#its sort of funny. i think my medication is working pretty well. i feel stable in a way i never really have before

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#its sort of funny. i think my medication is working pretty well. i feel stable in a way i never really have before #is it the dopamine stablizer or is it my ion channels? whos to say. it doesn't matter. but it also doesnt change some things #the ways i think and react negativly to change. but it makes it easier to deal with. i still experience this strange dispaire on the #weekends or anytime im not working. i think the oddest thing is thst i dont think ive ever been this consistenly sad #not in a depressed sort of way. just a passing thoughts make me tear up sort of way. it doesnt feel out of control. it just feels like a #prelude to grief i guess. bc my mum is still in the hospital and its so hard to kno what that means from halfway across the country #my sisters are both home right now. they both live within 3hrs of where we grew up. one sister lives in the city my mom goes to for #treatment. so they have the opportunity to see her more than me. i dunno if they do tho. we dont really talk. i dont kno if they're as sad #as i am. if im overreacting bc i cant physically see what's happening. what the feeling is in the room. not that she would probably complain #shes the suffer in silence type. my dad keeps texting us pics of our shitty lil sunroom that hes redoing #to make my mum a lil sanctuary. he must be sad too. its his wife. hes staying with her in the hospital rn. i dunno its so weird #when i talk to my counselor she assumes i find out info thru calls or talk to my sisters abt it and i gotta b like nah we dont really talk #i get my info thru text. i havent talked to my parents on the phone in like a month. i dunno we just dont talk. so i dont kno how to reach #out and be like yo so whats up? shoulf i plan on coming home this summer for a bit?? like??? #this is the disadvantage of leaving thr place where you grew up. probably when i finish my phd i should move closer to home #somewhere in the Appalachian mountains maybe. somewere in the eastern deciduous forrest. somewhere with thunderstorms. #but thats years from now. who knows what ill b doing. for now im just sad and tired and i dont quite kno what to do in the short or long #term bc im feeling the weight of my mental limitations rather intensely. but maybe im just being self limiting #whatever. i dont have a dead mum yet. shes not even on hospice care. things are just uncertain and dont look so hot #i just dont see how it can get better from here when chemo gave her secondary blood cancer and shes still full of tumors #i dont think im being that dramatic. it just objectively seems not great for survival #unrelated

[shamelessly4shameless-blog]

The Sand In Your Shoe (pt 9)

In which we see Ian make the peace he needs in order to move forward and embrace everything he is walking back to.

Ian sleeps for most of the five-hour flight. It annoys him in a way, just how much he can sleep on the meds. It’s better than barely sleeping at all and his mind is clearer than when he is manic but as he washes his morning pills down with weak airline tea, he wonders if he’ll be able to cope without his routine.

He is happy to be doing this, he thinks it is the right thing to do, but there is a small part of him that is really worried about it too.

Is this normal behaviour?

Is he acting too impulsively?

Does his medication need adjusting?

Is he on the verge of an episode?

Theses are all questions that Ian wishes he didn’t think of but they come to him unbidden and anxiety curls in his gut making him feel a little sick.

His plane touches down in Brownsville just as the noon heat is at its fiercest and it hits him like a wave. It’s only June but already the sky is heavy and the air is thick. Ian feels a momentary panic, tucking his chin onto his chest and pushing through toward the arrivals gate, his backpack slung over one shoulder.

Security barely glance at his passport before waving him through and Ian nods a brief thanks. He needs to eat something but the airport is crowded, filled with happy reunions and teary farewells and he wants to get out and fill his lungs with air that doesn’t smell of strangers.

There is a hotdog cart a few meters from the exit and Ian makes his way over to it, grateful for the sense of normality the polite exchange brings. His heart rate begins to slow as he sits down on a bench and eats the dog in small, measured bites, savouring the taste of meat and tangy ketchup.

He strips off his hoodie and stuffs it into his bag, goes back to the cart and buys three bottles of water. He has a vague plan but no idea how to action it. The hotdog guy is looking at him in amusement and Ian realises he has been frowning at the cart, completely lost in his thoughts.

