Work Text:
Mickey had never been a particularly touchy guy. Not that he had any qualms about being touched. He didn’t mind when Carl would cup his shoulder as a greeting. Or when Tami would get overexcited and lightly slap his hand. He definitely didn’t mind any when his husband would randomly grab his hand, kissing his tattoo knuckles just “‘cause he wanted to”.
Mickey had no problem being on the receiving end of things but putting forth was where he struggled a little. How could he be good at it when in his upbringing he was reprimanded for showing his soft side?
Not to say that Mickey hadn’t been physical before. As a boy, he would lay by Ian’s side, stroke his hair through depressive episodes, hold his hand to ground him through the mania. He was always going to be there for Ian, they both knew that was an absolute fact. Mickey was always going to deliver when the situation was dire. The casualty was here he felt himself falter.
But he tried, for his husband. His fucking puppy-dog of a husband who was practically hugging others from birth. -As he thought about it, Mickey remembered a story Fiona told at a family gathering a few years ago. When Ian was a newborn he held on to Fiona’s finger so tight and often that it turned blue once.- He didn’t seem to unlearn that trait into his adulthood.
Ian never really seemed to mind that Mickey’s idea of physical touch was a chest pat here and then when they passed each other in the kitchen or a squeeze of Ian’s upper thigh when he was in the mood. If Ian did mind, he sure as hell never vocalised it.
The only time Ian had ever said anything was years ago, at their first wedding anniversary party, both of them were drunk off their asses.
They found themselves drawing closer as the booze continued to set in. At some point, clinging together like a pair of high school girls as the clock drew past 1 AM.
“I love it like this. Wish ‘ya did it more” Ian half-slurred, leaning into Mickey’s touch. Ian had an upset stomach -partly from the amount of alcohol ingested, partly because of those questionable wings Carl’s cop friend had seemed to pull out of nowhere.
Knowing Ian wasn’t feeling too hot, Mickey dragged him to the booth. He sat upright as Ian laid in between his legs, his head resting on one of his husband’s thighs. Ian was definitely too tall for the position. His legs hung out past the seat, a safety hazard to any other drunk fool who stumbled on too close to their table. Mickey dared anyone to try to say anything to them.
“Like what, mumbles?” Mickey’s thumb fell right below Ian’s eye. He rubbed it back and forth against his skin, awaiting some type of answer.
“Like this” Ian turned his head to finally meet Mickey’s eyes.
Despite the overall vagueness of his husband, Mickey knew what Ian was referring to. Being touchy. Mickey had one hand rubbing against Ian’s aching tummy, trying to bring his partner some sort of relief. The other ran across his cheek, trailing up to massage his scalp. To think back on it, Mickey thinks that was the most openly touchy he had been with his husband up to that point.
Mickey knew that the comment was a one-off thing. Something said too inebriated to have any filter. Forgotten almost as soon as it was said but it stuck with Mickey.
So from that point on, he made an effort to be more ‘touchy’. He started to wake Ian up with a forehead kiss. Wipe the hair that settled on the ginger’s forehead when they lay on the couch together. Reach to hold his hand first when they were driving or walking together. Not that ‘pussy hand holding’ - As Mickey called it - either, fingers interlaced or it didn’t count. They were, in the grand scheme of things, small gestures, but he knew Ian appreciated it. He did too.
Mickey had spent a lot of time in his life hating himself for being too afraid to show his love for Ian openly. He had tried to remind himself that it wasn’t all his fault. He couldn’t have been an out and proud gay kid in the southside with Terry as his dad if he wanted to keep living.
He didn’t have to live in fear of his dad ever again. He was now free to love and be loved by his husband. And while Mickey wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, he knew he would be a fucking idiot to go and waste that opportunity.
Mickey was eventually able to unlearn most of the shit Terry installed in him. He slept soundly now, woke up wrapped in Ian’s arms feeling safe. He didn’t flinch anymore when he heard heavy feet coming around the corner. He was able to love his husband through touch openly. Mickey even eventually did what he thought was unthinkable throughout his entire childhood, he was able to mostly forget about Terry.
That was until he had a kid of his own. Then came a new, different hatred for the man that raised him.
Mickey would have rather relived all the hardships he faced in his life tenfold than have a single inkling of pain inflicted on his daughter. The thought of himself hurting his daughter, albeit intentional or not made his stomach roll with nausea. How his dad abused his kids for sport, kept Mickey up at night.
From the moment Ruby was placed with her dads, Mickey knew he loved his kid. He knew that she loved them too. She had made that pretty clear by how much attention she craved. Never in Mickey’s life had he met a kid so - for lack of a better word- needy. He didn’t know that a kid could want to be held by a parent like that. He certainly didn’t when he was her age. He figured that even with parents that cared he wouldn't have craved the type of attention.
Mickey remembered watching Liam growing up. Sure, he had liked to be held and soothed but for the most part, he was an independent kid. Fred, pretty much the same. Ruby was very different. As a baby she wailed her little lungs out every moment she wasn’t against someone’s chest, Mickey shrugged it off, figuring maybe that was just the side of parenting he didn’t see. That was until his second daughter was born. Unlike her older sister, Autumn hated to be touched, sometimes to the point she would cry just for being held for what she deemed too long. Then the mystery of Ruby’s clinginess was back to square one.
