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It’s late when Mickey gets back home, the lights are off in the house which is kind of weird because it’s not like it’s fucking midnight, it’s ten-thirty. So, Mickey is suspicious as he opens the front door.
He’s greeted with dead fucking silence which raises his suspicions even more because Svetlana snores like a goddamn chainsaw and Yevgeny sleep talks epic tales of him and Mr. Rabbit. Ian’s the only one who’s a quiet sleeper and Mickey uses that to explain to Yevgeny why he can’t sleep in their bed with them. It seems a lot better than saying, ‘Yo, son, Ian and I bang like fucking rabbits every time our bedroom door is shut.’
So yeah, Mickey right now, at ten-thirty on a Friday night, is super fucking suspicious. He kicks his shoes off by the front door, tugging off his tie and hanging it up on the coat rack. Getting a job working security for some yuppie art show house that got put up a few years back was the only good thing to come from the slow invasion of gentrification as far as Mickey is concerned.
“Yo?” he calls out, hearing the soft whisper of voices from somewhere inside the house.
There’s a squeak of a response, one Mickey believes can be attributed to his son, followed by a murmur. The fuck is going on?
He creeps into the house half ready to beat the shit out of someone who’s kidnapping his kid or trying to make off with the shitty ass stuff they own. Turning into the living room, though, Mickey comes to a dead fucking stop. Both of his eyebrows shoot up incredulously.
“Are you fucking serious?” he asks.
Three faces turn to him, three sets of wide eyes, three pinched mouths, all cocooned in an oversized afghan. They look like three fucking peas in a pod, it’s fucking ridiculous. His family doesn’t answer, just stares at him for a moment longer before swiveling back to the television.
Mickey rolls his eyes epically because honestly what the fuck is this shit? He unbuttons his work shirt, tossing it over the back of a kitchen chair before joining the three blind mice in the living room. They’re staring at the television, their reflections ghostly in the glare of the screen. A quiet scream echoes through the speakers and Mickey watches as a black and white zombie slowly sinks its teeth into its victim.
“Zombies,” Svetlana whispers.
Mickey drags a hand down his face. A long day at work to come home to a household of horror movie junkies. “Shove over,” he directs, dropping down resignedly next to Ian.
Then before he knows it, the afghan is being whipped off and swaddled around him as well. He fights in vain, arms batting against the soft material. “Ian, fuck off!”
“Sh!” his boyfriend orders, shoving the afghan right under Mickey’s fucking leg.
“Daddy,” Yevgeny whispers, crawling over Ian’s lap and into Mickey’s. He pushes up onto his knees so that he can whisper directly into Mickey’s ear, one small and upsettingly sticky hand pressing against the side of his face. “Daddy, we’re watching a zombie movie.”
“What?” Mickey feigns ignorance, “I thought this was Bambi.”
Yevgeny giggles excitedly, wriggling across Mickey’s lap before squishing himself between Ian and Mickey. “No, zombies, Daddy, not Bambi.”
“Right.” Mickey looks back at the television. “Is this Night of the Fucking Dead?”
“I think they dropped the ‘fucking’ from the title for political reasons, but yes, it is, Mick,” Ian answers, his voice a low hush, one long arm reaching down to retrieve a buck of popcorn from the floor.
Mickey grabs it from him, shoving a fistful of popcorn into his mouth and chomping down loudly. Yevgeny’s tiny hand swipes blindly at the bowl, missing the popcorn by inches. In the semi-darkness, his wide blue eyes find Mickey’s, an obnoxiously adorable pout turning down his lips. “Daddy,” he whines.
“What?” Mickey asks, deliberately grabbing another handful and making a show of eating it.
Yev’s pout grows more pronounced. “I want popcorn too.”
“What do you say?” Ian asks, gaze locked on the screen. Mickey looks over at him, snorting when he sees that Ian’s ducking his face into Svetlana’s shoulder, as if the black and white massacre is too much for his delicate senses.
“Please, Daddy, please?” Yev corrects, drawing out the last ‘e’ so that the question ends up being the exact opposite of polite, but Mickey figures it’s the thought that counts anyway and tips the bowl so that his son can scoop out all of about five kernels that will fit in his tiny hand.
