Chapter Text
Fiona couldn’t stop thinking about what Mickey had told her. PTSD, child soldier, tortured—it was like a punch to the gut. She had a lot on her plate already, but this… this was different. The more she thought about it, the more she saw Nico’s strange behavior in a new light. The way he seemed to disappear into himself when things got loud, the way his eyes darted around the room like he was waiting for something terrible to happen. It made her stomach twist with guilt. She’d been so caught up in her own problems that she hadn’t noticed just how much the kid was struggling.
She started watching him more closely, noticing the little things Mickey had warned her about. Whenever Carl slammed the door or Debbie started yelling, Nico would flinch. It wasn’t obvious, but it was there. He’d excuse himself, go outside, or hole up in the small room they’d let him use. Fiona decided she wasn’t going to push him to talk—she could barely get her own brothers to open up sometimes—but she was going to make sure Nico knew he wasn’t alone.
That afternoon, Fiona found herself sitting on the back steps with a cup of coffee, watching the chaotic Gallagher life unfold around her. Carl was running some kind of scheme involving broken cell phones, Debbie was off with Franny, and Liam was playing with his toys on the porch. Nico was sitting a little way off, flipping through one of his ever-present old books, but he didn’t seem as focused as usual.
Fiona took a deep breath and stood up, making her way over to him. She wasn’t great at this kind of thing—being soft, emotional—but she figured she had to at least try.
“Hey,” she said, sitting down next to him. “You doing alright?”
Nico blinked and looked up from his book, clearly surprised. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
Fiona nodded, not pressing the issue right away. She took a sip of her coffee, trying to think of how to approach this without making it awkward. “You know… Mickey told me a little bit about your situation. About what you’ve been through.”
Nico’s whole body tensed, and Fiona immediately regretted saying anything.
“It’s not a big deal,” Nico mumbled, looking away.
“Look, I’m not trying to pry,” Fiona said quickly, her voice softening. “But I get it. Well, not like you do, but I get having to deal with things you can’t talk about. Things you’d rather just bury.”
Nico glanced at her, his expression guarded. “It’s… it’s complicated.”
“I’m sure it is,” Fiona said, nodding. “But you don’t have to deal with it alone. You’re part of this family now, and we look out for each other. We might be messed up, but we take care of our own.”
Nico didn’t respond, but Fiona could see the gears turning in his head. He wasn’t used to people offering help—at least, not in a way that didn’t come with strings attached.
She gave him a small smile and stood up, leaving him with one last thought. “Just… know that we’re here, okay? You don’t have to keep it all bottled up.”
---
Later that night, after everyone had finally settled down, Mickey found himself sitting in the living room with Carl, who was busy playing some violent video game. Mickey hadn’t planned on talking to Carl about Nico, but after the conversation with Ian, he figured it couldn’t hurt to loop the kid in.
“Yo, Carl,” Mickey said, grabbing Carl’s attention for a second.
“What?” Carl asked, not taking his eyes off the screen.
Mickey leaned back in the chair, glancing over at the kid. “You know Nico, right? The quiet dude living here?”
“Yeah,” Carl said, distracted by his game. “What about him?”
Mickey flicked some imaginary dirt off his pants. “Just… don’t mess with him too much, alright? He’s been through some serious shit.”
Carl finally paused the game and looked over, raising an eyebrow. “Like what?”
Mickey sighed, wondering how to explain this without going too deep. “Look, I’m not gonna get into the details, but the kid’s got PTSD. He grew up in a messed-up place, saw things no one should see, and got hurt bad. Just keep that in mind before you go blowing shit up around him.”
Carl’s expression shifted from curiosity to something more thoughtful. “Damn. I didn’t know.”
“Yeah, well, now you do,” Mickey said, sitting up. “Just keep it in your head, alright? Kid’s jumpy. Last thing we need is him having a breakdown ‘cause you thought it’d be funny to scare him.”
Carl nodded, looking surprisingly serious. “Got it.”
Mickey leaned back again, satisfied that Carl would at least try to tone it down around Nico. Carl wasn’t heartless; he just needed to know the stakes.
---
Later that night, Mickey found Ian in their bedroom, fiddling with some paperwork from work. Mickey leaned against the doorframe, watching him for a second before speaking up.
“You know what’s crazy?” Mickey said, shaking his head.
Ian looked up, raising an eyebrow. “What?”
“That kid, Nico,” Mickey continued, walking over to the bed and sitting down. “He’s not just some quiet weirdo. He’s been through actual hell.”
Ian frowned, putting the papers aside. “What do you mean?”
Mickey ran a hand through his hair, still not entirely sure how to explain it. “I don’t know all the details, but from what he’s told me… he’s seen people get killed for being gay or Jewish, right in front of him. And not just that—he’s been tortured, Ian. Tortured. I don’t know how he’s even functioning.”
Ian’s eyes widened, his face paling slightly. “Wait, what? Tortured? Where the hell did he grow up?”
“Hell if I know,” Mickey muttered, shaking his head. “Someplace way worse than this. He’s got PTSD bad, and he’s been trying to keep it together, but… I dunno. I’ve seen guys like him before. He’s one step away from snapping.”
Ian ran a hand over his face, looking genuinely disturbed. “Jesus… and he just never says anything?”
Mickey shrugged. “He’s been trained not to. It’s like survival mode all the time. Dude’s a freakin’ child soldier.”
Ian sat there in stunned silence, clearly trying to process what Mickey had just told him. “We have to help him, Mickey.”
“We are,” Mickey said firmly. “But don’t push him too hard. Kid’s gotta do this at his own pace.”
Ian nodded, though he still looked shaken. Mickey understood—he’d had the same reaction when he first heard Nico’s story. It was hard to wrap your head around that kind of trauma. But now, it wasn’t just about surviving for Nico—it was about trying to live, and that wasn’t something you could force.