I don't own Shameless.

Just Don't Let Me Down: Chapter 13

Fiona crossed her legs as she sat across from the doctor's desk, smoothing her dress with hands that shook just slightly. Dr. Johnson flipped through Ian's chart, clucking his tongue and making notes every so often. Fiona checked her watch and cleared her throat, giving the doctor a small smile when he looked up.

"I'm sorry, but do you think we can get started? I have to be at work in an hour."

"Yes, of course. Now, Ms. Gallagher, you're brother has been progressing fairly well," Dr. Johnson said, taking off his glasses.

"Yeah, he's a fighter," Fiona said, the pride for Ian swelling in her chest.

"I'm worried about the little tumble he took the other night. It kind of jarred his spine a bit and his knee is swollen."

"Trust me, I know," Fiona said, biting her lip. "The nurses have been putting ice on it, but it looks like a mess."

"We may need to slow down a little on the physical therapy," Dr. Johnson said, cocking his head to the side. "Pushing his healing joints, especially his new knees is just going to hurt him in the long run. Although going slow may be frustrating for Ian, this may help prevent him from needing more surgeries in the future."

"Whatever you think is best, doctor," Fiona said, knowing Ian was not going to be happy.

"Have you thought about having your brother talk to someone?" Dr. Johnson asked, and Fiona flinched.

"Like a shrink?" She said, shaking her head. "Gallagher's don't do therapy."

"I understand your aversion to it. But it might be something to think of. Your brother went through a very traumatic experience, Ms. Gallagher. We have no idea how he's dealing with it, even if he's dealing with it. I'm not saying he's going to, but it's common for people to snap if they let this much build up in their minds; especially after what Ian's been through."

"He's a fighter…" Fiona repeated, shaking her head. "What are you suggesting?"

"Now I want you to not get upset," Dr. Johnson said and Fiona said closing her eyes. "I believe your brother should be moved to a long term rehab facility; someplace where therapists can work with getting him back on his feet and taking care of himself, and dealing with the mental backlash of what's happened to him."

"You want to lock him up like he's crazy?" Fiona said, her voice cracking. "I won't do that to him; not after everything with our mom."

"No, no, nothing like that! I promise you, nothing like that. It's a more physical rehabilitation center, but we can have psychologist come talk to him. To help him."

"I don't know…" Fiona said, trailing off.

"Just think about it," Dr. Johnson said and she nodded slightly.

"I have to go. I'm going to be late for work," she said, climbing to her feet and grabbing her jacket.

"Just let me know what you decide, Ms. Gallagher. We'll do the best we can for your brother until then. "

"But I want to get up," Ian said, and the bite to his voice made even Mickey want to flinch.

"I know you do, sweetie," Melissa said, pressing a few buttons on the end of his bed. "But that fall a couple nights ago set you back a bit and Dr. Johnson wants you to slow down on the PT so you don't hurt yourself more."

"I'll just get up by myself," Ian said, crossing his arms over the chest piece of his halo. Mickey tried to hide the smirk on his face at the stubborn way Ian was looking at Melissa, but the nurse just rolled her eyes.

"I know you'll try," she said. "That's why I've turned the alarm on your bed on. And that's also why I'll be taking the walker with me when I leave. Don't make this more complicated than it has to be, Ian," she said, shaking her head. "I know you don't believe me, but we're trying to help you sweetie." With that she patted his leg, scooped up the walker under her arm and left.

"This is bullshit," Ian said with a huff, glaring at Mickey who chuckled.

"She has a point. I'd rather you not have to have any more surgeries before the years up, but that's just me. If you weren't such a stubborn fuck and listened in the first place, you wouldn't have to slow down. Obviously your therapist meant it when she said you needed help getting up and around."

"Yeah, yeah, I've got it. Fiona's told me twenty times by now, I don't need if from you too." Ian said, closing his eyes and swallowing thickly.

"Why are you so pissy?" Mickey asked and Ian flinched, keeping his eyes closed.

"I'm not," the red head said, and Mickey lifted a brow at him even though he knew Ian couldn't see it.

"Then what do you call this mood you've been in all day. I thought you were supposed to be the nice, sweet Gallagher?" Ian was quiet for a while, his fingers playing with the straps on his halo until Mickey reached up and pulled them away. Ian took another deep breath before opening his eyes and glancing at Mickey.

"They want me to talk to someone," he said quietly and Mickey cocked his head to the side. "As in, they want me to talk to a shrink. Even better, Johnson suggested they move me to a 'long term rehab facility where they can help both my legs and my mind.' AKA, they think I'm as crazy as Monica and want to lock me up."

"Fi wouldn't let that happen," Mickey said simply. "If she thought they were sending you there because they thought you were crazy, she never would let you go. Is she considering it?"

"I don't know. She said Johnson gave her a bunch of brochures and she's looking into it. I'm sure my opinion won't be taken into consideration."

"Probably not," Mickey said with a shrug, and Ian sighed.

"For what it's worth, I'm not crazy," Ian whispered and Mickey nodded.

"I know," Mickey said. "I think the doctors are just more concerned that you're gonna suffer some crazy backlash when you get out of here and try to kill yourself. I've tried to tell them it won't come to that, but what do I know."

"Yeah, well…" Ian trailed off, looking at his hands.

"You don't really want to kill yourself, do you?" Mickey said suddenly, not knowing why he'd never asked before.

"I don't know. No, not right now…" Ian said, and Mickey could feel his heart dropping to his stomach.

"But sometimes?" Mickey prompted and Ian shrugged, the action apparently not hurting the screws in his forehead anymore.

"What do you think? Say you were in my position, Mick," Ian said, his eyes flashing. "Say someone tried to kill you just because they didn't like who you were. Say the thing you loved the most was taken away from you, say you're only chance to get out was taken away. What would you do? You'd want to kill yourself, too, Mick. Don't even try to hide it."

