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It was a peaceful Thursday morning-one without the boys. Ian didn't have student-teaching for the day because of a teacher workday (student teachers didn't count apparently) and didn't have to go work at the restaurant until later in the evening. Mickey was on a four days on, four days off work schedule so he had nowhere to be as well.
They were startled awake by loud rapping at the door followed by a key trying to open it, but Mickey had locked the deadbolt. Fiona, Lip, Debbie, Carl, and Svetlana all had their own key so it could have been any of them.
“What do you wanna bet it's Debbie?” Ian mumbled into his pillow. “She's been harassing me about going running.”
“She's about to get an earful then,” Mickey said. “It ain't even six am yet.”
He got up and went to the door, scratching himself through his boxer shorts. His brows furrowed when he opened it to see Svetlana pulling her key from the door. She pushed past him and he closed the door behind her.
“Where are the kids?” He wanted to know.
“With Kevin and Veronica,” she said, looking around. She started opening drawers and cabinets. “Where is our marriage license?”
“What?” Mickey asked, still a little sleepy and very confused.
Svetlana stared at him and then exploded, “Paper saying we are husband and wife! Where is it?”
“The fuck should I know,” Mickey said. “I thought you had it.”
She frantically began digging through more of their things. By this time, Ian had stumbled in, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He looked at Mickey for an explanation.
“What do you need it for?” Mickey asked her.
“Stepan,” Svetlana replied, getting on her hands and knees to peer under their sofa.
“Who?” Ian asked.
Svetlana stood up and rubbed one hand up and down her other arm, almost in a nervous fashion. It was something Ian and Mickey had never seen in her before, an almost vulnerable look.
“My husband,” she said quietly, meeting their eyes only for half a second.
“Come again?” Mickey's eyebrows shot up. “You just said your husband.”
Svetlana said nothing.
“Last time I checked before you and me divorced,” he continued. “I was your husband.”
Svetlana exploded again.
“Where is fucking license?!” She screamed.
“The fuck's the matter with you?” Mickey shot back when she shoved him.
Svetlana placed her hands to her head and sighed, trying to calm down, but to no avail. She looked at Mickey and said, “You be my husband again.”
“The fuck I will,” he replied sharply.
“You want to protect children? Yevgeny? Gavrel? You pretend-” she jabbed a finger into his chest. “I marry your sorry ass first time because your father make me. I choose to say yes at alter because I look in your eyes and see man in boy's body. I see man who is willing to protect what it is his. You protect Yevgeny. You protect Gavrel.”
Mickey softened a little.
“Tell me what's going on,” he said more calmly.
“In Russia,” Svetlana said as Ian gently directed her to sit on the couch. “I get married young. Married to young man my father want. He hit me...he...” she tucked some hair behind her ear. “He raped me. He kill baby.”
“He killed your bab?” Ian asked, squatting down in front of her. “You had another baby?”
“Not born, but yes,” she said quietly. “He didn't believe was his, so he beat me until I carry child no more.”
“Why the fuck is he here?” Mickey wanted to know.
“I get word that he has found me,” she said. “Wants to take me back to Moscow. I show marriage license, he goes away.”
“ 'Lana,” Mickey said with a sigh. “Guy's not gonna go away because you show him a fuckin' piece of paper.”
“He is dangerous!” Svetlana snapped. “He knows where I live!”
Mickey looked at Ian. Svetlana looked between them, trying to hone in on their might-as-well-be telepathy.
“You're right about one thing,” Mickey said. “I take care of what's mine. Nothing's gonna happen to Yevgeny or Gavrel.”
Svetlana visibly relaxed.
“Or you,” Ian said, and she looked at him.
“We care about you,” Mickey said. “You're fuckin' family and nobody's gonna lay a fuckin' finger on you or the kids.”
Svetlana looked up at him, her hands folded and covering her mouth. Mickey beckoned for her to stand up. When she did, he pulled her against him, possibly for the first time. Of course, they'd hugged and kissed, but never really embraced. She wrapped her arms around him, and to Mickey and Ian's surprise, she began to cry, mumbling things half in Russian, half in English.
“You know for sure this joker knows where you're staying?” Mickey asked, pulling back a little.
“He came to the Alibi,” she confessed, wiping at her eyes. “He said I better have my shit together tonight. I tell him I'm married and have kids. He doesn't care.”
“I'll get Fiona or Debbie to watch the kids,” Ian told Mickey.
“Yeah.” Mickey nodded, and then turned his attention back to his ex-wife. “Hey, hey look at me.”
She looked at him.
“Go get the kids,” Mickey said. “We'll take care of this okay.”
She nodded and he said, “Let us go with you.”
“Ain't nobody fucking with her!” Mickey said as he angrily snapped a pair of blue jeans before sliding them on. “Shit makes me fuckin' mad!”
Ian nodded as he pulled his shirt over his head.
“I've never seen her like that,” he said. “She's really scared, Mick.”
Svetlana came into the bedroom and leaned against the door frame, her arms crossed. A little smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“I can hear you, you know,” she said.
“Good.” Ian zipped his pants and gave her a quick kiss, cupping her cheek.
