’t mention Mickey’s rapid cover up. With a shrug he made his way from behind the bar and headed back to his corner. “I don’t have a relationship with my parents so I wouldn’t know.”
Mickey watched Ian rack up the pool balls and bend at the waist to break them across the table. His eyes flickered up and down Ian’s body and he gulped down some beer to get rid of the dryness in his mouth.
“Come play some pool and watch the damn game, I can see you want to.”
Mickey edged closer but still held back a little, making Ian sigh heavily. Mickey ignored it and set his beer down next to Ian’s drink, which looked suspiciously like sparkling water. “You like hockey?”
“Sure.” Ian shrugged casually. “I like most sports.”
“Fuckin’ Blackhawks, man. Stole my heart when I was seven years old and never gave it back.”
Ian’s head shot up and his eyes narrowed. “You’re from Chicago?”
“South Side born and raised.” Mickey nodded and took the pool cue from Ian’s hands.
“Fuck off. No way! Me too!”
Mickey abandoned his mission to pot some balls and reeled on Ian. “Shut up!”
Ian laughed that musical giggle that didn’t irritate Mickey anywhere near as much as it should. “Canaryville!”
Mickey shook his head. “No way! I can’t believe it! What the hell are you doing down here?”
Ian’s smile slipped just like Mickey’s had and he knew there was a story there somewhere. “Enlisted. Just like you, I guess.”
Mickey snorted. “What? You ran from your problems too?”
“Yeah. Relationship issues, I guess you could say.”
The pool table was all but abandoned as the two men leaned against the wooden frame while they talked.
“She break your heart, Red?” Mickey smirked, feeling comfortable enough to tease.
“He. And no. It was never going to be anything more than a dirty secret to be buried forever. I just needed to get out.”
Mickey didn’t realize he’d taken a step back from Ian until the redhead glared at him angrily. “Don’t worry. You’re not my type.”
“I don’t give a shit who you fuck.”
Mickey knew his face was flaming red and he could hear the blood pumping in his ears. What was the chances of bumping into another South Sider all the way down in Georgia for fucks sake? One who joined the army to get away from…well, yeah. Mickey didn’t entertain thoughts about why he left Chicago. That was the rule.
“Really?” Ian snorted derisively. “You wanna tell your face that. Sneering at me like I’m some sort of second class citizen. Fuck you.”
Mickey held up his hands. “I do not give a fuck who you fuck. Trust me.”
Ian gulped down his water and shuddered. “Fine.”
Mickey sank into a chair by the TV set and sipped at his beer. If his memory served, his beloved team had another two goals to score and he didn’t want to miss them. Ian tentatively sat down to the left of him.
“Sorry.”
“Forget it.”
“Just not used to people from back home being okay with…well, me.”
Mickey rolled his eyes. “You have to care to give a shit. And I don’t.”
Ian nodded once. “Sure…only…”
“Ian. Shut the fuck up and watch the game.” Mickey smirked behind his pint glass.
The bar got busier as the evening approached and Mickey didn’t know what to do next. He’d had enough to drink – not drunk, but a nice buzz – but he wasn’t ready to head back to the base. He had two days away if he wanted them but he was struggling to figure out what to do with the time.
“Hey Red?”
Ian looked up from his conversation with what seemed to be a local, who was old and apparently deaf. His hands flew in precise motions as he conversed with the man, making a smile appear on his wizened face.
“Yeah?”
“What is there to do in this shithole?”
Ian rolled his eyes and signed something to the man, who patted Ian on the arm easily and wandered away. “What do you mean?”
“You really know sign language?” Mickey suddenly realized. He’d assumed Ian’s efforts to wave in his face earlier had been a joke.
“Uh, yeah, sure.” Ian frowned in confusion at the switch in gears.
“I got a 48 pass. Don’t wanna go back yet. Anything going on tonight?”
Ian chuckled and shrugged. “I don’t know. Not really the partying type. I’m heading home now.”
Mickey suddenly felt a strange emotion filling his chest. Ian leaving hadn’t really been part of the plan he hadn’t yet made. “It’s early.”
Another shrug from Ian as he drained his glass. “Got things to do at home.”
