Chapter Text
Six years ago
“Fuck you, you piece of shit! Gonna lay hands on my sister like that? Fuck you! I’ll fucking kill you, motherfucker!”
“Mickey, stop!! Please stop!! You’re gonna kill him!”
“Good! That’s the least of what this son of a bitch deserves, Mandy!!”
“Shit! The cops are coming, Mick! You gotta go!!”
“Not without you, Mandy, and not until this asshole learns not to put his hands on you!”
“Mickey, you’re on probation!!”
“Fuck that and fuck those cops! I’m not leaving without you!”
When the cops got there, all they saw was Mickey holding a crowbar as he stood over a man who was lying motionless in the fetal position. One look at Mandy’s arms and face told them all they needed to know, but even in this case, the law was still the law, and Mickey had broken it. They had to arrest him but agreed to stay at the house until the ambulance got there to take Mandy and her piece of shit boyfriend to the hospital. It was later that night that Mickey found out the boyfriend had died from excessive internal bleeding, and he was being charged with third-degree murder.
For a public defender, his lawyer didn’t suck too badly, and he managed to talk the prosecution down from a possible 25-year sentence to a plea bargain of 10 years, with possibility for parole after 5. His lawyer explained to him that this was probably the best deal he was going to get, especially considering that he’d broken probation. Mandy had been livid that he was being sentenced with any time at all, but Mickey assured her he’d keep his head down and do his time and that he’d make sure he did everything he could to get paroled as soon as he could.
And that’s exactly what he did. Every now and again, a few guys would try to prove how tough they were and start shit, but Mickey usually managed to either avoid them or make a deal with them so he didn’t fuck things up for himself.
About a year into his incarceration, the prison psychologist asked to meet with him. He rolled his eyes but went anyway, and when he walked into the office, he was met with a petite blonde woman who looked like she would fall over from the tiniest push.
“Ah, Mr. Milkovich, have a seat. I’ve been going through the files of some of the inmates here, and I found yours pretty interesting.”
Mickey fixed her with a bored stare, “Okay…and?”
She closed the file on her desk, “Looks like you’ve been through some pretty serious shit, Mr. Milkovich.”
Mickey snorted, “Yeah, who hasn’t?”
“What’s interesting, though,” she looked him directly in the eyes, “is that there doesn’t seem to be any malicious intent in any of the things you’ve done.”
“The fuck does that mean?”
“Well, it means that the crimes you’ve been charged with in the past…possession of drugs with intent to sell, shoplifting, breaking and entering, and third-degree murder…they don’t read as the actions of a violent criminal.”
Mickey snorted, “Yeah, well, the great state of Illinois would disagree with you there, doc.”
“They read to me,” she continued, “as the actions of survival and protection.”
Mickey’s eyes widened as he looked at her, and he stood up to leave, “I don’t fucking need this.”
“Sit down, Mickey.”
For a small woman, her voice was commanding, and Mickey found himself sitting right back down in his chair.
“I don’t want to talk with you because I think there’s something wrong with you, Mickey. I want to talk with you because I think you have a lot of potential to do something good with your life. Interested?”
The psychologist, Dr. Lane, had started meeting with him once a week. It had taken a few weeks of mostly one-word responses on Mickey’s part, but eventually, he started opening up. He’d always thought prison psychologists were a joke, but he found himself telling Dr. Lane (who he’d just called Doc for the time he was there) about his traumatic upbringing, about learning how to do what he needed to in order to get money and food and pay for the bills for electricity and water and heat, about Mandy’s shitty (now dead) ex-boyfriend and how many times he’d beaten her while they were together. It took almost a year, but Mickey also finally told Dr. Lane that he was gay. He could still remember her reaction.
“Thank you for telling me, Mickey. Have you ever told anyone else?”
The fact that that was her only reaction was a shock, and he told her as much.
“It’s my job to remain neutral, no matter what someone shares with me, Mickey. But I have to tell you, I kind of already knew.”
He had been completely dumbfounded at how she could possibly know that and couldn’t respond to what she’d said. He remembered how Dr. Lane had been unable to hold back a smile at the shocked expression on his face. Finally, she had repeated herself, and he had responded that the only person who mattered in his life was his sister, and that she knew.
“Mickey, don’t take it personally. I have kind of a sixth sense when it comes to these things. I am glad that you trust me enough to share that with me, though.”
