"I left all the contact information on the fridge. Call me immediately if anything goes wrong, Ian. Although nothing will go wrong because I am leaving my children in your care, and you know you'll die painfully if anything happens, don't you?"

Ian nodded jerkily as Linda eyed him up and down, looking as if she was considering calling the whole thing off in favour of murdering Ian simply for existing. She huffed briefly and took off in another inspecting loop around the house, Ian jogging behind her.

"I already put the baby down, there's like fifty of you in that clown car you call a house, so I assume you'll know what to do if he wakes up?"

Ian nodded again, feeling sweat prickle at his neck under Linda's heavy glare. She would pause occasionally just to scan him and assess his worth as a human being before taking off like a shot around the house once more, righting pictures, fluffing cushions and picking up toys.

"The boys should be in bed by nine, not nine-thirty, not ten, nine. Jaleel needs his nightlight to sleep, he thinks there are monsters in the closet, KJ gets to have one-"

"Linda, you're going to be late and you kind of wrote all this down already…" Ian trailed off under his boss's withering glare, but the woman eventually nodded and started hauling her coat on.

"I should be back by two, I'll call if anything changes," she was almost at the door before coming to an abrupt halt. She whirled on Ian and the teen backed away quickly. No one put the fear of God into him like she did. She tapped her hands anxiously against her skirt and eyed her employee-turned-babysitter with undisguised suspicion. "Mickey does not step foot in this house until all the chores are done and my boys are asleep!"

Ian mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. He couldn't have looked guiltier and caught out if he had the word "busted" stamped on his forehead. Linda simply frowned at him.

"I own a black light, Ian, and I have a killer nose; I'll know what you get up to in my house. So help me, if my boys report so much as a weird noise or if I see anything remotely suspicious, I will rip your and Mickey's nuts off and have them in a pickle jar in my study. Got that?"

Ian swallowed and nodded. She took one last look around the house, skewered Ian with another glare and finally headed out the door. She didn't head straight to her car, however. She went to the end of her driveway and surveyed the street before her eyes came to rest on a beat-up '60s Chevy Impala that most certainly did not belong on her street. She stalked over to it and delivered a swift kick to the door, startling its lone occupant awake.

"The fuck!"

"Mickey Milkovich, fancy meeting you here," she whipped her head back towards the doorway and Ian promptly disappeared from view. She turned her attention back to Mickey, who was busy lighting up a cigarette and squinting at her. "I realize that no matter how many warnings I issue tonight, you're going to end up inside my house. If you traumatize or harass my children, in any way, I will crucify you upside down like your apostle Peter."

"Who?"

"If I find one thing missing from my house, Mickey," Linda continued undaunted, "I will personally show up at your next fifty parole hearings and ensure they keep your pasty behind in jail until you're either six feet tall or six feet under. You got that?"

"Yes, Jesus, who keeps pissing in your Arab Wheaties?"

"I'm not even A-, you know what, I'm not even having this conversation with you," Linda pinched the bridge if her nose and regarded the smoking teen, who stared back at her always in challenge. She liked the dumb kid, in spite of herself. He mouthed off too much, was beyond disrespectful and was a feared criminal element, but she couldn't help but automatically like a backbone, and Mickey was pretty much nothing but backbone. Ian trusted him and she trusted Ian, husband-fucking aside, and Mickey was surprisingly diligent and invested in his job. He clearly cared for Ian deeply, and Linda figured all these bits and pieces had to add up to something worthwhile even if it came with the surname Milkovich.

"Aren't you supposed to be out getting you some?" Mickey asked pointedly, glancing back to the house and spotting Ian peeping through the curtains.

This was the closest anyone would ever come to seeing Linda sputtering and flustered, "I am not going to go get…Do not go into my house until Ian calls you!" With that, she turned heel and finally got in her car, much to the relief of everyone.

Linda ran a tight ship that stayed course even when she wasn't at the helm. The kids knew their duty and were finally asleep and right on time. Still, Ian waited an extra half hour before inviting Mickey in.

"Took you long enough," Mickey grumbled as he walked into the pristine home, "thought I was going to have to dose those kids with some cough syrup."

"Not even remotely funny," Ian snipped, sounding suspiciously like Linda, "shoes off and don't even think about smoking in here…and keep your voice down!"

"Yeesh, okay," Mickey kicked off his shoes and dropped carelessly onto the couch, making Ian wince a little. Before long, Mickey's gaze was all over the place, taking everything in.

"No casing the joint either," the redhead murmured and took a seat on the couch, giving Mickey a wide berth.

"'Casing the joint'? You watch too many goddamn movies, Gallagher," Mickey looked over at Ian who was well over an arm's length away, "what the hell are you doing all the way over there?"

Thinking about pickle jars and testicle ripping was what he was doing. "We aren't fucking on Linda's couch, Mick… she has a black light." Even Mickey was inclined to believe that.

"We don't have to do anything, Gallagher, just make out a little and that's it…" Mickey said innocently, in the grand tradition of every sneaky boyfriend ever. It didn't help that making out was Ian's weakness. He had finally managed to get Mickey to warm to the idea, only for him to get shot in the ass, almost derailing all of his hard won kissing progress. Luckily for Ian, Mickey was developing a ravenous appetite for it that showed no signs of abating. Ian grinned and slid closer to Mickey, who was already slowly wetting his lips in both anticipation and to tempt Ian further.

