Work Text:
Strawberries
/ˈstrôˌberē / Noun
a sweet soft red fruit with a seed-studded surface
For as long as Ian could remember his fridge was a nomad's land. Stale bread, expired condiments, watered-down milk, half a bucket of chicken or cold pizza, things that were good to go and didn’t take time to make. Mickey’s fridge was always worse. Maybe a steak in the back for when Terry would demand Laura, eventually Mandy, to cook for him and only him. Despite no stability in the food department but could always count on the liquor being fully stocked.
In his adult years, Ian got used to shopping for his dysfunctional family. It was like cruise control. Always got the same things. If something's price went up then it was to be abandoned, the main concern for grocery stopping had always been to stick to exactly what was written, don’t stray. Nothing extra could be afforded. That was until he and Mickey started to make a real legitimate money flow.
When they first moved to the Westside, their apartment looked untouched. With new businesses, deaths and med rebalancing their home stayed mostly unfurnished other than an actual mattress and shower curtain in the bathroom. A fridge completely empty except for a six-pack and the Gatorade Ian liked. They didn’t make meals for the first few months. They lived exclusively off the fast-food they would pick up on the way home after long work days. If they were in the hankering for real food they would occasionally swing by their old home -which remained unsold- for a home cook meal than bounce.
That was until Ian finally had enough. It was New Year’s, Mickey recalled, when they -Ian- finally decided their constant takeaway diet was both a waste of money and a constant bellyache. They were going to start cooking all their meals like real adults .
They had shopped for groceries a few times before. Mostly just to kill time while the supermarket pharmacy finished filling Ian’s prescriptions or the few times when Carl was too lazy to shop when Debbie would ask him and he paid his older brother off instead. Shopping was always in and out for them. Mickey absolutely hated it. Hated how bright the fluorescence were, the shitty music always playing overhead. He hated the way Ian would just stand and read all the ingredients. As far as Mickey was concerned he just needed to read his husband’s chicken-scratch list and bolt out.
Ian and Mickey had finally settled in on a routine of having a date night every week. It was good for them. Something healthy to do like every other couple. They almost always had a good time and an even better lay. It was approaching Ian's week and he knew exactly what he wanted to do. He grinned like the devil as he approached his husband who sat idly on their new couch. “I know what I want to do for our date tomorrow” hand went up to Mickey’s upper thigh. He smirked down at the touch as if it was about to lead to more. “Oh yeah, tough guy? What we doing?”
Ian took another moment, kneading the skin beneath his fingers. He leaned in for a sweet kiss. “I want to go to Whole Foods”. When the words finally registered to Mickey, he groaned, pushing Ian off of him. “You fucking kidding me?”
“Mickey,” He tried to wrap his arm around the back of Mickey but he was not having it.“C’mon! When we moved in you promised me we could go look at all the organic fruit. You got to deliver on your half of the deal and I never got mine”
Mickey smirked at that. He pissed in the pool at the first opportunity given to him. He enjoyed reliving the sweet memory of how royally pissed Alan, who was also in the pool, was at him. He then remembered Ian’s gaze was intense on the side of his head and that he was supposed to be mad at his husband. “Fuckin fine I guess” he grumbled. “But seriously? You wanna go grocery shopping on our only day off?”
Ian gave an innocent nod, smacking a loud kiss to the side of Mickey’s face. “They even have a food court there. Dinner and a show” Mickey melted into Ian’s embrace.
“You’re a dork” He felt Ian’s nose squish to his cheek as he continued to kiss him. There was just a contempt hum as an answer.
The next morning Ian made sure the two were up and out of the house before 9 AM, Mickey was grumpy, to say the least. “There's a farmers market going on right now outside the store, ya know” He handed his husband a cup of coffee he had already transferred to a thermos.
Mickey thought having a farmers market in the lot of a grocery store was an incredibly dumb business model but that was neither here nor there. Ian was excited so Mickey forced himself to be at least a little complicit, even if he intended on complaining the whole outing.
They arrived pretty early, Ian was thankful that they found a parking way in the back lot. According to some posts he found online, the market was a hot spot. “Yeah, I’m sure for yippee hipsters” Mickey rolled his eyes following Ian as they made their way towards the vendors setting up shop. At first, he was confused about what the farmer's market was for. He passed a lady selling organic soaps. “How the fuck can soap be organic” he wondered out loud as they moved on to the next post. A man milking his goat then and there. “Weren’t fuckin kidding when they said farm-fresh I guess” he grimaced, grabbing Ian’s hand to pull him past the strange man. Eventually, they found themselves in the normal people section of just food.