Debbie proposed that maybe she was so touchy because she was abandoned as a baby and didn’t have a mom or anyone to take care of her for those first few primitive months of her life. But then again, what the fuck did Debbie know.
What he did know was that if his kid wanted to be held, he was gonna deliver every time.
He rocked her when she was a baby to help her fall asleep, eventually turning into rubbing calming circles on her back as she aged. He playfully flicked her nose when the two joked together over dinner. He braided her hair in the morning before school. He wrapped her up in a blanket and held her tight on those cold Chicago nights. He’d let her sit on his knee while they both scarfed down their cereal. He peppered her face with kisses in the morning to wake her up. Whatever he could.
It had honestly become a routine between them, to share the same space.
Mickey knew for a fact that Ruby didn’t have a preference when it came to her dads. No favourite parent. She would plant in the garden with Ian, follow him around like a little duck and try to help him cook, to the best a five-year-old could.
But for whatever reason, she always wanted to crawl back into Mickey’s arms to be held. And while Mickey was clueless (shocker) as to why Ian seemed to get it.
It was after dinner, the family settled down for a movie before bed. That particular night they watched The Princess Bride. It was PG enough and one of Ian’s favourite movies growing up.
Ruby laid on the floor, playing with her baby sister more than she cared to pay attention to the movie. It became clear that Autumn no longer had any interest in whatever Ruby was waving in front of her. The baby seemed to opt for throwing her little wooden cubes instead, leaving Ruby to her own devices.
She stood up, planting herself right in front of her dads who cuddled on the couch. Because they did that now. Cuddled causally on a Tuesday. Mickey against Ian’s chest as he spent half of his time watching the movie on the screen, and the other half making sure his kids were okay beneath him.
“Yeah?” Mickey raised an eyebrow at her. She didn’t have to say anything. Her wide-eyed gaze was enough at this point. Mickey sighed, mostly for the drama. In truth, he didn’t mind and he knew as long as she wanted to snuggle up he never would. He manoeuvred himself so that he was still wrapped up in Ian’s arms. He felt the ginger rethrow his arm around his shoulder. Mickey’s chin went back against Ian’s shoulder. Both sat up completely.
“C’mere then”. She did, with a triumphant smile. Ruby plopped between her dad’s, unsure of who's lap she was on. Not that it mattered any. Ian used his free hand to throw a blanket across the three, placing a soft kiss on his daughter’s strawberry blonde head before his attention went back to the screen in front of him.
It took Ruby less than five minutes before her head migrated to rest against Mickey’s chest. Her eyes got more and more dropped by the second. “Daddy?” Her voice was small. Mickey figured that if he wasn’t so intuned to his kids, he could have missed it. Her hazel eyes looked up to meet Mickey’s blue. “Can’ya rub my back?” That was followed by a yawn as she snuggled deeper into him, pulling the blanket up past her shoulder.
“‘Course brat”. He doubted she heard his response, figuring she would be out in a minute flat once he fulfilled her request.
Mickey thought nothing of it. This was pretty much part of his daily routine at this point. His free hand rubbed little circles against the fabric of her shirt, occasionally reaching up to give a few scratches on her scalp.
“Why are you staring like a creep, man?” Mickey finally looked over at Ian whose eyes had been glued to Mickey for the better part of those last five minutes.
“‘Cause I want to,” Ian gave a cheeky smile in return, making Mickey automatically roll his eyes. “And ‘cause you're a really good fuckin dad”
Mickey felt his ears go pink from the compliment but chose to play it off. “I guess it's hard not to be when you got a kid glued to you twenty-four-seven”
Ian gave a little snort at the comment. He felt his heart to the brim to see Mickey no longer afraid of anything. Not his dad, not at the trivial things that came with marriage, not to openly declare that he loved his husband in a public place, not to full-heartedly shower their kids with affection.
“You’re her comfort,” Ian said with a small shrug as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Mickey’s lack of response in lieu of an eyebrow raise prompted Ian to keep talking. “She finds safety in your arms,” Ian’s hand reached down to comb the wisps of hair that fell upon Ruby’s face. “I get it, I do too”
“Oh”
“Oh,” Ian repeated. His eyes were soft as he gave the two one final smile of contentment. “I’m gonna go give Autumn her bottle ” Ian retreated his arm, stretching his sore muscles before clicking the TV off.
“Do what you gotta do, lover” Mickey leaned towards him, lips slightly puckered for a kiss. Ian of course obliged before continuing, “You wanna put Bee to sleep then meet me for a shower?”
“Yeah just gimme a second, man” Mickey leaned forward, to steal one last kiss.
With that Ian scooped up Autumn from the floor, mumbling something to her in an excited tone as he lifted her above his head before carrying her out of the living room.
Mickey looked back down at Ruby, who sprawled herself out a little now that there was one less body taking up the couch. She stretched, her arm raising up to grab onto Mickey’s shirt. Ian’s words couldn’t help but ring in his ears. “You're her comfort”
All those years ago, when he was just a dirty street-rat, hooking up with the neighbourhood’s straggly ginger, he could imagine his life going practically everywhere except where it was.
He didn’t expect anything but a jail cell. But now he had a husband. Kids. A family to love. A family to hold.