“What things? Can’t they wait?” Mickey heard the desperation in his own voice and hated himself for it.
“Nope.” Ian replied simply. “Nice meeting you, Mickey. See ya.”
The abruptness of his departure stung and Mickey couldn’t get a grasp on his emotions right away. But he did know he didn’t want to see Ian walk out of the door, so instead he headed to the restroom to take a piss. While he was there he decided to head out and see if he could find a motel room with clean sheets and a few porn channels. It might not be the most exciting thing to do with his leave but it certainly beat going back to the base a day earlier than absolutely necessary.
“Hey. Need to settle up.” Mickey all but barked at Cam.
The elderly hippy picked up a receipt and handed it over the bar. “All paid up.”
“What the fuck?” Mickey snatched it and glanced at it. Five beers, two shots of tequila and three soda waters. It was shown as settled and a handwritten note covered the space at the bottom.
Thank you for your service.
It hit Mickey like a punch in the gut. Without giving himself time to think about what he was doing or the consequences, Mickey ran out of the bar and into the early evening heat. It was oppressive even when the sun was on its way down. He scanned the parking lot and the street for any sign of the redhead. All he found was the tail lights of a once red truck as it drove away from the bar and along the main road. Away from the bar and away from Mickey.
The motel he found was quite seriously enough to give a health inspector a full on heart attack. Or a boner, depending on how much he enjoyed shutting places down. With his six pack from the only store in the whole town Mickey settled in for a night of miserable wanking in front of even more miserable pornography. He didn’t enjoy porn. It reminded him of things he wanted to forget. Like why he was ogling the dicks and not the tits. But jerking off without it was hard work and he needed it to sleep, so it was a shitty fucking catch-22 situation. After an hour and three more beers Mickey was disgusted to find it was only 8 in the evening.
“What the fuck are you doing, Milkovich?”
His boots were already back on his feet and he was heading back to the bar before he could answer his own question.
It was like a different place entirely when Mickey returned. The bar was busting at its seams and men in plaid filled every table. It was probably some homo’s biggest fantasy to see so much chest hair and testosterone in one place but it turned Mickey’s stomach. Sure, if he had to be totally honest, he did have thoughts about other men that wouldn’t be tolerated by 99% of his gene pool. Sure, sometimes he liked to stick a finger in his asshole when he jerked off. And sure, maybe just maybe he knew he would probably die alone because he couldn’t live his truth. But that didn’t mean he didn’t know his truth, deep down. He knew it. He just chose to ignore it. And his truth? It wasn’t wrapped up in plaid and it didn’t smell like week old body odor. His brain filled with thoughts of Ian and how he wore the hell out of a pair of Levi jeans and Converse sneakers. The black band tee that he wore – some emo shit Mickey listened to through his bedroom wall when his sister was going through her nose ring and melancholy phase – fit him like a glove. Ian didn’t look like he fit in here any more than Mickey did, even though he was obviously a regular and on good terms with the owner.
“Yo!” Mickey got Cam’s attention. “Ian. You know where he lives?”
Cam narrowed his eyes in consternation. Mickey schooled his features to avoid looking like an asshole and give him any reason to refuse him the information.
“Friend of his?”
Mickey sucked in a breath. “Yeah. Guess so.”
“End of the road. Take the left and follow it to the end. That’s his place.”
Mickey nodded. “Thanks. Is it walking distance?”
Cam chuckled. “For a soldier boy like you? Sure.”
Ignoring the dig, Mickey saluted and turned to leave. Cam’s voice calling out to him made him stop in his tracks.
“Anything happens to Ian and you’ll have this whole bar looking for you.”
