A/N: This is it! The END. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this!

Chapter Fifty-seven: Final

Nothing tonight had gone right. Ian stood there, watching the El zip along. He was motionless, his face blank and his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jean shorts. His t-shirt stuck to his chest. It was humid tonight. His hair, still damp from having showered only moments ago, kept Ian only mildly cool. Ian sighed, deciding that he would rather walk home than ride the El. Even though it would take probably an hour. It was just past midnight. Honestly he was exhausted, but a walk was the only thing Ian could think of to calm his nerves at the moment. So he stood there a moment more, until the train had passed, then walked, eyes on the pavement, mouth drown into a deep frown now because he could not still his thoughts.

What the fuck had he just gotten himself into? Ian wanted to kick his own ass. It had been almost two years since getting Scott to back off. Two years since dreading work because Ian knew his once Mickey replacement would be waiting there. Two years since dealing with heated phone conversations and being blessed out. Two years since telling Scott that it was over. The tantrums had lasted for two months before Scott had finally left Ian's life for good. Had finally gotten the point. And Ian had just thrown all of that out the window. Had in fact thrown the hard work out and then burned it. Ian shook his head and gritted his teeth, kicking at a random can on the side of the road. What had he been thinking, drunk dialing that guy? And to have taken it further by meeting Scott at a bar. Sure, Ian had plenty of excuses. He mulled them over.

He had been drunk already. And horny. Hadn't been laid in months, and even the time before that, hadn't enjoyed it.

His emotions were torn because of visiting his brother's grave. And he had needed a shoulder.

Seeing Carl's grave had brought on too many memories for Ian. Had brought on thinking of Mickey, in the end, and that had likely been the main reason for phoning Scott, if Ian was being honest with himself.

Ian stopped and waited for cars to pass him, leaned on the stop sign and watched the steady flow of night traffic. The lights hurt his eyes at first, but he stared long enough that all of the yellow, red, green, and blue blurred together. Eventually he had the right to cross, but skipped out on it and closed his eyes, listening to the few people that had been waiting to cross the crosswalk near him went by, their voices drifting. The shower had sobered Ian up some. He was buzzed now, but not sloppy. The shower, and the fact that he had suddenly looked down at Scott below him and realized just what the hell he was doing. A shocker like that will sober up any man.

Finally Ian opened his eyes and ran across the street in barely enough time. He walked by the window of a nearby bar and stopped to stare at his reflection in the glass. He looked beyond himself to the people inside, then moved on.

Another month had gone by, and still Ian hadn't heard back from Mickey. Ian had mailed the letter, so he knew by now Iggy had gotten it. Either the oldest living Milkovich son had received the letter and the money, and had decided to not honor Mickey's plea; or Iggy had done Julio in and Mickey was free, just avoiding Ian and Chicago all together. Totally going back on his promise. Those were the only two ways Ian saw the situation. Because three months was plenty of time for Mickey to have gotten his ass back to Chicago. Ian kind of figured it was the latter option. Iggy would not have turned down that much money every months. Now Ian had blood on his hands for the sake of Mickey fucking Milkovich, and a heart wound the size of the entire muscle. Mickey had eaten Ian alive, and one day Ian hope he could finally tell Mickey that, right after slapping him across his fucking face.

By the time Ian reached his apartment, his body tingled from need for sleep. He stood at the drive into the entrance way, digging through his pockets ahead of tie for the key to swipe at the gate. It was bothersome, Ian thought, living in a gated area. Recently he had considered getting Lip's permission to sale the place and maybe buy a house somewhere he could actually afford. He was fine paying the mortgage on Lip's place, just sick to death of the order around the community. Ian hated in a way that he missed grunge. All of his life he had striven to get away from the shitter parts of life, and now Ian longed for his old neighborhood for some ungodly reason. Probably because he missed when life was simpler.

Ian found his key and walked toward the gate he saw in the distance, by the office building. When he reached it and swiped his card, the gate creaked loudly and probably woke up the useless security guard sleeping in his ridiculously unnecessary hut. Ian walked through the gate while it was still opening, and made his way toward his box.

He hoped that Scott wouldn't try calling him. After Ian had showered, he had expressed his regret for what had gone on and had requested another end to speaking with Scott. Or seeing him ever. Scott had shrugged and thrown an empty glass at Ian's head, but had fortunately missed. The other man hadn't said anything, had just thrown something, and Ian had left. So Ian hoped that was the end of it.

He rounded the corner and hiked up the walkway to his apartment. And stilled, all of his breath leaving him at once.

"For the love of God," Ian murmured to himself, face falling. He pursed his lips and hardened his heart, marching forward quickly, hand clenched, furious and confused. "I thought I made myself clear?" Ian growled lowly as he approached the figure sitting in the shadows of Ian's stoop. "I'm done with this," he went on and watched the figure tense. "You can't skulk around my apartment," Ian raved and stopped walking. His brow knitted and his frown softened slowly, lips parting into a slow surprise. The man in the shadows stood and flicked a burning cigarette that Ian hadn't noticed before into the patch of grass between Ian's side of the apartment and the other. He stepped down from Ian's stoop and walked forward into the moonlight. Ian swallowed hard and pushed a hand against his stomach while he tried rationalizing what he was seeing. His eyes trailed over the man before him fast, then slow, taking in what he saw. "Mickey?" Ian mouthed, still feeling as if he had been kicked in the gut.

Mickey was wearing only a pair of black shorts, and Ian could see the shirt that Mickey had taken off draped on the stoop beside of other items Ian had over looked when he'd thought he saw Scott sitting there. A bag and an energy drink. A packet of cigarettes and a zippo lighter. Ian looked quickly back at Mickey, eyes skimming the array of tattoos Ian had yet to completely identify. He'd been too busy fucking Mickey the last time to ask what the tattoos were, or to really even bother looking at them closely. The redhead thought the sleeve on Mickey's left forearm had Mandy's birthday mingled in towards the side. It was hard to tell in this lighting. But he was pretty sure. And Mickey had cut his hair. Ian stared at the messy locks, free of any gel from what Ian could tell. But Mickey's hair was in disarray regardless of hair gel. He had two crowns, and that was part of the reason. Ian had found that out years ago. Mickey always had a cowlick when he hadn't fixed his hair.

Ian stopped oogling and looked up, eyes wide. Mickey met his gaze. And inside, Ian felt everything give free. His breath shuttered out of him and he just blinked a few times, shaking his head in disbelief. His heart was racing. Mickey looked so calm, and Ian envied him that. They stood there, a foot away from one another, appearing to anyone who might have seen them, to be having a stand off.

"Thanks," Mickey said, a small, crooked grin gracing his face.

And Ian knew then that the hole he had in his heart was worth the pain. All of it. He regretted nothing in that moment. Nothing he had ever been through with Mickey. Nothing but letting Mickey run in the first place. Nothing but that. As Ian stood there staring back at the other man, he figured he wasn't going to let Mickey run again. If Mickey ran again, Ian would certainly follow.