“Tough day, son?”

“Nah. Just tired.”

Ian smiles and the guy shrugs as if to say tiredness is just life.

“Someone coming to pick ya up?”

“No. I’m alone. Er … Do you know if there are any used car lots around here? I need to buy a vehicle.”

Hotdog guys grins and Ian notices he is missing half of one of his incisors

“Takin’ a trip Mexican side?”

Ian nods and gets that same broken toothed smile in response.

“Yeah, ya look like a man ready for an adventure. Just take the 88 bus into the city – you’ll find plenty of cars that’ll do ya.”

Ian thanks him and heads to the bus depot. His footsteps feel a little lighter now and the uncertainty is wavering. It’s funny how knowing that he looks the part has calmed his nerves a bit.

Then again, Ian has always been drawn to uniform and costume. First, the army, then dancing in the club, EMT – all of it involved putting on an outfit to become something he felt he needed to be. If the pale green vest, crumpled jeans and well-worn boots make him look like an adventurer then fine, that is what he will be.

*

He starts to nod off again on the bus but forces himself to stay awake and watches the Texan skyline rush by, taking in the vibrant colours of the landscape. He keeps his bag on the seat next to him until an elderly lady asks if she can sit down and Ian obligingly shifts it onto his lap.

They share a smile but sit in silence for a few minutes before she rifles through her purse and comes up with a bag of miniature snickers bars.

“Do you want a candy?”

“Thank you ma’am.”

Ian smiles and takes one, they always make him think of Mickey and Ian is starting to try and embrace thoughts of Mickey whenever they surface rather than burying them. It feels a bit like trying to re-learn how to have feelings and it makes him dizzy sometimes with the intense emotions a small memory or thought can bring him but he is persevering. Trying not to be afraid of feeling too much.

“Are you here for a holiday?”

The old lady is squinting up at him

“Yeah sort of I guess. I’m going to see an old friend.”

“You’re not old enough to have ‘old friends’ yet.”

She laughs, her sun hat wobbling on her tight blond perm precariously and Ian finds himself laughing with her.

“Does he know you’re coming or is it a surprise?”

“Well I told his sister but she might not tell him. To be honest, he might not even be that glad to see me.”

Ian shrugs and scrunches the wrapper in his hand. He doesn’t know why he’s telling her this but she seems happy enough to listen and is nodding along as if she knows the whole story.

“Well, you’re here and that’s what counts. You sound like you’re from Mid-way. Maybe Illinois?”

“Yeah, Chicago. How’d you know?”

Ian asks, smiling, and she sits back, looking pleased

“Thought so. I have a good ear for accents. Anyway, that’s no small way to come to see somebody, you must really want to see him. He’ll appreciate that much I’m sure.”

“I do want to see him. I … I left things a bit abruptly last time. He wanted me to come on a journey and I didn’t want to go. I thought I could but …”

Ian breaks off realising he might be saying too much, he is trying to get the balance right between saying nothing and everything just rushing out, but she simply places a tanned, wrinkled hand over his and nods.

“We all have to do the best we can in any situation. What’s his name?”

Ian hesitates. For one paranoid moment he wonders if the Feds have tracked him this whole way and this old lady, who hasn’t even asked his name yet, is some sort of plant. But he knows that is stupid. Mickey imust be pretty damn low on the list of US fugitives that the government actually care about getting back. He takes a deep breath and savours the name as it glides over his lips.

“Mickey.”

“Ah. Michael. A good, strong name. ‘Who is like God? No one.’ God knows all and he forgives all. People can’t forgive all, not in our nature, but we can forgive some. That’s something to be glad for.”

Ian doesn’t really know what she is talking about but she’s sweet and she’s being really kind to him and that alone makes him smile and nod in agreement.

“I’m Cynthia by the way.”

“Ian.”

They shake hands and Cynthia puffs her cheeks out and laughs

“That’s a pretty good grip but then you’re a big boy aren’t you? Red hair too! Viking blood!”

Ian grins bashfully and she tilts her head to the side to look at him.

“Would you mind if I asked you a personal question, Ian?”