Mickey would be lying if he said he didn’t have a good time. He and Ian wandered through every stand of the farmer's market. Ian insisted on talking to each of the farms about their products and how they grew them, he claimed the title of ‘novice gardener’. What he really meant was that he tried to garden once, found it way too hard and settled down growing solely tomatoes on their back balcony. In Ian’s defence, he also had a few house plants that he managed to keep alive for the last several months. Mickey didn’t mind that they stopped to talk to everyone. Showing a genuine interest in the farmer's product and lives seemed to be the cheat code to getting free food. Mickey was definitely not gonna complain there. He grew up thinking that he wasn’t a big fan of fruit, more into the artificial crap. He figured that was because fresh produce was an extremely limited resource in his home, the only time it was constantly in his diet was in prison when they would give them the expired kind from a can. Turns out Mickey was living under a rock his whole life because this fresh shit was good.
Mickey just nodded along pretending that he understood whatever the farmers were talking about half as good as Ian did. His attention stayed occupied with whatever fruit he could get into his mouth.
They continued on this way until they reached the strawberry booth. The woman who sat on a lawn chair beside her produce was named Linda. She was a sweet older woman, told the boys how she grew up on a strawberry farm and invited them to come to pick their own someday. Beamed at them about how she and her wife used to come to farmers' markets back in the day and spend hours trying to pick the best fruit they could. Then came Mickey’s favourite part, she offered them some of her ‘world-famous strawberries’. Ian held the tip of his berry up to Mickey’s. Mickey rolled his eyes at his husband before clicking them together and taking a bite. Mickey’s eyes widened comically in disbelief. Those strawberries were just about the most delicious thing Mickey had ever tasted. Well besides Ian.
He looked over to the ginger who practically let out a moan as he dug his teeth into the fruit, wasting no time to devour the entire fruit in two bites, stem accidentally included. The juice was dripping down his chin and onto his shirt. Mickey held the fruit between his teeth trying to savour the last bite. He raised his hand to wipe Ian’s chin. Ian gave him a nod of admiration before turning towards Linda. “Fuck these are good!” his mouth was still full.
Suffice to say, they bought two crates of the sweet red fruit.
The rest of the trip went better than Mickey expected. Those annoying habits Ian had to just wander and pay painstakingly close details to everything he passed was suddenly a shared experience with Mickey. He genuinely wondered if Whole Foods was pumping something into the air. The activities he once found torturous was now enjoyabl e even kinda fun.They wandered down every aisle, looking at every foreign food like they were the main attraction at a zoo. Any time they saw something that piqued their interest they would throw it haphazardly into their cart not really caring.They made money now, they could afford to splurge a little on their food. They wandered the aisles for hours, mockingly singing along to the music playing overhead, reading each label aloud to the other person, holding hands as they went from one row to the next, they inappropriately placing the cucumbers between their legs, and eating all the samples they could find.They didn’t even stop for lunch, too full off of all the free shit. Which Mickey thought was a good call because the salad bar looked gross and he was at his quota for fresh food that day.
By the time they had finished in the store, it was already almost evening. The two laughed, holding hands as they made their way back to the ambulance. Silently prayed that the fruits and vegetables they picked up earlier in the day were still okay. They carefully place all of their new products in the back.The trip was successful.
They came back with more groceries than either of them had ever seen stocked in their own homes before. It was a little overwhelming, all the food. Equal parts annoying too as they had to make several trips up the stairs carrying the thin plastic of the reusable bags. Ian had never gotten groceries that came in reusable bags before. Taking everything up to the apartment and stocking it into their fridge was a feat of its own, especially since they were already tired from the long work week on top of walking all day.
Both of them splayed across their couch. Tired, ready for a nap. Stomachs growling angrily once again, a punishment for all the cardio they undertook.
Ian pressed the top of a local beer they just bought to his lips. Mickey wasn’t a fan of his, said it taste like mouth fucking a ginger root. His laid mostly untouched on their coffee table.
Ian lifted his head up from the cushion behind it, gazing over at Mickey who looked like he was on the brink of sleep. “Hey,” Ian called softly, he reached his hand out, taking Mickey’s in his grasp. “Thanks for going with me”
Mickey gave him a smile. There was a tender moment where he raised Ian’s hand up to his mouth. Mickey's breath ghosted across the top of Ian’s knuckles before his lips landed viably on his ring finger. His bottom lip rested against the cool metal. “Mhm, I’m gonna put you through so much shit next week” he joked, eyebrows raised as he placed one last kiss below Ian’s ring.
