The decision not to tell anyone is an easy one to make. Partly because he still intends on standing by his promise of secrecy about Mandy's past with Robbie, regardless of who she and Mickey might choose to share it with, but there's also something else, something more selfish. He can't face the inevitable pity from Fiona, the told-you-so from Lip, the endless explaining to everyone who's still under the impression that he hates Mickey's guts, and so he presses the hurt down deep and puts on a brave face to help Fiona with the Christmas arrangements. She's decided, at the last minute of course, to cook a full-on dinner for everyone, the Gallaghers and Kev and Vee and the twins, and so they all spend two days scouring every supermarket in a two mile radius for last minute deals and a turkey that doesn't look as if it's been in the freezer since before Liam was born. It's a tall ask, but between them they get most of the stuff on the list, and they have a fair bit of fun picking out ridiculous substitutes for the things that they don't. It's a huge contrast to the week before, when Christmas had been cancelled for the foreseeable future.

Fiona toasts Clayton in his absence at dinner on Christmas Day, credits him for Carl's release, for the fact that they're all together for Christmas like every year previously. Ian raises his glass along with everyone else, but the words stick in his throat; whatever he said to Clayton, he knows that he's not the one they should all be grateful to. He's still struggling to get his head around it all if he's honest, Mickey swooping in, risking his and Mandy's reputations for Carl's sake and then leaving without a word. It doesn't make sense, and that's what frustrates Ian the most, what keeps him up at night playing the trip to New York over and over. He can't seem to put the pieces together, to link the old Mickey to the new Mickey, to the Mickey who seemed desperate to get away from him to the one who went to such lengths for the sake of Ian's family. Eventually, the day after Christmas, he decides that it doesn't matter. It was a kind and decent thing, one that Ian wishes he could make everyone aware of, to prove that that version of Mickey he spoke about really does exist, and more than anything Ian wishes he could thank him for it, but it's pretty clear he's never going to get the opportunity and so really he just needs to put it behind him. Move on.

That plan is thrown off kilter not even two days later when Fiona gets home from work almost two hours early. He's sitting watching cartoons with Liam when she gets in, slamming the door behind her and storming past the sofa without a word of greeting to either of them. He hears her throwing her bag down in the kitchen, and the opening of the fridge door and then the bang as she aggressively slams it shut again. He sighs, rubbing a hand over Liam's head as he stands up. He's a little hesitant as he enters the kitchen, finding Fiona standing leaning against the counter with a beer in hand. She looks up at him, reading the silent question on his face, and straightens up, pacing up and down twice before she answers it.

"Fucking asshole," she says, and then takes another drink. "Shows up there like nothing happened, like it's all cool. 'Hey Fiona,'" she mimics. "'Been a while.' Yeah, no fucking shit given that he fucking took off without a word."

"Jimmy?" Ian asks. It's a little redundant sure, there's literally no-one else Fiona could be talking about, but he feels the need to say something. He's just not really sure what. Honestly, mostly he's really curious as to why Jimmy's suddenly back in town, whether the timing's just a coincidence, and he's not sure whether he hopes it is or isn't. He's not sure if he's hoping Mickey's come back with Jimmy or not either.

"Ugh, who else," she affirms, sitting back at the counter and resting her head on her arms. "I was just starting to be ok with it," she mumbles into her elbow. "And then he shows back up and fucks it all up again."

Ian sits on the other stool beside her and swipes a drink from her beer. "What happened?" he asks. "You guys talk?"

"No," she says, raising her head a little. "He came in and did some pep talk briefing thing about how well we've all done this year. Kept looking over at me, all fucking puppy dog eyes. Put you to shame," she says with a weak grin. "And then after he came over, tried to make conversation like we're just acquaintances, y'know. Like none of that shit happened. So I, um. I punched him in the face. And then I left before he had chance to fire me." She sniffles, and Ian reaches over to rub her back.

"Maybe he wasn't going to fire you," he offers, and she huffs out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

"You miss the part where I punched him in the face?"

"You never know," Ian jokes. "Maybe he's got a kink for it or something."

She wrinkles her nose. "Gross." She takes the beer back, pausing while she takes a drink. "Guess it's job-hunting time again. Was good while it lasted."

Ian hesitates for a moment before he says anything in response. He doesn't want to give his sister false hope, but equally he can't help but think that an end of year briefing sounds like a pretty thin reason to head to Chicago in the depths of winter. It's clear to him that for all Fiona's bravado, seeing Jimmy again has brought all of those old feelings rushing to the surface, that she's not as indifferent to Jimmy's affections as she might pretend. He wants to be right about this. Just this once, he wants one of them to get the story they deserve.

