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Mickey Milkovich was once the most feared person on the Southside. As a teenager, everywhere Mickey went, his reputation preceded him. People would literally move away from him as he walked down the street. Mickey Milkovich was once a force to be reckoned with. Nowadays, that wasn’t really the case.
One morning, Mickey woke up to his husband sleeping peacefully next to him. He knew Ian usually set his alarm clock for work a couple hours earlier than he needed to, so he could get Franny up and fix everyone breakfast. But Ian looked so serene, Mickey didn’t want him to wake up yet.
So, Mickey grabbed Ian’s phone and changed the time on the alarm. Mickey wanted to let Ian sleep in, because ever since Debbie got hauled off to jail, Ian didn’t have that luxury anymore.
After setting the alarm at a time where Ian could sleep in, but still have enough time to get ready for work and eat. Mickey crept out of the room quietly, and then walked by Debbie’s room to check on Franny.
The young girl was sitting up, playing with her dolls when Mickey entered the room. She looked up to him, “Hi.”
“Morning, kid. You hungry?”
Franny nodded, and then lifted her arms up for Mickey to carry her.
Mickey rolled his eyes, knowing Franny could get up and walk downstairs by herself, but Mickey couldn’t really say no to her. He bent down to pick her up, and then took her downstairs, setting her down on the floor.
Mickey opened the fridge and decide on pancakes, bacon, and eggs. He got all the ingredients out and started getting to work.
Mickey knew how to cook. He used to cook all the time for his family. Maybe he wasn’t a five-star chef, but he could crack an egg in a pan and fry it. It had been a long time since Mickey had stepped in front of a stove, but he was slowly getting back into the swing of it. He hadn’t really cooked since he was sent to prison, after all that shit with Sammi went down. Unless, of course, cooking meth counted, but he didn’t think it did. Cooking food on the stove was astronomically safer than cooking drugs. There was a lot less likely chance of the house blowing up by flipping a pancake, or so Mickey thought.
It had all started out fine. The kitchen gotten a little messy in the process, but Mickey let Franny help with making the batter, and they got the eggs and bacon frying. Of course, as time went on, Mickey found it difficult to keep up with each item of food, considering they all cooked at different times and temperatures. Not only that, but flipping pancakes was harder than Mickey had remembered, and he found a good amount of pancake batter splattered across his face and shirt. Though, he still seemed to have it mostly under control, until the doorbell rang. Mickey ignored it, but then there was knocking, and whoever was outside started ringing the doorbell repeatedly.
“Shit,” Mickey muttered, before turning toward Franny, “Keep an eye on this, will ya? Don’t touch it though. It’s hot.”
Franny gave her uncle a silent nod.
Mickey walked to the front door and the ringing became faster, “Hold your fucking horses!” he shouted, before swinging the door open to reveal Frank. “Ian is trying to sleep,” Mickey said through clenched teeth, “The fuck do you want?”
Frank, who looked as inebriated as ever, said, “My key won’t work for some reason.”
“Yeah, cus’ I changed the fucking locks.”
Frank furrowed his brow in confusion, “Why’d you do that?”
“To keep you out. Jesus, Frank.”
“But it’s my house!”
“Hmm, really? Last time I checked; you were livin’ the high life in Glencoe.”
“Yes, well, that arrangement has regrettably fallen through. So, if you don’t mind,” Frank said, as he attempted to get past Mickey.
Mickey stopped him, “I’m serious, Frank, leave.”
Frank huffed, “You really think you, or your locked doors can stop me? I’ve broken back into this house more times than I can count.”
“You break into this house, Frank, I swear to god I’ll break your fuckin’ kneecaps.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“Fuck if I care, man,” Mickey snapped and shut the door in Frank’s face.
“Is that anyway to treat your father-in-law?!” Frank called out from the other side.
Mickey rolled his eyes, before Franny came into view from the kitchen, “What?”
Franny pointed towards the stove, “The food is burning.”
Suddenly, the burning smell from the kitchen filled Mickey’s nostrils, “Fuck,” he hissed, making his way to the stove to see the pancake turning almost black. “Well this one’s ruined,” he turned to Franny, “Why didn’t you come get me?”
“You told me to watch it.”