Mickey raised his eyebrows and glanced around at the crowd of southern hicks drinking their piss water beer. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
Walking distance in Georgia was a different thing entirely. Nobody walked anywhere back home. There was always a train to hop over the barrier to jump onto even if you were only going a block or two. Mickey wasn’t sure there was even a bus stop in this hell town. It took nearly an hour to walk the directions given to him by the stoner at the bar. At least the sun wasn’t high and hot, even though Mickey felt the grime of his day coating his skin. Finally, he saw the red truck at the end of the lane and realized he was on a farm. A small single story house with a wrap-around porch and peeled paint stood in the middle of acres and acres of green land. A couple of horses grazed in the nearest field and Mickey took a moment to just gaze at them, an unfamiliar warmth at the sight of nature spreading in his chest. A flash of orange caught his eye and he squinted in the dying sun, spotting Ian emerging from a small barn structure across the field. He’d stripped out of his shirt and stuck it in the waist of his jeans and Mickey found his eyes glued to the other man’s body. Ian was just…Mickey couldn’t let himself think it. He couldn’t. Except his brain wasn’t listening to his warnings like it usually did. It wasn’t letting him shut that crap down.
Beautiful.
Ian was just beautiful.
And he was getting closer.
“Mickey?”
“Uh…hey Red.”
Ian looked utterly confused and stared at Mickey, waiting for an explanation for his presence.
“Came to say thanks.”
“What?” Ian frowned, pulling the shirt from his jeans and wiping down his hands.
“For settling my tab. Came to thank you.”
“You walked all the way here to say thanks? Are you normally this insane or we gotta get you checked out for heatstroke?”
Mickey barked a laugh and shrugged. “I dunno. Guess it sounds kinda wild when you put it like that. Sorry, I’ll go…”
Ian sighed heavily. “Come inside. Have some water.”
Mickey didn’t get a chance to argue. Ian was already on the porch and opening the door, the creak of the hinges loud in the night air. Once inside Mickey found he wasn’t remotely surprised by his surroundings. For all he’d just met Ian that day he seemed to have a good read on the guy and smiled at the home comforts on display. It wasn’t much but it was intrinsically Ian, that much was clear. A large red couch with worn fabric rested against one wall with a comically small table in front of it. A TV on a stand lined the wall opposite the couch and a book case filled to bursting point covered the other wall, with a door that was open and Mickey could see into the kitchen.
“Sit down. I’ll get you a drink.” Ian said distractedly, tossing his damp shirt on the arm of the couch and disappearing through to the kitchen. When he emerged a few moments later Mickey was disappointed to see he’d found a clean shirt – this time a threadbare grey Bears tee.
“Thanks,” Mickey took his water. “Seasick Nelson told me it was walking distance.”
Ian snorted. “You listened to Cam? Wow.”
“Yeah well, I didn’t know he was a secret sadist did I?”
Ian slumped into the chair beside him. “You didn’t need to come out here. Not that I mind…you just didn’t need to.”
“I know, Red. But you’re the first person I’ve met since I came here three months ago that I didn’t wanna bash over the head with a rock. Figured I should make the most of it.”
Ian clutched his heart and whistled. “What an honor. Truly.”
Mickey watched out of the corner of his eye as Ian drained his glass of cold water and rose to his feet. Mickey scrambled to his and gazed at Ian.
“Relax,” Ian reassured him. “I just gotta finish off with the animals. You wanna stay for dinner? Your stomach is rumbling like you haven’t eaten all day.”
“Uh, yeah, I haven’t. Dinner would be good.”
Ian nodded and headed to the door. Mickey followed him.
“I can help.”
With a smirk, Ian held open the door for him. “You know much about horses?”
“Well I ain’t Dr Doolittle but sure can follow instructions.” Mickey retorted and bounced out of the house.
Mickey knew nothing about horses. If Ian had been in any doubt, it became abundantly clear within the first minute.
“He’s not a dog. He doesn’t respond to whistling.” Ian taunted him.
Magic, the huge as fuck chestnut beast, stared Mickey down from his position at the other side of the field. He was magnificent and Mickey was terrified. Ian sensed it and moved in front of Mickey, waving his hand at Magic and waiting a moment. Sure enough, the horse started to amble closer to the men and Mickey went rigid.
“Good boy. That’s my guy.” Ian ran his hand down Magic’s neck. The animal dipped his huge head and allowed Ian to nuzzle his face against it tenderly. “Good boy.”
Jesus, Mickey swallowed hard, those words were doing something to him that he couldn’t even begin to explain.
“Say hello to Mickey, Magic. He’s a friend.”
Mickey took a half step backwards when Magic turned to look at him on Ian’s command. Ian smiled reassuringly and reached out his hand. Mickey reared away from it and glared at Ian.
