First Shameless story, I hope it's not a disaster, no mather how silly the idea is. In this AU Ian and Fiona switch places and there's some general age-bending going on. Basically everyone is as old as I want them to be.

Disclaimer: I don't own Shameless.

Warnings: It's Mickey's POV, so swearing ensues.

Enjoy!

Seven Dollars
or: Breaking and Entering is not always bad

If Mickey had to choose one part of his day that didn't make him want to fucking drink himself into oblivion, it was probably the time around three a.m. It was quiet, or at least as quiet as it got on the South Side. You still heard yelling and the occasional gunshot but there was definitely less commotion than at any other given time of the day.

Another thing he liked was the dark. It made what he had in mind just so much easier. From where he was currently standing, cigarette in hand, he had a pretty good view of the entire street. He'd never really decided to come here, you never really decided on coming to the shittiest part of town, you ended up there- Like Mickey had. He took his time looking around and choosing the unlucky bastards who would involuntarily finance his next day, maybe even week. A house at the far end of the street still had sparkling Christmas decorations up, even though it was late April. It was too risky going there with all that blinking shit hanging from the roof, even if more than half the bulbs were broken. Another house was dark except for one room on the ground floor from where bluish light flickered onto the street. Mickey's guess would be the glow came from a TV set, so he couldn't go there either. A couple of houses still had the regular lights on, so that left him with about eight homes with hopefully sleeping residents.

Eenie- meenie- miney- mo-

We have a winner!

Mickey tossed his burnt-down cigarette to the ground and pulled his dark hood lower into his face. His gun was tucked in the back of his jeans. He wasn't planning on shooting anyone, since he wasn't all that keen on getting caught in the first place, but this was Chicago. Everyone owned a fucking gun and if they found some thug with his hands in their money stash they would not hesitate to use it. Mickey sure as hell wouldn't. But he'd chosen a target and he was bored, so he was gonna fucking go through with his plan.

With quick strides he moved through the shadows, eyes cast downwards, until he reached the house. He looked around one last time to make sure he really was the only one out on the streets and when nothing moved he swiftly rounded the building. If the backdoor wasn't unlocked, he'd pick the lock. Thankfully whoever lived there had been stupid enough to keep it open- Mickey thanked them for saving him some trouble.

Inside he briefly took a moment to observe the room he found himself in. There was a table to his left, a shabby kitchen located further back, a messy staircase to the right. It was too dark to see much more. Okay, so where did those douchewads with too much trust in their friends and neighbours keep their budget? The dark-haired boy slowly began looking through all drawers, baskets and piles of laundry- fresh and dirty… mostly dirty- he could find. No luck. Before moving on to what looked a lot like the living room- he might be coming back for that flat-screen TV, holy shit- he decided to climb up on the counter and look through the cabinets. He might not be many things but damn he could be thorough if he needed to be.

It was slightly undignifying how much effort it took until he stood up on the counter and could finally reach the higher shelves. At last he got hold on a container and looked inside, already congratulating himself when he found a total of… seven bucks. Yeah no, that couldn't be. He counted again, felt around the cupboard to look if he had missed something. Still, the money stayed the same.

"You can stop looking, that's literally all that's left."

At the voice Mickey almost fell backwards off the counter, catching himself last minute on the open cabinet door. He spun around, drawing his gun and pointing it at whoever was behind him. He didn't know what he expected exactly but it certainly wasn't some dude in his underwear leaning casually against the wall at the staircase. "What the fuck?" he half-yelled, half-whispered, finger twitching on the trigger as he helplessly watched the seven dollars rain to the floor. The dude at the stairs pushed himself off the wall and lifted his empty hands in a defensive gesture.

"Whoa, can you put that away?"

Mickey stared dumbly at the guy for several seconds but didn't lower his weapon. Even though his eyes were used to the dark he couldn't see the dude that well so he couldn't be sure if this was some sort of trick. It had to be, no one was this stupid.

"Seriously, I'm unarmed. Want me to drop my shorts to prove it?" the guy asked. Mickey considered that for a moment- not because he wanted to see the dude's junk but because he wasn't in the mood to eat a bullet for breakfast. He sighed but actually secured his gun, stuffing it back into the back of his pants. "Thank you," the dude said.

Suddenly it was really fucking bright and Mickey's hands flew up to cover his face. "Jesus fuck!" he exclaimed, hopping off the counter without bothering to close the cabinet.

