Chapter Text
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Mickey stretched, the light filtering into their bedroom as he groaned softly. He was never a morning person, realizing that was because he spent his childhood afraid to sleep, and it was often early mornings, everyone scary had passed out, and he had a chance of 2-3 hours. Marriage to Ian let him have lazy mornings, well, kind of. His husband got up at 6 a.m. to go for a run, then came back to snuggle. He now had an ally. Lily, who had Milkovich DNA, which should have made her a late riser, had acquired a happy, shiny morning persona. Normally Mickey grumbled against his chirpy morning redheads, but the past week without Ian had him jonesing for their sheer will of optimism that moved him through the morning.
Yesterday, Ian came home, and Little Punk and Mickey came back to life. Ian was back but slow-moving and exhausted, yet his green eyes sparkled as Mickey caught him looking at him just like that floppy-headed red-headed kid at the dugouts so many years ago. Mickey on any given day found his tall ginger irresistible, but today, here back with their baby, his full heart overflowed.
Last night she became Cling Film, so determined to not let Ian out of her sight, he finally dug out her old cloth carrying wrap. Had she been a bigger toddler, they would have been shit out of luck. She was more supported by Ian, but she peeped out and kept her hands free. Ian was content to hold her, but Mickey could see the pain of still being too weak to just carry her like he usually did. She only let Mickey take her out of her cocoon if the next location was Daddy’s lap. Coloring on Ian, having dinner on Ian. She even sat outside the bathroom door, glaring at Mickey and talking through the door when Ian needed to use it. They both knew Miss Lily would be in bed with them, and while Mickey would give anything for his small baby girl, he was desperate for just a few moments alone with his husband. Ian, even in his low state, was one step ahead of Mickey and their determined baby ginger. When Mickey went to grab her jammies, Ian already had her in a lavender-scented tub and was playing heart chakra (Mickey still had no clue where the chakras were) opening music. He gave her,to her delight, a gummy( melatonin kids dose). Mickey stood watching Ian back in super dad mode and chuckled.
"Shit, I should have remembered those when you were gone!”
"Yeah, if she was that keyed up, her adrenaline probably would have overrode the gummy, but you did so well, baby. Didn’t Papa do so well, Lily?”
Lily cocked her head and raised a tiny brow, and Mickey saw himself in his little girl and his baby sister in his little girl. “Papa good ‘cept when says no Lily, no candy.”
Ian’s hand flew to his chest in mock horror. "Oh no, Lily."
She flashed a grin at Mickey, like she had totally rolled on him, and then adoringly let Ian wash her hair. Usually she screams when her hair is washed, but tonight she gives happy glances.
"Mick, can you do me a favor?”
“Whatever you need, E."
I don't think she is going to let me leave; I was going to drag her rocking chair into our room tonight. Can you grab it? It might be better if you do it.”
Mickey snorted, "You think tough guy, since the tiny dancer over here is too heavy for you right now. You think dragging and lifting a 60-pound chair would work? I will be right back.”
He left for Ian, giving him soft, warm looks. By the time Mickey had the chair under the window in their room, Ian was bringing Lily into their room. Dressed and realizing it was time for bed, she was ready to rumble. This is where Ian’s stubbornness shined. That look from their daughter often had Mickey panicking; toddler sleep battles were not his strong suit, but Ian just settled in for the win, ready to calmly hold the line.
He sank down, cradled Lily on his right side, and pulled Mickey down on his lap to his left. They both put their hands on her chest and grasped her hands. Ian began to rock softly and began to sing Hey Jude, the first song Mickey ever sang to Ian. Mickey watched as her eyes began to droop, and by the end of the song, she was out.
Mickey kissed Ian’s cheek. “Smooth move, now what?”
“So if you can get her on the bed, we have like 40 minutes till the meds kick in. Baby, monitor on and meet me in the shower.”
Mickey tried to move quickly while jostling Lily as little as possible. He grabbed the baby monitor, shut the door, and tore off his clothes, almost tearing his shoulder out of his socket. Ian just laughed and grabbed him closer. "C'mere."
And then perfection: skin on skin, all-loving softness, and hard muscle. Both need this so much. The touch and the need—the connection that should have been broken so many times—are finally unbreakable. They washed each other quickly,listening to make sure Lily was still out and just touching, savoring the feeling slotted together. Mickey sighed so content, his back to Ian’s broad (but thinner) chest. He felt Ian wrap tighter around his waist and then drop his hands down between Mickey’s legs.
"Gallagher, it's ok, I can wait.”
"I know, baby, but you need some deep sleep too. Please, baby, let me.”
They rocked quietly under the spray until Mickey shook through his release, Ian crooning all the goofy and wonderful words of adoration that could only come from Ian. Just as they were getting dressed, they heard punk stir. They quickly got into bed. Lily cuddled into Mickey, Mickey into Ian, and Ian's long arm was over them both. And Mickey finally rested.
That next morning...
So here he was, for the first time in a long time, happy about being woken up 20 minutes before his alarm. He kept his eyes closed and listened to Lily and Ian work their own magpie chatter. While Ian was trying to be quiet, he could hear his soft “lily careful" as her happy pattering and Ian’s stoic padding came back down the hall. He braced for impact as he heard little feet gathering speed. He caught her mid-step and held her high, blowing raspberries on her neck. Ian was coming through the door, tray in hand.
“Tell Papa what's on the menu, Lily.”
"Papa, it t’ank u brekamafast.”
"Thank you for what, Lily?”
“For being the best papa while Daddy is gone!"
Grinning Mickey took the tray from Ian, his grin even bigger at the content selected by his girl. "Ey, she picked this, right?”
“Papa is your favorite ‘cept beer; Daddy said no, but Uncle Lip has cereal beer.”
Ian sat on the bed, offering coffee and a kiss. "Yeah, I know we need to have a conversation about him, and at some point, not today, but today I spend time with mine.”
Lily plopped herself down on Ian’s belly, using his knees as a backrest, and grinned triumphantly at Mickey. Ian had since married, and Lily was even more obsessed with good meals. But for Mickey, sometimes he wanted the foods he stole from Kash and Grab. The chance to check out Ian.
Lily took that food trait from him clearly as he looked at the plate piled high with pop tarts, yogurt-covered berries, cheetos, and bacon. He watched Ian make sure Lily was eating, stole a few berries from Mickey’s plate, and quietly took his pills. Every time Ian took the pills he hated, Mickey felt a flutter in his heart. The first wave was years of watching Ian’s pain. The second was trust in everything they had become. Each dose was a declaration that Ian loved himself to fight his disease; he loved Mickey and Lily. Every pill was his silent reminder that he was not planning on leaving.
Hiding from Terry and from himself all those years ago, a husband and a kid were never on the radar. Mickey never believed he could be more than a thug, Terry’s son, or a closet case. This,all of this, he would guard with everything in him. He was trying so hard to transition back, as their couple's therapist called Ian’s partner, not his caretaker. This was tough; the current crisis was averted, but now it was time for Mickey to step back and not be the overshadow. But Ian looked so tired and thinner than a few weeks ago. His break through meds caused a small shake in his hands.
"Maybe I shouldn't..."
“Mick. I am home, and I am better. Time for you to do for you, babe, or I’ll tell Mandy when she gets here, she will take you for me.”
So that, after another pop tart, he was rolled out of bed by two pushy red heads and headed off to process these past two weeks and something he has been rolling around in his head for the last 2 months.
Fuck! Mickey Gallagher was about to go use his words.