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Mickey saw a lot of weird shit. He was a cop in South Side Chicago, it was pretty much to be expected. His partner’s family was probably the weirdest.
He knew a lot about messed-up families. He’d grown up in this very same neighborhood, with a terror of a father, a handful of idiotic brothers, a dead mother, and a sister who deserved so much better than her shitty life. So yeah, Mickey understood crazy. But he’d gotten out when he turned eighteen, helped his sister Mandy move to Cincinnati, but then came back to Chicago, because he had some stupid attachment to the city or something. He saved up, bought an apartment, tried to stay as far away from his family as possible, and became a cop. It was kinda hilarious (a Milkovich becoming a competent member of law enforcement, of all things), but the job suited him.
Ian Gallagher’s family wasn’t messed up, so to speak, they were just fucking weird and overwhelming, and Mickey thought Ian was pretty badass for putting up with it. He still lived at home, because he’d gone to school for forensics, paid a shit-ton of money to become a scientist, and then used his talents to help Chicago’s shabbiest precinct. Mickey kinda admired him for it. But Mickey didn’t tell Ian that, because he was supposed to be gruff and unemotional and that would probably make Ian smile at him, that stupid wide grin he saved for his siblings and particularly interesting dead bodies, and Mickey couldn’t have that.
So Mickey pretended he thought his partner was annoying and a total nerd (which okay, he really was), and Ian saw right through him (Mickey didn’t mind). When he thought about it, he figured they were probably best friends, and even though neither of them talked about their families much, about growing up, they had plenty of other shit to talk about (well, mostly argue about). They constantly bickered, and it drove Karen, Ian’s assistant, crazy.
Mickey was pretty much the only homicide detective in their precinct, which meant he got paired with Ian, and had to deal with the forensics mumbo-jumbo and shit, but it paid well and he liked Ian’s company, and the way Ian’s eyes brightened when he got to ride in the squad car with Mickey to a crime scene was pretty much the best thing in the world (Mickey was, unfortunately, screwed).
Being a homicide detective didn’t get you out of everything, though, which was why he had to spend his Friday night dealing with a petty noise complaint on Wallace St., because he wasn’t on a case at the moment and everybody else was busy.
So that’s why he was pulling up outside 2119 N. Wallace in the middle of the night, rolling his eyes at the thumping bass coming from the house. It wasn’t even that loud, especially in this part of town, but it was probably some new neighbors that had called it in, still in denial about what really happened around here.
Mickey climbed the rickety steps, straightening his suit self-consciously, and banged on the door. He heard some scrambling from the other side, before it was yanked open by a young kid, probably no older than fifteen, who was looking up at him like Mickey was the one disturbing the whole neighborhood.
“Um, hello,” Mickey said, trying to peer inside the house for any sign of an adult. “Who’s in charge here?”
The kid shrugged and turned away from the door, but left it open, hopefully going to find someone with some semblance of responsibility. Mickey ran a hand over his hair. He really didn’t want to be dealing with this shit right now, he wanted to be in bed, warm and asleep and not fucking here. Moody Teenager returned a few minutes later, a skinny brunette in tow, and she looked really familiar, but Mickey couldn’t place it.
“Hi?” she said, staring down at him.
“Yes, hello,” Mickey replied, holding out his badge. “I’m Officer Milkovich, and I’m here to investigate a noise complaint called in by one of your neighbors.”
“Oh, shit,” she said, rubbing a hand over her mouth. “Hello. One second.” She whipped her head around and yelled in the general direction of the rest of the house.
“Kev! Turn the music off!”
The music stopped, and she turned back to Mickey, her eyes apologetic. And then they got wide, real wide, and she starting laughing.
“Holy shit,” she giggled. “Milkovich? You’re Ian’s partner, right?”
“Yeah,” Mickey replied, slowly. “How do you know Gallagher?”
“He’s my brother. He’s upstairs right now. I’ll get him for you!”
As if this night couldn’t get any weirder.
