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Tensions in the Gallagher house had been running high for the last week. Since Lip decided he wanted to sell up and split up everyone had been at each other’s throats trying to get their opinion on the table. The kitchen table had seen a lot of discord over the years, amongst other things, but this was new territory for the young family. Nobody would admit it but their thoughts had all gone to Fiona recently and how life was much simpler when they had her to run their lives and make their decisions.
But Fiona wasn’t here anymore. And Frank wasn’t in any fit state to make decisions, which wasn’t new but was now at least medically confirmed. So that left a lot of yelling, a lot of cursing each other out and a lot words said that would probably take other families years of therapy to overcome.
The only person who wasn’t miserable, who wasn’t yelling and cursing on the daily, was Mickey. In fact, it was quite the opposite and it was grating on Debbie’s nerves.
“Since when does Mickey sing for Christ’s sake?”
Ian looked up from his tiny bowl of Froot Loops, milk sloshing off the spoon and frowned. He strained his ears and smiled dreamily when he heard his husband’s slightly off-key voice coming from the shower upstairs, a rendition of a Shania Twain song if Ian wasn’t mistaken.
“Mickey’s always sung in the shower.”
Debbie stared at her elder brother. “Uhh no he hasn’t. This fucking...warbling...started when you got back from your honeymoon! I heard you both butchering Gaga the other day. Jesus, could you be any more gay?”
Ian frowned. “That’s new? Huh.”
Debbie grabbed up Franny’s lunch bag and hustled her daughter to the door, hollering up the stairs as she passed. “It wouldn’t be so bad if HE KNEW THE DAMN WORDS!”
The door slammed shut and Ian was left alone to contemplate that.
“Hey Sugar Tits, you joining me before the hot water cuts out or what?”
Ian literally threw the bowl into the sink and bolted to the bathroom, Debbie’s annoyance already forgotten.
A couple of days later Carl had finished his shift early, sent home to “reflect” on his actions at the school earlier that day. He downed a beer before the fridge door even shut and leaned against it, sighing heavily. He braced himself when the back door opened, ready to bolt if it was Debbie and her ridiculously offensive attitude, but relaxed when he saw it was Mickey.
“Hey man, you’re early. Haven’t even thought about dinner yet.” Mickey greeted, stripping out of his vest and camo jacket. He pulled out a wedge of cash and grabbed a chair to stand on and open up the ventilation unit above the basement door. That’s where the squirrel fund lived these days. Mickey deposited the cash and returned the chair to the other side of the room in a matter of seconds.
“I can make spaghetti or something.” Carl shrugged with as much energy as a dead sloth.
Mickey frowned and tilted his head. “Bad day?”
“You ever had to wear a squirrel costume and talk to kids about how adults are allowed to touch you?”
Mickey’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “Hell no. Coulda done with that talk when I was a kid though.”
Carl reached into the fridge for another beer and grabbed Mickey one while he was there, uncapping it and handing it over.
“Thanks.” Mickey took a drink. “Tomorrow is another day.”
“Yeah. A day I’ll probably get fired. I kinda lost my shit and ranted about that chick riding me with no rubber.” Carl sighed again. “Kids freaked out and I got sent home.”
“Jesus Christ, Carl. How is it that the diagnosed bipolar person is not the craziest person who lives here?”
Carl snorted a laugh just as Ian entered the kitchen. “Ian is the least craziest adult who lives here.”
“Uh...thank you. I think.” Ian raised his eyebrows and smiled softly. “Everything okay?”
“Law and Order here had a bad day at the office.” Mickey teased and Carl flipped him off.
“Oh. Want me to order pizza?” Ian’s age old answer to any issue was at the bottom of a takeout menu.
“Fuck that. We had takeout last night. You think we’re made of money?” Mickey snapped and Carl’s eyes drifted to the ventilation unit Mickey had just dropped at least a couple hundred bucks into.
“I’m gonna make lasagna and garlic bread just as soon as I take a shower.”
With that, Mickey took his beer and headed upstairs and left Carl and Ian in the kitchen.
“Since when does Mickey choose cooking over takeout?” Carl asked. “It’s not to save money. He just dropped a shit load into the fund.”