“The fuck?”
“Relax. Just helping you get used to him. No homo.” Ian rolled his eyes.
Mickey’s insides burned. It felt like actual fire raged in his chest. No homo, Ian had said. Right. He fought his instinct to run – which wasn’t so much an instinct now but more of a muscle memory he could override quite easily – and let Ian take his wrist in his hand and place it on Magic’s mane. The horse let out a gentle snort that tickled the hair on Mickey’s arm and made him laugh.
“He’s a big softie. I never rode a horse in my life until I met Magic.” Ian murmured softly. “Now I give riding lessons to the kids in the area, he’s my go-to gentle giant.”
Mickey hummed to himself. “Never been on a horse.”
“I figured.” Ian chuckled and Mickey flipped him off. “Maybe I could give you a lesson before you go back.”
He was met with silence. Mickey was contemplating the implications of meeting Ian, of making a friend, being reminded of home and all of the things he had spent his whole life avoiding.
“Are you happy here?” He blurted out, making Ian look at him sharply.
“What do you mean?”
Mickey blushed furiously and shook his head. “Forget it. Doesn’t matter.”
Ian smiled wryly. “I gotta get them inside. You can head back if you want. Get cleaned up before we eat.”
“Yeah?”
“Sure. Take a shower if you like. It’s been a hot one today.”
Mickey returned Ian’s smile. “Thank you.”
When Mickey got out of the shower he found Ian in the tiny kitchen. The redhead grabbed a pile of clothes from the two-seater dining table and handed them to Mickey.
“Might be a little big on you but they’ll be comfortable.”
It felt strange being in Ian’s clothes. The sweatpants were about a foot too long on him and the thin grey cotton shirt was baggy against his torso. But it was the fact that they were Ian’s that made him feel odd. Like he was closer to him somehow. Mickey hated how he was thinking like a teenage girl who stole her boyfriend’s hoodie, sniffing it until it stopped smelling like him.
“Dinner is ready.” Ian called out and set the plates down on the table. He was pink in the face, like he was embarrassed, and Mickey inspected the plate closely.
“It isn’t much. I don’t make a lot of money. Most of my food I grow on the farm. Anyway, I just threw together what I had…”
“Ian,” Mickey cut him off. “It’s fine. Thank you.”
And it was. It looked like mush but it tasted delicious. Ian had made scrambled eggs with sliced ham and salad. A loaf of home baked bread sat on the table with the most yellow colored butter Mickey had ever seen.
“You make your own butter?” He asked conversationally.
Ian grinned and nodded. “Yeah. Easy once you get the hang of it.”
Dinner was nice. The bread was soft and the butter was perfectly salty, the perfect combination. They made tentative conversation while they ate. Mickey established that Ian was just turned 24 and had been in Georgia since he was 19 and still in the army. Just when the conversation was edging toward Ian’s army career, Ian clammed up a little and left a silence hanging over them.
“Never thought about heading home?” Mickey asked.
Ian placed his knife and fork on his empty plate and shrugged. “I am home.”
Mickey raised his eyebrows. “No love for Chicago then…”
Ian snorted loudly and got up from the table, rinsing his plate at the sink. “Nothing for me there.”
“No family?” Mickey figured if he was poking at a potentially open wound he should really dig deep.
“Lots, but we all have our own shit going on.”
“So they don’t visit?”
Ian slammed his plate on the drainer, making Mickey jolt in shock. “You ask a lot of personal questions for someone who doesn’t want to be friends.”
“Yeah, well, you introduced me to your horse as a friend so I already screwed that plan up.” Mickey replied shortly and felt some pride when Ian smiled against his will.
“No, they don’t visit. None of us have the money to just fly around the country. We stay in touch. They know I’m not dead. They also know I needed to get away from that place.”
Mickey nodded once. “My family is a fucked up mess. Mom is dead. Two older brothers are both in jail. My younger sister makes her living by escorting. And my dad? He’d burn this whole state down to ash if he knew I was having dinner with a fag.”
Ian winced at Mickey’s casual description of their current state of affairs, even though Mickey could see he appreciated the candid approach. “Sounds like a stand up guy.”
