Chapter Text
Tony hates these types of calls. ‘Domestic disturbance.’ It’s the fucking South Side. There are no undisturbed domest-… domic-… houses. Yeah, sometimes they can get kids out of shitty situations and into slightly less shitty foster care, but most of the time, things go right back to the way they were.
This time, he’s even less enthusiastic about the call, though. He recognizes the address. It’s the Milkoviches’. Dispatch said a call had come in, about a woman screaming, lots of crashes, then a whole lot of nothin’ for the next fifteen minutes. The ‘concerned’ neighbor apparently took the trouble of peeking through a window and saw Terry Milkovich passed out on the floor in a pool of blood. There’d been no mention of gunfire, but none of the officers sent to this call is taking any chances. They’re going in guns drawn.
The place is a mess, as seems usual from what Tony can remember. The downstairs is easily cleared, living room, kitchen, what looks like one of the kid’s bedrooms with a half bath leading off of it.
Terry Milkovich is easy to spot. He’s flat on his back in the middle of the living room, nasty gash on his head bled out into the already filthy rug, pants around his ankles and very, very dead.
Two of Tony’s colleagues verify, because no-one’s taking chances with that asshole. So, very, very dead. He also, unsurprisingly, reeks of alcohol. Tony suspects he was probably under the influence of some other things as well.
“What do you think?” Ollie asks him. “Coitus interrupted or dire bathroom break?”
“Who the fuck knows, man,” Tony sighs. “With Terry Milkovich? Could be both.”
They join two more officers to clear the upstairs. The house is like most others in the neighborhood, with a staircase in both the front room and the kitchen leading up to the second story. The three bedrooms are easily cleared of any occupants, doors already open, room with the girly clothes the neatest. That leaves the bathroom in the back. The one with the closed door.
Ollie crouches to the side, ready to reach for the doorknob. Tony squares up on one side of the hallway, Dani on the other. Dave is two steps down on the stairs and he’s the one to give the customary warning about ‘police’ and to ‘open the door’. There’s a scuffing noise in answer, but nothing else.
Right, so, very likely there’s someone hiding in the bathroom. Either another Milkovich ready to shoot his way out or some random hooker trying to hide. Tony hopes it’s the latter. He nods at Ollie.
Ollie reaches for the doorknob and on Dani’s silent count yanks it open. It yields, the lock long since useless. On the other side is neither a raised gun nor a random hooker.
It’s the youngest Milkovich boy, Mickey. He’s crouched in front of the sink in the corner, clutching a baseball bat in both hands.
Tony doesn’t like the look in his eyes.
The kid looks wild. His eyes are red-rimmed. There’s blood in his hair and stuck down the side of his face. His knuckles are split where he’s clutching the bat tightly. His grimy shirt is torn and he’s barefoot. Tony notes vaguely that it’s a brave thing to walk barefoot in this house. Judging by the fresh blood smears on the grubby tiles, kid runs a serious risk of developing gangrene.
Mickey’s also not really looking at the two cops holding him at gunpoint from the open door. His breathing is stuttering, fast. Tony would almost call it panicked, though he has no idea what would make a Milkovich panic. He’s not sure he wants to find out.
“Mickey, put the weapon down,” Dani orders. She has a concise, clear way of talking. Her voice carries without really shouting. “Put the bat down, Mickey.”
Mickey doesn’t show any sign of having heard. Maybe Tony needs to reevaluate the kid’s state of mind. There are a few tense moments of silent stand-off. Then a slender hand with painted nails curls around Mickey’s biceps and tugs lightly.
“Mickey, it’s okay.”
It’s Mandy, the only Milkovich girl. She’s shoved into a cubby hole underneath the sink and Tony can barely see her. Because Mickey’s shielding her, he realizes.
“It’s okay,” she repeats and pushes a little more.
Tony watches as Mickey jerkily turns his head towards her. He doesn’t think he’s really seeing her either. Something spooked him. Badly. And now he’s not all there. A Milkovich that’s not all there is the worst kind.
“Come on, Mick,” Mandy pushes again. She actually manages to slide a little bit out of her hiding place. She’s as much a mess as her brother, from what Tony can see. Split lip, tangled hair, top torn at the shoulder.
He’s distracted by Dani’s sudden sharp intake of breath. She has a better view into the bathroom and a more direct line of sight to the kids in there. He chances a glance at her and doesn’t like the look on her face. He watches her hesitate and then holster her gun.
She crouches down.
“Mickey,” she says, and the kid jerks his head back to the door. “It’s okay. We’re not coming in. My colleagues are gonna take a step back now.”
Tony is about to protest, like fuck he’s gonna let up on a Milkovich, but Dani shoots him a quelling look and he slowly shuffles backwards. He’s not going to holster his gun though. He’s not an idiot.
He remains watchful as Dani and Mandy slowly talk Mickey Milkovich into lowering the baseball bat. Eventually, it slips from his fingers and rolls away on the tiles. Maybe that blow to the head was more serious than it looks.
Dani turns to the radio on her shoulder. “Can we get some medics up here?”