“Ian!” she called up the stairs. “Get your ass down here.”
She turned back to Mickey and stuck out her hand. “Fiona Gallagher, Ian’s older sister. Terribly sorry about the noise, our neighbors just had their fifth anniversary and we got kinda carried away.”
Mickey nodded curtly at her. “Nice to meet you, Fiona. Just keep it down in the future, okay?”
“‘Course.” She mock-saluted him and Mickey tried not to roll his eyes and then Ian came traipsing down the stairs and it all went to hell.
He’d obviously been sleeping, or trying to sleep, and his short hair was going in all directions, and Mickey pretended not to think it was fucking endearing, and about how he was wearing fucking pajamas. Mickey’s heart fluttered, like actually fluttered, and it was stupid, but he was so so so screwed. Fiona slipped away, taking the other kid by the arm (Mickey figured it was Ian’s brother Carl), leaving the two of them alone.
“Mickey?” Ian was blinking up at him, sleepily, and Mickey just stood there, frozen, like he hadn’t just realized that he’d developed a crush, of all things, on his nerd of a partner. Like he hadn’t just realized it was too late to ignore this feeling, that he was in too deep, and all his past denial had just made the whole situation worse. “The fuck you doing here?”
Mickey tapped his badge. “Noise complaint,” he said, matter-of-factly.
Ian laughed at him. “Oh man, that’s priceless. The mighty Mickey Milkovich, sent to take care of a domestic disturbance. Amazing.”
“Shut the fuck up. You know, as well as me, that no one’s been murdered in the past couple days. But no, forensic dorks just get to take the day off, while us cops work hard to keep the neighborhood safe. I bet you spent the day sleeping and playing Angry Birds. So you don’t get to talk.”
Ian smiled, smugly. “I always told you being a scientist was cooler. Now, let me get you some coffee before you head back to the precinct. Wouldn’t want you falling asleep while you break up dangerous house parties.”
Mickey flipped him off, but stepped inside the house. He was just going to have to ignore this stupid infatuation, or something. He couldn’t get tangled up with Ian Gallagher. It put too much at risk, his best friend, his job, his sanity. He was just gonna have to pretend that he didn’t want to run his hands through that shock of red hair and mess it up even more. It wasn’t gonna happen.
---
Mickey had a habit of eating his words. And also, opening his big, fat mouth before his brain could tell him not to. Which is why it took him a few minutes before he realized how utterly stupid it was to invite Ian over to his place after work that night. Because Svetlana was in town, and was dropping their kid, Yevgeny, off because she had a date with some chick or something, and Ian was so good with Yevgeny, the kid adored him, and Mickey literally could not handle it. Yevgeny and Ian were a lethal combination, because they could make Mickey agree to anything, and seeing Ian care about his kid made Mickey feel warm all over, and this was a fucking stupid decision.
“I’ll bring dinner, okay?” Ian said, while Mickey was still kicking himself. “Lasagna, Yev’s favorite.”
Mickey just nodded, like he wasn’t in way over his head. Fuck. Sometimes, he hated how much Ian cared, how nice he was, because it made this whole thing harder. Made it harder to resist the urge to kiss the smile right off Ian’s face. Fuckin’ Ian Gallagher.
Svetlana dropped Yevgeny off early, and the first thing he asked was where Ian was, and Svetlana just shook her head and muttered something about ‘fucking carrot scientists’. Mickey really didn’t want to know. He told her she looked nice, because she did, and she told him to save the compliments for Ian.
“He’s my partner. At work. Not my boyfriend,” he reminded her for the millionth time, and she just shook her head.
“I hear the way you talk about him. You like him. Yevgeny like him, no? Kiss him.”
“It’s not that easy. I work with him.”
Svetlana shook her head. “I did not get a divorce so you could pine after boys like lost puppy. Do something.”
“No, we got a divorce because you like girls and I like guys,” Mickey muttered under his breath, and she slapped him on the side of the head.
