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It was a hectic night with three-year old Yevgeny and two-month old Gavrel. Mickey was working late because he had a safety meeting at the plant, and Ian was buzzing back and forth between the infant on the table in his baby seat, dinner in the oven (chicken noodle casserole), and Yevgeny who kept wanting something different on television. Whatever was on TV currently was extra loud, and Ian felt himself growing irritated with it.
“I want a new video,” Yevgeny called from the living room. “This one's over!”
Gavrel howled and his howling turned into puking. He'd been spitting up all afternoon. The oven timer dinged signaling the food was ready.
“Oh no,” Ian said, hurrying over to the infant with an already wet and smelly spit cloth. “You're puking again. Oh no, no, no, no, no-”
He wiped the baby's mouth and Gavrel screamed some more. Yevgeny wandered into the kitchen, twirling around in boredom.
“When is the chicken noodle gonna be ready?” He asked.
“In a little while,” Ian said. “Yevvie, go turn the TV off. I can't deal with that noise and his screaming right now.”
“I want milk,” Yevgeny said, ignoring him.
“In a minute,” Ian said as Gavrel threw up again.
Yevgeny said proudly, “I can get it.”
He climbed up onto the counter top and stood up in front of the cabinet where the glasses and coffee mugs were kept. Ian wasn't paying any attention to him because he was taking Gavrel out of his seat and stripping him of his soiled, sour onesie. Yevgeny stood on his tiptoes to get the frosted mug from the very top of the cabinet. It was behind three other glasses, and when he finally got it, the glasses in front of it fell down, smashing on the counter all around him. It startled the three-year old so much that he fell backwards onto the floor, right into the pile of broken glass. Ian turned around then and almost dropped Gavrel, hurriedly putting him back in his seat.
“Oh God!” He breathed, moving to Yevgeny, who was screaming.
“Daddy!” Yevgeny cried, blood on his hands and arms.
“Come here!” Ian grabbed him, removing him from the glass.
Gavrel howled and spit up again, the milky substance dripping out of his mouth onto his bare chest. Shaking, Ian moved Yev away from the pile and stripped him of his clothes, checking where he was cut. It seemed to mostly be on his hands and arms. Ian burst into tears then, and that startled Yevgeny, making him cry even harder.
“Don't worry, Yev,” Ian sobbed, moving to get a dish towel and wetting it. “Don't worry, Baby.”
Mickey walked in through the front door just as the smoke detector went off. He heard all kinds screaming and rushed into the kitchen without taking off his coat. He saw Gavrel in his seat on the table covered in spit up, the broken glass on the floor, and Ian and Yevgeny sobbing together on the floor, Yevgeny covered in blood.
“Hey, hey, hey!” He knelt down beside them, pulling Yevgeny away from Ian.
“I wasn't watching him!” Ian sobbed, blotting the dish towel against their son's arm. “And he climbed up on the counter and Gav kept screaming and he fell, Mickey!”
Mickey could already hear the lack of medication in Ian's tone and carried Yevgeny to the kitchen table to inspect him. As he cleaned him up, Ian moved to turn the oven off. The cuts didn't seem that deep, and Mickey went to the bathroom and returned with bandages and peroxide. After he doctored Yevgeny up-still holding him, he moved to take Gavrel from the baby seat.
“It's alright, Ian,” he said, longing to touch him, but couldn't since his hands were full. “It's okay, Man. Yevvie's okay.”
Ian only cried more leaning against the refrigerator, his face in his hands. Mickey cleaned Gavrel up and moved him to his swing in the living room. He set Yevgeny down, who was still whimpering and finally moved to touch Ian.
“Hey,” he said gently. “You takin' your meds today?”
“I ran out Tuesday,” Ian choked out. “With school and work, the doctor wouldn't prescribe more without a check up and I haven't been able to fucking go and I can't even watch our kids while you're gone!”
Mickey pulled Ian against him by his head and kissed the corner of his eye, rubbing his hand in his husband's hair.
“You're not goin' to school or work tomorrow,” he said in his matter-of-fact voice that seemed to work when Ian was like this. “I'll call in, we'll get someone to watch the kids and we're goin' to the doctor.”
Ian nodded, looking up and blinking back more tears.
“You're okay,” Mickey said. “We're okay.”
He beckoned for Yevgeny to come over and picked him up, kissing his face.
“You okay?” He asked him.
“Daddy...” Yevgeny whimpered, reaching for Ian.
“Daddy's got you, Buddy,” Ian told him, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Daddy...” Yevgeny whined again, leaning further out, his arms trying to get to Ian.