“Upstairs secure?” it cackles back.
“No, I always send our brethren from EMS into a warzone. What ya think, shithead?”
Tony knows Dani is a hard-ass, South Side born and raised, she can cuss with the best of them and doesn’t take shit from anyone. But on the job, she’s usually more professional. Direct, yeah, but still professional. What’s got her wigging out like this?
“Alright, already. Settle down. What you got?”
“The two youngest Milkovich. They look banged up. May need a visit to the ER, but I’ll leave that up to the pro’s.” She’s obviously recovered a bit.
“Anyone unconscious?”
Tony watches her hesitate, eyes on Mickey Milkovich. “No,” she answers, but he understands why she’s hesitant.
Mandy’s on her knees next to her brother. Her top is torn off her shoulder and her bra underneath is hanging on by a thread. There are lurid bruises on the upper arm Tony can see. She’s still talking to Mickey, too low to carry to the hallway. Tony’s not sure Mickey is listening, but he’s turned a little more towards her.
Behind Tony, Ollie takes a step further back away from the top of the stairs and two EMT’s step onto the landing. Which makes the space very crowded and Tony has no choice but to back off as well. Dani murmurs a quick update to the two and waves them on. She then turns away down the hall.
“Where you going?” he calls after her.
She just gives a half-hearted wave over her shoulder and disappears into one of the bedrooms.
Tony turns his attention back to the bathroom. The EMT’s approach the Milkovich kids slowly with the woman taking the lead. Kit bags are placed down, gauzes and wipes are dug up and the two carefully coax the kids a little further out of their corner. Tony keeps a keen eye on Mickey. The kid’s wily and the EMT’s are now in the line of fire, so to speak.
Shit, they didn’t even check the bathroom or the kids for any other weapons besides the baseball bat. It doesn’t look like the waistband of Mickey’s faded sweats could hold a gun and he has no shoes on to hide a knife in. And Mandy doesn’t seem to be wearing pants at all. Though maybe that’s because her top is actually a dress? Tony’s the first to admit he doesn’t understand girls’ fashion.
The woman EMT, he thinks her name is Sue, is still in the lead. She talks to the Milkovich kids and Mandy seems to answer for both of them. It’s all in low murmurs and Tony’s still backed away from the doorway, so he can’t hear a thing. He still keeps watch, as Sue is handed a stack of gauzes by her partner. She lets Mandy take the lead in cleaning up some of her cuts and scrapes. And then enlists her help in checking out her brother. There’s shining a light in his pupils and feeling for his pulse and asking question while he remains silent.
The only time he shows any kind of reaction is when Mandy hisses at a particular sting. Sue backs away from his raised fists, while Tony, Ollie and Dave tighten the grip on their guns. Mandy manages to calm him down with a “Geez! Will you cool it, dickhead?” Which sounds highly inappropriate considering the tense situation, but it does the trick.
Just then, Dani pushes past Tony. She leans against the doorpost with a bundle of clothes. “Here you go.” She passes the clothes on.
Mandy stands up to pull on a pair of sweatpants and Tony quickly averts his eyes. Her top is definitely not a dress and she’s definitely not wearing underwear. What the hell happened in this house? By the time he turns back, Mandy’s added a hoody to her outfit and is helping Mickey into a zip-up one. Dani’s also managed to rustle up some shoes and Mickey quietly toes into a pair.
His quiet is unnerving. Mickey Milkovich is not known for being quiet. None of the Milkoviches are. Right now, Mandy is the loudest and even she is furtive and shifty. With Milkovich Senior lying dead on the living room floor, there’s every reason of course. But still, it’s unnerving.
Dani turns to Sue, who answers without further prompting, “Hospital. Kid needs a CAT scan, at least. And probably some stitches.”
Dani takes charge and leads the group down the stairs, through the kitchen and straight out the back door. When Tony glances through the opening into the front, he can’t really see much beyond police uniforms. At least, that means the kids can’t see their father either. Milkovich was a bastard and his kids, the boys especially, have given the police a hard time as well over the years, but that doesn’t mean they should be so callously confronted with their dead father. Mandy studiously avoids looking into the front room, keeping her head deliberately turned away, and Mickey doesn’t even seem to recognize his own house.
They make their way outside and around the side of the house. Tony watches as the two kids are shepherded into the same ambulance together. Sue and Dani join them and Dave sits up front with the other EMT.
Well, that’s that bit done. Now they need to process the crime scene. Tony sighs. Last year, some poor schmuck got in between some Black Friday shoppers for some reason or other and it turned into absolute pandemonium. The fallout had been destruction of property (clothing racks toppled, smashed in windows, shattered cash register), assault with a deadly weapon (broken coat hanger got lodged in a man’s thigh, bled like a slaughtered pig) and inflicting grievous bodily harm (aside from the coat hanger, there were several broken bones, head wounds, teeth knocked out, cracked ribs and a dislocated shoulder). The mess of the Milkovich household seems to be on par with that one.
Tony girds his loins, so to speak, and heads back in.