“No ma’am.”

“It’s Cynthia, honey. Now the question I want to ask is this: Are you one of the Gays?”

Ian coughs, splutters and stares at her wide-eyed and she pats his leg, taking his choking for an affirmative answer.

“My grandson is one of your kind. Never bothered me. I know all what the bible says but you ask me that was a long time ago and things change. Love is love, right? Well, my Jason, he’s a sweet boy and I don’t think who he loves or what he likes should matter.”

She unwraps another snickers bar and takes a bite, shrugging frail shoulders.

“You didn’t mind him being gay?”

Ian is genuinely curious.

“I wasn’t thrilled but what does it matter? Gay, Queer, Lesbian … I don’t know all the other ones but whatever. People are people.”

Ian nods and leans back against the headrest. Cynthia seems happy to talk and he is happy to listen.

“So, your Michael, is he a gay too?”

“Yeah. We used to date … it was … I loved him but I couldn’t be with him at the time. He had to leave and I let him go. I wish I hadn’t.”

Ian smiles sadly and Cynthia makes a sympathetic noise

“Did he love you back?”

“Yeah. Yeah he really did.”

Ian presses his lips together, the familiar guilt surfaces but he tries to embrace that too. He can’t hide from it forever.

“Do you think you both might try again?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I can be stable enough for that. I’m not sure he can be. We’re both sort of loners.”

Ian glances out of the window and takes in the sight of the highway stretching out before them, seemingly to infinity. He hasn’t really evaluated that concern but it has been lurking in his mind since he boarded the plane.

“Well you’ve come a heck of a long way to not know! Time to make up your mind, honey!”

“He’s complicated … I’m complicated …”

“Oh jeez! Listen, everyone is complicated. Even the most simple soul you could meet is complicated in their own way. You have to get over it, Ian! Have a little spunk!”

Ian grins at the gentle scolding and turns back to look at Cynthia properly

“You seem pretty certain about this! Do you know something I don’t, Cynthia?”

His tone is joking and his new friend laughs, something Ian realises she does very easily.

“A hundred things I reckon, what with me being so much older, but this is the important one: Love is not flight, Ian. It doesn’t need constant attention. Relationships and sex? They need work, but love? It endures, honey. If it was there once, the chances are it is there still. My Jason just went to New York to get married and let me tell you, they looked the happiest couple I ever saw and he would probably be called a bit of a loner too.”

Cynthia sighs happily and Ian knows just for a second she is no longer seeing him.

“I’m sure it was a beautiful wedding.”

“Oh it was! You people have excellent taste.”

Cynthia shakes her head in admiration and presses the bell, signalling her stop is coming up. Ian grins to himself. He really likes Cynthia.

“I sat next to you cause you look like my Jason, but hang-dog and low, too much so for a young person. I thought ‘there is a young man with an aching heart’ so why not try to ease it? Did I ease it, honey?”

“Yeah, you did. Thank you Cynthia.”

“Well that’s just fine. Remember: Love endures. Good luck to you. I hope you and Michael work it out.”

Ian watches her get off the bus and for a moment he feels an insane urge to follow her, to beg her to tell him what to do but that is always his problem, he wants a concrete answer to everything.

Everything has always had to be black or white for Ian, and then the bipolar hit and suddenly everything was grey and Ian couldn’t deal with it. He has learned to live in the grey but he misses the bright colours that Mickey brought to his world.

He waves to Cynthia until the bus turns the corner and then sits back in his seat and closes his eyes, once again alone.

*

Once he gets off the bus, he checks into a cheap hotel and lies down on the bed, not even bothering to shower.

He can only have been asleep for fifteen minutes but he dreams vividly. He dreams of being in an open-top car speeding down a stretch of Texan highway. He is sticking his arm out into the rushing air, feeling it batter his fingers and it feels like he could physically grip it if he wanted to but he keeps his palm open. His hair is flying backwards and he is happy. He is so happy. He turns to his left and Mickey is beside him in the driving seat, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

“You really here with me?”

“Where else would I fuckin’ be?”