Eventually, he’d told her about his dad and what had happened after he caught Mickey with another guy. It was his deepest and darkest secret and one he tried (and failed) to forget every single day. It had been the first (and only) time he’d told the details of that day to someone besides Mandy, and he had cried after he did. To Dr. Lane’s credit, she didn’t try to hug him or touch his arm comfortingly or anything like that. She just scooted a box of tissues to the edge of her desk, which put them within his reach. When his tears finally started to slow, she quietly said one thing that still stuck with him 6 years later.
“Mickey, that is an awful thing that happened. Your father is a horrible person, and what happened to you is not your fault. Talking about it requires a lot of courage. Don’t ever let anyone tell you any differently.”
He had nodded at the time, and when he walked out of her office that day, he felt lighter somehow. What had happened to him that day had been horrific, and someone he trusted (outside of Mandy) telling him that it wasn’t his fault and confirming that what happened was horrible helped him start to shed a weight that had been on his shoulders ever since the day it happened.
He continued going to see Dr. Lane the rest of the time he was in prison, and when his first opportunity for parole was approaching, she was the one who had ultimately set him on that path to where he was headed now.
“When’s your parole hearing?”
“It’s a week from today, Doc.”
“You nervous?”
“Nah, just ready to get out of here.”
“Mickey, it’s okay to be nervous.”
“Aaahh, fuck…it feels stupid to be nervous. It’s a chance to get out of here. Shouldn’t I be excited about that?”
“Change can be scary. Have you given any thought to what you’ll do when you get out?”
“Eh…not really. Mandy said I can come stay with her while I’m figuring things out, but I haven’t even had my parole hearing, Doc. Let’s not start planning the rest of my future just yet.”
“Mickey, you’ve been a model inmate since you got here. You’ve kept to yourself, done what you needed to do. You’ve helped out with extra tasks on work duty. I’ve given my recommendation for parole. Hell, the freaking warden gave his recommendation for parole, and that never happens! Nothing is for sure until it happens, but I think it would be a good idea to start making some plans for the future.”
“Shit, okay…like what, Doc?”
“Have you ever heard of Peer Support Specialist training?”
“No, the fuck is that?”
“A Peer Support Specialist is someone who has a psychiatric diagnosis or a substance use disorder who has been incarcerated or in a treatment facility. You have to have been out of said facility for a year, and you have to be psychiatrically stable to start the training.”
“What the fuck kinda psychiatric whatever do I have then, Doc? Is this your way of telling me I’m crazy?”
“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”
“Fuck…yeah, okay.”
“Anyway, as I was saying, a lot of shelters and community agencies are starting to hire Peer Support Specialists to have on staff. People have a tendency to trust and listen to those who have genuine ‘lived experience’ over licensed mental health professionals. You’ve gotten your GED while you’ve been here, haven’t you?”
“And, what? You’re saying I should do that? The fuck do I have to offer people, huh? And yeah, I got that shit about a year ago.”
“Excellent! Now, picture yourself as a teenager, Mickey. If you’d met someone like you then who showed you that life could get better and offered you understanding and support, how would your life have been different?”
“Okay, Doc. Point taken.”
“Here’s a brochure, Mickey. Look it over and give it some thought. You don’t have to do it, but I think you’d be really good at it. I also think it would be really good for you.”
He’d taken the brochure back to his cell to look at, and the following week, he was granted parole. As he walked out of the prison doors a few days later, he felt something completely foreign to him.
It was hope.
So, now here he was just over a year past his release date. He’d completed the Peer Support training hours the previous week and was immediately connected with an agency that offered support and shelter to adolescents who had run away from home or who had been removed from their homes by the state and put in the system or who had been thrown out by their parents. He still had to complete 2,000 hours of supervision before he could take the certification exam, but at least it was a job he’d actually be getting paid for, so he couldn’t complain too much.
He walked down the sidewalk whistling to himself. He couldn’t believe he actually felt happy and excited about starting this new job he was headed to. He arrived at the address he was given and saw a rundown sign over a doorway that read Hopeful Place.
It didn’t look like much at first glance, but maybe it would be better on the inside. He wasn’t sure if he should knock or walk in, so he tried the door. When he found it was unlocked, he opened it and walked into the entryway.
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but when he walked in, he found himself in an empty hallway with an open doorway at the end. Taking a deep breath, he continued down the hallway, and when he got to the doorway, he peered in. There was a large recreation room of sorts, but no one was in there, either.
“Hello? Anyone here?”
“Coming!” he heard a voice come from somewhere, but it sounded far away. Finally, he heard what sounded like footsteps coming closer, and he turned in their direction.
