#grumblesandmumbles

Author: grumblesandmumbles

Rating: General Audiences

Status: One-shot, Completed January 2020

Words: 1349

Summary: Ian and Mickey are MARRIED! But Ian is missing a special someone at their reception.

Tags: Wedding, Married, Canon, 10x12

Brought tears to my eyes, just like the episode.

I got a new job, just started this week so that’s kept my online dawdling around to a minimum lol and I was on vacation for a week and a half between jobs so I was just running around and hanging out

Send me kiss prompts and I’ll write you something!

47.  a kiss paired with a tight hug, knocking the breath out of the person being hugged.

The guard walks you back to your cell cuffed. Procedure, sure, but you still hate it. No one likes when the cuffs come out, even if he is muttering about your good deed the whole walk back.

“Be sure to tell the warden,” he says, gaze flitting around the hall, eyeing up everything.

Someone was stabbed. In the laundry. While you were working. And now the entire block is on lockdown and it was all so fucking fucked. There’s only five of you down there at once – five guys and the occasional guard walking by – so while one person lay on the floor bleeding out, and another stood back and looked horrified at what he had done, the other two stood by and did nothing.

You used to be the guy who would stand back and do nothing. Not a fucking thing. Help someone out? Sure, but who? No matter who you help in a place like this, you’re taking sides and that puts you in danger. So you stand back and you wait for the guards to come and in fix everything.

But no guards came for a really long fucking time.

Or maybe Gallagher’s rubbing off on you.

Because you helped. Not the guy standing back, holding the shiv, turning paler by the second. You helped the guy on the floor who was bleeding from the gut. And, shit, you probably fucked things up for him even more when you grabbed dirty laundry and pressed it to his wound, but you ain’t no fucking medic and you did what felt right.

There was a moment, while blood seeped over your fingers, where you wished Ian were there. He’d know what to do, who to help, how to help them. He’d tell you what to do, throw instructions around, take fucking charge.

And you’d probably find it hot as hell, which might be a little fucked up.

You sniff and look around the common area as the guard leads you through it. It’s weird. Not your first lockdown – not even close – but one of very few you’ve spent out of cell. It’s Ian’s first lockdown, though. He’s only been in this hellhole for two weeks, and he puts on a fucking brave face every goddamn day, but …

But you know him.

You don’t know if you would ever be together had you not come back.

You don’t know if he wants you or if it’s just easy.

You don’t know if he still loves you like he did at the border.

But you know him.

And you know the sirens, the flashing lights, the panic, will have him scared. You just hope that no one told him what happened and where.

Because you do know that he cares. You just don’t know how much.

The guard stops outside your cell to unlock the cuffs. You rub at your wrists, knowing Ian’s inside, standing behind the line like a good little inmate. You wait while the guard unlocks the door, checks the cell, then moves aside to let you in.

You walk past and consider, just for a second, thanking him for the clean jumpsuit. He’s one of the better guards, sure, and it’d probably give you an in with him later down the track, but when you look up and see Ian, all words disappear.

He’s pale. Extra pale with that stupid black hair, sure, but even more so when he stares at you with wide eyes and sunken cheeks. You want to go to him, reassure him that this is normal, lockdowns happen all the time, he’ll totally get used to them eventually, but you do none of that. You stare at him and wait for the guard to close and lock the door behind you and then you open your mouth to say something.

But he grabs you, arms around your waist, mouth to yours, in a breath-taking kiss that makes you see starts. Literally. He holds you, arms wrapped tightly around your chest, holding you to him tighter than he ever has before, and he steals your breath away.

He’s kissed you like this before, many times, but he’s never held you this way. Even the night he admitted himself to the psych ward – it was emotional and heart-breaking and you both held on as tight as your exhausted bodies would allow – but it wasn’t this.

This is bone-crushing. This is heart-stopping. This is jail breaks and van kisses and let’s ride.

He doesn’t go far when he pulls back – his forehead against yours, arms still wrapped tightly around you. He hugs you for so long that all you can do is hug him back, hold on tight, hope you never have to let go.

“I was worried,” he finally whispers.

“It’s just a lockdown, man, happens all the time.”

He pulls back that little bit more, looks at you with wet eyes. “Someone got stabbed in the laundry. I was worried.”

You didn’t know if you would ever be together had you not come back.

You didn’t know if he wanted you or if it was just easy.

You didn’t know if he still loved you like he did at the border.

lmao you know my fic so well

“Listen.” You lean forward in your seat, force back a grimace at the overwhelming pain in your ribs and lower your voice. “Cops are gonna be askin’ questions the second they get the chance, and we all gotta stick to the same fuckin’ story here, yeah? We saw nothin’.”