Svetlana followed them back to the living room and picked up her car keys. Ian and Mickey followed her in their own car to Kevin and Veronica's house where Yevgeny was running around with Gemma and Amy, who were still in their pajamas. Svetlana called something to Yevgeny in her native tongue and he came running to her, his eyes lighting up when he saw his fathers. Svetlana picked him up and said, “You spend the night with Aunt Fiona. You and Gavrel.”
She looked at Ian and Mickey, resting her head against her son's. “Me and your Papas have work to do.”
Kevin walked into the room holding Gavrel, cooing and saying things to him in a soft voice.
“Vee, I think we should-”
“No,” Veronica said sharply, and then touched Svetlana's arm.
“You sure you're gonna be okay?” She asked.
“My boys,” Svetlana said with a small smile as she passed Yevgeny over to Mickey. “They take care of me.”
Fiona wasn't free to watch the kids, so Debbie and Carl came over to Mickey and Ian's apartment instead. Ian had gone grocery shopping and made sure the kitchen was stocked with all kinds of junk food and snacks for his teenage siblings.
“So you two are gonna go fight some Russian dude?” Carl asked, collapsing onto the sofa where Yevgeny scrambled after him, climbing into his lap.
“I dunno,” Mickey said, cocking his gun. “May be killin' some Russian dude.”
“Awesome.” Carl grinned, and started in on a tickle attack with Yevgeny.
Debbie moved to sit beside them holding Gavrel. She grinned too.
“Make sure there's no blood,” she said. “Make it look like an accident.”
“Yeah, yeah...” Mickey half grinned back. He snapped his fingers and Yevgeny got off the couch to go over to him.
Mickey, still holding his pistol, picked his older son up with one arm and gave him a big kiss and a squeeze.
“Be good,” he said, and set him down.
Ian picked him up and did the same. He then took Gavrel from Debbie and kissed him too. Mickey leaned over to also give him a kiss and tickle the spot between his ear and neck, making the baby smile and hide the spot in his shoulder.
“Can you bring back a finger?” Carl asked casually. “Or a tooth at least?”
“See what we can do,” Mickey told him, just as casually as they passed the children back over to the teens.
Svetlana moved about her apartment nervously. Ian and Mickey were sitting in the parking lot in their car, but even their closeness couldn't shake her apprehension. The walls of her apartment were lined with photographs of her children and American friends-including Mickey and Ian. She spotted one in collage photo frame of the two men- Ian's arm slung around Mickey as he kissed his cheek, Mickey flipping off whoever was taking the picture. She took the frame from the wall and carried it to the table to turn it over and remove the photograph. If she was going to have a believable husband story, he needed to not have his own husband.
It took about an hour, but eventually, there was a knock at her door. She answered it, preparing for the worst, and her blood all rushed to her feet when she saw Stepan standing in the doorway. He was just as frightening as he'd been at the alibi, just as frightening as he'd been in Moscow, throwing bottles and slamming her into walls.
“This is the dump you live in?” He asked in their native Russian, letting himself in.
“This is where my family lives,” she said in Russian too. “Me, my husband, and our two children.”
Stepan lit a cigarette in the middle of the living room, and Svetlana desperately wanted to tell him to put it out. She lost her nerve.
“I've missed you,” he said. “You're just as beautiful as when I left. You've gained some weight, though.”
Stepan had always been handsome in a rugged sort of way. He was tall and scruffy with dark eyes and dimples. Nobody would ever guess that he spent his nights beating women and threatening men who worked for him.
“I've had two children,” she told him. “And I'm clean now.”
Stepan scoffed, blowing a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling. “I hardly believe that.”
“It's true!” She raised her voice for the first time. “No needles, no coke, no nothing! I have a family now, and I care about them!”
“Who?” Stepan raised his voice too, advancing on her, making her take a few steps back. “These kids on the wall? Did you tell your precious husband what you were? What you are? A miserable whore? Do you remember that, Svet? Do you remember fucking other men while I watched?”
Svetlana turned away from him.
“You made me!” She said, close to tears, mentally willing herself not to let them fall.
Stepan gave a deep, throaty laugh as he finished his cigarette and ground it under his boot on the hard wood floor. He grabbed Svetlana by the shoulder and turned her around.
“You were a whore when I married you,” he said in a sickeningly calm voice. He kissed her cheek. “You just didn't know it yet.”
Svetlana did start to cry then, suddenly ashamed and angry at everything because, hell, she was a whore. After leaving Stepan, a few dozen hand and blow jobs got her to the states and after that, it just got easier and easier. It was a way to make money. It gave her a sense of power, almost, knowing that through every oral exchange, she could bite them, she could hurt them, and they just came undone beneath her, begging her.
“You know you're a whore,” Stepan egged on. “And you don't belong here. I'll take the kids.”
“What?” She turned back to him, wiping at her eyes.
“I sure as hell won't let them call me Papa,” he continued. “But if you come back with me, go back to work, I'll put a roof over their heads.”
“I'm married!” She yelled. “My children have a roof over their head! They have a father! They have everything they need and more-”
Stepan back-handed her.