"You should give him a call," he says, hedging his bets. She looks up at him, eyebrows arched. "I'm serious. It's a good job, right?"

"Not good enough to make nice over," she says scornfully. "I'd rather shovel shit. Literally," she adds. "Sewage plant's probably got shifts going."

"And if it's not just for the job?" Ian pushes a little harder. "If he's here to apologise?"

"He's not," she says firmly. "And if he is, he's doing a piss-poor job of it."

Ian can't argue with that. "True," he acknowledges. "But he might get better at it if you give him a chance."

"I don't want a stupid apology," she exclaims, sitting up straight. "I want him not to have left. I want to go back to last summer when it was all just a bit of fun, playing dress-up for nice dinners. I want to stop feeling so shitty when I didn't do a damn thing wrong."

"No, you didn't," Ian agrees. "But maybe he feels just as shitty?"

"I hope so," she says. "He fucking deserves to."

"And you deserve to enjoy it," Ian says. "Make him suffer a little."

A slow smile spreads across Fiona's face. "Maybe you're right," she says. "Could have a little fun with it."

"Yeah," Ian says. "I think you could."

Jimmy picks Fiona up two days later, in a newer car than last time, and probably a newer suit. He greets them all with a smile and a wave that seems somehow cautious and confident all at once, and he's rewarded with contempt from Lip and Debbie, and indifference from Carl and Liam. Ian smiles at him, hoping it seems encouraging. He's pretty sure that if Jimmy's gotten this far, faced Fiona's wrath and still come here to face her siblings in order to get back in her good graces, then he's probably here for the reason Ian hopes he is. The assumption is backed up further when just as the atmosphere in the room gets decidedly icy, Fiona steps into the room and just like that all Jimmy's attention is on her and it's like no-one else exists.

Fiona seems to notice the atmosphere though and she shifts uncomfortably, pulling awkwardly at the straps of her dress. "I won't be late," she says to no-one in particular, as if she feels the need to make it clear. "Save me a beer."

"We will," Lip says shortly, glaring at Jimmy from his position of the sofa. "Might even save two."

"Lip," Ian hisses and Lip snorts and mutters something under his breath that Ian hopes neither Jimmy nor Fiona make much sense of.

"Um, see you all later then," Jimmy says as they head out.

"Oh, we will," Debbie retorts menacingly. The door has barely closed behind them when she rounds on Ian. "Are you actually on board with this?"

Ian rolls his eyes. "It's Fiona's life, Debs. And I think he really does love her. I think that's why he came back."

Lip snorts again. "Mickey Milkovich tell you that too, did he?" he scoffs. "That guy messed Fiona around and you're all for her rolling over for him?"

"Not rolling over," Ian argues back. "Just giving him a chance to explain himself. The rest's for her to decide."

"Well, I never figured you for the 'forgive and forget' type," Lip says.

"Maybe I wasn't," Ian says. "And maybe I realised I was wrong."

"We'll see," Lip says with a shrug.

"Yeah, we will," Ian replies. "And we'll support Fiona whatever she decides. We owe her that."

Lip doesn't say anything, but Debbie sits beside him and says, "Ian's right. Fiona supports us no matter what we do."

Carl nods in agreement, and then they all look expectantly at Liam who's looking between them all in turn.

"Can we watch Spiderman cartoons now?" he says eventually, and they all start laughing almost in sync.

"Sure buddy," Lip says. "Of course we can."

Ian's sitting on the porch when Fiona gets home just before midnight. The shaking from his last round of meds is still subsiding, and he's drinking a beer painfully slowly in the hope that the restraint will somehow shut off his brain. Too much has happened, too much is still happening, and somehow he can't seem to let go. Maybe it's because deep down he doesn't want to, and maybe he knows that, but right now he'd just like five minutes of quiet in his head.

Jimmy's driving slowly, and when he pulls into the kerb they sit in the car for a few minutes more before Fiona eventually gets out. Ian stares down at his hands, traces the words on the beer can, avoids looking at the car. He doesn't look up until he hears it pull away, and by then Fiona's halfway to the house. She stops as she meets his eyes, hesitant as if she's expecting judgement.

"Well?" he prompts, when the waiting becomes too much, and she smiles and then the words pour out of her like water.