"Just making out and nothing else right?" Ian asked hesitantly, bringing his lips within a short breath of Mickey's.

Blue eyes raked over Ian's features, "yeah, sure."

Seriously, every sneaky boyfriend ever.

So it was to the surprise of absolutely no one when a few minutes later, Ian had his hand down Mickey's pants, frantically jacking him off while the brunet groaned his appreciation into Ian's mouth. He came hard in Ian's hand, soaking his boxers, and slumped bonelessly in the couch. Ian was careful to wipe his hands a cleanly as possible on Mickey's boxers, visions of incriminating UV light and murder dancing in his head. Mickey scrunched his nose.

"Ugh, if I had known that this was the way it was gonna go down, I would have brought extra underwear."

"You were the one who said nothing messy," Ian shot back at the complaining, "how do you even get me to do stuff?"

Mickey licked his lips and reached over to palm the hard outline of Ian's dick through his jeans. He pulled closer to the redhead and ghosted his lips over Ian's earlobe before nibbling on his neck. "You can't stay like this all night, man. You wanna get on me real quick?"

Ian's breath hitched as Mickey's teeth grazed the flesh of his neck. "Can't... Linda would kill us if she found out."

"Jesus, Gallagher, don't be so chickenshit about it," still Mickey wasn't exactly keen to get on the woman's wrong side either. "Let's fuck in the bathroom. Shit's supposed to light up in there."

Ian was on his feet and scrambling after Mickey within an instant, totally okay with that bit of sketchy reassurance. "I swear you're like some kind of sex genius."

Linda came home to find Ian fast asleep on her couch, textbooks scattered about him. That wasn't surprising; the teen had ROTC on top of an already full plate. What was surprising, though, was the sight of Mickey Milkovich seated at her kitchen counter, gnawing on his fingers as he went over Ian's calculations.

"Hello," Linda approached with cautious curiosity, as if coming across a trained bear in her kitchen, "how are the boys?"

"Out like a light. Your younger one, Jamal?"

"Jaleel…"

"Yeah, he woke up at one point freaking about monsters or some shit in his closet, so I stomped the fuck out of some stuff in there for a bit. He seemed happy with it."

Linda didn't know whether to be horrified or impressed. She settled on impressed, very impressed even. Her son hadn't slept properly through the night since his dad left. She watched Mickey pore over the books and couldn't help but ask.

"What are you doing?"

Mickey shrugged a shoulder, "I don't get the theorems and shit, but I can do the math parts. He rushes sometimes and fucks it up."

"You're checking Ian's homework?"

Mickey was immediately defensive and his spine straightened, "I'm decent with numbers, okay? That a fucking problem?"

"No, no problem," Linda responded lightly, not reacting to Mickey's acerbic response, "it's good that you're helping him out."

Mickey snorted and turned his attention back to the assignment, diligently erasing an answer where Ian accidentally flipped the numbers. "He's doing all this shit for West Point. You think it's good I'm helping him get his ass blown off in Bumfuckistan or some Middle East shithole?" Mickey's eyes flicked over to Linda, "no offense."

Linda rolled her eyes heavenward, "none taken." She looked out at the sleeping Ian, "you know, I watched that kid call every shot during target practice and nail them spot on and he's a lucky one, in spite of everything." She turned back to Mickey to see him watching her intently, clearly hungry for a little reassurance. "If he goes, I think he'll be one of the those lucky ones, if he stays…" Linda looked at brunet significantly, "I think he'll be okay too."

There was an awkward silence for a minute, two hard-shelled individuals trapped in an unexpected moment of vulnerability. It was Mickey who got them back to familiar footing.

"You came back mellow as hell tonight," he nodded cheekily at her, "you get you some then, Linda?"

She snorted rudely, relieved to get out of a raw moment with Mickey Milkovich of all people. "What I got or didn't get is none of your concern, Mickey," Linda snapped as she dived into her purse for the babysitting money. She hesitated a bit before diving in for an extra twenty, "for the closet stomping," she muttered.

Mickey grinned at her and gathered up the cash and the books. She watched interested as Mickey tossed the books on the table and stuffed all the money, his twenty included, into Ian's pants pocket. "Wakey, wakey, shithead! Time to get outta here."

Ian snorted awake and grinned up sleepily and softly at Mickey. The brunet jerked his head sharply in Linda's direction and Ian got the message quickly.

"Linda, hey, I didn't mean to fall asleep…"

"It's fine, no harm done. Seems Mickey had it covered." She headed to the door and swung it wide open. "Thanks, boys, now get out of my house. I'll take care of you two later if anything's out of place."

She hid a small smile as the two teens tumbled out of her house and towards Mickey's car. Their roughhousing ended with Ian shoving Mickey against the car and leaning into him, almost getting close enough to kiss before the shorter boy shoved him roughly and sent him around the passenger side, with a playful kick to the backside. Ian laughed, happy and carefree, before the car revved up and screeched off, maybe waking half the neighborhood.

Linda dropped the curtain and chuckled to herself. She didn't know who those two thought they were kidding.