Chapter Text
Mickey Milkovich is beautiful.
Especially when he’s asleep and the faint morning sunlight that peeks through the crack at the bottom of their curtain is shining on his cheeks. His lips are pink and plump, parted slightly as he breathes, and his eyelashes flutter gently against his skin.
Ian feels kind of like a creep as he watches him sleep, his head propped up on one hand, but it’s his partner, he has the right.
If only his dick could get the memo.
At 18, he’s supposed to be horny constantly and always ready to go, but he can’t even get it up in the morning, staring at his hot-as-fuck boyfriend.
Stupid meds.
He’s been taking them religiously for 3 weeks now. The first week had been the hardest. The fog was back, making him feel nearly as depressed as he had been without the meds, but after that, things got better. He can feel things now, smile and laugh, just can’t get his dick up and working.
Which would be okay, because he knows it’s not him, not his fault, it’s the meds, but he has to listen to Mickey jerk off in the shower nearly every morning. And it hurts him, the fact that he can’t give his boyfriend what he needs.
Mickey wakes slowly then, taking a deep breath and stretching slightly, raising his arms above his head. He yawns, and opens his eyes, and they immediately latch onto Ian.
“How long have you been fucking staring at me like that?” he mumbles, still half asleep.
“Only like 5 minutes,” Ian responds, bending his head down to peck his lips.
“Uh-huh, sure,” Mickey replies, raising a hand and wrapping it around the back of Ian’s neck, pulling him down for another kiss, then grimacing as they pull away. “If you brush your fucking teeth, I’ll kiss you again.”
Ian can’t help but chuckle. “Good morning to you, too,” he hums, placing his hand on Mickey’s chest and trailing it down to run over his abs, then to his groin, applying pressure just above his dick.
“Ian,” Mickey sighs, but his voice is void of arousal. “Look, it’s fine.”
Mickey’s hard, as he usually is when waking up, but he grabs Ian’s wrist and moves it off him.
“Come on,” Ian tries. “Just because I can get off doesn’t mean you can’t.”
Mickey rolls out of bed, twisting his hips to crack his back. “I know, but it’s kinda fucked up, isn’t it? That you can’t get hard and I’m just… using you?”
“You’re not using me,” Ian bites back, a little annoyed. They’ve had this conversation for nearly a week now, Mickey refusing to let Ian get him off. Just because his dick won’t get hard, doesn’t mean he won’t enjoy seeing him fall apart like that.
“Look, we gotta get up, anyway,” Mickey says, making his way over to their dresser and tugging it open. “Work, and all that shit.”
Ian tries not to scream. He hates fucking working at Patsy’s. The work is dull and repetitive and way too fucking easy. He’s almost jealous of Mickey, who has to deal with rich assholes all day long, but at least they make his job interesting.
Mickey grabs his work clothes, then disappears into the bathroom, and Ian’s phone rings. He checks it, but knows exactly who it’s from.
Fiona: Don’t forget your meds this morning!
As if he would fucking forget. He said he wouldn't end up like Monica, and he's still sticking to it. He doesn’t respond, tossing his phone on the bedside table.
He throws the blankets off him and gets up, stretching to pop his spine back in place, then makes the bed hastily, throwing the covers up and straightening the pillows.
Ian opens the door, walking out into the little hallway, hearing the shower on, and moves towards Aileen’s room. They’ve moved back into the Milkovich house, which Ian is glad of, because he gets to get away from the craziness of the rest of the Gallaghers. He likes living with just Mickey and Aileen. It makes him feel about as much of a grown-up as he can, with Fiona breathing down his neck.
He and Mickey had moved Aileen into her own room nearly a week ago. It’s the bedroom in the middle, which is the smallest one, but the closest one to theirs. Ian opens the door quietly to see that Aileen’s already awake, standing up in her crib and gripping the bars, smiling excitedly.
“Hey, princess,” Ian hums, moving over to her and picking her up out of the crib. “Good morning.”
Her room is in serious need of redecoration. The walls are an ugly orange color and the carpet is a confusing pattern of black and white. There’s only a few pieces of furniture in there- her crib, dresser, and a chair they shoved in from the living room, plus all her toys. He and Mickey have been talking about redoing her room, making it more appropriate for an almost-2-year-old. She also needs an actual toddler bed, not a too-small crib that’s beginning to fall apart, and deserves a better color scheme.
“Mornin’, Papa!” she chirps, leaning forward to place a kiss on his cheek, which has begun to be her favorite thing to do.
“How ‘bout we get you dressed for the day, huh?” he asks her, setting her down on the floor. They’ve fallen into a routine for the past few weeks, which Ian really fucking loves. He really feels like he’s doing life normally.
“Dat!” Aileen demands then, pointing at her bee costume that Mickey must’ve left out last night. Every day since Halloween (there had only been 3, really), she had wanted to wear her costume. It had been simple, just a black-and-yellow striped top with built in wings and a yellow tutu, but she had absolutely fucking loved it. Mickey and Ian had taken her to a few houses around the neighborhood, the ones that they knew didn’t belong to pedos or convicts. Which had been about 6 houses, including the Gallaghers’, but she had had so much fucking fun.