"He loves me," she says, and her voice is full of wonder as if she's only just become aware of the possibility. "He said he always loved me, that he's sorry he was a coward, that he was afraid I didn't feel the same. I just— Ian, he loves me."

"I know," Ian says with a laugh. "He's never been good at hiding that."

She sits beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I'm so…happy," she says. "I didn't know I could ever feel like this, you know? Just content."

"I'm glad," Ian says, and he means it. For all he can't entirely blame Mickey for Jimmy's leaving, he's fairly certain that enough has changed, enough has passed, that it's not going to happen again, and no-one deserves happiness more than Fiona. She's given up enough, for all of them, that she deserves this now.

"I just wish everyone could have this," she says softly. "To feel as happy as I do now."

Ian wraps an arm around her shoulder, kisses the top of her head. "Right now," he says. "Nothing could make me happier."

Jimmy holds a party for New Year.

The Gallaghers accept his invitation under duress, the shame of the last one still vivid in their memories. "Water under the bridge," he says, beaming at them. "A new start, all round. I think we all need it."

No-one can really argue with that after the last year, and so they arrive a little after nine, sharing a vow between them to go easy on the alcohol and keep the entire thing a secret from Frank. They're glad to find it's a quieter affair than the last time, just them and Jimmy with a few "close friends", as Jimmy describes them.

When Ian first sees him, Mickey has his back to the room, talking to his sister who's dressed in dark blue and holding hands with a shorter woman with blonde hair who looks oddly familiar to Ian. He's plotting his exit when Mandy spots him, face lighting up and calling his name. She touches Mickey's shoulder, and then bounds over, pulling her girlfriend with her. Ian can't help but look past her, can't help but see Mickey look away and then leave the room like he can't even breathe the same air as Ian any more. Ian feels like something heavy just landed in his stomach, and not even seeing Mandy again can make it feel better.

"I missed you!" she says, hugging him tight. "You left New York without even telling me, asshole."

"Sorry," he says, voice tight. "Family emergency, y'know." He remembers then that she does know, of course she does. He feels like he's in a play without a script.

"It's cool," she says, and she smiles reassuringly. "This is Karen," she says, gesturing to the other woman. "She's—"

"Sheila Jackson's daughter?" Ian can't help but laugh at the realisation. "I mean, you probably don't remember, but I came to stay with Sammi last summer."

"I remember," Karen says with a grin. "Lip Gallagher's less obnoxious brother. Who could forget?"

Ian gets the distinct impression that being Lip's brother is not all she remembers him for. "Um, yeah," he says. "I should probably apologise actually—I was kinda rude to your mom at dinner that time."

"Oh, don't apologise," she says. "Totally warranted, I promise. Anyway, I'll leave you two to catch up. I heard they're setting up speakers in the other room, and I don't trust Jimmy's taste in music." She leans up, kisses Mandy soft and quick. "Catch you in a bit babe."

Ian raises his eyebrows at Mandy, and she grins back at him. "Am I lucky or what?" she says proudly as they head towards the kitchen.

"Pretty lucky I'd say," he replies, grabbing them a drink each from the fridge. "She seems nice."

"She is," Mandy says. "Very nice."

"How's Sheila take it? I heard she was all set on Mickey for a son-in-law?"

Mandy laughs. "Yeah, well I think we all know that's never gonna happen. Sheila doesn't know shit. Half the time she treats Karen like she's still thirteen. She'll find out eventually, but Karen doesn't give a shit what she says so neither do I."

"That's pretty brave," Ian says. He's marvelling a little how Mandy can care so little about people's impression of her when Mickey seems to care so much, seems to go to such great lengths to hide the truth so people only see what he allows them to.

"Not really," Mandy says. "Life's too short to be unhappy." She looks at him as she says it, as if she's not really talking about herself anymore.

"I'm happy," Ian says defensively.

"Are you?"

"Yes. Things are good, Fiona's happy, my family's safe. I'm…I'm ok. That's enough."

"Hmm." Mandy takes a drink, watches him as he does the same. "And that's all? That's where you're setting the bar?"

Ian suddenly doesn't want to talk about this, doesn't want to explain to his friend that anything else is wishful thinking, that pining after her brother won't change the facts, won't change that Mickey can't even look at him now.

"It has to be," he says. "I can't— I can't think about things I can't have, Mandy. It's not good for me."

"Maybe," she says. "But maybe you're selling yourself a little short too."