"You know, you might want to go to another part of town for good cash," the guy casually said from somewhere behind him. "What made you think this was a good idea?"

"I was bored," Mickey muttered crankily, finally daring to pull his hood back and look up again now that the brightness didn't hurt his eyes anymore. The dude stood a couple of steps away, arms crossed and a stupid fucking grin on his face. Begrudgingly Mickey noticed that he was pretty decent looking. No ugly crackhead, or Scarface wannabe… just a tall dude with short cropped ginger hair and subtle abdominal muscles that he was tempted to maybe touch a little really-not-innocently. Holy fuck, he should definitely not be staring like that. Mickey cleared his throat and looked away, calculating how quickly he could make it out the door so he could leave and never return.

"Want some coffee? Or a beer?" the dude asked and Mickey snapped his eyes back to him.

"The fuck kinda shit are you on?"

The guy laughed. "Nothing right now. So, coffee?"

"Uh…" Mickey said in a remarkable display of the English language as he sceptically watched the guy walk up next to him to prepare the coffee maker on the counter. He wasn't even sure why he was still just standing there instead of running, but fuck it. Back home he was all out of coffee, might as well take the opportunity.

When the machine began spitting dark liquid while emitting slurping sounds he noticed the guy staring at him before he snapped out of it and started picking up the money from the floor. Mickey may or may not have checked out his ass as he bent down- if no one else was there to witness it, it didn't happen. The guy tossed the money at him, the grin still in place. "Keep it, you went through a lot of effort to steal it."

Mickey involuntarily snorted out a laugh as he pocketed the notes and walked around the counter to sit at the other side of it. To watch the enemy, of course. No other reason. "I wouldn't consider walking in through an unlocked door 'a lot of effort' but whatever, man. Seven dollars are seven fucking dollars."

"You're forgetting your acrobatic display. I'd gladly pay seven bucks for that again."

Mickey raised an eyebrow, still not entirely sure if he believed the guy wasn't high on something. Before he could consider the many possibilities of abused substances, he found a steaming cup of coffee placed before him.

"You take milk with that? Sugar?"

"I look like a fucking pussy to you?" Mickey retorted, taking a sip.

"I'm Ian, by the way," the guy introduced himself. "What's your name?"

"Fuck you, is what my name is."

"Interesting," the dude- Ian- said, drinking from his own cup. "Well, at least I won't have trouble remembering that, since you got it on display."

"What?"

Ian laughed. "Nice tats," he elaborated.

Oh. Right. Mickey self-consciously hid his knuckles in his lap, reminded that having the words 'FUCK U-UP' tattooed on his hands had, in retrospect, not been his brightest idea. "It's Mickey," he uttered under his breath.

"Hm?"

"Mickey," he repeated more loudly. "My name's Mickey."

Ian's answering smile could probably make hell itself a brighter place, Mickey decided, trying hard to keep his own expression neutral.

They drank their coffee in companionable silence, stealing awkward glances at each other because the situation was fucking bizarre, alright. "Sorry, man, I just gotta ask… why are you dumb enough to keep your door unlocked?"

Ian shook his head with obvious amusement. "First of all, I didn't think anyone would be stupid enough to swoop in here and expect to actually find something worth stealing," he shot Mickey a pointed look, "But the main reason's my younger sister Fiona. She went AWOL a couple of weeks ago, left all her stuff. When she comes back I don't want her to freeze to death on the porch or anything." If Mickey looked really closely he could see the serious worry in Ian's eyes, so he averted his gaze. Instead he looked around for pictures.

"How old's your sister?"

"Which one?" Ian sounded lost in thought, so Mickey rolled his eyes only slightly.

"The one you just told me about, genius. Why, you got more than just the one?" Why the fuck was he even asking that shit?

"Yeah actually. Fiona's seventeen, my other sister, Debbie, is fourteen."

Mickey made a vague sound of acknowledgment around a mouthful of lukewarm coffee. "Any other siblings?"

"Three brothers. All younger than me."

"Holy fuck," was all Mickey could say to that. And then again, "Holy fuck!" Ian shrugged, pouring himself another cup. "Listen, I got two older brothers and a younger sis and that's fuckin' enough. How do your parents cope?"

"They don't." A dark expression passed over Ian's features but he was quick to regain his composure. Dude had a terrific poker face, Mickey had to give him that. "My mom took off after Liam was born and my dad's a drunk old bastard. I'm their legal guardian."