Ian and Mickey didn’t really dress up, because they had no costume ideas and Mickey had said, “I ain’t a fucking baby, Ian, I’m not doing that shit.”
“You can’t wear that,” Ian tries. “That’s a costume. You gotta wear regular clothes.”
Aileen fucking pouts then, crossing her arms and poking out her bottom lip, and even going the extra mile to stamp her foot.
“God, you are so much like your dad,” Ian says, unable to stop his smile. “How about this- you can wear it after you come home from daycare, but right now, you have to wear something else, okay?”
She agrees to that, picking out a pair of tiny jeans and her favorite butterfly sweater. Ian helps her a little bit, just with getting her hands through the arm holes, but she does all the rest, turning to him with a proud smile on her face after she’s pulled up her pants.
“Good job!” he praises, standing up. “Let’s go see Daddy, yeah?”
He drops her off with Mickey, who’s already started on the coffee and eggs, and ducks into the bathroom to take a quick shower, trying not to look down at his flaccid dick. After he’s dried himself off, he pulls on his gray Patsy’s shirt and tugs up a pair of jeans, then joins Mickey and Aileen at the table for breakfast.
How he could ever think about leaving the two of them, he has no idea. He daily curses his past self for trying to ditch them and run away with Monica, fucking Monica. He had let his mom get in his head, talk him into doing crazy shit, convince him that he doesn’t need anyone else, he doesn’t need his meds.
But he does, he knows that now. Mickey’s forgiven him for all the shit he’d done- cheating on him and making a porno, running off with Yevgeny, then finally the whole Monica thing. And Aileen’s already forgiven him- she’s just a kid, she can’t understand half of what went down. They’re all back together as a family, and Ian fucking loves it.
At some point, Aileen ditches her eggs and toast for grabbing a stray piece of paper and crayons that are sitting on the dining room table and scribbling all over them. She loves to draw. Constantly. Of course, she’s not that good, seeing as she's only a toddler, but she loves it, nonetheless.
“Aileen,” Mickey says. “You gotta eat your breakfast first, then you can draw.”
“No,” she says firmly, shaking her head and ignoring him.
Mickey glances at Ian, raising an eyebrow, and Ian tries not to laugh at his expression.
“Aileen, Daddy’s right,” Ian tries. “Just eat the rest of your eggs and toast, and then you can go right back to coloring.”
She pauses, staring at her food, and Ian can see the gears turning in her head. She only has a few bites left, really, and she seems to realize that as she pushes her drawing away and starts to spear egg bits with her fork.
Crisis averted.
There had been a few they couldn’t solve without a tantrum, of course, such as going to bed or eating carrots (she loves broccoli, but absolutely despises carrots, for some reason). But Aileen will usually get all her frustrations out screaming and crying, and then does whatever Ian or Mickey are asking her to do. They’re approaching the terrible twos, and Ian hopes that it won’t be so bad as Carl’s was. He couldn’t get through a whole hour without screaming about something. So far, Aileen’s been pretty easy, minus a few normal breakdowns, and Ian hopes that that will carry through for a while.
He does the dishes after they’re all finished eating, rinsing them off and putting them in the dishwasher, then washing the pan Mickey used to cook the eggs, while Aileen and Mickey draw together. Mickey’s actually not such a bad artist. He has an eye for details that Ian would never see, like little creases and shadows in a person’s face. But he hates being called out for it. The time Ian suggested they hang his drawings on the fridge with Aileen’s, he had gone red in the face and sputtered shit about how he’s not a kid and his drawings don’t belong on the fucking fridge, Ian.
Soon enough, they’re slipping a coat onto Aileen and stepping out into the chilly November air to disperse to their various locations for the day. The 3 of them head to Aileen’s daycare first, which is a few blocks down from their house.
Ian and Mickey had decided 2 weeks ago to send her to a daycare thanks to their busy jobs. Now that Ian isn’t working nights at the club anymore, there’s no one to watch her during the day. The daycare belongs to some poor Southside woman who’s trying to make money while her husband is deployed overseas. There’s about a dozen other kids there, all loud and gross and grabby, but Aileen seems to like it.
She had put up a fight at first, however. As soon as she realized Ian and Mickey were going to leave her, she started screaming and clung onto Mickey’s leg, refusing to let go. It had broken Ian’s heart, knowing that this was what she must’ve been like while he was away and dealing with his mental health.
They had talked to her, trying to tell her that they would be back soon to pick her up again and she would have lots of fun with the other kids, but she wasn’t convinced. In the end, one of the women who helped to run the daycare had to hold her while they left. Ian hated it. He hated leaving his daughter with strangers while she was still so upset.
He made sure to be there right on time to pick her up. Mickey’s shift at Aileen’s ran an hour later than Ian’s, so Ian was the only one to pick her up. But she still launched herself at him nonetheless, giggling and shoving the drawings she had done at his chest.