"Maybe," Ian echoes. "But maybe it's easier that way."

"For who?" she exclaims, and Ian flinches. "Look, my brother might not tell me much, but he gives away more than he thinks. I know something happened between you."

"Maybe it did," Ian says. "But whatever it was, it isn't happening any more. And that's not down to me."

Mandy just looks at him, and Ian wonders how much she already knows.

He hovers around the party until around eleven-thirty, hangs around with Mandy and Karen, plays some pool with Carl, sneaks a couple of drags on Lip's joint. It's laid-back and easy, and he could almost convince himself that what he said to Mandy was true were it not for Mickey constant non-presence, the way the other man seems uncomfortable every time they almost end up in each other's company.

He's in the kitchen getting water to offset the beer he's drunk when he hears someone come in behind him and curse softly. He turns just as Mickey's leaving, and Ian can't take it anymore.

"Mickey," he blurts out, before he can stop himself. Mickey stops and turns to look at him, his expression unreadable. "I just— I've been trying to figure out how to thank you, for what you did for Carl, for all of us. For Fiona too, I think. It was— I can't explain how much you've done for us. For me." He looks at Mickey then, straight in the eye so that he can remember this, remember the connection being strong and real.

Mickey smiles. "You don't need to thank me," he says. "I should've dealt with Robbie long before now, and I let my pride get in the way of that. Couldn't bear to let people see what he'd done to my family. It was my mess to fix; if I'd done things differently, your family never would've got caught up in it."

"Even so," Ian says, determined to say his piece. "What we owe you, we can never repay that."

"You don't owe me anything," Mickey says. "Your family definitely doesn't. For all I like them, admire the way you guys stick together, I wasn't thinking about them." He's the one looking straight at Ian now, unflinching. "I did it for you, Ian. It was all for you."

Ian freezes, his heart pounding. There's a lump in his throat all of a sudden, and he has so much he wants to say, so much, and he's wishing, hoping, maybe even praying a little that—

"Look," Mickey says. "You're a decent guy, so be upfront with me. If you still feel the way you did in the summer, if—"

"Mickey," Ian says hoarsely.

"Let me finish, ok? If that's how you feel, just tell me straight. Tell me, and I'll never bother you again, I swear. But if it's changed, if there's even the smallest part of you that might—"

"Mickey," Ian says again. Mickey stops this time, takes a deep breath and looks at him again. "It's changed," Ian says, clear and decisive. "It's changed, I've changed, Mickey I—"

Mickey surges forward, and this time it's Mickey who kisses him.

It's slow at first, hesitant, with Mickey's hand on Ian's face and a barely there brush of lips, and then he gets a little bolder and maybe Ian does too, kissing Mickey back with his hand cupping the back of his head. Mickey's thumb strokes against his cheek, and Ian slides his tongue against Mickey's, and he feels Mickey shaking as he presses harder against Ian, as Ian's other arm slides around his waist.

When Mickey pulls away, Ian can sense his reluctance, but Mickey's looking up at him apprehensively. "You're sure?" he asks. "Last summer—"

"I was an asshole," Ian says, cutting in.

Mickey laughs, and Ian feels it vibrate against his arms. "Yeah, pretty sure I was a bigger asshole. You didn't say anything I didn't deserve."

"We were both assholes," Ian agrees. "I'm glad we're not anymore."

"Me too," Mickey says, and then he kisses Ian again. "Mandy told me she spoke to you," he says, still close enough to Ian that he can feel Mickey's breath against his face as he speaks. "I didn't send her digging for info, I swear."

"Nah, it's cool," Ian says, and he kisses Mickey, savours the taste of him. "I think she was looking out for both of us."

"Probably," Mickey says, mouth against Ian's throat. "Whatever she was doing, it gave me hope, y'know. Like maybe there was a chance. I knew if you weren't interested you'd have no problem making it clear to anyone who asked."

Ian laughs. "I guess my reputation precedes me."

"Fuck," Mickey sighs. "What was it you said? 'The last man on earth I would ever want to be with.'" He laughs at his own impression of Ian, but Ian cringes.

"Don't remind me," he says. "I was so wrong, Mickey."

"It's alright," Mickey says, smirking at him. "I forgive you. Kiss me again."

And Ian does, kisses Mickey again and again, kisses him through the countdown in the other room and as the New Year comes in, kisses him over and over until they're breathless and panting.

"Happy New Year," he whispers against Mickey's lips, and he feels indescribably, deliriously happy.