“Not much left in Chicago for me either.” Mickey admitted, almost to himself.
Ian refilled their water and clinked his glass against Mickey’s. “Amen to that.”
Mickey sort of expected Ian to kick him out after they’d eaten. He had turned up unannounced and taken over Ian’s quiet night after all. But Ian just led them back to the couch and turned on the TV, navigating quickly to CBS in time for a new episode of CSI starting.
“This was the stuff you had to do tonight?” Mickey laughed giddily.
“Fuck off, no. I clearly needed to sort out the animals.” Ian blushed.
“Whatever, man.”
“Shut up or ship out. Nobody interrupts Grissom when he’s working.” Ian dared to smirk.
And damn, if he looked back now that was probably it. That was probably the moment Mickey fell in love.
When Mickey opened his eyes it was to blazing sunlight from the window. His mouth felt dry and it took longer than he would’ve liked to remember where he was, and when he did it thoroughly confused him. This was Ian’s living room. The last thing he remembered from the night before was watching CSI and talking shit about Ian’s crush on Grissom.
“I do not have a crush on Gil fucking Grissom!”
“It’s okay, man. You can admit it. This here is a safe space.”
“Fuck you, he’s an old man.”
“We’ve all got daddy issues, Red.”
Their sparring had been light and fun with Ian loosening up about Mickey knowing he was gay. He must have fallen asleep at one point though because he was now sprawled across the couch and covered in a soft yellow blanket that smelled of Ian.
“Meow.”
“JESUS FUCK!”
The noise was deafening in the silent house and Mickey freaked the fuck out, leaping to his feet and whirling around until he spotted the cause of the noise sitting on the back of the couch. It was a beautiful silvery-grey and white shorthaired cat with huge amber eyes. It was watching Mickey steadily like it was a regular occurrence to find a random stranger crashed out on the couch.
“Scared the shit outta me, kitty cat.” Mickey got his breath back.
The cat hopped down off the couch and led Mickey to the kitchen, curious to know what was going on. On the table was a pot of coffee and a sandwich wrapped in paper with a note leaning against it.
“Mickey, didn’t want to wake you, I had to leave for work. Feel free to hang out here if you got nowhere else to be. I’ll be back at 3, we could eat together before I drop you back at the base. Chester can keep you company. If you’re gone when I get back, that’s cool too. It was good to meet you. Take care, Ian Gallagher.”
Mickey scoffed at the casual note that had been signed so formally, like Ian had been nervously playing it cool until the last second. The cat circled his ankles and mewled quietly.
“You must be Chester, huh.”
Mickey weighed up his options. He could stay, like Ian offered. Spend the day chilling in front of the TV with his new feline companion and wait for Ian to return. Or, he could leave. Walk out of this place and forget Ian ever existed. Just thinking that caused a stirring in Mickey’s gut that he didn’t like.
Suddenly, he was hit with a flash of rage at himself. At Ian. Even at fucking Chester. He’d worked hard for years to squash down how he felt about guys. He’d never allowed himself to let it go anywhere. He didn’t think about his feelings let alone act on them. He was a fucking island for fuck sake and here was Ian fucking Gallagher waltzing in here, turning his head and making him feel all soft and fluffy about spending time with him. It was infuriating. Mickey Milkovich is not gay. He can’t be gay so he isn’t gay. Mickey Milkovich did not spend his formative teen years having sex with females just to reach 25 and find himself falling for a fucking dude. No fucking way.
Except Ian hadn’t waltzed in anywhere. Mickey had done all the waltzing in. Now he was here though, it wasn’t so easy to pretend he’d never met Ian and just waltz back out again. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forget Ian. Or not regret it if he did just leave.
A loud meow from the corner of the kitchen broke Mickey out of his angry reverie and he found himself smiling. Ian’s cat was a chatty fucker and something about that seemed right.
“I hear you, hold the fuck up.”