The first few days were the worst, but eventually Aileen seemed to get the message that she would go to daycare for a few hours and Papa would pick her up later and they would go back home. Ian’s thankful. He fucking hated having to leave her while she was crying, wailing for him.
It goes smoothly this morning, as well. Aileen gets a hug from both Ian and Mickey and waves goodbye to them before disappearing into the house, already heading over to some kid she’s made friends with.
Usually, they would part their ways here, Mickey heading to the L station a few blocks to the west, and Ian walking to Patsy’s, but Ian sticks with Mickey for a bit, just wanting to walk with him.
He slips his hand down in between them, his heart flip-flopping when Mickey lets their fingers slide together. After all these years, Mickey Milkovich still makes him fucking swoon. A chilly wind sweeps across the street, and Ian huddles down a little more into his jacket and presses closer to Mickey.
“I love you,” he blurts out, because he never feels like he says it enough. He needs Mickey to know that, in case he does something crazy or runs off again.
Mickey’s surprise, glancing up at him and raising his eyebrows. “Love you too,” he says. “What’s this all about?”
“Nothing,” Ian shrugs. “I just really, really fucking love you.”
“You’re gonna be late for work.”
“Don’t care. I wanna walk with you.”
“Alright, suit yourself, Red.”
Ian can’t help but smile.
He is late for Patsy’s, but he doesn’t care because he fucking hates it. Maybe if he’s late enough times Sean will finally fire him.
As soon as he punches in, Fiona’s all over him.
“Meds?”
“Yes, Mom,” he sighs back.
“Not your mother,” she retaliates. “Just concerned. You didn’t answer my text this morning.”
He brushes past her and into the kitchen, starting to unload the dishwasher from last night.
“Got busy,” he says.
“You were late again.”
“Yeah, well,” Ian sighs. She doesn’t need to know he had another sappy moment this morning. He’s been having a lot of those recently, still feeling kind of bad about being manic. It’s better now, though, he’s got it under control. He’s going to take his meds so they don’t have to go through all that shit ever again. They’ve had such a fucking insane year, he thinks. With the army, then the depression, then his manic phase. Enough for 10 years. It’s nice that things are going pretty slow now, he thinks. Mundane, almost.
Well, things would be better if he didn’t have this fucking job.
After he unloads all the dishes, he starts working on the ones that had piled up before he had clocked in, and then when he’s done with that, he starts bussing.
He gets that the kitchen is only large enough for two bus boys, but hiring another one would make his, and the other guy's, work a hell of a lot easier. Of course fucking Sean claims they don’t have the budget for that, leaving them to do the work of many.
He wants to rip his own hair out.
Especially when he sees who’s seated at the table next to the one he’s going to clear.
“Hey, Svetlana,” he murmurs when he drops the bucket down onto the table, starting to pile dishes in it. “Yevgeny.”
Svetlana’s sitting in a booth, eating an omelette, with Yevgeny strapped to her chest. He’s nearly 10 months now, Ian calculates, but still looks so tiny. Was Aileen really that tiny?
Svetlana doesn’t respond, just nods coldly at him. She hasn’t gotten over him taking her son yet.
It’s funny, that when he was manic, he cared so much for Yevgeny, but now that the baby and Svetlana have moved out, they’ve just become random people to him. Maybe he only cared so much because Yevgeny was a baby, helpless and so fucking cute. He’s realized they are more important people he needs to care about- his daughter, his boyfriend. Don't get him wrong, he still loves Yevgeny, but the baby doesn't live with him anymore. He's not as close to him as he was before.
Mickey told Ian Svetlana had moved out when he had been at the psych ward. He had said she had been packing Ian’s shit one day, and Mickey had yelled at her for a bit, and then she had just… left. Ian hears she’s living at Kev and V’s now, which he doesn’t know why, but what the fuck ever.
He’s glad Svetlana’s gone, out of their lives, now.
Ian had had sympathy for her, being an illegal Russian immigrant prostitute, just trying to survive, but then she had had to go and force his boyfriend to marry her with empty threats. And the way she’s staring at him now, looking down her nose at him, all high-and-mighty, makes him forget the time he ever even liked her.
He grabs the bucket and hauls it back to the kitchen, grateful to get Svetlana out of his line of sight. He doesn’t mind Yevgeny so much, but he fucking hates the baby’s mother. And what he hates most is that she’s still technically married to Mickey. Ian’ll have to talk to his boyfriend about getting a divorce. Let her be taken away, back to Russia.
Eventually, she gets up and leaves, taking Yevgeny with her, and Ian feels like he can breathe a little bit better.
He’s clearing off another table when Fiona comes over, pestering him as always. It’s gotten better, now that he doesn’t live in the same house as her anymore, but she’s started blowing up his phone with texts and voicemails, asking how he’s doing, if he’s feeling okay, if he’s taking his meds.
“Hey,” she says now in a low voice. “You need to pick up the pace a bit.”
