#now if you'll excuse me i am off to buy a bunch of ice cream

[gardenerian]

Allow me to indulge you and formally ask: 5 times Ian and Lip shared ice cream and 1 time... Mickey and Tami joined? Mickey and Tami brought them ice cream? Oh! Lip and Ian walked in on Mickey and Tami sharing ice cream? Whatever. Dealer's choice.

🗣 YESSSSSS! i meant to finish and post this yesterday but watch watch really took over my brain. thank you so much for indulging me, my love!🍦❤️ 

1.

ian wakes in a dark, cramped room, in a bed that's too small, surrounded by the sounds of someone else's sleep. just like he has for the last several months.

it's the same, really - except everything is different.

this room is his room. the walls aren't bare white cinderblock, they're covered with posters and childhood art. his toes hang over the side of the bed that's always been his, rather than a stiff prison bunk.

and those sleepy snuffles are carl's, rather than mickey's.

ian's not going to get any sleep in here tonight. he's too lost, too hyperaware of mickey's absence. thrown back into this house, this life, with all its chaos.

the party had been perfect - holding onto liam, ribbing carl over the cake. holding franny, holding freddie. kissing debbie's red hair. watching lip cradle his son at last. kev, veronica, and a hoard of people he didn't know.

but now he's alone with his thoughts instead of alone with mickey.

ian swings his feet over the side of the bed, holding his head in his hands for a moment before making a decision. it's foreign, this freedom. moving about the house simply because he can.

lip is sitting in the kitchen, poking at the sad remains of tonight's sheet cake with a fork. his smile is tired when he spots ian on the stairs.

"thought you'd be sawing logs by now, man."

ian huffs a laugh, snatching lip's fork as he sits beside him. "can't sleep," he admits. "too much... well, too much."

lip nods like he understands, even though he doesn't. he sticks a finger in the icing and frowns. "this cake is dry as fuck. think i know what it needs."

he scoots back from the table, and a moment later he plops a carton of ice cream on the table, two spoons clattering beside it. ian grins, tossing the icing-covered fork aside and reaching for a spoon. lip opens up the ice cream - peanut butter swirl - and holds it out to ian.

they eat in sleepy silence for a moment, two men out of their element even in this familiar place. ian feels the tension of the day slip away a bit. fiona's long gone, mickey's miles away in a cell without him, and his parole officer might just ruin his entire fucking life.

but he can still sit in this yellow kitchen with his brother, sweetness on his tongue and a warmth in his veins. lip looks tired, staring down at the table as he fiddles with his spoon.

"thought you were supposed to sleep when the kid sleeps, pops?"

"you gonna call me pops forever?"

when ian just smiles, lip sighs. "yeah, probably should be asleep. we're still tryin' to work out a routine, y'know?"

ian nods like he understands, even though he doesn't.

“i don’t know how the fuck this is gonna go,” lip continues, and this ian understands. everything feels so up in the air right now, and it’s hard to believe that fucking prison is the last place he really felt secure.

lip stands, pushing the ice cream closer to ian. “glad to have a minute with you though,” he says, clapping ian on the shoulder. “good to have you back.”

ian hums in agreement, tossing a wave over his shoulder. he doesn’t feel like he’s back, not just yet. but it’s nice to be here, wherever he is, with the familiar thumping of his brother up the stairs.

2.

lip stays in the living room after everyone disperses. mickey drags ian upstairs to celebrate the engagement, tami takes fred out to the RV, and the other gallaghers shut themselves away in their own bedrooms. 

but lip sits quietly, buckling under the weight of his own announcement, and listens to the sounds of his family settling in the rooms above him. thinks about raising his son away from them. 

after a little while, once everyone quiets down for sleep, lip is startled from thought by the creeping footsteps of someone on the back stairs. he turns to see ian tiptoeing into the kitchen. 

lip watches him fumble around in the dark for a minute, snorting when ian stubs his toe on the refrigerator. ian jumps at the sound. 

“the fuck you doin’ sitting in the dark?”

lip just shrugs. “just thinking. why aren’t you up there with your betrothed, huh?”

“also thinking,” ian replies, pulling a tub of chocolate ice cream from the freezer. he holds it out to lip in question, who gladly takes it, eager for a distraction. ian grabs the spoons, and they settle on the couch to dig in. 

“so you popped the question,” lip says after a moment. “for real this time?”

ian smacks him lightly on the head. “it was real the first time,” he argues weakly. “but yes, i asked him again tonight.” 

he looks a little dazed, spoon dangling from his mouth. there’s chocolate staining his lips, and he looks impossibly young for a man with a fiancé. 