Mickey felt his eyebrows rise almost all the way up to his hairline. "You? Dude, you're like what, eighteen?"

"I'm twenty-one, fuck you very much."

Interesting, Mickey decided. "If you say so."

Before another long silence could stretch out between them and make itself at home, Ian changed the topic to something less awkward. Or, less awkward for him. "So, what's that seven dollars gonna buy you, huh?"

"You think your stupid fuckin' jokes are gonna make me give it back?"

"No, I think my 'stupid fucking jokes' are making you all flustered and I kinda like that."

Was that…? Was he…? Crap. "Are you flirtin' with me?"

"I dunno, is it working?"

"No!" Mickey said too quickly to not sound defensive. Ian just chuckled again.

"Then I wasn't flirting."

Fuck-fuck-fuck what was he fucking doing here, having coffee with the dude he'd just robbed and actually maybe kinda sorta enjoying his company. The hell?! This was bad. In fact, it would probably be best if he just got up right now and walked out that goddamn unlocked door.

"Tell me about your family."

Maybe it was the way Ian said it that made Mickey stay seated. He sounded genuinely curious, like he wanted to get to know something about Mickey that no one else bothered to listen to. So he talked. About his dad, who was constantly in and out of jail for all kinds of shit, about his sister, who he was secretly real proud of because she would be the first in the family to actually make it past ninth grade, about his brothers, who were honestly too dumb to live and would sooner or later fall victim to natural selection- Ian laughed at that last part and Mickey didn't bother to hide a small upwards curve of his mouth in return.

"Sounds like your average South Side household to me," Ian concluded, but he didn't say it as an insult, like everyone else did. He understood. Damn, Mickey almost regretted taking his last seven dollars by now. The redhead looked somewhere behind Mickey and suddenly yelped in surprise. "Fuck, I gotta start making breakfast, the kids are gonna be down soon."

"What?" Mickey asked, stunned at how quickly Ian had shifted from thoughtful to business. "What time's it?" He looked outside, realizing that it had gotten pretty light outside during their conversation.

"Just past six," Ian replied, throwing ingredients into a large mixing bowl and whisking them together before facing Mickey again. "Hey, you like banana pancakes?"

He loved them, so naturally he played it cool and shrugged indifferently. "Don't hate 'em."

"Great!" Ian exclaimed. "You're staying for breakfast."

"Um… alright." Free food, he'd be some big fucking dumbass if he declined.

It felt surprisingly not awkward as he sat there and watched Ian cook up stack after stack of- delicious smelling- pancakes. The guy was really fucking nice to look at, so sue him for appreciating the view when he had the chance. And come on. Dude wasn't wearing a shirt. He had no choice but to look at those hard angles and straight lines and maybe the smell of fresh food wasn't the only thing that made his mouth water. He was pulled from his thoughts when Ian called for his siblings at the top of his lungs- "GUYS! FOOD!"

It was like a scene out of a fucking comedy flick. One moment the house was quiet and nothing out of the ordinary and the next you had the freaking Von Trapp family come bouncing down the stairs. First was a boy Mickey guessed was about twelve, maybe thirteen, then came a girl with a head of red hair matching Ian's- 'Debbie', his mind provided- who was carrying a black toddler. Wait what? Mickey blinked, looking between the siblings. Except for the hair colour with Ian and Debbie, the kids looked nothing alike. It wasn't like Mickey shared a particular resemblance with his sister Mandy but compared to the youngest boy and Ian they were basically identical fucking twins. A minute later another boy came walking down the stairs. He was maybe a year or two younger than Ian. Since Fiona was out enjoying life or dying in a ditch, Mickey concluded they were now complete.

"Morning, guys!" Ian greeted them cheerfully. "I hope you're hungry, 'cause those pancakes won't eat themselves."

A collective yell of enthusiasm rang through the room and Mickey really should have been annoyed, God knew he tried hard enough, but somehow the scene of domesticity playing out before him was nice to observe. Ian was good with those kids. He treated them with respect and even though right now he was being more of the cool-older-brother type, Mickey had no doubt he could ace the stern-parent performance. It kinda turned him on a bit, imagining Ian all serious.

Christ, he should have never stayed for that coffee.