Ian frowned in thought. “Mickey’s always cooked. It’s his de-stresser or whatever. You know, that and getting blow jobs.”
Carl scowled and shook his head. “He never cooked anything other than pancakes until a few months ago.”
“Sure he did...”
Ian tried to think of Mickey’s culinary start date and frowned again when he couldn’t remember a time Mickey cooked anything other than pizza rolls or mac’n’cheese out of a box. “Huh.”
The following day started with Franny shrieking like a banshee in the kitchen.
“Mommy!”
Debbie was otherwise engaged doing whatever she usually does when she hopes someone else will see what her daughter is yelling about. That left Mickey to answer the call of the youngest Red when she was still screaming for her Mommy after ten full minutes.
“What’s up, Brave?”
Franny chewed her lip and shuffled on the spot until Mickey noticed the puddle of liquid on the tiled floor.
“You spill your juice again? I swear I’m gonna get you one of those sippy cups next time I’m at the store.” He grinned.
“No Uncle Mickey.” Franny was chewing so hard her lip was about to bleed. She suddenly burst into tears and Mickey jumped in surprise.
“What? Tell me!” Mickey snapped, only then spotting the wet patch spreading down Franny’s pink leggings. “Oh...”
“I...couldn’t...reach...the...handle...” Franny pointed to the door beside them and sobbed uncontrollably.
“Hey! That’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay that your Mommy left you to pee your pants but it’s totally okay that you did. Come on, don’t cry.” Mickey tried to soothe the child but she just cried harder.
“Okay kiddo. I’m not good at this whole parenting thing. Ask my son, he’ll tell you exactly how bad I am. But this is just a simple case of a chemical spill. Alright?”
Franny tilted her head and stuck out her chin in the way that Ian did when he couldn’t grasp something. “Chemical spill?”
“Sure!” Mickey enthused, avoiding looking at the actual mess as he gathered up cleaning supplies. “I’m gonna need you to get outta those wet clothes while I clean this up.”
“Okay!” Franny cheered and turned to run, just as Ian and Lip came into the kitchen from the back yard. “Be careful! We’ve had a chemical spill!”
Ian looked at Mickey in dismay. “What’s going on?”
“Your idiot sister has done a Houdini act and Franny needed to pee.” Mickey rolled his eyes and got to cleaning.
Lip watched in amazement as his brother in law soaked up the puddle and sprayed the tile with disinfectant that smelled like lemons. It took less than a minute to have it cleaner than it was in years.
“You two just gonna stand around with your dicks in your hands or you gonna help your niece get changed?”
Lip and Ian exchanged dumbfounded glances for a second too long because Mickey huffed loudly and scooped the youngster up with an arm around her middle, carrying her like a piece of luggage while she giggled like a maniac.
“Shower time, Miss Pissy Pants.” Mickey teased as they disappeared up the steps.
“What the fuck just happened?” Ian gaped at the empty staircase.
Lip stepped over to the sink to make some coffee and laughed cheerfully. “Mick’s finally worked out where the cleaning stuff is, hm?”
Ian sank into a chair. “He’s always cleaned up.”
Lip brought over their coffee and sat down. “Ian, that guy wouldn’t have been able to tell you the difference between dish soap and engine oil a few months back.”
“No way. He’s really good at that shit.” Ian argued and just made Lip laugh harder.
“He once had to wear Liam’s basketball jersey because he had forgotten to do any laundry for weeks.”
Ian burst into joyous laughter at the memory. “He looked like a sports bar stripper!”
“Exactly. And the Mickey of a few months ago would’ve run a mile from a case of Miss Pissy Pants.”
Ian thought about that while Lip gathered up his phone and keys to leave. “Huh.”
That evening the house was quiet. Debbie was licking her wounds in her room after Ian tore her a new one over leaving Franny to pee herself while she took the world’s longest bath. The child in question was tucked up in bed, her embarrassing indiscretion completely forgotten. It was hard to remember things so mundane as peeing your pants when you’d spent the day playing army commandos with your favorite camo-wearing guncles.