“how did you know,” lip asks, “that it was right? how are you suddenly so sure, after all that?”

ian takes the tub from lip and settles it in his own lap. “i didn’t know,” he answers. “i don’t know. but - i guess i realized i’m not so afraid to find out.”

and how much of their lives have been driven by fear? fear of being without, fear of being alone. fear of whatever lives within them. fuck, lip’s even afraid right now. how can he know the right thing to do?

“you gotta trust yourself at some point, lip,” ian says then, as if reading his thoughts. he takes lip’s spoon and stands, walking over to the kitchen to put everything away. when he returns, he puts a hand in lip’s hair. 

“i’m going back up before mickey wakes up and gets cranky. see you in the morning?”

lip nods - maybe he’ll be less afraid in the sunlight. 

3.

he’s out of cereal. motherfucker. 

ian peels himself from the couch and trudges to the kitchen in search of a substitute. he finds it in the freezer - some mint flavor of debbie’s. whatever, it’ll do. 

he slumps in chair at the table, digging in without any real interest. it’s just something to do. 

mickey’s somewhere with sandy - for the sake of his anxiety, ian didn’t ask where - and ian suddenly has no where to be. without a job, there’s no need for him to shower or change, no need for him to feel any real urgency. 

no need for him for much of anything, really. 

lip breezes through the back door with freddie, derailing ian’s pathetic train of thought. ian’s glad to see someone else in the house; he was tired of haunting the place on his own. 

“what’re you up to?”

lip turns to him, settling fred in franny’s old high chair. “need to borrow a ladder,” he says, looking around the kitchen before his gaze settles on the ice cream in front of ian. “rough day?” 

“not really,” ian sighs, pushing the tub forward in invitation. “nothing’s going on. whole lotta nothing.”

lip raises an eyebrow as he sits at the kitchen table. he pulls one of fred’s little spoons from his bag and scoops himself a thimbleful of ice cream. “no luck on the job search, then?”

“not much work for a guy on parole, especially when the world’s ending,” ian answers around a mouthful. “and with the wedding money gone, we’re kinda fucked. mickey keeps scamming his way into cash, but how long can that last?”

“we’ve always scammed cash when we needed it,” lip reminds him. 

ian sighs - yeah, that’s true. but he’d thought, or hoped, maybe, that getting married might force a little security. a change in the way they care for each other. in the way they live together.

“i just don’t wanna have to,” ian tells him. “i don’t want every day to be such a risk, y’know? so fucking sick of prison looming over our heads.”

“i know man, trust me,” lip says, glancing over at fred. “but shit’s just - not normal right now. it won’t be like this forever. we just have to buckle down and do what we gotta do right now.”

ian leans back in his chair and swallows down a spoonful. he looks at lip, who looks back. they sit together in their own uncertainties, the same taste in their mouths. 

4.

it’s quiet when lip pushes into ian and mickey’s apartment. 

he doesn’t like it - there’s usually so much noise in here. mickey shouting about something, ian singing or humming off-key, nieces and nephews running around. 

but today it’s quiet.

ian’s on the couch, fiddling with his phone. he doesn’t look up when lip comes in. he doesn’t grin or wave, he doesn’t snap or tell him to go. he’s quiet. 

mickey called a little while ago, asking lip to come by while he went out for a bit. it’s really not bad, he’d assured him, i think he’ll just want to see you. but it doesn’t look like ian wants much of anything right now. 

“i brought vanilla,” lip announces lowly, and ian finally turns his head to face him. “mickey said your stomach’s not in great shape.” 

“it’s just the new dose,” ian mumbles. “can’t have too much.”

lip sits on the floor by the couch, dropping the ice cream and spoons on the coffee table. when ian makes no move for it, lip opens the tub and holds out a spoon. 

“don’t make me feed you,” lip warns. “i haven’t fed you in like, twenty years, and i think we’re past that.”

“you never fed me,” ian snorts, and lip delights in the sound. maybe it’s really not so bad this time. “i’m barely younger than you.”

“i absolutely did,” he insists. “you can ask fiona. she had to help me, but i definitely did it.”

“whatever, dad,” ian mutters, sitting up slowly and gingerly taking a spoon. he takes just a little bit, but lip watches him smile as the sweetness hits his tongue. neither of them really had a sweet tooth growing up, so these moments together feel extra indulgent now. 

they don’t talk much. there isn’t really anything to solve. there’s no big plan to fix this. it’s just something they have to feel their way through, wading through the quiet. 