He grabs the rag from his shoulder and starts to wipe down the table. “Why? Nobody’s waiting, it’s not a big deal.” Sure, he had been going a little slow, but there's not a lot of customers right now, with the breakfast rush being over. He doesn’t need to move fast if he doesn’t have to.
“It is a big deal,” Fiona counters. “The boss is watching.”
Just then, the assistant manager, Otis, rushes past, knocking over some poor waitress and hopping over a table. Ian watches as two police officers pour into the diner after him, yelling his name and chasing him into the kitchen. The 3 of them pelt out the back, and police cars pull up outside of the diner, lights and sirens blaring.
“Stop!” an officer yells from outside. “Hold it right there!” He tackles Otis, and the two of them go down hard on the pavement. Customers inside of the diner wince and stare as another cop rushes over. Ian watches as they haul Otis to his feet and slam him against the front window, smearing blood from the cuts on his face from falling on the sidewalk all over the glass.
“Get the fuck off me, you pigs!” Otis shouts, and the couple who had been sitting in the booth right in front of the window recoil a little.
“Guess our reputation as a shit hold is still safe,” Melinda snarks as she brushes by.
“Ian, why don’t you take your rag and wipe that blood and snot off the window,” Sean sighs, gesturing to it. Ian glares at him. All fucking high-and-mighty. He hates this fucking shit.
But he flips his rag back onto his shoulder anyway, and heads outside to do his job.
***
Mickey had never, ever thought that a normal life would suit him. When he was younger, like 13, he had imagined that he would follow his father’s footsteps in the family business all throughout his teenage years, going in and out of juvie, before finally landing himself in real prison in his 20s. He thought he would earn a huge reputation and eventually run the joint, getting all the other prisoners and even the guards to bow down to him. Hell, he had been looking forward to it, too.
Now, though? Now he wakes up with his boyfriend and daughter and goes to work at his 9-3 daily job at a diner and talks to non-convicts during the day.
He can’t imagine telling his past self that. He would probably get punched in the face. He used to laugh at people like that.
He’s so fucking thankful they’ve managed to put the whole bipolar thing behind them. Well, not completely behind them, because Ian still looks so uncomfortable when he takes his meds in the morning and it’s a sensitive topic for them and Ian’s beating himself over not being able to get it up, but he knows that he needs to take them and does, no matter how much he hates it.
They’re doing good, they really are. Both he and Ian have jobs that bring in steady income (though Ian hates his with a deep and burning passion) and have actually been able to start saving money. Aileen’s going to daycare almost every day (which had been hard at first, but she had warmed up), making friends and coming home with more drawings than fridge space, and is nearing her 2nd birthday, which Mickey can’t wait for. And Mickey has a great friend who’s texting him right now about going out for drinks later tonight because it is a Friday after all, Mickey Mouse.
He scoffs as he reads Flora’s text. Over the last few weeks, they’ve become pretty close friends. That’s another thing he’d never thought he’d have- actual friends, not just allies who wouldn’t rat on him to the pigs. She’s met Ian, and the two clicked almost immediately, sharing the same stupid-ass jokes and fawning over Justin Timberlake (which Mickey doesn’t fucking get, but whatever).
I told you to stop calling me that he texts back, to which Flora responds with an emoji sticking its tongue out. Mickey rolls his eyes. Let me ask Ian he types out before pocketing his phone. He grabs his card from a little organizer on the wall and punches out, so fucking thankful that his shift’s done and he can just go home and relax.
Work had been so fucking annoying today, mainly because of Antonio. Mickey’s starting to learn that it’s better when he’s absent than when he’s there. He hangs around, breathing down everyone’s necks, prepared to catch them the second they do one wrong thing. Mickey fucking hates him. Self-righteous motherfucker.
He waves a quick good-bye to Jess, and heads out, making his way towards the L. He shivers slightly in the wind, hating how the weather is going to turn cold again. Fucking Chicago. The L is packed and noisy, people wanting to get home on a Friday as soon as possible, but he gets off quick enough.
When he first steps into the house, he can’t find Ian or Aileen. He can see evidence of them being home, of course, Aileen’s drawings she had done during daycare spread out on the coffee table, but doesn’t see any shoes or coats, which probably means they’re outside.
Aileen fucking loves playing in the backyard. Especially now, that the leaves have started dropping and creating huge piles she can plow into and get all the leaves stuck in her hair. She’s developed a love of nature that Mickey can’t figure out where it came from. Neither him nor Ian had been fascinated with the outdoors to the extent that she is, but it’s pretty fucking cute nonetheless.
Turns out he’s right, as the two of them are already outside, Ian raking the stray leaves in the backyard into a pile and Aileen poking at some dirt with a stick, wearing her bee costume from Halloween.
“Daddy!” she calls when he shuts the backdoor and gets her attention, her head snapping up. All of a sudden, a toddler is being launched into his arms, and Mickey stumbles back a little.
