[It's not that he's forgotten Iris' promise. It's been sitting in the back of his mind ever since she made it, carried quietly with him through the day-to-day drudgery of Barge life. All the same, for one wild, irrational second he can't think how the hell this got into his hands. Is it Cassel's? he wonders dizzily, though he's fairly sure he'd have noticed if he graduated.
Then he reads it for a fourth time and his eye takes in the ornate lettering, the heavy ink, the flourishes, and he knows. He hadn't known Ceres had graduated. He hadn't even been sure Iris would still give this to him when she did after the fight they'd had.
But here it is, and it's more than just a piece of paper or a petition to the Admiral. It's more than just Ian's sanity, even. This is Mickey's life back. This is--
He would have done it. He would have counted out the pills himself every morning if he'd had to. He would have memorized every side effect. He would have talked him down from every stray burst of paranoia, sat with him through every fit of depression, dutifully tucked all the knives and guns away under lock and key if none of it worked and things started getting really bad again. He would have put himself between Ian and Svetlana, between Ian and his son if need be, for both their sakes. He would have tried to handle the lying. He would have played mediator and father and caretaker and lover all in one. He would have done it every day for the rest of his life if he'd had to.
But he doesn't.
He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, the paper suddenly trembling a little in his hand. He presses the other to his mouth, staring down at the scroll for another long moment. And then he just fucking buckles completely, face crumpling into a sob.]
cw mental illness
[It's not that he's forgotten Iris' promise. It's been sitting in the back of his mind ever since she made it, carried quietly with him through the day-to-day drudgery of Barge life. All the same, for one wild, irrational second he can't think how the hell this got into his hands. Is it Cassel's? he wonders dizzily, though he's fairly sure he'd have noticed if he graduated.
Then he reads it for a fourth time and his eye takes in the ornate lettering, the heavy ink, the flourishes, and he knows. He hadn't known Ceres had graduated. He hadn't even been sure Iris would still give this to him when she did after the fight they'd had.
But here it is, and it's more than just a piece of paper or a petition to the Admiral. It's more than just Ian's sanity, even. This is Mickey's life back. This is--
He would have done it. He would have counted out the pills himself every morning if he'd had to. He would have memorized every side effect. He would have talked him down from every stray burst of paranoia, sat with him through every fit of depression, dutifully tucked all the knives and guns away under lock and key if none of it worked and things started getting really bad again. He would have put himself between Ian and Svetlana, between Ian and his son if need be, for both their sakes. He would have tried to handle the lying. He would have played mediator and father and caretaker and lover all in one. He would have done it every day for the rest of his life if he'd had to.
But he doesn't.
He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, the paper suddenly trembling a little in his hand. He presses the other to his mouth, staring down at the scroll for another long moment. And then he just fucking buckles completely, face crumpling into a sob.]