He opened the back door into the garden and Chester ran out. Mickey watched him for a moment and grinned when the cat found some shade under a shrub and curled up to sleep. Cats had the best fucking life. With Chester off his ass, Mickey took a moment to look around the garden. It was a small space surrounded with a white picket fence separating it from the acres of farmland and was very well kept. Ian had created a vegetable patch along the left side of the garden, complete with a small greenhouse filled with tomato vines, and on the right was a set of garden furniture. A rickety table with two chairs that looked ready to buckle. It was brutally obvious that Ian didn’t have much, in a material sense at least, but he made the most of every single thing he had. His house was small and run down but it was a home and Mickey had never felt so relaxed in a place before in his life. What should have made him antsy and uncomfortable was now making him euphoric. If Ian could live like this – miles from home but free and content – there was hope for him yet.
Ian got back a little earlier than planned and found Mickey in the garden, chatting to Chester about a stray cat back home in Chicago that lived under his house when he was a kid.
“You fed it, didn’t you?”
Mickey jumped in surprise. “What is it with everyone trying to scare the shit out of me today?”
Ian looked at him quizzically and Mickey just glared at Chester, even as he continued to stroke his silky fur. “You totally fed it.”
“The fuck you on about?”
“The stray cat. You fed it. You make out like you’re this tough badass but you have a caring side.” Ian smiled softly.
Mickey flipped him off, which only made Ian more sure he was right. “How was work?”
Ian shrugged. “Stacking shelves in a mini market isn’t exactly my dream job but it pays some of the bills.”
“I thought the farm was your job.” Mickey frowned.
Ian chuckled and shook his head. “One of them. I couldn’t survive on the farm income alone; importers have seen to that. I work at the store for 15 hours a week and I do the riding lessons.”
Mickey was a little taken aback. He knew Ian wasn’t exactly Rockefeller but at this rate he must be working himself into the ground just to make ends meet.
“Yeah,” Ian acknowledged Mickey’s expression with a wry smile. “I grow my own food because I’m too broke to buy it.”
Mickey set his jaw firmly. “You’re doing what you need to do to get by. Nothing the matter with that.”
Ian didn’t reply but smiled again and headed back indoors, stripping out of his shirt as he went. Mickey remained as casual as he could while he followed Ian inside but his eyes were fixed on Ian’s back and the lean, sinuous planes dusted in pink freckles were actually driving him insane.
“Gonna grab a shower. What time do you have to be back on base?”
“Roll call is at 6.” Mickey checked the clock on the wall and saw it was almost three in the afternoon already. His stomach lurched and he bit his lip to hide his discomfort.
“Cool. Pizza for dinner?”
Ian didn’t wait for an answer and headed off to the small bathroom along the hall, leaving Mickey to wonder where the hell the pizza shop was in this town.
“Changed your mind?” Ian grinned teasingly.
“Just not what I had in mind.”
“You thought there was a Dominos somewhere around here?”
Mickey rolled his eyes. “Sure, right between the Bloomingdales and the Hilton Hotel.”
Ian giggled joyously and Mickey was positive he would do anything to hear that noise every day until the day he died.
The two men worked alongside each other to build their pizza. Ian had spread out all the ingredients they would need on the table – from homemade pizza dough to the home grown tomato sauce base. The cheese was shop bought but the basil was from Ian’s herb garden.
“Mickey,” Ian started seriously.
“What?”
“How the fuck is that gonna fit in my oven?”
They fell about the place laughing at Mickey’s unrealistically large pizza and Mickey shoved at Ian, leaning on him while they composed themselves.
“Fuck you, I like mine big.”
Ian’s eyes widened and he cracked up even harder than before. “You can’t say that to a gay guy, Mickey! That’s prime fag humor right there.”
Mickey froze on the spot and Ian flinched like he was about to receive a left hook. But Mickey just rolled his eyes in dismay and shook his head.
“Fucking size queen huh.”
Ian allowed himself a chuckle. “More of an ass man if I’m totally honest.”
This time Mickey’s eyes widened and he wondered if Ian could read his thoughts. If they were written on his face in red marker, advertising his shame to the world. Could Ian tell that Mickey sometimes fingered his own ass? That sometimes it was the only way he could orgasm? That sometimes it was the only way he could even get hard? That sometimes – just sometimes – he wondered what it would be like to shove a toy up there. That he very nearly did once buy a sex toy, when he went into an adult shop in Texas one drunken night with Kenny and they giggled at the offerings, daring each other to buy something dumb to prank their comrades with. This turmoil was agony. Did Ian just know everything?