Mickey let out an irritated sigh, as he heard the front door open and shut. Fuck, he must have forgotten to lock the door back.
“You have some nerve, Milkovich,” Frank began. He looked around at the messy state of the kitchen and the burnt food, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Get the fuck out, Frank.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” Frank grumbled, “But, I need to borrow Franny.”
Mickey looked at him incredulously, “Like hell you do.”
“I need to panhandle, and you know they shell out more if you gotta kid. They’ll definitely go nuts for little orphan Annie over here.”
“Uh, no, not happening.”
Frank scoffed and grabbed Franny by the hand, “You can’t tell me what to do with my granddaughter. It’ll only be a couple hours, I’ll have her back by lunch.”
Mickey saw red, and then grabbed the skillet with the burnt pancake. Before Frank even made it to the kitchen door, Mickey swung the skillet, hitting him upside the head.
“Shit,” Frank cursed.
“You stay the fuck away from her, Frank,” he growled, hitting him again, “Get. Out.” He kept swinging, until Frank got the message.
Frank quickly went to the back door and ran out.
Mickey shut it and locked it, and then hurried over to the front door and locked that as well. When he made it back to the kitchen, Franny was standing next to the kitchen table. She didn’t seem upset, but Franny didn’t show her emotions that often.
Mickey sighed and scooped her up into his arms, “C’mon, let’s finish breakfast.”
Franny nodded in agreement, as Mickey set her down to sit on the counter.
Mickey disposed of the burnt pancake, and then started pouring batter in for a new one, when someone opened the back door, “For fuck’s sake,” he groaned.
“Good morning to you too,” Tami said as she walked into the kitchen with Fred on her hip.
“Sorry,” Mickey said, as he started putting the now cooked bacon on a plate, “Frank was just here. He weaseled his way in and tried to take Franny with him to go beg for money on the street.”
“Ugh,” Tami rolled her eyes, and then suddenly scrunched up her nose, “Is something burning in here?”
Mickey, who was adding more bacon strips to the skillet just flipped her off, “You come all the way over here to insult me?”
“No, actually. I need you to watch Fred.”
“No.”
“Oh, c’mon,” Tami whined.
“No can do, Barbie. I’m busy.”
“Lip is held up at garage, and I’m supposed to be at work soon.”
“Not my problem.”
“Fine,” she huffed, but then said, “Can you at least hold him for a minute while I use the bathroom?”
Mickey sighed, “Sure, I guess.”
Tami put Fred’s diaper bag on the table, then walked over to Mickey and handed Fred over to him.
Mickey looked to Fred, “What’s up, little man?”
The one year old smiled at him and reached up to grab at his face.
Mickey moved his head back, “Hey, knock it off.”
Tami kissed Fred on the cheek, “Ok, Fred, you be good for Uncle Mickey.”
“Wait, what?”
By the time Mickey understood what was happening, Tami was already almost out the door, “Thanks again Mickey, love you!” she called out, before shutting the door behind here. And just like that, she was gone.
“Oh, are you fuckin’ kidding me?”
“Aunt Tami left,” Franny said.
“Yes, thank you. I know that,” Mickey rolled his eyes, “How the fuck am I supposed to cook bacon with a one year old in my arms?”
Franny shrugged as Liam trudged down the steps, already dressed for the day.
“Morning,” he said, but then stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He sniffed the air, and then made a face, “What is that?”
“Fuck you, is what it is,” Mickey snapped, “Here hold him for a second.”
Before Liam could protest, Mickey was shoving the baby into Liam’s arms.
Mickey then quickly cut the burner off for the bacon, before putting the rest of the bacon on the plate and placing the skillet in the sink. He looked at the clock on his phone, “Hey, is you brother up?”
Liam, who was making funny faces at Fred, looked up to Mickey and said, “Yeah, I heard him taking a shower.”
“Good,” Mickey said, and then grabbed Ian’s meds from the cabinet. He placed the medicine bottle on the counter, before starting a pot of coffee.
Liam watched as Mickey frantically moved around the kitchen, flipping pancakes, and stirring the eggs. “Are you ok?”