“Don't you ever yell at me!” He screamed, shoving her. “You think I wanted to come here? You think I wanted to find your sorry ass? I'm only here because your father made me! So pack your shit and go round up your little bastard children!”
“She's supposed to call or text,” Ian said, checking his phone.
They were sitting on the hood of the car, Mickey smoking a cigarette.
“I dunno, Man,” Mickey said. “Somethin' just don't feel right.”
“Maybe they're just talking,” Ian suggested. “Or maybe we should go up.”
“That's what I'm thinking.” Mickey slid off the hood and ground the cigarette under his shoe. He took Ian's hand as Ian slid off and said, “Fucking Russians.”
They traveled up the stairs to Svetlana's apartment and could hear foreign words being screamed inside. They listened for a few minutes, and then when they heard a thud of some kind, Mickey took out his key to her apartment and unlocked and opened the door. A vase was shattered on the floor, dirt and greenery in the mix.
“The Fuck is going on in here?” Mickey demanded, pretending to be caught off guard.
Stepan looked at him, scrubbing a hand down his mouth. Svetlana moved to Mickey, gripping him by the arm.
“This is my bastard of an ex-husband,” she told him. “He show up, throw things around! He wants me to go to Moscow.”
Mickey stared at Stepan, eyebrows raised.
“You think you're takin' her back to fuckin' Commie land? Get the fuck outta my place,” he told him.
“Or what?” Stepan sneered. “You call cops?”
Mickey retrieved his pistol. “No, but someone might call the cops on me after I paint the room with your brains.”
Stepan's gaze turned to Ian. “Who's that?”
“Don't fuckin' worry about it,” Mickey said. “Now, I'm gonna tell you again, you come near my wife again-” he approached Stepan and pistol-whipped him suddenly. Once the other man was on the floor, Mickey passed the pistol to Svetlana and proceeded to rough him up. “You'll be goin' back home in a body bag.”
He gave him one final kick to the head. “You got it?”
Stepan nodded, spitting out some blood. Mickey helped him up and roughly pinched his cheek, making him wince.
“Good, now get out.”
Ian opened the front door.
“She is whore you know,” Stepan said as he was roughly shoved out the door. “I used to whore her out myself. Fifty American dollars if you want convert, for blow job. She tell you that?”
Mickey stepped outside with him, and this seemed to startle Stepan.
“She's the mother of my kids,” he said. “Beat it.”
After Stepan was gone, Mickey went back into the apartment and shut the door behind him.
“He may come back,” Svetlana said. “He is very angry about me leaving.”
“He won't be back,” Ian said, shaking his head. “Guy was scared shitless of Mickey.”
Mickey looked at Svetlana. “You okay?”
She nodded with a sigh. “Yeah, think so.”
Ian moved into the kitchen to fix everybody some water, and saw a photograph lying face down on the countertop. He picked it up and turned it over, smiling when he saw it was a photo of him and Mickey acting silly. Svetlana moved into the kitchen and smiled a little too.
“It is one of my favorites,” She said.
Ian poured three glasses of water and then picked up the trashcan and dragged it to the living room, kneeling down to pick up the pieces of shattered vase. Mickey, surprisingly, moved to get the broom and dust pan. Svetlana picked up the cigarette butt Stepan had left on the floor.
“What he said is true, though,” she said, walking into the bathroom to flush the butt. “I am whore.”
“You are not,” Mickey said, sounding annoyed. “Don't start with that fucking shit.”
“You were,” Ian told her, smiling a little. “But, Jesus, who isn't? I was fooling around with older men to get stuff when I wasn't even eighteen yet. Mickey was whoring himself out in Juvie so he wouldn't get his ass handed to him.”
“Fuck you,” Mickey told him.
Svetlana gave a short, breathy laugh as she took over sweeping from Mickey and motioned for him to hold the dusting pan. The three of them worked together to clean up the mess. When they were done, Ian looked at Svetlana and said, “Don't let that asshole get to you like that.”
She looked away, biting her bottom lip and asked, “You boys want coffee before you go?”
“Sure.” Ian nodded. “Hey, Yevgeny's been singing this Russian song. I was wondering if you could tell me what it is.”
“She deserves better,” Mickey said as he and Ian climbed into bed that night. “She deserves a decent guy.”
“Every girl deserves a decent guy,” Ian countered.
“Not every girl,” Mickey said. “But 'Lana, yeah, she needs a good man in her life, and I don't mean us. I mean someone she can fuck.”
“Someone who's good to our kids,” Ian added.
“Shit, I didn't even think of that,” Mickey said. “Guess I'll have to find him then.”
Ian laughed a little. “What?”
“I ain't lettin' my kids around just anybody. Fuck,” Mickey replied. “Man, what a night.”
Ian climbed on top of him, straddling him. He began to slowly grind against him.
“Rescuing 'Lana from that Russian douche really makes me horny,” he said in a very, exaggerated, fake voice.
Mickey couldn't help but laugh.
“You're fucking retarded,” Mickey said, grabbing him by the wrists and pulling him down for a kiss.