The person who Mickey guessed the voice belonged to stepped into the rec room, and if Mickey believed in shit like this, he would’ve sworn his heart skipped a beat as he was faced with a tall, toned, gorgeous redhead in front of him. It was like staring at a perfect sunrise, and Mickey was silent until he realized this gorgeous stranger was talking to him.
“Sorry, man, I didn’t catch what you said.”
Then the redhead smiled, and Mickey’s heart did that weird thing again.
“I said, ‘Hi, I’m Ian, one of the peer support counselors here. Are you Mickey?’”
Ian stuck his hand out to greet Mickey, and Mickey reached out his hand as if on autopilot. The moment Ian’s hand touched his, Mickey almost jerked his back because of the spark that was traveling up his arm from the simple touch of his hand against Ian’s.
Ian looked at him like he was waiting for a response, so Mickey shook his head a little and said, “Oh, yeah, fuck, ‘m sorry, yeah, I’m Mickey.”
Ian’s smile deepened, “It’s really nice to meet you, Mickey. We’re excited to have you here with us at Hopeful Place. Come on, and I’ll give you the tour.”
Ian gestured to the hallway, “Of course, you’ve already seen the grand entryway when you came in. This is the recreation room. I guess that’s kinda obvious. It’s quiet right now because the kids who stay and come through here are at school. After school gets out, well, you’ll understand why it’s nice that it’s so quiet right now.”
Mickey smiled at Ian’s easy demeanor as he showed him where the offices were and introduced him to the licensed social worker, Mary, who headed up Hopeful Place and supervised Ian, himself, and the two other peer support specialists on staff.
“She can come across a little gruff, so don’t take it personally,” Ian whispered to him before he knocked on an office door.
“What’dya want?” came the reply.
“It’s Ian, Mary. Our newest peer support trainee is here.”
A pause, and then, “C’mon in, Gallagher.”
Ian pushed the office door open, and Mickey had no idea what he was expecting, but the woman sitting behind the desk was almost as short as Dr. Lane with a huge set of black curls piled on top of her head.
“Mary, this is Mickey. Mickey, this is Mary.”
Mary gave him a once over as if she was sizing him up. It made Mickey a little uncomfortable, but he wasn’t about to let this woman who looked like she only came up to his shoulders intimidate him. When her eyes reached his face, he cocked one eyebrow at her, then said, “It’s nice to meet you, Mary.”
She gave him a small smirk, “So, Milkovich, huh? I gotta say I never would’ve expected for one of you to darken our doorstep,” then she shifted her eyes to Ian, “but I never would’ve expected that for a Gallagher, either.”
Mickey wasn’t really sure how to respond, and he didn’t have to as Mary continued, “I think it says a lot about a person when they put forth the effort to do better than their family namesake. Welcome aboard, Milkovich. Glad to have you here with us.”
Mickey looked at Ian who gave him a knowing smirk and nodded, so Mickey replied, “Yeah, uh, thanks. I’m glad to be here.”
Mary turned back to her computer, “Finish giving him the tour, Gallagher, then give him a rundown of the schedule. I’ll see you guys out in the rec room when school lets out.”
Ian gestured for Mickey to walk in front of him out of Mary’s office, and as soon as he had shut her office door back, Mickey turned to him.
“You weren’t fucking lyin’, man.”
Ian chuckled, “Told you. She’s really great with the kids, though. And they all love her. They look up to her as kinda the parent they never had, I guess.”
“Does she call everyone by their last name?”
Ian nodded, “Oh, yeah, you can expect to be ‘Milkovich’ from now until whenever you decide you don’t wanna work here anymore. Geneva is ‘Müller,’ and Ash is, well, Ash, but only because Mary can’t pronounce their last name.”
“Their?”
“Oh! Yeah, Ash is non-binary, so they don’t identify as male or female, hence ‘they/them/their’.”
Mickey nodded, “Gotcha. And you’re Gallagher?”
“That I am. Geneva and Ash call me Ian, but I’ll answer to either one, so you can call me whatever you want to.”
“Anyone call you ‘Red’?”
Ian laughed, “Not since I was in elementary school.”
“Can I call you that?”
Ian got a little flustered, and Mickey could make out a tinge of pink in his cheeks.
“I…maybe…why don’t you get to know me first before we start with the nicknames, Blue Eyes?”
Mickey’s eyes widened, and Ian’s did, too. Ian clamped a hand over his mouth as he realized what he’d just said. To say he was mortified was an understatement.