Mickey and Ian looked at each other. Yevgeny strained against Mickey.
“Daddy...!” He said.
Ian took Yevgeny and gasped a little at the contact as the three-year old rested his head on Ian's shoulder, his long legs dangling from Ian's waist.
A few weeks went by and Ian was back to his old self. Yevgeny hardly called Ian by his name anymore and now called both fathers 'Daddy'. It wasn't as confusing as they thought it would be because they always seemed to know which 'Daddy' he was talking or referring to. Mickey suspected it had something to do with jealousy over Gavrel.
Yevgeny was very jealous of his baby brother, and often got upset when he was ignored because the baby was crying or throwing up or needed changed.
One evening, while the whole family was home, Ian had been playing with Yevgeny with some foam swords. Both of them were having a blast, jumping over the couch and whacking at one another with the swords-Yevgeny squealing with laughter.
“I'm gonna take a shower,” Mickey announced.
“Kay,” Ian said, hardly paying attention as Yevgeny jumped out at him from behind the wall that connected the hallway and living room-a perfect nook he was just big enough for.
After the shower started, Gavrel started crying from his swing. Ian put his sword down and went to tend to him.
“Daddy, play with me,” Yevgeny said, still smiling.
“Hold on, Buddy,” Ian said, taking Gavrel out of the swing. “What's wrong, Little Guy? Huh? You wet? No, you're dry.”
“Daddy!” Yevgeny hit Ian on the seat of his pants with his sword. “Got you! Get me, Daddy! Daddy? Daddy?”
“You hungry?” Ian cooed at the baby. “You need to be fed? You sure do eat a lot for someone so little, Dude.”
Yevgeny was hot on his father's heels to the kitchen. He kept tapping Ian with the foam sword. Ian actually brushed it away as he took a pre-made bottle from the fridge and moved to the bottle warmer beside the toaster to heat it up.
The three-year old frowned, his shoulders slumping.
“Play with me!” He ordered, dropping the sword to pull on Ian's leg.
“Hold on, Yevvie,” Ian said. “Your brother's starving.”
After the bottle was heated, he moved to the couch to sit down and feed the hungry infant, who began sucking at the bottle like he hadn't eaten in forever. Yevgeny climbed up on the couch beside Ian and tried to climb on him.
“Be gentle!” Ian warned. “I'm holding the baby.”
“Put him down,” Yevgeny said.
“Yevvie, stop climbing on me,” Ian said, more sternly. “I mean it.”
“Is he done?” The three-year old asked impatiently. “He always drinks bottles.”
“He's growing,” Ian reminded him. “He has to drink a lot of bottles.”
Yevgeny waited a few more minutes, and then climbed off of the couch and sat down on the floor with the foam sword Ian had dropped. He watched Ian stare lovingly at the infant, and then using his short fingernails began tearing away at the foam, dropping the pieces on the floor.
“Yev?” Ian frowned at him. “What are you doing? Stop.”
Yevgeny gave him a look and kept doing it, this time throwing the pieces.
“Don't tear up your toys like that,” Ian said, standing up.
It pleased Yevgeny that Ian was finally paying attention to him, and that he actually got up to do so. He stood up too, watching Ian as he continued to tear up the sword. He started laughing, deciding he could make a game of it. He ran around the living room, tearing giant chunks of foam away from the plastic stick.
“Yev-” Ian said, and moved to put Gavrel back in his swing for a moment.
Yevgeny chunked the stick at him and went to the kitchen to pick up his own sword. He began tearing that up too. Mickey came out of the bathroom, clad only in boxers and stared at the mess on the floor.
“He's acting bad,” Ian told Mickey, moving to get Gavrel again so he could finish feeding him.
“Pick this shit up,” Mickey ordered, pointing to it. “We ain't buyin' you no more toys if all you're gonna do is fucking rip 'em to pieces.”
“No.” Yevgeny shook his head defiantly.
“No?” Mickey raised his eyebrows. “Pick it up. NOW.”
Yevgeny sat on the floor and picked up one of the bigger chunks, tearing it into smaller pieces.
“I don't know what's gotten into him lately,” Ian said, patting the baby's back. “Yevvie, pick it up now or I'm gonna spank you.”
“Nuh uh.” Yevgeny said.
Ian wasn't like Mickey. When he spanked, he spanked. He passed the baby to Mickey and approached Yevgeny, getting down to his level.
“Now,” he said. Remembering how Fiona used to do it to him and Lip when they acted up.
Yevgeny blew a raspberry noise in his face and that did it. Ian took off his belt and gave him a good pop with it.