“Ow!”
“You are cop. There is much more pain. He likes you too, I know. Now stop being scaredy and tell orange boy.”
“Yeah, fuck, whatever. Fine. Goodbye Svetlana. Go deal with your own love life.” He pushed her towards the door. “I’ll bring Yev to daycare at work tomorrow, okay? How long are you in Chicago, anyways?”
“Not sure,” she replied. “If date goes good, maybe long. I’ll call.” And then she bounced out of the apartment.
Mickey was used to her being in Chicago for weird amounts of time. He helped with Yevgeny whenever he could, he loved being able to see his son, but Svetlana lived in New York, so it wasn’t all that often.
Yev was chattering away in gibberish when Ian knocked on the door, bearing lasagna, and Yevgeny squealed happily when he saw him.
“Ian!” he clapped his hands and beamed up at Ian. Ian chucked the dish on the counter and scooped Yev up in his arms, twirling him around, and winking hello at Mickey. Mickey’s chest tightened.
“Hey dude,” Ian smiled at him, and then turned towards Mickey, still holding Yev in the air. “Hey, Mick. Svetlana get in okay?”
Mickey nodded, and then busied himself with setting the table for dinner, because if he had to stare at those two being disgustingly cute for any longer, he might puke. He tried not to look over while he put out the forks and knives and placemats, but he couldn’t just ignore the peals of laughter that drifted over, and when he glanced over in their direction, he saw both of them fucking curled up on the couch, laughing hysterically as Ian read Yev one of those weird-ass picture books Karen had bought for him when she found out about Yevgeny.
He caught himself smiling down at the plates. Mickey was fucked for life.
“Dinner?” he heard Yev ask.
“Your daddy’s getting it ready,” Ian answered, softly.
“Lasana?” Mickey wasn’t sure if lasagna was actually Yev’s favorite, or he just liked trying to say it. It was a bit easier than ‘spaghetti’. “Lasana, lasana, lasana.”
“Of course,” laughed Ian. “I wouldn’t dare bring anything else.”
“Right,” Yevgeny said, because he was the boss, and Mickey laughed at them.
“What?” Ian said, indignantly, glaring at Mickey.
“You’re fucking - fricking - whipped.”
“Says the guy who bought Barney diapers at 2 a.m. because Yev refused to wear anything else.”
“That was one time,” Mickey scoffed. “It’s not me he has wrapped around his finger.”
Ian didn’t look convinced, but he dropped it in favor of dragging Yev over to the table and plopping him down in the highchair. And yeah, okay, maybe Mickey was a little whipped too, but Ian didn’t need to know that.
---
Dinner went smoothly, and so did putting Yev to bed, which was a surprise, but Ian was a huge help and promised him he’d bring him ice cream after daycare tomorrow if he didn’t put up a fight. Mickey went to work on the dishes, and Ian joined him a few minutes later. They worked in silence, Mickey washing and Ian drying, and this seemed to scare Mickey the most. That he could just exist with Ian, without talking, and still enjoy himself. Their silences were almost meaningful. They weren’t the kind of friends that had to talk, that had to agree, that had to know every miniscule detail of each others’ lives. Ian and Mickey just worked well together. It was inevitable.
Mickey was a pretty damn lucky detective. He’d always thought he worked better alone, had never really wanted a partner, but then Ian came along and shook everything he believed.
“Thanks for helping out with Yev.” Mickey broke the silence, because he had to let Ian know how much he appreciated him, because sometimes he felt like Ian came over here and just ended up babysitting, and he already had a houseful of kids at home to deal with, but Ian always assured him that it was no big deal, that he loved hanging out with Yevgeny.
“‘Course,” Ian smiled at him, one of those small ones that he seemed to save just for Mickey, as if Mickey didn’t already have enough on his plate, but he had to also deal with Ian’s stupid secretive smiles that made his heart beat a little too fast (The way Ian smiled was the first thing he’d noticed about the guy. Mickey had called Mandy and complained for thirty minutes about how his new partner was annoyingly enthusiastic about dead bodies. Mandy made fun of him for being a cranky old man).