Ian sees the glimmer of steel through the frayed leather of Mickey’s boot caps as his foot presses down flooring the accelerator.

“Why are we going so fast?”

“Because it’s how you like it, Firecrotch. How the fuck else do I keep up with you?”

Ian can actually see the smile in his voice, it is a golden shimmer over the surface of the road and he closes his eyes unable to bear the beauty of it.

“I didn’t mean to make you go faster than you wanted.”

“Who the fuck are you to tell me what I wanted?”

Ian opens his eyes and stares at the pale, tattooed fingers gripping the wheel, letting his eyes travel upwards, taking in the fine smattering of black hair on Mickey’s wrist and forearms, the way his shirt ripples against his body in the wind. His sunglasses are gone and as Ian looks up, his eyes meet Ian’s own, so blue that Ian could almost believe Mickey has his own sky within him and he wonders just how many stars such a sky would contain and if he will ever get the chance to count them.

He scooches closers, his knee nudging the stick-shift as he leans forward and pushes his fingers through the thick, black waves of Mickey’s hair. It feels like roped silk and Ian brings his fingertips back to his nose, inhaling Mickey’s smell deeply.

“I miss you. I miss you so much, Mick.”

Mickey doesn’t say anything but one hand leaves the steering wheel and he reaches for Ian, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans. His hand is hot and dry and Ian leans backwards, his head hanging over the side of the car, blinded by the sun and deafened by the wind, completely at Mickey’s mercy.

The intensity builds and the urgent stroking of the fingers in his pants sends bright dots skittering across Ian’s closed eyelids, gathering together in prisms of crimson, green, blue and black.

“You’re mine, Ian. You know that?”

“I know.”

Those words are not a part of this dream. They are a memory. A memory of a hot, summer afternoon in Illinois, the sweat rolling from their naked bodies as they lie in Mickey’s crumpled bedsheets, limbs tangled together and the air is fragrant with the scent of lust.

Ian’s breath is heavy, his mouth is gaping open, he can’t open his eyes because his lover holds every nerve in his body captive. He remembers a soft kiss from full smiling lips and the sweep of a firm tongue, round and round, lapping gently and taking in the salty pearls which are forming before they can spill onto the sheets..

The hand around him clenches and speeds up, forcing him toward the edge of oblivion.

“Tell me, Gallagher. Say it to me.”

Mickey’s voice is softer, the timbre richer and deeper, than normal and hearing it is like sinking into a bath laced with sweet oils, and fresh sweat prickles Ian’s skin.

The fingers shift a little higher and Ian arches his back further, with a cry that is almost pained, exposing the delicate skin of his throat, the words wrenching forth like sand dragged across rough pebbles, scratching away fear and self-doubt leaving only a bare truth behind them

“I’m yours! I’m yours, Mickey!”

“Damn right you are.”

Ian’s body convulses in an ecstatic shudder and he wakes up.

*

He wipes his hand on his pant leg briefly and then lies completely still. His heart beat slows back to its normal rhythm but still he doesn’t move.

He thinks of Mickey.

He is in a hotel room in Texas, he is going to cross the border and finally, he understands exactly what that means. The second chance it gives him.

Ian is completely calm and yet his skin is tingling and his stomach is fluttering. Something has shifted within him. It feels as if his very soul has changed, softened maybe, he doesn’t know.

The fine line between sanity and delirium is blurring in a way that has nothing to do with his condition. It is fierce, courageous, and passionate. It is joyful.

It is a feeling he thought might have been killed forever by his illness and the medications to control it.

He thinks of Mickey.

He thinks of strong fingers laced with his own in the quiet of the night.

He thinks of morning coffee and shared clothing.

He thinks of breathless stuggles, wrestling bodies and loud, raucous laughter.

He thinks of a bar called ‘Galagers’

A slow, sweet smile spreads across his face as finally, the truth of Cynthia’s words really hit him.

Love endures.

#shameless #shameless us #shameless fanfiction #ian gallagher #ian x mickey #Ian loves Mickey #mickey milkovich #Milkovich #gallavich #Gallavich Love