Mickey, who probably looked like a crazy person, with his hair tousled and pancake batter of his cheeks and shirt, said, “Oh, me? Well, I’ve had to deal with your shithead dad this morning, and Tami just dropped Fred off over here, like I’m fuckin’ Daddy Daycare, so yeah, I’m doin’ peachy.”
“I can see that was sarcasm. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Mind watching the baby?”
“Can’t, I gotta leave soon, but I can get you Debbie’s old baby carrier. I think it’s still in her closet.”
“What’s that?”
“Those things you use to strap babies to your chest. That way you can cook without holding him.”
Mickey definitely didn’t want to wear that stupid shit, but it would help. He sighed, “Fine, go get the stupid fucking thing.”
Liam nodded, handing Freddie back to Mickey, before running up the stairs.
Mickey waited for Liam to come back down, and when he did, he was holding a pink baby carrier.
“Seriously?”
“Well, it was Franny’s,” he shrugged.
“Fine,” he grumbled, “Help me put it on.”
Liam helped Mickey strap the carrier to his chest, and then snapped Freddie into the carrier, “There,” he said, once they were all done.
“Thanks.”
“Oh, I have one more thing before I leave,” he said, before pulling out a piece of folded up paper in his pocket. He handed it to Mickey.
“The fuck is this?”
“Fieldtrip form. I need you to sign Frank’s signature.”
“Whatever,” Mickey said, not really paying attention, grabbing the form out of Liam’s hand. He snatched a pen off the counter and quickly wrote Frank’s name.
“It cost ten bucks.”
“Ten? Seriously?”
“Plus, another ten for food.”
“Fine,” he muttered, “My wallet is on the table. There should be a twenty in there.”
Liam went over to the table, “Thanks, Mickey.”
“Sure,” Mickey grumbled, and then glanced down at the form. He furrowed his brow, when something caught his eye, “Aye, this says the due date for this form was back in March,” he said, before something else dawned on him, “Wait a fuckin’ minute, it’s summer. You’re not even in school.”
“Bye, Mickey,” Liam said, already rushing out the door and closing it behind him.
Mickey gaped, realizing Liam just played him. He grabbed the paper and wadded it up, throwing it in the trash can. If a baby weren’t strapped to him, he’d run after Liam to get his money back. Then Mickey immediately realized that Liam knew that too. That kid was too smart for his own good.
Mickey let out a very frustrated sigh, he was about this close to losing it. He couldn’t do anything about it now except finish making the rest of the food, which he did.
Once Mickey finished turning off the burners and putting the skillets in the sink, the door opened once again.
“Oh, great. Who the fuck is it now?”
Kev and V walked through the door but stopped short when they saw Mickey. They both raised their eyebrows.
“Say one word and your kids will be orphans,” Mickey threatened.
Kev held up his hands in defense, “I’m just here to get my basketball. I left it here yesterday.”
“Fine. Grab your shit and get out.”
“Ok, jeeze,” Kev said, as he passed Mickey, “Someone’s on the rag.”
Before Mickey could turn around to smack Kev, V said, “Rough morning?”
“That’s a fucking understatement.”
“Where’s Ian?”
“Getting ready for work. He’s usually the one doing this shit, but I wanted to let him sleep in for once.”
“Aww that’s sweet.”
“Hardly,” Mickey scoffed, “As you can see, I’m fucking it up tremendously. I ain’t used to this domestic shit.”
V nodded, and then said, “You know, I never thought I’d see the day you’d be making breakfast for a husband and taking care of kids.”
Mickey could understand that. He’d never been much of the nurturing type, “Me neither.”
“It suits you.”
Mickey stared at her then. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but that little bit of validation, made Mickey want to cry. He always felt like he fucked this kind of shit up. Terry Milkovich wasn’t exactly the perfect role model when it came to nurturing and compassion. Mickey let a small smile slip, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright, V,” Kev said, as he came out of the living room, basketball in hand, “Let’s drop this back off at the house, and then head to the Alibi.”
“Ok,” she said, but then stopped, her eyes going wide, “Mickey.”
Mickey looked to where she was staring, which was at his chest. So, Mickey looked down at Fred, who was reaching into the leftover pancake batter and eating it. His hand and mouth covered in it. “Shit,” he hissed, stepping away from the bowl, causing Freddie to kick his foot out, knocking the batter onto the floor. He unsnapped Fred and picked him up under his arms, turning him around.