"Yeah, well glad to hear your family isn't enough reason for you to fight. Or my sister. Or me," Mickey said, and he couldn't help the bitterness in his tone.

"I didn't mean it like that," Ian said, his hand shaking as he reached out for Mickey slightly.

"Just leave it," Mickey said, not taking the offered hand. "But you're going to keep fighting, you hear me? I'm not going to sit back and watch you kill yourself because of something you don't have control over."

"Okay," Ian said quietly.

"I've got to go. I've got to work," Mickey said, climbing slowly to his feet.

"Mickey," Ian said, his eyes wide. "Don't leave. I promise I'll keep fighting. I promise I won't give up!" The teen flung his legs over the bed and slowly pushed himself to a standing position. As soon as he did, the bed started beeping and Melissa came running in.

"What did I say, Ian," she said, gently pushing him back onto the bed while Mickey looked on with a guarded look.

"I promise," he said again to Mickey, his eyes filled with tears and Mickey nodded.

"I know. But I really do have to go to work; I'll be back in a couple hours, I promise." Ian bit his lip watching with wide eyes as Mickey tapped his foot and left.

The panic attack at the thought of Mickey leaving was just the first of many. Sometimes, Melissa or Fiona would touch his arm when he was sleeping and he'd jerk awake, unable to breath or get his bearings straight or even remember where he was. Fiona always framed his face with her hands, whispering that he was okay until he was finally able to catch his breath and remember where he was.

Carl came in his room once talking about the new bat he'd gotten and asking Ian if he remembered the time that Carl has shattered that football player who was dangling Lip out the window. But even though his little was waiting for an answer, a grin on his face, all Ian could picture was Alex winding the bat behind his shoulder and bringing it down fast to connect with Ian's knee like he was hitting a homerun. Ian had closed his eyes against the memory, his breath coming in gasps as he tried to block out the sound of his knees shattering over and over again. Allison, a new nurse had come in and stuck a needle in his arm and Ian could vaguely remembered Carl whispering that he was sorry as he was ushered out of the room.

The mornings when Mickey had to leave were the worst. Ian knew Mickey hated when he whined or cried, but he couldn't stop himself. Mickey tried to leave most mornings before Ian woke up, but Ian had taken to not being able to sleep if he couldn't feel Mickey's hand and that made leaving harder. The red head would stare up at Mickey with wide green eyes, tears threatening to fall.

"I'll try harder," Ian would whimper, and Mickey would sigh and let himself drop down onto the edge of the bed. "I'll try to be what you want me to be. Just please don't leave me."

"I'm just going to work, Firecrotch," Mickey whispered almost every day. "I'm going to work, take a shower and change my clothes, and then I'll be back, okay? I'll be back by four, just like every other day. And besides; you're perfect. You're everything I want you to be. I don't want you to ever change, you got me? Now go back to sleep."

It was getting harder to pretend that nothing was wrong. Fiona hated to admit it, but she was starting to believe the rehab facility was a good idea. She was sitting at the kitchen table when Mickey let himself in the back door. She glanced up, offering him a pack of cigarettes as he sat down. Neither one of them said anything for a while before Mickey broke the silence.

"He's cracking," he said, not meeting Fiona's eyes.

"I know," she said, blowing smoke out of her nose.

"He's starting to refuse sleep again, even if I'm there."

"Yeah, Melissa told me."

"What are we supposed to do?" Mickey asked, feeling completely out of his element.

"You're not going to like any suggestion I have," Fiona said, lighting another cigarette.

"Yeah, and what's that?"

"Have him talk to the psychologist, drag him through PT, and bring him home. Or send him to the rehab center where he can do PT at a safe pace, and he has to talk to psychologist." Fiona said, leaning forward with her arms resting on her thighs.

"Do all of your suggestions deal with a shrink?" Mickey asked, making a face.

"Or we can skip the shrink and PT, and let him come home just so he can kill himself within the first week. Which do you prefer," Fiona said, and Mickey understood where Ian got his smartass from.

"He's not going to like either of these." Mickey said after a long pause and Fiona sighed and nodded.

"Yeah, I know. I'd like to give him a choice, but I have a feeling he's not going to make things easy. But I'm just trying to do the best for him right now, Mick. I know this sucks for everyone involved; Carl locked himself in his room for two days after Ian's last freak out and I can't convince him to go back to the hospital. Debbie's terrified that someone's going to go marching into the hospital and kill Ian in his sleep. Lip's trying to keep Ian's sexuality under wraps on the streets so this doesn't happen again. This isn't easy. But we've got to do what's best for him."

"Yeah, I know," Mickey said, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"You know, the whole reason you aren't being moved to the rehab center is because you agreed to talk to someone here," Mickey said, gently flicking Ian's arm.

"I have nothing to talk about," Ian said, glaring at Mickey as he tried to shift away.

"Right. You haven't slept longer than two hours a night in two weeks, you panic every time someone touches you, and you break out into hysterics every time I get up to piss. Yup, you have nothing to talk about," Mickey said, shaking his head. "You need to talk to someone, E. You can't let this keep weighing on you."

"I'm fine," Ian said stubbornly, and Mickey couldn't swallow the sigh escaping his lips.

"If you say so," he mumbled, nudging Ian over slightly so he could climb onto the bed next to him. Ian was asleep before Mickey could even get comfortable. But the silence didn't last. Three hours later, Mickey woke to Ian screaming, the red head's grip on his arm almost painful.

"Yup, you're totally fine," Mickey groaned, sighing as he shook Ian awake. Mickey had no idea how to fix this; how to fix Ian. But he knew that someone had to do something. Soon.

AN: I hope you liked it. Please review!