“Oh, my god! I’m so sorry! I have no idea where that even came from…I just…can we just erase the past 60 seconds and pretend like I didn’t just say that?”
The pink in Ian’s cheeks had deepened to a bright red, and Mickey felt himself blushing a little, too. He was an out and proud gay man, so there was no reason to hide the fact that he found Ian attractive…or that he liked that Ian liked the color of his eyes.
He bit his lip as he grinned at Ian, “It’s okay…I, uh, I liked it.”
Mickey watched as a huge, bright smile came to Ian’s face, and their eyes held for a few seconds. Reality seemed to hit Ian first as he shook his head a little bit, and he said, “I, uh, why don’t I take you through what we do here once the kids get out of school?”
Mickey smiled, “Yeah, Gallagher, let’s do that.”
Ian had taken Mickey on a walk-through, showing him the door that led to the dorms where the kids who stayed, then he showed him the study room, the TV room, the kitchen, the bathrooms, and the recreation room.
They went back to the kitchen, and Ian started pulling out snacks from a large cabinet and putting them in a basket.
“Let’s see. It’s 2:30 now, and school lets out at 3. We have snacks ready for the kids as soon as they get back from school. We let them chill and relax for about 30 minutes, and then we break up into small groups to check in about their days and if they have any issues they’ve shared in the previous days in group. That can take anywhere from 10-30 minutes, depending on what’s going on with the kids. They mostly all know each other and are used to each other now, so they tend to talk more when they’re around people they know. After that, we have study time for those who have homework from 4-5. We do what we can to help them, and that time is also when we check in with the kids individually who might have stuff going on and not want to talk about it in small group. After that, we have a rotation of mostly the older kids who come in here to help us with dinner. Dinner is served at 6, then everyone helps with clean-up, and our shifts end at 7. Do you have any questions?”
Mickey looked a little overwhelmed as he shook his head, and Ian smiled at him, “It takes some time to get used to the schedule, but once you do, it’s pretty easy to follow. Stick with me for today, and then you can rotate to Geneva and Ash tomorrow and the next day to see how they do things. We all have different lived experiences, so we all have different approaches to how we interact with and support the kids. The most important thing to remember is to meet them where they are.”
Mickey furrowed his brow, “The fuck does that mean?”
Ian gave him another genuine smile, “It means that you can’t help someone unless you get on their level first. You have to understand where they’re coming from before you can know how to help them.”
Mickey nodded, then asked, “So, how long have you been a peer support specialist?”
Ian smiled, “I got certified about 3 years ago, and I’ve been here for almost 2 years.”
Mickey nodded again, “That’s really cool. Are you, uh, related to Frank by any chance?”
Ian rolled his eyes and groaned, “Yes…he’s my…step-dad? Uncle? Both, I guess, but let’s just say that Monica really liked one of his brothers, and I, well, I look exactly like him. I met him once, so you know, two and two together and all that.”
Mickey nodded, “So, you’re South Side through and through, then.”
Ian shrugged, “Yeah, I guess you could say that. It’ll always be a part of me, but I’m trying to take the lessons and the good parts of it and leave the bad parts of it behind, I guess. Hard to do when it’s both the good and bad parts of your lived experience that lead you here, though.”
“Yeah, I get what you mean.”
They both gave each other small smiles of understanding, and Ian said, “So, since we’re connecting last names and everything, I guess that would make you related to Terry?”
A shadow crossed over Mickey’s face, “In last name only. In every other way, that bastard is dead to me and has been for years. The only family who I still consider family is Mandy.”
A light of recognition shone in Ian’s eyes, “Oh, yeah! I think I remember her! She and I were in the same grade and had a few classes together, but outside of class, I was always busy with ROTC and my job and my family. She always seemed really nice in a ‘South Side, mess with me, and I’ll beat your ass’ kind of way.”
Mickey laughed at Ian’s description, “Yeah, that pretty much describes Mandy. She and I actually have an apartment together in Near West Side. It’s still on the South Side part, but nowhere near as shitty as the house we grew up in.”
Ian smiled, “Nice. I, uh, I mostly live on the West Side, but every now and then, I’ll go stay with my brother and his family.”
Mickey smiled and teased Ian a little, “West Side, huh? A little bougie, ain’tcha? Movin’ on up and all that?”
A tight smile appeared on Ian’s face, “Well, it’s not…it’s…”
He wasn’t able to finish his sentence because it was about that time that they heard a door slam open and the voices of the kids coming down the hallway.
A more genuine smile came to Ian’s face, and he said, “Get ready. It’s showtime.”