“i would, you know,” lip says after a moment. 

“would what?”

“i’d feed you this fucking ice cream,” lip says around a laugh. “if you wanted.”

“oh, fuck off,” ian grumbles, rolling his eyes. then - “i know, asshole.”

5.

ian’s pacing the kitchen when lip finally bursts through the door.

“what’s wrong,” he pants, eyes roaming wildly over ian’s face. “what’s the emergency?”

“i never said there was an emergency,” ian corrects him. “i merely said that i needed you to come over immediately.”

“that implies something very urgent, ian,” lip sighs, throwing himself into a chair at the dining table. 

“this is urgent,” ian agrees. “just - not terrible? i don’t think?”

“what the fuck are you talking about?”

ian plops a carton of ice cream in front of his brother. lip leans forward and peers at the label. 

“is this fucking boysenberry?”

“yeah, they got really weird flavors in this neighborhood. best i could find.”

“well, you do owe me for dragging me over here,” lip says, opening up the ice cream. “what’s going on?”

ian takes a breath, steadying himself for this news. when they got the call, he was so wrapped up in mickey, he thought he’d never untangle himself. they’d spent last night celebrating, planning, and making promises. 

but today - he needs to talk to lip. 

“we’re getting a kid,” ian tells him. “a baby. human.”

“thanks for the clarification,” lip answers dully, before standing and pulling ian into a hug. “holy shit, man!”

“i know,” ian breathes after they’re seated again, “fuck.” 

lip sniffs at the ice cream, and, upon apparently finding it satisfactory, scoops himself a spoonful. ian follows suit, trusting lip’s judgment. it’s alright - it’s different, kind of tart. 

“look at us,” lip laughs, reaching for another bite, “we’re evolving.”

“i don’t think fruit in our ice cream counts as development, man.”

“i’d argue otherwise, but who gives a shit? you’re getting a kid! definitely evolving. how d’you feel? what about mickey?”

“scared shitless, both of us. but - happy? maybe even ready? can you really be ready?”

“sounds about right. you’re as ready as you can be, but then it actually happens and you realize you weren’t ready at all. but you’ll catch up.”

“comforting, thanks.”

lip leans forward, wrapping a hand around ian’s wrist. “you got this, pops. gonna be a great dad.” 

“learned from the best, i guess,” ian laughs, holding out his spoon. “to evolving,” he says when lip clinks his against it. 

+1 

“stop eating all the cookie dough, mickey!”

“stop batting my spoon away, bitch!”

“move the fuck over then, and let me have some.”

“this is my house, tamietti, and my ice cream.”

“pretty sure it’s ian’s, actually, and he’s gonna kill us when he gets back.”

“what’s his is mine, and this is mine.”

“you’re such a drunk idiot - hey!”

tami and mickey look up, stunned, as a giant freckled hand wrenches the ice cream away from them. ian looms over them where they’re huddled around the kitchen island, face thunderous. lip stands behind him, arms crossed over his chest, clearly amused. 

“the fuck, mick? i told you i was saving that for lip!”

“fuck lip,” mickey chuckles, reaching for the ice cream. ian holds it over his head and mickey pouts as it moves out of reach. tami snatches it and inspects what’s left of the pint.

“i’d say we saved you some, but mickey here ate all of the cookie dough in it. so there’s - there’s just vanilla left in here.”

“why are you guys even here?” ian snaps. “you’re supposed to be out tonight.”

“went out,” mickey shrugs. “got drunk, came back.” 

“sorry to interrupt brother night,” tami says, not sounding very sorry at all. “mickey said there were snacks here... so we’re here.”

lip snorts. “sound logic. it’s cool, ian, we’ll just run out for more. or eat this sad cookie dough, it’s fine.”

ian’s chin juts out as he narrows his eyes at his husband. “you’ve been eyeing this ice cream since i brought it home yesterday. was this your plan all along? eat it all before we got back from the movie and hope i wouldn’t notice?”

mickey bites down on a grin. “maybe i was gonna say fiona wanted some.”

“damn, dude,” lip laughs. “you were gonna blame this on your kid?”

“she’s not even here!” ian shouts. “this is a terrible plan!” 

mickey leans over the island, motioning for ian to come closer. “i’ll make it up to you,” he promises. “i’ll make it up to you all night.”

ian nods, considering. mickey’s brand of repentance is pretty enticing. 

“you better. now pass me a fucking spoon.”