They slid back into the silence, finishing off the rest of the dishes. They headed towards the couch in mutual agreement, because they always watched TV when they hung out (always fought about who controlled the remote, too), but Ian stopped him with a hand on his shoulder at the edge of the kitchen.
Ian’s hand was warm through Mickey’s shirt, and Mickey almost wanted to shrug it off, because Ian touching him was dangerous, code-red dangerous, but he didn’t.
“Mickey,” he said, gently, like Mickey’s name was something important, like Mickey was something important. “I was wondering if -”
Mickey kissed him. Mickey took Ian’s head in his hands and kissed him, because he honestly couldn’t be expected to do anything else when Ian was looking at him like that, all soft eyes and warm smiles. He was a goddamn sucker for Ian’s smile.
Ian let out a little noise of surprise against Mickey’s lips, but he kissed back, smiling, like this was the best idea Mickey ever had. It probably was. Or maybe the dumbest. Ian brought his other hand up to Mickey’s shoulder and held on and Mickey laced his behind Ian’s head, brushing through his hair.
Ian licked into Mickey’s mouth, and let out another little noise, one that set Mickey’s nerve endings on fire, and he trailed his hands down to Mickey’s hips and pushed him back against the counter. Mickey pressed them together, and he breathed against Ian’s lips, pouring everything he never said, every chance he never took, everything he felt, but chose to ignore. A small part of Mickey’s brain was screaming at him, telling him this was a bad idea, that nothing good would come from this, that he couldn’t afford to get his heart broken, that Ian was too good for him. Mickey told the voices to go fuck themselves, and kept kissing Ian like his life depended on it.
And then they broke apart, panting a little, their faces close, Ian’s wide and open and happy, and Mickey was still a little shocked, like he couldn’t believe that just happened, couldn’t believe that Ian’s hands were still tracing over his skin, couldn’t believe that Ian wanted him back.
“Hi,” Mickey said against Ian’s lips, stupidly, because it was hard to articulate with Ian’s hands all over him.
“Hi,” Ian breathed back. “I never thought you’d actually, I mean, I didn’t think you felt,-”
“Of course I fucking did,” he murmured, and Ian smiled at that, one of his crazy, slow-burn smiles, just like a fucking sunrise (Mickey would give anything to see that smile for the rest of his life).
Ian looked up at the kitchen clock, and stepped back slowly.
“I should probably head back home,” he said, apologetically, and Mickey nodded. It was late, and they had to be at the precinct early in the morning.
“I guess that means no Parks and Rec? (they watched way too much of that goddamn show)."
Ian shook his head. Mickey’s fingers were still laced through his hair, and let them drop, trailing them down Ian’s neck.
“Sorry, man,” Ian replied. “Promised my sister I’d help with Liam tonight when I got home. I guess I’m good with kids, or something.”
Mickey laughed. “You’re fucking fantastic with kids. Yev adores you. Even when he’s manipulating you to do everything he says.”
Ian laughed, too. “That kid’s gonna be a piece of work when he’s older.”
“Already is,” Mickey wriggled his eyebrows at Ian. They were completely untangled now, but still pressed close against the kitchen counter. He scratched his head, thoughtfully. “Ian,” Mickey said, seriously. “If we’re gonna actually do this, we’ll have to figure out what to do about work.”
Ian nodded in agreement. “I don’t want to keep it a secret,” he said, firmly. “But I don’t want to be assigned a new detective. You drive me crazy, and I actually like you. Who knows who else they’d have me work with?”
“We’ll have to talk to Mrs. Fisher.” Veronica could be a hard-ass, but she was understanding, and she had a soft spot for Ian, for some reason. Apparently they were neighbors, or something.
Ian smiled and pressed a quick kiss onto Mickey’s lips.
“We’ll figure it out.”