Fred smiled up at him, before taking his pancake batter covered hand and smacking Mickey in the face, leaving a gooey handprint.
Mickey’s eyes widened, looking to Franny who had her hands covering her mouth in shock, and then back to Fred, who was still smiling up at Mickey. There was a long silent pause.
“Hey, Mr. Mom, over here,” Kev called out.
Mickey turned to him, and then suddenly a flash went off.
Kev was grinning ear to ear, holding his phone up, “The guys at the bar are gonna love this.”
V bit her lip as if she were trying not to laugh, “We’re gonna go,” and with that both V and Kev left, shutting the door behind them.
Suddenly, Carl emerged from the living room, dressed for work. He’d recently given up on the whole cop thing and decided to stay working as a garbage man. Carl didn’t even look to Mickey or offered to help clean up. He just grabbed a pancake, put some bacon and eggs on it, rolled it up like a burrito, and then walked out the back door.
What the fuck? Mickey felt like he was going insane. This was too much. This was-
“Mickey?”
Mickey turned around to see Ian coming down the stairs, dressed for work, “Mickey, what?” he looked around the kitchen, which was a mess. He looked to the batter on the floor, the burnt pancake in the trashcan, and then to his husband, who was wearing nothing but boxers, a tank top, and a pink baby carrier, with pancake batter on his clothes, his face, and in his hair. He then looked to Freddie who was sucking some of the batter off his hand.
“Ian, I-”
Ian laughed a little, “Did you make breakfast?”
“Yes,” Franny smiled, reaching up for Ian.
Ian picked Franny up, giving her a kiss on the head, before setting her down on the ground, away from the mess.
“I wanted to let you sleep in,” Mickey admitted.
Ian looked to the food on the counter, and his medication already out, sitting next to the fresh coffee. His smile grew wider, and he was getting a little misty eyed, “Thank you, Mickey,” he said, before leaning over to kiss his husband sweetly on the mouth.
“You’re welcome.”
“Here, why don’t you take Fred into the bathroom and clean up. Franny and I got it out here.”
“Ok,” Mickey said, relieved that Ian wasn’t upset at how much Mickey fucked up. He took Fred into the bathroom with his diaper bag. He took the carrier off, and then proceeded to clean off Fred, getting him a new diaper, and new clothes. Finally, he cleaned himself off. After everything was cleaned to the best of Mickey’s ability, he looked up into the mirror.
Mickey stared at his reflection and noticed there was something different about him.
He realized that Mickey Milkovich wasn’t the same Southside thug that he used to be. He wasn’t rough around the edges, like he was in his youth. It made him feel sad because that’s the kind of guy Ian fell in love with. And, now that they’re adults, Ian is looking for a family, and Mickey royally sucked at that too. He wasn’t good enough to be the thug, or the dad. It made him feel like shit.
He looked down at Fred, who was now resting his head on Mickey’s chest. A small smile escaped his lips, as he leaned down to kiss the baby on the head.
When Mickey walked out of the bathroom, the kitchen was tidier, and the mess on the floor was cleaned up. He looked to see Ian and Franny eating, and a plate was made just for him, set at the empty spot next to Ian.
Mickey smiled, setting Fred in the highchair. He sat next to Ian, and then looked down at his food, when he noticed something. The pancake on his plate was cut into a heart shape. He looked up to see Ian and Franny smiling at him, “What’s this?”
“A heart, Uncle Mick!” Franny beamed, “Cus’ we love you.”
Mickey felt his chest tighten, as he turned to face Ian.
Ian cupped Mickey’s jaw, kissing him with so much tenderness and love, Mickey felt like he wanted to cry. Ian moved back to look Mickey in the eyes, rubbing his thumb over his husband’s lips, “That’s right. We do.”
Mickey then understood. He wasn’t the dangerous Southside thug from his youth. He also wasn’t housewife of the year. He was Mickey, and Ian loved Mickey just the way he was. And when Mickey thought about it. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t feared by most people anymore. Because if he had to choose whether to be feared or loved. He’d choose love every time.