“Hi!” she chirps, giggling.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, holding onto her as she wraps her legs around his back, hanging on tight to his arms. “Did you have a good day?”
She nods excessively, then points to the leaf pile Ian’s making. “Look!”
“Yeah, you gonna go jump in it when Papa’s done?”
She nods, then wriggles to be let down, and Mickey lets her down gently. She immediately rushes back over to the patch of dirt she had been poking around in, squatting down and picking up her stick again.
“Hey,” Ian says, smiling a little as he sets his rake to the side. Mickey gravitates over to him and presses a quick kiss to his lips as Ian wraps an arm around his waist. Right where it belongs.
“She digging for worms again?” Mickey asks, and Ian laughs.
“Yeah. Thankfully she hasn’t found any. I’m not gonna tell her they go farther underground when it’s cold because it keeps her busy.”
Mickey hums, leaning his head against Ian’s chest.
“How was work?” he asks, and Ian sighs.
“Fucking horrible, as always.”
“Antonio was giving me shit again today.”
“Fuck him.”
Mickey steps back a bit to let Ian continue his raking. He’s not wearing a jacket, just a sweatshirt, because he can always keep warm for some reason. Mickey’s thankful. This way, he can watch as his back muscles flex.
“Flora invited us for drinks tonight,” he pipes up.
The corners of Ian’s mouth twitches up. “I’m guessing it’s mandatory?”
“You know Flora.”
“Sure,” Ian says, still raking. “Can Charlotte watch Aileen again?”
“Probably. Not like a 70-year-old can hold her liquor with kids.”
Charlotte is Flora’s grandmother who took her in after her mother fucked off. When Mickey had first met her, he had been put off. She looks like a hippy but acts like a Southsider, with her giant, green glasses and brightly patterned cardigan and slight weed and alcohol addiction. She’s funny, but believes everyone gets reincarnated as an animal when they die, and the meaner you are, the worse animal you’ll become.
Mickey had told her vaguely about Terry, and she had stared at Mickey seriously and said “I’ll expect your father will be a mosquito in his next life. A menace to society and swollen with its own thievery." Mickey's not sure if she's joking or not.
She’s a little wack, but watches Aileen and Flora’s 4-year-old son, Elliot, when needed. Aileen and Elliot have gotten pretty fucking close. She absolutely adores him, always wanting to go over to the Caddell’s and play with his Lego collection. He’s actually pretty fucking cute, with his bouncy, blonde curls and the little button-downs Flora dresses him in every day, and always gives Aileen a big hug whenever he sees her.
When Ian’s done making a suitable leaf pile, he calls Aileen over from where she hadn't been making much progress in her quest for worms. She immediately dashes at the leaf pile, jumping on top and making loose leaves float up into the air. Mickey can’t help but smile as she pokes her head up, stray bits of leaf stuck in her hair.
She giggles and reaches out for him, making grabby hands. Mickey leans over and picks her up, grabbing her legs in one arm and her torso in the other, then swings her upside down. Aileen screeches happily, her hair flying up and her legs kicking.
Mickey glances over at Ian, who’s watching the two of them with a soft smile on his face.
“Hot potato?” Mickey asks, and Ian chuckles, holding out his arms. Mickey makes a big effort of heaving Aileen up the correct way, then tosses her gently into Ian’s arms, who catches her and stumbles back exaggeratedly.
Aileen fucking loves it, laughing loudly as her parents toss her around. They play in the leaf pile some more, Ian making sure to rub leaves into Mickey’s hair and apologizing with a kiss, before Aileen starts yawning, her nose twitching irritably.
“You wanna take a nap?” Ian asks her, pulling her into his lap and smoothing down her hair. She shakes her head fiercely, trying to crawl away, but Ian holds her fast. “Yeah, why don’t we tuck you in, okay? Looks like you need one.”
Aileen goes willingly, but crosses her arms and pouts, still wanting to play in the leaves a bit more. Ian’s the one who tucks her in, while Mickey grabs the drawings she had done at daycare and puts them up on the fridge.
“Hey,” Ian says, coming out of her room. He could hear him talking gently to her.
“She asleep?” Mickey asks.
“Starting to nod off, yeah.” Ian moves over, wrapping his arms around Mickey’s torso and resting his chin on his shoulder. “Soon we’re gonna have no more space on the fridge,” he observes.
“Eh, we can migrate to the wall,” Mickey responds, gesturing to the kitchen wall adjacent to the fridge.
“I hate working at Patsy’s,” Ian blurts out then.
Mickey sighs. Ian’s made that pretty fucking clear the past couple of weeks. And he gets it. It’s a boring-ass job that doesn’t pay anything. He’s supposed to hate it.
“You could always look for another one,” he says.
“Yeah, like someone’s gonna hire me,” Ian says bitterly.
“Look, man,” Mickey says. “No one’s gonna hire you with an attitude like that. You’re good at shit, trust me. If you really want, you can start looking for a place that has openings while you’re still at Patsy’s. We need any money we can get.”
