A.N. Its been driving me absolutely mad that I could only find one Shameless fanfic in the entire vortex that is the internet, so I decided to write one. Probably not very good, and everyone may be a tad OOC but, well, deal with it XD.

Also, R&R is my favourite thing in the world XD. You wanna know how to review? Check out Gothic-Romantic99, she rules at reviews!!!

If you've read some of my other fanfiction, you'll know that I never know how its gunna end when I start it. So hopefully, however this one turns out, you'll enjoy!

Kahlil Gibran once wrote: "Your reason and your passion are your rudder and sails of your seafaring souls. If either be broken, you could but toss and drift or else be held at a standstill amid seas. For reason, running alone, is a force confining. And passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own destruction."

Mickey Maguire did nothing to subvert the expectations of this theory. Not that he would ever understand that quote. It was not as though he was thick, or simple-minded, he was deeper than anyone could ever imagine. He just had something on his mind. Something that would distract him from any theories about his reason and his passion. Something that, well, was his reason and passion.

His reason and passion were the same thing. They were embodied in one spirit, homed by one existence. Ian Gallagher.

Ian Gallagher was the only person who could hurt Mickey. A Maguire never let anyone walk all over them – apart from the one who held the key to their heart. Look at the evidence – Jamie and Karen, Shane and Kelly, Paddy and Mimi. And possibly most obviously, Mandy and Joe. Everyone knew how Joe had treated Mandy; they all thought she was thick for taking him back. When they had got back together, Joe had promised that he would never hurt Mandy again. He never did.

Nobody knows whether he would have hurt her again given the chance. Nobody ever would. Nobody could predict the future, and they certainly could not deduct what may have happened if past events had differed, affecting how future events turned out. Like if Ian hadn't had that obvious pole up his ass that made him turn Mickey away and break his heart – one of many times. If Ian had only been aware of what he was doing, aware of Mickey's feelings as well as his own, aware of how their relationship would become a tightrope. Both too scared to walk to the other on the opposite side in case they plummeted to a bloody death in a mysterious pit of blackness, the fall seeming to go on for eternity.

After the funeral, Mickey had returned home alone. He arrived a long time before any of the others, desperate to get some well needed sleep. Ian had insisted on walking him part of the way home until Mickey sent him back to The Jockey. The walk had been agonising, a moonlight stroll in complete silence, the ability to cut the tension with a knife. Mickey was torn between grieving for his sister, pulling Ian into one of the many dark alleyways they passed and hitting him for the pain he had caused him. Ian was torn between supporting his grieving friend, running away and falling to his knees in despair of his own cursed heart.

Mickey had sensed this, telling Ian to return to the pub and to give him some privacy. And despite the pain that the first half of the walk had brought, the pain of walking home alone was much worse. And if Mickey thought that was bad, he could only wait for the pain he felt whilst trying to shut his drooping eyelids without thinking of Ian.

That night, the night of the funeral, the planets aligned. Things changed, the stars held fates for Mickey and Ian. It was a night to be remembered, for it was the beginning of always. Neither could sleep for thoughts of the other. The self-conflict they felt was overwhelming, but a much larger conflict was to arrive. One that could not be gratified with a simple slap on the shoulder or laugh over a pint. They had persisted through life alone for so long, persevered with the fates and destiny. However, they were not about to be rewarded.

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A month later…

The fates were not rewarding Mickey and Ian. Ever heard of the calm before the storm? Before the worst. That is what they were experiencing here. Except today was the day all that would change, the day that the storm would arrive. And all by one simple admission, by Ian's words. Words that would break Mickey's heart, certainly not for the first time. Words that told how Ian would be leaving Chatsworth estate once again for the mistress of Ibiza.

Mickey nodded. He brought his left hand to his face and rubbed slightly, as though to allow this information to seep through him more clearly. As though on autopilot, without saying a word, he turned on his heel and walked calmly up the stairs.

Ian was confused, had expected a confrontational showdown, expected Mickey to be heartbroken. However, he appeared to be showing no emotion, as though he was completely unaffected by the news. He quickly followed Mickey, determined to find out what was running through his head.

As he reached their bedroom, Mickey was nowhere to be seen. He heard the faint sounds of running water, and entered the bathroom to be enriched with an unusual sight. Mickey was kneeling on the floor, filling a cup with water from the bath taps. In the sink, the plughole was covered with a bath bomb. Mickey poured the water over the bath bomb and silently watched it erode away. As he went to fill the cup with more water, he explained his theory to Ian.

"The water and the bath bomb have this unusual relationship, right? The water sparks off this chemical reaction to the bath bomb, and the bath bomb gives the water a bit of colour – gives it some interest. On another note, the water destroys the bath bomb – signifies pain. It breaks it down piece by piece, until there nothing left to it. I was just wondering, how much pain can the bath bomb take before it actually fights back, refuses to be hurt anymore? How long before it finally stands up for itself and prioritises everything? That's what I wanna know."

And as Mickey falls back against the bath, and puts his head in his hands, Ian's heart just about breaks. He never meant to hurt him – he loved him for gods sake. But that just wasn't enough.

Ian's body slumped down against the radiator and he forced his mouth closed to capture the whimper that was trying to escape from his lips. It killed him to see Mickey like this, and even more to know that his cursed heart was the one causing it. He didn't know why he kept doing this, it was just instinct to do these things, and he hated that Mickey was hurt because of it.

Mickey stood, and with a look of disdain he passed Ian into the hallway. Ian reached out a hand and grabbed Mickey's before he could walk any further. Mickey turned, throwing a disgraceful look onto Ian.