They laid there for a few more minutes, eyes glazed over as they “watched” whatever d-level action film played on the tv. Ian’s stomach let out an aggressive growl. He didn’t even register that he was still holding Mickey’s hand till he reached to pat the top of his shirt. He sat up slightly. “Wanna make dinner?”
Mickey sighed, his hands going behind him to jolt him up. “Yeah Martha Steward, c’mon” he made his way off of the couch. Grabbing the almost completely full beer up and handing it to Ian since he didn’t seem to find the flavour. Mickey beelined for their fridge, wrestling through all the new shit to grab one of his beers that were still in the back. Old habits died hard.
That night they cooked their first real meal together in their shared apartment. The meal itself was subpar, a terribly seasoned chicken breast and some mushy veggies since neither of them really knew how to cook. They got better at it though, there was some hope for them. Cooking meals together at the end of a long day became a consistent staple in their life.
Their fridge being fully stocked was also something the boys never had to worry about again. Somehow their fridge, a cold metal box that was practically just a glorified beer cooler became a symbol of growth. They made it. Were able to cook their own meals. Didn’t have to cut corners when it came to feeding themselves. They could go all out, treat themselves to a home-cooked meal. Could change their mind and make something else if they felt like it, they didn’t have to stick to their pre-planned menu. Something about that felt freeing.
They had whole milk, not watered down at all. Ian was actually surprised to find out that milk had a flavour. Real granola. Not the one from the gas station that had m&m’s in them -which Mickey thought was lame- real authentic granola that was made well.
The pesto that Mickey always eyed warily because he didn’t trust the green abomination. He wasn’t the biggest fan of it but Ian liked it so it stayed in the dinner rotation. They had salmon, which they both thought was disgusting at first but once Tami showed them how to cook it properly, neither of them thought it was half bad.
Tomatoes of course, because this was Ian’s home after all. Bell peppers that were vibrant in colour. Purple carrots. Mickey didn’t even know that carrots could be anything but orange. The revolution kinda put a damper on his food-based insults yielded to his husband.
Fresh organic eggs were always in stock. They would eventually be replaced by the ones their chickens would lay but their farmer arch was about a decade away from their Westside days. For the time being Mickey would crack a few over a pan in the morning while Ian was in the shower.
They had fresh ripe bananas that Ian would bake into banana pancakes on special days. Honey oat bread for when Franny would spend the night with them and Ian wanted to make her french toast.
Fancy non-dairy creamer because Mickey found it didn’t make his stomach hurt like the real shit. At one point they even invested in cold brew, which was a swing and a miss. They had real yoghurt with antibiotics and stuff. Ian always ate them with fresh fruit at the end of his workout. Figs and asparagus because Ian read somewhere that they were aphrodisiacs. Mickey didn’t know if they were helping their libido any, but he thought that the asparagus tasted like piss.
They bought fancy wine that stayed in the door of their fridge because as it turned out neither of them was the biggest fan of wine. They would usually just pawn it off on Tami when she was over. They had the money to stock their home full of snacks they knew their family liked.
In the freezer, they had frozen peas. Not to help recover after a fist fight or hit to the face but to actually cook with. Had ice cream always stocked because it was their guilty midnight snack. And because not everything in their house was organic or fresh. They had a variety of chips in the pantry for them to pick between. The cookie dough was always in stock as Ian discovered that he actually liked to bake. They had frozen pizzas when cooking was too much of a feat and mounds of snickers bars in the fridge and drawer of Mickey’s bedside table.
And of course the strawberries. They ate those goddamn strawberries with practically every meal. Ian would fix himself a bowl of oatmeal in the morning, slicing up some strawberries to top it off with. He would blend the strawberries with some bananas in a smoothie for Mickey. The two men would pick at the fruit throughout the day when they got peckish. Put the whole fruit on top of their ice cream. Ian had even found a pasta recipe that called for feta and strawberries. Mickey shrugged, helped him cook the meal. That ended up being gross but everything else was perfect.
Not everything they decided to eat was a hit, but they had the option of never going hungry again. They always knew that they had their next meal and that was a goddamn good fucking feeling. Somehow a fridge filled with food felt like success.