“Pick it up,” he said and Yevgeny began to cry, doing as he was told.
“Take it to the trash,” Mickey told him as the baby burped.
Sobbing, Yevgeny picked up about three pieces at a time and carried them to the kitchen trashcan. It took him a while since there was so much of it, and when he was done, he wiped his snotty nose. He then got right in Gavrel's face, who was in the swing, and screamed, “BAD BABY!” before running to his room, slamming the door.
Mickey and Ian heard him kicking the wall and Mickey called out, “Do you want me to come in there?”
The thumping stopped for a moment, and then continued for a few more seconds. Ian finally went into the room where Yevgeny laid on his bed, panting from all of the kicking. His eyes drooped sleepily. Without a word, Ian helped to sit up and took off his shirt. He then stood him on the floor and helped him out of his pants and took some pajamas out of his dresser. Yevgeny said nothing as Ian helped him into his nightclothes. He wiped some of the three-year old's snot and tears away with his hand and ran his hand through his dark hair.
“What are we going to do with you?” He asked affectionately.
Yevgeny hugged him then, and Ian picked him up. The baby started crying in the living room, and Yevgeny was happy that for once, Ian ignored his wails and just held him.
The box fanned hummed loudly as did the AC, but the piercing sound of Gavrel wailing always woke Ian and Mickey up. The baby was now nearly three months old, and ulike Yevgeny who'd slept soundly at night as an infant, Gavrel was up at all hours.
“Got it,” Mickey groaned when they both started to get up. “You got some final or something tomorrow, right?”
Ian collapsed back onto the pillows and fell back asleep almost immediately. Mickey stopped at the bathroom first to pee and then traveled to the boys' room where Yevgeny was sleeping just as heavy as Ian.
“Hey, Kiddo,” Mickey yawned, scooping Gavrel out of the crib. His onesie was soaked. “Jesus, you pee like a grown-ass man, I swear.”
He put him on the floor and dug out some fresh clothes and a diaper before kneeling down to change him. Gavrel seemed to calm down slightly, his tiny fists no longer flailing as he stared up at his father with big blue eyes.
“Wah!” He made one last attempt at a howl.
“Wah yourself,” Mickey said, tossing the soiled onesie into the laundry basket beside the door.
He picked him up and cradled him to his chest, carrying him into the master bedroom. Ian was sitting up, blinking slowly and sleepy.
“Hey, Buddy,” he yawned, taking the baby from Mickey. “Did you ruin your pjs again?”
Yevgeny appeared in the room shortly after, rubbing his eyes. Without a word, he climbed into the bed and snuggled under the covers.
“Yeah, make yourself at home,” Mickey said sarcastically.
Ian only smiled and laid back down, nestling the infant between himself and Yevgeny. Mickey groaned loudly and reached over to shut off the bedside lamp.
“Put you two up for adoption,” he grumbled.
“Hey,” Mickey said one evening as Ian walked into the apartment. “How was the, uh, whatchucallit?”
“Student teaching,” Ian said. “And good, I really think I want to teach middle school.”
“South Side middle school?” Mickey frowned at him.
“Sure,” Ian said with a shrug. “Why not?”
It was just the two of them for the next few days, so they skipped dinner and just ate peanut butter sandwiches and then got right to sex. They weren't really sure why so many people stopped having sex after kids. If anything, the precious time alone they got, they were hornier than ever.
“I wanna talk to you about something,” Mickey said, digging his nails into Ian's back.
Ian leaned down and breathed into the spot between Mickey's neck and collarbone.
“Fuck, Ian!” Mickey grunted. “Hey, it's about the kids.”
“Thought you didn't like talking about them while we fuck,” Ian said with a grin.
“After,” Mickey said, and they smashed lips.
After, he did make sure to bring it up again. Ian trailed lazy kisses all over his body, and Mickey stroked his hair in return.
“I wanna get Yevgeny's name changed,” he told Ian.
Ian stopped kissing him, frowning at him. “Huh?”
“His last name,” Mickey explained. “Gavrel is Gallagher-Milkovich. I want Yev to be a Gallagher-Milkovich too.”
Ian propped himself up on one elbow so he could stare at Mickey.
“Are you serious?” He asked.
“Look, Yev hardly even calls you Ian anymore, we both turned into Daddy so why not just adopt the kid already?” Mickey tried to hide the sentiment in his voice, his cheeks burning.
“Yeah.” Ian finally nodded, kissing Mickey very slowly. More slowly than he had in a long time.
When he pulled away, Mickey awkwardly said, “Okay. Good.”