Mickey is not kidding, his kid has fucking tiny hands. Tiny fucking everything really. Tiny feet with tiny toes that go in tiny shoes and tiny socks, and those tiny socks are always getting fucking lost, showing up in the sleeves of Mickey’s shirts and under Ian’s fucking pillow and between the pages of Svetlana’s Russian books. How the fuck that is even possible, Mickey doesn’t have the slightest clue.
Yevgeny chews his popcorn with excessive care, big eyes focused back on the television. The people are barricading themselves in the house now and Yev jabs his sharp, tiny elbow into Mickey’s side. “Daddy, see they want to keep the zombies out.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Mickey says. He wipes a hand across his forehead. It is motherfucking sweltering in the blanket cocoon. Mickey is dying here, like rip-off-all-your-clothes-and-spray-yourself-down-with-water hot.
But when he looks over at Ian and Svetlana, they are practically cuddling into each other, Ian’s red hair just showing over Lana’s shoulder as he continues to hide his face from the screen. Fucking nerd.
The zombie hoard appears back on screen and little Yevgeny gasps, jumping in his seat. Mickey can’t help but laugh, putting the popcorn back on the floor so he can wrap an arm around his kid. “It’s just make believe, Yev.”
“I know,” Yevgeny whispers, but he burrows himself securely against Mickey’s side.
They watch the movie in silence for a while, aside from Yev’s occasional gasps and Ian’s random ‘oh fuck no’s. Mickey doesn’t get it. The movie’s in fucking black and white and the zombies are so fucking slow he doesn’t understand why all these richie-riches just didn’t make a break for it and run to a more secure shelter.
Then the little girl zombifies and Yevgeny fucking screams. A sound of absolute terror that smashes down on a shit ton of parental instincts Mickey would have bet all his insufficient money on not having. One second Yevgeny is screaming bloody murder and the next, Mickey has him scooped up in his arms and the tv punched off.
He glares down heatedly at his wife and boyfriend. “The fuck is wrong with you?” he demands. “Yev shouldn’t be watching this. He gets fucking freaked out by James and the Giant Peach because the two old broads look like witches!”
And it’s true. Yevgeny has an intense fear of witches. They haven’t figured out why, but it’s easy enough to avoid up until Halloween. But this? His kids gonna have fucking zombie nightmares because Ian and Lana are too stupid to screen what they watch.
Yevgeny’s got his face fucking buried in Mickey’s shoulder, clutching on for dear life with his little hands, and Lana and Ian are staring at them with guilty eyes. “He’s okay with the zombies in Call of Duty,” Ian explains weakly.
“Oh, really? And what, that just means show him all the fucking zombie movies? Fuck off.”
Mickey cuddles Yev closer to him, giving the other two one last death glare before carrying Yevgeny into his room. It used to be Iggy’s but when Iggy moved in with their cousins, they redecorated it for Yevgeny. Now it’s got blue walls and posters of Lego people and shit.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Mickey tries to pry his kid off him long enough to calm him down. Yev is resisting like a fucking champ though, squirming and whining.
“No, Daddy,” he pleads which freaks Mickey out further.
“Hey, Yev, it’s okay,” he says. “It’s just make believe, remember?” He looks for any response, but Yev just mashes himself closer somehow. Sighing, Mickey rubs his cheek against the back of Yev’s head, his fluffy blonde hair incredibly soft and smelling like baby shampoo. “I promise, Yev, it’s not real.”
He whimpers, but doesn’t release. “It was scary, Daddy.”
“Uh-huh,” Mickey agrees, “I got that loud and clear, bud.” He runs a soothing up and down Yevgeny’s little spine.
“Was Ian scared?” Yevgeny asks.
“Sure he was,” Mickey says.
“Were you scared?”
“Me? Nah, I know it’s not real, but, Yev, even if it was, I’d kill all the fucking zombies before you even ever saw one.”
This seems to give Yevgeny pause. He stops wriggling and pulls back enough to look at his dad. His little nose is runny and his eyes suspiciously wet. “Really?”
“Really, truly, completely,” Mickey swears and it’s fucking ridiculous because he means it. Should the dead rise up this very fucking minute, Mickey would exterminate the fuck out of all of them before Yevgeny even had the chance to see one decayed finger.
While Yevgeny thinks this over, there’s a creak of the floorboards and Mickey looks up to find an exceedingly guilty Ian and Lana peering around the door frame. He narrows his eyes at them both, a clear message that they are still on his shit list for freaking his kid out.
Yev’s little fingers find their way into Mickey’s hair, twisting the strands in a way that is painful but that Mickey will endure because he loves his kid that much. “All the zombies, Daddy?” Yev asks skeptically. “Even the really scary ones?”
“Especially the really scary ones,” Mickey says confidently.
Yev squints his eyes. “What about super icky ones? With brains falling out?”
“Smash ‘em with a shovel,” Mickey promises.
The corners of his son’s mouth perk up and Mickey gets a twinge of pride in his heart. He’s not complete shit at this parenting thing and that’s pretty fucking awesome. “What about – what about ones that are super, super big?” Yev stretches back, his arms reaching as high as they can above him and Mickey’s glad he’s holding onto the kid otherwise Yev would have fallen over.
“Cut ‘em in half with a chainsaw.”
A small smile makes its way onto Yev’s face. “The really really small ones? So small you can’t even hardly see them?”
“Squash ‘em like a bug under my boot.” Mickey stomps on the floor for effect.
Yevgeny giggles, leaning in preposterously close to Mickey so that their noses are touching and Mickey goes fucking cross eyed to keep eye contact with his kid. “The super dirty, smelly ones?” he whispers, little whisp of a blonde eyebrow arching.
“Febreeze ‘em to death,” Mickey says solemnly.
Yevgeny cracks up, swinging his arms around Mickey’s neck and hugging him so close it’s choking Mickey, but all he does is hold on tightly to Yevgney. Yev smacks a wet kiss on his cheek before wriggling around to climb onto Mickey’s back. “You’re the best Daddy,” Yev informs him confidently. “The strongest and the fastest and the bestest.”
Mickey’s heart actually hurts, which is some sappy shit, and he can’t really figure out what to say so he just tickles Yev’s armpits. Yev shrieks, jumping off Mickey’s back, only to throw his little body across Mickey’s lap, reaching up beseechingly for Mickey to hold him again which Mickey does without hesitation.
From the doorway, he can hear fuckface and fucker cooing. “Get the fuck in here, assholes.”
They pile in, crushing together in a heap that topples Mickey flat on the bed. Ian and Svetlana descend, pressing kisses all over Yevgeny’s cheeks, lacing them with apologies. Then Ian slithers up alongside Mickey and kisses his cheek.
“Sorry,” he whispers, nose nudging Mickey’s cheekbone. “That was dumb of us.”
“Yes, it fucking was,” Mickey agrees.
Svetlana takes over Yevgeny, propping him up in her lap and speaking rapid, apologetic Russian to him while Yevgeny listens attentively. He loves when his mom speaks Russian, thinks it’s fucking fascinating. So does Ian for that matter, Mickey doesn’t fucking get it. They sound like they're spitting and hissing all the time, damn ugly language.
Ian uses their relative freedom to drape his leg over Mickey’s and cuddle into his side. Mickey rolls his eyes, but turns his head to presses a kiss to his boyfriend’s temple. “Still mad at me?” Ian asks.
“Yeah,” Mickey admits.
Ian nods. “That’s okay, I get it.” He kisses Mickey softly. “How about you be mad at just me though, because Lana’s already beating herself up over this kind of big time.”
Mickey glances back at his wife and kid. Svetlana’s hugging the ever living shit out of Yevgeny and Yev’s patting her on the back, whispering the little Russian he knows to her. “Fine, but you’re going to make this up to me in bedroom favors and getting Yevgeny ready for school shifts.”
Ian smirks. “You got it, Mickey.” He kisses him again, longer this time and not entirely family friendly. Mickey shoves him off, but allows Ian to lace their fingers together as they sit up. “We ready for bed, gang?” Ian asks.
Svetlana nods vigorously and Yevgeny yawns his compliance. Lana stays behind to help Yev change into his pajamas while Mickey and Ian head out to brush their teeth.
Mickey’s changing out of his t-shirt when he feels a tiny tug on his boxers. He peers down through the shirt to see Yev’s impish face blinking up at him. “Yeah, Yev?”
“Daddy?”
“Uh-huh?” Mickey lifts his brows expectantly. Yevgeny twists his fingers in the fabric of Mickey’s boxers, toes digging into the carpet. “What’s up, little man?” Mickey asks, tugging off his shirt and bending down so he’s on eye level with his kid.
“Uhm, maybe, just for tonight, maybe I can sleep with you?” Yev rushes out.
Mickey smirks, ruffles up Yev’s fluffy hair and straightens his batman pajama shirt. “Course you can.”
Yevgeny fucking beams, releasing Mickey’s boxers and launching himself onto Ian and Mickey’s bed. “Thanks, Daddy.”
“No problem.” Mickey scoops up a relatively clean shirt and shoves it on. He drops down heavily onto the bed so that Yevgeny bounces up with the impact. His kid cheers excitedly before worming himself beneath the covers and beckoning his father to do the same with little pats of his hand against the sheets.
Mickey complies, glancing to the doorway to see if Ian’s coming in yet. “Yo, Gallagher, hurry the fuck up. Some of us want to get to bed.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Ian says, popping his head in the room and eyeing the two Milkovichs. “We got a night time visitor or am I getting kicked out?”
“No!” Yevgeny cries, frantically patting the side of the bed next to him. “Daddy said I could sleep with you. Just for tonight.”
“Cool,” Ian smiles. “Sleepover, right, Yev?”
“Yeah,” Yevgeny agrees eagerly.
Ian stretches briefly before turning off the bedroom light and making his way to the bed. He settles down beside Mickey instead of Yevgeny and before Mickey can ask what’s up, his wife’s silhouette appears in the doorway.
“Room for me?” she asks innocently. Fuckers. They planned this while he was changing.
“Get it in here and shut the damn door,” Mickey sighs.
There’s the quick click of the door closing then Svetlana is folding herself down next to Yevgeny. The five year old squirms to get comfortable then lets out an extremely satisfied sigh. “Night, Daddy, love you. Night, Mommy, love you. Night, Ian, love you,” he recites happily.
“Night, sweetface,” Ian says, one hand trailing over Mickey’s chest to brush against Yev’s side. “Love you too.”
Lana kisses Yev’s cheek, her voice a smoky whisper as she wishes him goodnight in Russian.
Mickey kisses the back of Yev’s neck. “Love you, little man.”
Yevgeny wriggles happily, clutching Mickey’s hand tight to his chest and falls quickly asleep.
The three adults lay in the quiet darkness, listening to Yev’s soft, even breathing. When the clock in the hall strikes the hour, Ian presses up tight against Mickey’s back, trailing kisses between his shoulder blades. “Love you,” he says quietly.
“You too, Gallager,” Mickey twists back to say, careful not to dislodge his hand from Yev’s grip. “Love you even when you’re fucking traumatizing my kid.”
“I am really sorry about that,” Ian whispers.
“Me too,” Svetlana agrees regretfully. “The zombies, they are too scary for orange boy, of course they will be too scary for my Yevgeny.”
“Hey,” Ian defends as quietly as he can, “I wasn’t scared.”
“You are scared shitless,” Lana contradicts, “hide just like little boy.”
Ian huffs but before he can deny it, Mickey says, “I fucking saw you cowering behind my wife.”
A whoosh of silent laughter breezes against Mickey’s neck. “Shut the fuck up, I was in the army. I’m not scared of zombies.”
“Yes, you fucking are, now go to bed before you wake up my kid,” Mickey says. Ian huffs, but settles against Mickey’s back, arm coming up to secure around his waist, knees butting up against the backs of Mickey’s.
Lana’s hand brushes Mickey’s skin, calling his attention to her. “Goodnight, Mickey.”
“Night, Lana.”
“Night, orange boy.”
“Night, Mrs. Milkovich.”
Lana laughs softly, drawing her hand away to rest against Yevgeny’s back.
Mickey closes his eyes, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He thinks they’ll be fucking lucky as hell if Yev doesn’t wake up tonight with a nightmare, but, if he does, they’ll all be here to take care of it. Cuz Mickey’s wife and boyfriend might suck at the parenting thing sometimes, but as a set, the three of them don’t do too shabby a job.