"How… how are you feeling? I mean, like… what do you feel?"

"What do you mean, what do I feel? You want to know what I feel?"

Ian nodded. He regretted his decision almost immediately – although he loved Mickey, and wanted to share his pain and make him feel more comfortable, he was terrified that this was the moment Mickey would erupt. He had been so calm throughout everything they had been through, and it was only a matter of time.

"Honestly?" Mickey rubbed Ian's hand with his own as Ian nodded once more. He bent down to Ian's level, and whispered in his ear. "Nothing. I feel… nothing."

Mickey then left the room, and the house, back to his family. Ian was left on the bathroom floor, with the sounds of the tap still running and the chemical fizz of the eroding of the bath bomb filling the air, wondering what the hell just happened.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Mickey never lied. Honestly… he felt nothing. What he didn't tell Ian was that he felt nothing because there was nothing left of him to feel. He was like the bath bomb – he never fought back. Never stood up for himself. But unlike the bath bomb, which was still eroding, Mickey was already gone.

He didn't know anything anymore. He wasn't even sure of his own name. While the world around him was crumbling, the only thing that remained a constant, standing tall and tough, was emptiness. Slightly strange, as emptiness is nothingness, and nothingness does not exist. But to Mickey, nothing existed anymore. Time, space, love, justice – all were non-existent. So why should this be any different?

The house was filled with the loud boom of the door. Mickeys conscience refused to move. Shane shook his head at him through the open space. Shane got up to answer the door, then shouted back that it was Carl. When he did not receive an answer, he let him in anyway.

"Oi, M&M, you wanna exp…" Carl entered the room and saw his best friend in his bed, curled up into the foetal position as though to protect himself. Any last scrap of Mickey Maguire there was. Fresh tears sprouted down his face as Carl leapt across the room to comfort him. With his arm around his shoulder, Mickey wept. Not cried – wept. He was beyond the stage of crying now.

After a few minutes, Mickey lifted his face to meet Carl's. "What… what was it you wanted to ask?"

Carl shook his head. "Nothing mate. I was gunna ask why my brother was in floods of tears on the phone to me last night but apparently it was guilt. What's he done this time?"

Mickey explained the whole Ibiza thing to Carl, careful to leave out the part about the bath bomb. He didn't wanna seem completely pathetic. He told Carl how Ian had asked what he felt and he told him honestly… nothing.

Carl shook his head again. "You know, I will never understand you. This seemed like a potential moment for Ian to stay, and you blew it. Made him think there was no reason. And there must be a part of you that feels something, right, or you wouldn't be sat here upset. See?" he offered gently.

Mickey nodded, rubbing fresh tears away from his eyes. It still didn't solve the problem though. "But what do I do about this?"

Carl looked at the floor thoughtfully. He hadn't pictured this far ahead.

"Well, its obvious aint it? You've gotta go around there and tell him how you feel before its too late – before he leaves again."

Both Carl and Mickey raised their heads in surprise, at the calm, soothing voice of Shane from the doorway. For once in his life… Shane made sense.

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"Ian!!!"

"Aww, come on Ian, I know your sulking somewhere. Can you just come out so we can talk? Please? Carls here."

"For gods sake Ian, would you stop being so bloody ignorant and…"

After clattering his way up the stairs and entering the bedroom, Mickey found nothing but a letter on his pillow. His eyes grew wide and he leapt down the stairs to drag Carl out of the door.

"What the?"

"Ill explain on the way."

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"Move. Move. Move. Move." Carl became exasperated.

"YOU HEARD THE MAN – MOVE!!!"

Sometimes there were advantages to Mickey's extremely loud mouth.

The pair struggled through crowds and security guards galore, flying with an inhumane speed towards the gate registered for Ian's flight. Its funny how something always appears to be much bigger when you're in a rush. It seemed the faster they ran, the longer it took the two to arrive at the gate. After what seemed like a lifetime, they got there just in time to see Ian pass through the door.

"IAN!!!" Ian popped his head around the door rather slowly, already knowing who it was and exactly what they wanted. He knew his boyfriend – or should that now be ex boyfriend? – was outside and he wanted him to stay. He knew Mickey wanted Ian to refrain from breaking his heart yet again. But he couldn't do it.

"I'm sorry."

With that, Ian left through the silver door, and it was closed behind him by a guard in what Mickey saw as slow motion, whilst everything else seemed to rush past him. A comforting hand was placed on his shoulder by Carl, and instead of taking this as support, Mickey took it as the final hit. His legs turned to jelly and his knees buckled as his shins hit the floor, and his backside hit the back of his legs.

Mickey threw his head back in defeat, tears springing to his eyes as his heart took its seat on a flight to Ibiza. His arms found the impossible strength to raise as his hands ran through his short hair in disbelief. He honestly thought he would stay.

A ship cannot be used without a rudder and sails. They are the most important part of a ship, bearing home to the action of a seafaring soul. Without a rudder and sails, a ship cannot take flight from the dock of the bay. Mickey was held at a standstill amid the seas of people eager to catch their flights, and could only drift from his spot to his home. But even that appeared to be far in the future. For now, his spot was right here on the floor. He currently held no emotion, but soon anger would appear, anger that would burn this Maguire to his own dismal destruction.

A.N. Omg!!! I cannot BELIEVE how long this has taken me. I have been so busy lately, what with college and everything, and its been a case of doing a sentence or paragraph here and there when I get the chance. But hopefully it flows and fits together. As I said before, I never know how they are going to turn out when I start, but hopefully you enjoyed this XD. Please read + review, it means a lot to me! XD xoxo