“You okay?”
Mickey nodded fiercely. “Fine.”
Ian bowed his head. “I won’t joke about gay shit any more, it’s not your thing and I respect that.”
Okay. Maybe Ian didn’t know anything at all.
“A funny joke is a funny joke, Red. Don’t gotta censor yourself for me.”
And Ian looked it him so reverently that Mickey wanted to reach out and touch him. But he didn’t. And regret bloomed so fast it startled him.
It was nearly five when Ian made the first move to get Mickey back to his reality. Their plates were on the table in the living room, every last morsel of pizza consumed. Mickey couldn’t remember ever making a meal from scratch. Couldn’t remember even baking cookies when he was a kid. It had been another new experience for him.
“Time to go.” Ian picked up the keys to his truck.
Mickey had never walked slower in all his life.
The drive wouldn’t take long. Certainly not at the speed Ian favored. Mickey always imagined a mortar attack would see him off but after five minutes in Ian’s truck he was quite sure fatal automotive fireball would be listed on his death certificate.
“When is your next pass?” Ian asked casually as he bombed along the main road out of the town.
“Couple of weeks. We get a 24 pass and then a 48 every month.”
Ian glanced sideways. “You wanna hang out again, or is that a violation of your pact to not make friends?”
Mickey raised his rigid middle finger. “Fuck off with that shit. You’re army, you know the score. No friends, no roots. Nothing and nobody to miss.”
Ian exhaled shallowly. “I know.”
“You might be at work.”
“Tell me when and I’ll make myself available.”
“You got a number…”
Ian snorted. “Yes Mick, I may live in the sticks but I still have a phone.”
“I don’t.”
“You don’t?” Ian was perplexed. “What 25-year-old doesn’t have a phone?”
“The kind who doesn’t have anyone to fucking call, asshole.” Mickey snapped but it didn’t have any heat.
Ian rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll give you my number and you can call me from the base payphone like a 1950’s recruit chasing his sweetheart.”
“Or you can stop the truck and let me the fuck out now.”
One sideward glance of eye contact had them both cracking up again. Mickey was making up for a joyless quarter century in one damn weekend.
The wire mesh perimeter fence of the base loomed in the distance. Mickey sat in his own world while Ian chatted about something or other. He had a decision to make. Did he make plans to see Ian again? His head said no, told him in the firm voice that sounded suspiciously like Terry Milkovich that he was making a mistake and he needed to shut that shit down for good. But a louder voice was talking now, one he hadn’t heard before and sounded vaguely like himself, but the version of himself that he only heard from when he was asleep and unhindered. Mickey worried his heart was now trying to have a say in matters that it never usually got involved in.
Fuck.
“We’re here.”
Mickey looked around and saw the security gate in the distance, his stomach flipping violently.
“You wanna see me again?” Ian asked gently.
Mickey bit his lip. “Sure.”
Ian lit up the world with a sunny grin and grabbed a pen from the console of the truck, scrawling his number on Mickey’s arm before he could yank it out of his grip.
“The fuck you doing!”
“Write it down when you get inside.” Ian murmured softly, holding onto Mickey’s wrist. “Don’t lose it.”
Finally, Mickey pulled his arm away and gazed at Ian, willing himself to get out the damn truck and carry on living the lie he was accustomed to.
“Thanks.” He blurted out. “For everything.”
Ian nodded once and smiled shyly. “Any time.”
Mickey got out of the truck and slammed the door shut. He was already counting down to his next leave and Ian wasn’t even gone yet. Emotion choked him, stinging him with pain. What the fuck was even happening right now?
The truck engine started up and Mickey knew he was going to regret it if he didn’t act. He’d probably regret it if he did but that wasn’t front and center of his rational brain at that moment in time.
Before he could stop himself, Mickey yanked open the door to the truck and leapt into the cab. He pressed his lips to Ian’s for the briefest second, rendering the redhead speechless. Mickey didn’t utter a word. He slammed the door shut again and started to jog away, his rigid middle finger raised high over his shoulder just in case Ian thought he was dealing with anyone other than Mickey fucking Milkovich.