Ian opens his mouth to say something then, but his phone goes off then, and he steps away from Mickey, slipping a hand into his pocket.
“I’ll be quick,” he promises and disappears into the living room while Mickey grabs a beer from their art-covered fridge and drinks it while leaning against the sink. He can hear Ian talking in the other room, saying something about Carl.
“Shit,” he says when he comes back over. “Carl’s out of juvie.”
Mickey’s eyebrows go up. “What, already?” Didn’t he have like 2 months? It’s only been 1.
“Yeah,” Ian responds, grabbing a beer too. Mickey doesn’t comment. They’ve agreed Ian can have one beer a day. “Didn’t tell anyone, just got out. Fiona’s throwing a welcome home party tonight. Everyone’s gonna be there.”
Mickey shrugs. “Guess Flora’s off, then.”
“No, no, you should still go. I can go to Carl’s thing alone.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I can take Aileen, too. She can see Fiona and Lip.”
He sends Flora a quick text, telling her that Ian can’t make it, but the two of them can still go, and she responds with a crying emoji and calling Ian a loser.
Honestly, sometimes she reminds Mickey a little bit of Mandy. Maybe that’s why he likes her so much. But Flora has confidence in a way that Mandy never did. She’s sure of herself, hasn’t grown up with a shitty father in a shitty neighborhood that told her she would never be anything. Mickey still misses his sister, of course he does, but he knows that leaving was good for Mandy, and he’s moved on. He has his family to fill the gap. And Flora's bad jokes.
Aileen wakes up from her nap soon, all rested up and ready to go again. She wants Mickey to play trucks with her, then decides to steal Ian’s phone from where he left it on the coffee table and run around the house with him chasing after her. He catches her easily, swooping her up and pretending to eat her tummy as she squeals and drops his phone.
After dinner, Mickey thankfully changes out of his work uniform, tossing the stiff teal shirt on the bed and pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
“You should wear something more ratty,” Ian says when he comes out of their room. “To keep away all the pervs.”
Mickey just rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth flicking up.
“I don’t think they’d let me in if I look like a hobo,” he says. “I’ll wear a big sign that says ‘I’m taken,’ how ‘bout that?”
“Hmm, perfect,” Ian hums. “Let everyone know you’re off the fucking market.” He tries to lean in for a kiss, but Mickey shoves him off playfully, and squats down to Aileen’s level instead.
“You’re gonna have fun with Papa tonight and see all your uncles and aunts, okay? And Papa’s gonna put you to bed tonight. I’ll see you later, okay?”
She nods and reaches out her arms, asking for a hug. He wraps his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. She’s starting to better understand that when Ian and Mickey go away, they’ll always come back, starting to dilute some of her separation anxiety. Daycare’s helped with that, and it’s been able to make things run a whole lot smoother.
“I’ll probably get back after you’re asleep,” Mickey says to Ian, straightening up. “You know Flora. Bitch likes late nights.”
“Yeah,” Ian says, his eyes a little sad. Mickey knows he’s imagining how it would’ve gone if he’d gone to the bar with them. He wouldn’t be able to get hard liquor, and probably would’ve been too tired to dance, as his meds knock him out early. Mickey knows he hates what his bipolar’s done to him, but he also knows that while Ian will never go back to what he was like before after a literal life-changing experience, things are so much fucking better.
“Have fun,” Ian says then, leaning forward to give Mickey a quick peck.
“You too,” Mickey says back, smiling. “Tell everyone hi for me.”
“Will do,” Ian promises, and Mickey’s out the door.
Flora is dressed to the nines, wearing some flowy, striped dress and serious combat boots, her pink hair done in a loose braid down her back.
“I’m so fucking ready to get my grind on,” she cheers as they walk down Trumball.
Mickey grimaces. “I did not need to fucking hear that.”
She nudges him playfully. “We’re gonna get you drunk tonight, let down some of those walls. And since Ian can’t make it, you’re gonna get you drunk for him, too.”
Mickey rolls his eyes, but agrees. What the hell, right? It’s been a long week.
He deserves some fun.
***
Frank’s always been so fucking annoying, but he’s being extra unbearable tonight. Some doctor lady he had been fucking committed suicide, and apparently he’s been fucked up about it for weeks, crying each morning and telling Debbie, Carl, and Fiona he loves them every single second of every single day.
“14 and already a convicted drug trafficker,” he’s telling Carl now. They’re sitting on the couch, watching some rap song’s music video. Aileen’s playing happily with some of Liam’s toys on the carpet, while Ian’s slowly drinking a beer. He knows he’s only supposed to have one a day, but he figures he can make an exception for his little brother’s welcome home party.
Carl’s different. His hair’s done up in cornrows, held down tightly to his skull, and slouches against the couch cushions, his arms crossed, like he could be anywhere else but here.
“I gotta tell you, son,” Frank continues. “I couldn’t be prouder. I had hopes for Lip, but with him in college now, and this one punching a clock-” he gestures at Ian- “I was afraid none of my sons were gonna follow me into the family business.” He chuckles, and nobody laughs with him. “I love you,” he adds then.