Ian climbed the stairs to follow his husband up to bed and heard a muffled voice in the bathroom. He popped his head in and found Mickey brushing his teeth and half-singing half-mumbling the song that had been his ear worm all week.
“Look li’ we made it...” Foam spilled out of the corners of his mouth when he involuntarily smiled at the sight of his husband in the mirror. Ian stepped into the bathroom and grabbed up his own toothbrush.
“Look how far we’ve come my baby.” He chipped in, smearing his brush with paste.
Mickey spat out his minty foam. “Mighta took the long way.”
Ian grinned at his husband and backed him into the sink. “We knew we’d get there someday.”
Mickey pulled Ian down into a rough kiss and smiled brightly. “They said, I bet they’ll never make it.”
Ian chuckled and pecked a kiss to Mickey’s nose. “But just look at us holding on. We’re still together...”
“Still going strong.” Mickey sang softly, almost a whisper.
Ian dropped his toothbrush into the sink and wrapped his arms around his husband, swaying them both on the spot as they sang together quietly. They didn’t want to wake the house up but this song had popped up in their lives and seemed to have some serious lyrical significance to the couple.
“You’re still the one...!” They burst into song together and laughed their way through the rest of the words as they danced and nuzzled at each other. Finally Ian ended their indoor concert by kissing Mickey so thoroughly his toes curled.
“You know...” Ian stepped back but didn’t let go of his husband. “People are noticing things about you. You’re singing in the shower. Cleaning up after Franny. Making dinner and taking care of Carl after a bad day.”
Mickey frowned in confusion. “So?”
Ian smirked and tickled Mickey’s ribcage. “Think they’re wondering if you’re going soft.”
Mickey snorted and shook his head. “It’s my home, man. Ain’t that what people do in their own home? Relax and shit? Take care of the place?”
Ian took another half step back so he could look at Mickey properly. “Sure. But you weren’t like this before. When we stayed at your house before I went to the hospital. Or when you stayed here for a while...”
Mickey sniffed and swiped at his nose with his thumb. “Yeah well. That’s because it wasn’t my home then. Just a place I stayed. Even growing up in that house with my family...Jesus...I knew I was on borrowed time. This is my first home. First place I can kick back and be myself a little, you know?”
Ian gazed at his other half with nothing short of deep admiration. Mickey wasn’t known for using his words, but maybe that was another perk of having a home. He could speak his mind freely.
“Oh. Okay.” Ian smiled shyly. “I like that.”
Mickey leaned up and kissed Ian again. “We gonna bang now or you wanna belt out Man I Feel Like A Woman first?”
Ian choked on a giggle. “Actually...”
“Bedroom. Now.”
As they basked in the afterglow of their lovemaking, Ian looped his arm protectively around Mickey and twisted the band on his husband’s wedding finger.
“You know, thinking about this being your first home kinda got me in the feels.” Ian murmured sleepily.
“Could you be any more gay?” Mickey yawned.
“I was probably, like, 1% more gay a minute ago when I was rearranging your insides...”
Mickey loved a bit of dirty talk but sometimes Ian pushed it too far and had to be rewarded with a prod in the ribs. This was one of those times.
“I just feel bad that you’ve finally settled somewhere and we gotta sell up and move.”
“It’s not the house, Gallagher. Home ain’t a place. It’s a feeling.” Mickey blurted out and curled into Ian’s side so he didn’t have to make eye contact. Talking to Ian was much easier now but it still wasn’t as simple as the redhead made it look.
“Wherever you are, that’s home.”
Ian fell silent as he mulled over the most profound words Mickey had said to him in a long time. A lump formed in his throat and his eyes burned like he was going to cry.
“We’ll figure it out.” Mickey pressed a soft kiss to Ian’s shoulder. “Goodnight.”
Ian wrapped his husband up extra tight. “Night Mick.”
They fell asleep instantly, one man dreaming about a comfortable two bed place that meant Liam could stay over whenever he wanted and the other man dreaming about the lamb casserole recipe he was gonna be trying out for dinner the next day. Whoever said marriage made you boring had obviously never spent a decade yearning for a simple life like Mickey and Ian had.