He grunted as he pushed himself off the couch and headed for the door when he heard what sounded like Ian struggling with the keys to unlock their apartment. He was already irate before he even whipped the door open. He'd been calling Ian for the last three hours without a response.
"Where the fuck -"
"Mickey!" Ian's eyes widened in happy surprise when he was spotted. Mickey's quick inventory of his husband included glassy eyes, a flushed face, and poor coordination as most of his weight appeared to be on Carl.
"Please take him." