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Overhead, the sun is burning the fuck out of the back of Mickey’s neck. Ian keeps trying to sneak sunscreen onto his overheated skin, but Mickey slaps his hand back every time. Svetlana’s got on some ridiculous baseball cap that Ian gifted her just for this occasion and she smirks in their direction every time Mickey curses off Ian’s sunscreen advances.
Smug bitch. She probably wouldn’t even burn without the hat.
“Mickey, seriously,” Ian sighs, as if he’s horribly aggrieved. “You’re neck is like fire truck red, you’re going to be pissed tomorrow morning when it hurts to even turn your head.”
“I’m fucking fine, man. Stop trying to rub that shit on me.” He glares at the smears of white on his boyfriend’s hand.
Ian shoots him judgmental eyebrows, staring directly at Mickey as he smoothes the sunscreen across the bridge of his own nose and the rounds of his cheeks. Svetlana grins wickedly because nothing gives her more enjoyment than someone harassing Mickey, especially if that someone is Ian. Fucking hell, those two are the worst.
Mickey could never have imagined, in all his worst nightmares, that Svetlana and Ian would like each other. It wasn’t even thinkable. Lana had hated Ian, fucking hated his guts for being the unchangeable center of Mickey’s world. Ian hated Lana on principle of being his boyfriend’s wife, among other things. Then they started getting to know each other and the whole world went up in flames. They fucking love each other, think the antics of the other are hilarious, scream together over stupid horror movies, and high five to the success of their mission to harass Mickey to fucking death.
And alright yeah, half the reason they get along so well is because they both love Yevgeny more than anything else. Which, fine, Mickey can’t begrudge their friendship that much because his kid is the fucking best. Little Yev, who is standing just a bit too far off second base, baseball cap too big on his head, waving frantically up at them.
Mickey groans, covering his face with one hand, thumb rubbing aggressively at his temple. Damn his kid is a goof ball. Next to him, Ian throws up both arms, waving so energetically, he hits his shoulder into Mickey’s, because Yev might not be biologically Ian’s but holy shit did he inherit his awkwardness – even if that awkwardness is endearing on more occasions than not.
Yevgeny laughs happily at Ian’s antics, completely missing the baseball as it rolls past his feet.
“Jesus,” Mickey groans.
“You distract him,” Svetlana scolds, tugging Ian’s arms down.
He drops his head onto her shoulder, orange hair brushing against her cheeks. “Lana, he’s distracted by the changes in the wind, I’m hardly any worse.”
And Ian isn’t wrong. Now that Yevgeny has noticed the ball, he’s running after it, dropping to both knees to scoop it up and toss it haphazardly towards first base. The kid on first is too busy trying to shove the brim of his hat up enough to even see so the ball lands a couple feet to his left and the hitter rounds first triumphantly. The other team’s parents clap and whistle enthusiastically.
The first base kid finally snags the ball up as the hitter slides dramatically onto second, little Yev flapping his arms desperately for the ball. It’s fucking painful to watch, but Yevgeny is ecstatic. Has been ever since Mickey let Ian talk him into signing Yev up for the little league team.
Mickey doesn’t remember being this terrible at baseball as a kid. He remembers loving being on a team with the other kids, since his family never really got to do that stuff. Terry thought it was all for faggots and yuppies, but his mom had stored up enough money to get Mickey onto the team and Mandy into ballet classes. Neither of those had lasted past a month, Mickey for peeing on first base and Mandy for punching another little girl in the face, but for one month, Mickey had been just like any other little kid.
When Yevgeny came home from school clutching the little league flyer in his sticky little hands, blue eyes wide and pleading, Ian was immediately sold. Mickey wasn’t. That shit cost money and money was the one thing they were constantly in need of.
Even Svetlana joined the little league bandwagon, going on about it developing Yev’s team skills or some shit. So they’d all started picking up extra shifts. Mickey at his security job for the local yuppie art museum; Ian at the Boys and Girls Club that had set up not long after the art museum went in; and Svetlana at Patsy’s where Fiona had gotten her a job.
Which is why they are spending their Saturday morning at the dug out with the sun blazing down, seeing exactly what their money paid for. Two teams of five and six year olds running around like excited puppies while the balls roll harmlessly across the grass. Jesus.
“He’s good, yes?” Lana asks with a pleased smile as Yev actually manages to catch a ball. Of course, the next second he trips over fucking nothing and the ball goes skittering across the field.
“Yeah, he’ll be rookie of the year,” Mickey says sarcastically. Except Ian is looking at him with a too sly smile. Like he knows just how proud Mickey is of his kid for being on that field at all.
“He’ll get the hang of it,” Ian promises. “We’ll practice with him more. Toss the ball in yard or whatever.”
“Oh yeah? Where exactly? On top of the broken tv or douchebag Kenyata’s pile of abandoned clothes?” Mickey quirks his eyebrow at his boyfriend. Cuz it might have been four years since Mickey and his family claimed the house as their own but it’s still the same shit hole it’s ever been.
Ian waves this away. “We’ll call Kermit, he’ll get that shit hauled away for like fifty bucks.”
“Where you gonna come up with fifty bucks?” Mickey asks. And he’s not trying to be an asshole, but seriously, they never have money.
“I have money,” Svetlana says.
They both look at her in surprise. She narrows her gaze at them in disapproval. “Unlike you, I do not need to buy lube and condoms every weekend.”
“The fuck?” Mickey asks, eyes wide in fucking disbelief, shaking his head rapidly. Jesus Christ. What the fuck happens in his life that it leads to these moments?
“I have no need for these things; I save my money instead.” Svetlana leans back in her seat, face to the side like she’s that much better than them because she doesn’t have sex or some shit.
Ian cracks up, shoving hard against Lana’s side. “You make Nika pay for your stuff?”
The corner of her mouth quirks up. “She wants sex, then yes, she must pay for it.”
“Fuck me,” Mickey says, but he can’t help smiling. Sveltana is a badass if nothing else, and hey, they got the fifty bucks they need to get their yard cleaned up to help their kid with his tragically lacking baseball skills.
Speaking of tragic, the teams are switching on the field, well in theory, because the outfielders are all lying on the grass, staring up at the clouds in the sky. The coach jogs out to rouse them and bring them back to the dugout. Jesus, Mickey thinks again. What a shit show.
Yev is waving once more, bouncing on his toes against the fence. “Dad!” He waves frantically, swiping his cap up to see them. “Did you see me?”
“Sure did, little man,” Mickey calls back.
Yev beams like the whole world is his fucking oyster. “Milkovich!” the coach shouts, calling over Mickey’s straggling kid.
Mickey groans, burying his face in Ian’s shoulder. He’s not sure how much more of this he can watch and it’s only the first game of the season. It’s got to get better, though, right? The kids fucking practice and shit so at some point it’s going to get less embarrassing for everyone, right?
Ian chuckles softly, wrapping his arm around Mickey’s shoulders. “It’s fun, Mick,” he says. “Yev’s having fun, Lana’s showing off the awesome hat I bought her, and you’re enjoying getting a sunburn because you’re too fucking stubborn to put on sunscreen. We’re all having fun.”
“Yeah? What are you having fun doing?” Mickey mumbles against Ian’s t-shirt. Dude reeks of sunscreen, all coconut and whatever the fuck else.
“Me? I’m just having fun being with my family,” Ian says loftily, dropping a kiss on the crown of Mickey’s head. “Now sit up, cuz, Yev’s the first batter.”
Dutifully, Mickey drags himself away from his boyfriend. Wearing a helmet that make his head look like the size of a peanut, Yevgeny heads out determinedly to home plate. He clutches the bat the way Mickey showed him to, and spreads his feet apart.
The opposing team’s assistant coach pitches the ball, soft and straight down the middle. Mickey’s family tenses, watches anxiously as Yevgeny swings, and –
“Holy shit!” Mickey shouts, jumping up in his seat. “That’s my kid!”
The ball is rocketing solidly into the outfield, landing far enough out that even with Yevgeny’s unstable running, he rounds all four bases.
And Mickey is utterly unashamed of losing his shit, grabbing Ian by the collar of his shirt and kissing him squarely on the mouth, then scooping in and hugging the hell out of Svetlana. “That’s our kid!” he shouts again, pointing down at the field where Yev is jumping up and down in celebration.
Mickey vaults himself over the bleachers to get to the field, Ian wolf whistling behind him and in front of him Yevgeny’s teammates clapping his son on the back with too much vigor so Yev ends up sprawled in the dirt, uniform coated in tan dust and goofy smile so wide it’s threatening to swallow his face. “Yevgeny!” Mickey shouts at him, pressed up against the wire fencing that separates the field from the tiny stands.
Yev jogs over eagerly, fingers latching through the fence. “Dad! Dad! I scored a home run! A real one! I ran all the bases and everything!”
He’s breathless with dirt streaks down his face and Mickey has never been more fucking proud in his life. “I saw, little man, you were fucking awesome.”
The parents behind him shush his language so he dutifully flips them off. Then Svetlana and Ian pile over his shoulders, reaching fingers through the fence and tugging proudly on Yev’s uniform. “You did so good, baby boy,” Ian coos, dropping to his knees like a brick and pressing kisses to Yev’s dirty cheeks.
Yevgeny giggles and smacks a kiss on Ian’s nose before clutching at his mom’s fingers. “Did you see me?” he asks her, eyes wide and sparkling with joy.
“My Yevgeny,” she says, and if Mickey didn’t know her so well he’d say she was close to fucking crying. “So wonderful,” she praises.
Yevgeny bounces on his toes in excitement, nodding his head vigorously. “A home run on my first try,” he says, awestruck.
Mickey tilts Yev’s helmet back into place, patting the plastic fondly. “You’ll be the next Babe Ruth.”
Yev giggles excitedly until the coach calls him back to their bench. “I gotta go,” he pouts for a moment before smiling brightly again. “A home run, dad!”
Mickey grins back, “A home run.”
The rest of the game is the same chaotic mess of five and six year olds running around in a bare semblance of organization. Yevgeny’s too excited from his home run to focus on the game and ends up pointing into the crowd every time a kid is close enough to hear him. If Mickey had to guess, he’d bet Yev was bragging about his family being in stands. Which is exactly the same thing that Ian and Svetlana are doing, leaning across people, pointing down to the bases, unabashedly recounting Yev’s home run. It makes Mickey feel warm with something like family pride, because, shit yeah, that’s his kid out there and his family next to him.
They go out to celebrate after the game, with Yevgeny carried on Mickey’s shoulders, clutching around his dad’s face and jabbering away excitedly about the game. “Did you see me, Dad?” he asks, bending so his face is unnervingly close to Mickey’s ear. “I hit it into the outfield and everything, Dad. A home run!”
“Yeah, you did!” Ian cheers, pressing a kiss to Yev’s ruddy cheek, still red from running around the field.
Mickey’s got a hand clamped around each of Yevgeny’s ankles, keeping his kid tethered to him as they make their way towards Patsy’s. “You can tell the Gallaghers all about it, little man,” he says. They’re meeting up with Ian’s family at Patsy's. Mickey's in a good enough mood that he might even let Yevgeny have some fucking juice.
“Yes, you tell them you are best player,” Svetlana says, taking one of Yev’s little hands in hers and kissing it.
“I’m not the best, Mom,” Yev deflects, his tone tinged with embarrassment.
“Fuck that,” Mickey shakes Yevgeny’s left ankle, “any of those other suckers score a home run?”
“No,” Yev says tentatively.
“That makes you the best then,” Mickey reasons.
“And the most handsome,” Ian adds, ruffling up Yev’s sweaty strawberry blonde hair.
Yev laughs, leaning forward to rest his cheek against the top of Mickey’s head. “Daddy, did you play little league?”
Mickey shifts his shoulders, eyes darting to Ian who is smirking like the asshole he is. There had been a somber pact made by the adults of this family that the incident of ‘first base’ should never be made known to Yevgeny, because for whatever reason, his son looks up to Mickey like he invented all the good things in the world, like ice cream, and juice, and Ian’s lame ass sense of humor. They really didn’t need a repeat offender in the family, one first base pee-er was definitely enough, even for the Milkovichs.
Still. “Yeah,” Mickey sighs, “I played on a little league team.”
“With me,” Ian chirps. “We were on the same team.” He’s grinning like a maniac. How Ian even remembers this shit is beyond Mickey. Mickey vaguely remembers the team and games but not the fucking specifics. But Ian’s got this crap stored in his brain like there’s going to be a fucking pop quiz on the trivial events of his life and he plans on fucking acing it.
“You were teammates?” Yev asks with all the wide eyed wonder of a child who thinks Kermit the Frog is a fucking superstar.
“Yep!” Ian says, sure to pop the ‘p.’
“Is that when you felled in love with Dad?” Yev’s leaning so far forward now that Mickey’s concerned he’s going to just tumble right over his head. He shifts his grip upward to Yev’s hip, securing him back down.
Ian’s side-eying Mickey something hard and Mickey looks over at him in irritated confusion. “I fucking know I have a sunburn,” he says because that’s honestly the only thing he can think of that Ian’s judging him for.
Except he’s way off base because Ian’s whole face flames up and Svetlana cackles with glee. Lana is a complete fucking cackler. Woman never learned to laugh and if she ever fucking giggled, the world would probably end.
“Ian,” Yev whines, because his question hasn’t been answered. “Did you loved Dad because he was your teammate?” He leans all his weight to the left, little hands clamping into Mickey’s hair to keep himself upright, so that he’s closer to Ian who is still fire truck red. And oh – ohhhh.
Mickey’s grin is wicked. “Jesus, Gallagher. You had the hots for me when I was pissing on first base.”
And oh – oh fuck.
“Daddy!” Yev gasps astounded. “You peed on first base?” And now he seriously is crawling right over Mickey shoulders, hanging his face upside down directly in front of Mickey’s.
Ian busts up laughing, his apparent embarrassment forgotten in the face of Mickey’s, and Svetlana’s glaring fucking daggers at Mickey. “No, Yevgeny. Your father respects the baseball. He does not pee on this first base.”
Mickey coughs, lifting Yev up and resettling him on his shoulders. He looks over at Ian who’s still cracking up and tries to think of a way to deflect this. What comes out isn’t exactly the perfect fucking distraction, but it works good enough. “You think Ian would fall in love with a kid who peed on first base?”
Yev drops his chin onto the top of Mickey’s head as he thinks this over. He turns his head to look at Ian, pointy chin fucking digging into Mickey’s skull. “Ian loves you a lot, Daddy . . .” Yev says, like he’s weighing if the amount that Ian loves Mickey is enough to outweigh the offense of peeing on first base. He drums his little fingers against the side of Mickey’s neck.
Ian’s laughter subsides as he wheels around in front of Mickey, forcing him to stop walking. “Yeah, I do love your dad a lot,” Ian agrees, leaning over to kiss the tip of Mickey’s burned to shit nose for emphasis. “And I love your mom a lot too,” he winks at Svetlana who blows him a demure kiss. Yevgeny giggles happily.
“But I think I might love you most and you peed on me as a baby so,” Ian shrugs, his smile small and sincere.
“I peed on you!” Yevgeny shouts, launching himself off Mickey’s shoulders, giving Mickey a fucking heart attack in the process, and landing safely in Ian’s waiting arms.
Ian swings him up onto his own shoulders. “Yep, you peed all over me and a couple of my favorite shirts too.”
“Oh my gosh!” Yev enthuses, like he’s fucking proud of this. And fucking hell, this kid is a Milkovich and Mickey’s son to boot, of course he’s fucking proud of peeing on someone and getting away with it.
Ian waggles his eyebrows at Mickey as if to say successful distraction, then turns the right way round and carries on their trek to Patsy’s. Yev makes grabby hands for Mickey’s hand, which he offers up even if the angle is going to force his arm to go fucking numb in minutes, and Svetlana links her arm through Mickey’s unoccupied one so that he’s sandwiched between his family.
“Take me out to the ball game,” Ian starts singing, bumping his hip casually against Mickey’s. And like some awful made for tv movie, the rest of his family starts singing along, including Mickey. He only does it so Ian won’t sound like the only cat dying. Okay, maybe, he also does it because it makes his kid fucking beam, but what the fuck ever, his kid is amazing. His kid scored a fucking home run!