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"I can’t believe you did this!" Ian’s voice was dangerously loud. The way Mickey knew it got when his husband was really, really pissed. Mickey sighed, trying to think of a way to fix this before it turned into a real fight.
"Aw, c'mon, it’s fine. It’s not like she got anywhere near the gun…" Mickey tried, steering the conversation toward a don’t be dramatic, it wasn’t a big deal thing.
"I’m not joking, Mickey." It was a warning. Ian’s green eyes, the same ones that usually looked at Mickey like warm, cozy pools, were now burning, and Mickey knew he’d need more than a smart line and a crooked smile to calm the redhead down. "She wrote about it in her school essay! Where normal kids write about trips to the park, not about going out to shoot things! You know that…"
"Was the essay bad?" The question caught them both off guard. Green and blue eyes turned to meet Taylor’s green ones, standing by the kitchen door. The 9 year old girl was still in her school clothes, but already barefoot after having gone upstairs to change before dinner. She had clearly overheard the commotion in the kitchen. Not that her parents were ever quiet in their interactions, but Ian had been called in that day for a meeting with her English teacher, so Taylor was really afraid she might be in trouble.
"Hey, sweetheart, no, no… of course not. Your essay was… great, actually. So detailed…" Ian sighed, remembering the teacher reading aloud the part where Mickey missed a shot at a sign and hit the window of an abandoned building instead, something Tay had described as ‘the scariest and funniest thing in the world.’ Shit. "Your essay is great, Tay, but…"
"Com' here, kid," Mickey called his daughter, who stepped closer, clearly not understanding exactly what the problem was. If the essay was good, why were her parents fighting? "You know how Dad worries about this stuff." Mickey teased, rolling his eyes as he ruffled his daughter’s dark hair, winking at her to make her relax. "He’s just being dramatic..."
"Mickey…"
"Okay, okay, it won’t happen again, right? Is that what you wanted to hear?" the dark-haired man replied softly, pulling away from his daughter and moving closer to the redhead’s still stiff body. Mickey wrapped his arms around Ian’s waist, raising his eyebrows like he was asking, ‘Alright, can we stop fighting now?’
"What happened?" Charlie’s murmured voice, as he stepped into the kitchen without understanding what was going on, almost pulled Ian’s attention away from Mickey snuggling into his arms. Almost.
"I dunno, Dad got mad because I wrote about playing ‘I spy and you shoot’ in my summer essay."
"When did you do that?" The boy’s surprised voice made Mickey turn toward the kids. Shit, he knew where this was going. He widened his eyes at the teenager, praying he’d pick up on the hint to don’t talk about it, but it was useless. "Dad, why wasn’t I invited? You know I love playing…"
"Oh, for fuck’s sake, can you two just shut up, please!?" Mickey turned back to Ian, knowing he was really in trouble now.
"What the fuck, Mickey! How long have you been pulling this shit behind my back? I can’t believe this…" Ian muttered, running a hand through the hair that was already starting to gray, while their kids slipped quietly out of the kitchen. When the redhead started yelling swear words at Mickey in front of the kids, something Ian tried hard to avoid, everyone knew one thing: Mickey had a lot of explaining to do.