The last stack of pancakes was reserved for him, as Ian had promised, but only when the plate was placed before him did Mickey realize how hungry he was. Immediately he started shovelling the food in his mouth, barely containing a groan. Fuck but those were some good pancakes. If he hadn't been seriously turned on before, he definitely was now. He didn't have a problem with a diet of hot pockets, taquitos and beer, but a man that cold cook was his Kryptonite.

"Ian, who's your friend?" The question was asked in a pretty sultry voice for a fourteen-year-old and Mickey glared at Ian's sister.

"Oh, sorry," Ian said. "Guys, this is Mickey. Mickey- these are the Gallaghers."

Mickey was still trying to wrap his head around the last name when Ian started rattling off names. He'd been right about Debbie, the toddler was Liam, the boy who had come downstairs first was Carl and the one who'd come down last was… Lip? Yeah, no. He'd forget them the moment he left the house. Whenever that was gonna be.

The rest of breakfast was a pretty quiet affair, at least considering there were six fucking people sharing a meal. Debbie made sure Liam didn't choke on his food while Lip had his nose in a textbook and Carl chatted idly with Ian. Mickey was almost jealous. After another couple of minutes Ian clapped his younger brother on the shoulder and returned to working in the kitchen where he tossed Reese's bars and PB&J sandwiches into four brown lunch bags. Once was done dividing the food up, he clapped his hands. "Okay, plates in the sink and off to school. Carl, missing the bus is no excuse not to go, you'll have to walk, so no dawdling."

One after another the three older kids collected their food and said goodbye. Lip and Debbie shot each other a suspicious look before heading out and Mickey honestly believed they wouldn't actually say anything but just before the front door could fall shut, he heard the girl yell. "Have fun, you two!"

Ian shook his head with a laugh and walked over to where Liam was still sitting, gathering the boy up in his arms and balancing his small body on his hip. It was suddenly quiet again. Mickey almost missed the hurricane that was the Gallagher kids already, not that he would ever admit that. He didn't even know these people.

"Do you ever get tired of it?" he asked, carrying his dish to the sink like the kids had done and feeling a bit silly for both the action and the question.

"Fuck yes I get tired of it. You think taking care of five kids is a walk in the park? It's a full-time job, man. But I love them and I knew what I signed up for." Ian pressed a kiss to his brother's temple. "Wouldn't have left the Army if I didn't think I could handle it."

"You were with the Army?" Well, looks like life was sending Mickey a Fuck-you sundae with a cherry on top because of-fucking-course he now had the image of Ian in a uniform in his head. Which was only his biggest kink ever, FYI. Just awesome.

"Yeah, left when I turned eighteen, came back the moment I turned twenty-one."

Mickey didn't respect a lot of people because living on the South Side you rarely found someone worthy of respect. But holy fuck did he respect Ian Gallagher for what he did for his siblings. Knowing what it was like with nothing more than a shitty asswipe for a father, the Gallagher kids could consider themselves lucky with a brother like Ian.

There was really no use denying that Mickey was intrigued. He wanted to know more about the family background and Ian's life. He wanted to get to know him more than he knew anyone else, hell, more than Ian knew himself. And that was a pretty fucking scary thought right there, mind you.

"Hey, uh. You busy later today?" he asked before he could chicken out.

Ian smiled his stupidly beautiful lopsided smile. "I gotta get this little man," he shook Liam for emphasis, "to his day-care. After that I'm free. Any particular reason why you're asking?"

Stupid fucker.

"I know a burger place that actually serves edible food for five bucks a meal." He waddled the stolen money he'd kept in his pocket in the air. "Your treat?"

Ian cocked his head to the side, grinning. "You know that's still only seven dollars, right?"

"You really think tonight was the only breaking and entering I did this week?"

"Pardon my trust in humanity."

Mickey merely rolled his eyes- the gesture definitely not affectionate. No, sir- and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from the counter to scribble down his phone number like some fucking girl with a crush. "Text me for your number and I'll send you the directions to the place. Around three work for you?"

"Perfect," Ian said but Mickey didn't catch his expression, already halfway out the door when the redhead called after him. "It's a date!"

"Fuck you!" he yelled right back, grinning from ear to ear as he walked out the gate and down the street. Just as he passed the house with the hideous Christmas décor, his phone vibrated in his pocket and he got it out.

'Liam says bye' – Ian

If possible, Mickey's smile grew even wider and he found himself texting back a fucking smiley face.

Goddamnit, he was so fucking whipped.