“Ignore him,” Ian says forcefully.
“No, it’s important that you know that,” Frank insists. “I really love you.”
“Sure, Frank,” Carl sighs, his eyes fixed on the TV.
“Call me dad?”
Carl just glares at Frank, and Ian rubs his finger into his eyelid. Christ, he’s glad he’s not living with Frank anymore.
From the kitchen, Fiona, V, Sean, Kev, and Lip make their way into the living room, singing “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” Fiona holding a large cake with flaming candles.
Ian joins in on the singing, clasping Carl on the shoulder and smiling. He’s glad Carl’s alright. From the horror stories Mickey tells him, juvie’s hell, but he did what he said he was going to do and made it his bitch.
They get to the third “for he’s a jolly good fellow!” before the singing tapers off and they all glance around at each other, unsure of what comes next.
“Which nobody can deny,” Frank throws in.
“Which nobody can deny!”
Fiona puts the cake down on the coffee table in front of Carl, who leans over, but pauses when he sees the words Feliz Quinceñera and the pink icing dress on the top of the cake. He glances up at Fiona, who sighs and shrugs.
“That’s all they had left.”
Carl leans down again and blows it out anyway, and they all clap. Aileen stands up and toddles over to Ian, holding her arms up, begging to be picked up. He grabs her by her armpits and settles her on his lap, where she snuggles into his shirt, playing with a little toy ambulance.
Carl’s shoving the eggs Fiona had made him for dinner hungrily into his mouth when Kev blurts out, “So, Carl… a lot of the kids in there have to take it up the ass to survive?”
Ian can’t help but laugh at that as V smacks him hard on the arm, making him jump.
“Kevin!” she scolds.
“What?” Kev asks innocently. “That's what everybody’s thinking, right?”
Someone bangs on the door then, and Carl puts his plate back on the coffee table, getting up from the couch.
“That’s my sleepover,” he says, moving towards the front door.
“He didn’t answer,” Kev observes.
Carl’s “sleepover” is a 7-foot-tall black man with his hood up and a murderous expression on his face. The whole room tenses as he steps in.
“This is Nick,” Carl grunts out, throwing a trash bag full of Nick’s clothes on a chair.
“Holy shit,” Frank draws out. Even Kevin’s speechless.
“Alright, I’ll show you around the crib later,” Carl tells him. “Let’s hit up the boys first.” He turns to leave, and Fiona calls after him. “Oh yeah,” he says, turning back around. “Thanks for the party. Good seeing you all. Great to be home. Later.” Then he leaves.
“Bye-bye,” Aileen babbles, waving at the door.
“Well, I guess he won’t mind if I eat his eggs,” Kev says then, leaning down and grabbing Carl’s abandoned plate.
Fiona and Sean leave to go on their date- fishing late at night, apparently- and Lip takes Carl’s seat next to Ian.
“Unca Wip!” Aileen exclaims, trying to clamber over Ian’s legs to plop herself down in between them, thrusting out her hand to shove the toy she’d been holding at Lip.
“Oh, wow, is this an ambulance?” he says, taking it from her and running it over his thigh. “Thank you!”
She nods her head seriously and says slowly, “Am-buh-wance.”
“Close enough,” Ian hums.
She glances back at him and smiles mischievously. “Fuck!” she shouts.
“Still her favorite word?” Lip asks, chuckling.
“Still her favorite word,” Ian clarifies.
“Where’s the boyfriend?” Lip asks. Ian had told them that Mickey couldn’t make it, but not necessarily why.
“He’s out for drinks with Flora,” he responds, taking another sip of his beer.
Lip’s eyebrows raise. “Seriously? We’re talking about the same Mickey Milkovich here?”
Ian chuckles. “Yeah, Lip, we are. I was gonna go with, but then Fiona called me about Carl.”
“You know, you didn’t have to come. Not like the party went through all the way, anyway. You could’ve spent the night with Mickey. I mean, uh, Debbie’s not ever here. Well, she’s got shit with Fiona, but that’s besides the point.”
Ian waves him off. “No, it was good to see him again. And the rest of you guys.”
“Hmm,” Lip hums, then throws an arm over the back of the couch. “Kinda weird, that you’re the first one to actually move out and start your own family. Always thought it’d be me, you know?”
Ian elbows his brother playfully. “What, with Karen Jackson’s baby?”
Lip grimaces. “Ugh, fuck, don’t remind me.” He glances down at Aileen and smiles faintly. “Looks like she’s about to drop, man.”
She’s blinking heavily, her head drooped against Ian’s side, yawning every now and then. Ian wraps an arm around her and checks his watch. 7:45. About her bedtime.
“Yeah, I need to get her home, but her to bed,” he says, sighing as he stands up and places her on his hip.
Fiona and Sean have left, so he really only needs to say bye to Kev and V, who dote over Aileen for a minute before letting him go.
Back at the Milkovich house, he gives Aileen a quick bath, to which she thankfully doesn’t put up too much of a fight, and gently towel-dries her hair after. He gets her dressed in warm pajamas and reads Goodnight Moon, one of her favorites, before tucking her into her crib and placing a quick kiss to her forehead.
Once Aileen’s taken care of, he plops himself in front of the TV and watches the cooking channel until his eyes are threatening to slide shut. His stupid fucking meds are making him more tired sooner, so even thought it’s not even 9, he’s ready to drop.
Ian manages to drag himself over to the kitchen and tidy up some dishes before taking a quick shower and brushing his teeth. He’s grateful when his head hits the pillow, but of course isn’t granted a long and relaxing sleep before someone’s poking his side.
“Iaaaaaan. Wake uuuuup.”
He tries to squirm away from the fingers tickling his waist, but they just follow him.
“Iannnn.”
He regretfully opens his eyes, only to see the vague outline of his boyfriend leaning over him, back from the bar with Flora.
“Mick?” he mumbles, not fully awake yet. “What time issit?”
“Like 2 in the morning,” Mickey hums, still tickling him.
Ian groans. “You said you’d be back by midnight.”
“Yeah, oops.” He’s drunk, his voice unnaturally high. “Oh my god, we got tattoos!”
Ian doesn’t know what he’s talking about, so he rolls over, burying his face in his pillow. He just wants Mickey to go to bed so he can go to bed.
“Flora got a lightsaber, but I got your name. And we did them ourselves!”
“What?” Ian groans, forcing his eyes open again. Mickey nods, then flops over onto his back next to him.
“Over my heart,” he continues, his words slightly slurring together. “God, I love you so much, I just had to get you tattooed on me!”
Okay, now Ian’s concerned. Clearly Mickey’s had way too much to drink and thinks he got a drunk tattoo or something. He reaches over to snap on the lamp on his bedside table, throwing the room suddenly into a soft, yellow glow.
Mickey’s lying with his arms flopped out to the side, his pupils dilated, but what Ian’s most concerned about is the blood dotting the left side of his gray t-shirt.
“The fuck did you do?” he groans, reaching over to grasp the bottom hem of his shirt. Mickey tries to bat his hands away, but Ian grabs the shirt and yanks it up to his chin, revealing a bloodied mess on his left pec.
“Oh, Christ,” he sighs. “That looks fucking infected.”
“I did it myself,” Mickey says proudly.
“Yeah, it looks like it.”
It takes a bit of effort, but Ian’s finally able to drag an unwilling Mickey from their bed and into the bathroom, where he sits him down on the toilet seat and wets a paper towel. As he wipes away the blood, he’s able to see the actual tattoo, some words in Mickey’s messy script that he can’t make out.
“What the fuck does that even say?” he asks, squinting at it.
“Ian Gallagher,” Mickey says as-matter-of-factly.
Ian stares closer.
It does not say Ian Gallagher, but Ian Galager . He has to laugh at that.
“Gallagher’s spelled with two Ls,” he says, making Mickey gasp and stare down at his chest.
“No it’s fucking not!”
Ian can’t help but roll his eyes. His stupid fucking boyfriend goes out and gets drunk and comes back with an infected, poorly-done tattoo of his name. He’s flattered, but he’s also feeling a little pissy. Jesus, how much did Mickey drink to do this?
“You said you did this?” he asks as he squeezes some antibacterial soap in his hand and gently washes the tattoo while Mickey winces slightly. He nods his head in response.
“How the fuck did you even get a gun?”
“Some guy had it there. Said it was $100, but I said we’d pay half that to do it ourselves, and he agreed. Flora got a lightsaber.”
“You’ve mentioned,” Ian sighs, now grabbing ointment from the mirror cabinet. He spread it across Mickey’s chest, then covers up the infected tattoo with an adhesive pad. “Don’t have a fucking clue how you thought this was a good idea, but. Think you can drink some water for me?”
Mickey shrugs, still staring down at his chest, so Ian silently moves into the kitchen so as not to wake Aileen, and grabs a glass for Mickey. He makes sure he drinks it all, then takes him back to bed.
Mickey’s half-asleep by the time he’s helping him change, mumbling about how the tattoo was a great idea and Ian doesn’t appreciate him enough.
Ian tries his damn hardest not to laugh.
Finally, Mickey’s asleep, snoring softly, and Ian cuddles up next to him. He knows they’re not going to enjoy the puke fest Mickey’s going to have later that morning. Maybe he should’ve come with them, to make sure he didn’t do any stupid shit like this.
Don’t get him wrong, he’s flattered that his boyfriend got his name tattooed over his heart, even though he did spell it wrong and use an infected needle.
Ian pulls the blanket over his shoulder and wraps an arm around Mickey’s sleeping form, letting out a content sigh. He’s so fucking thankful he stayed. Monica was wrong. He does need Mickey. He needs Aileen.
He makes sure to sweep his eyes over Mickey's face, savoring him one last time before he slides his eyes shut.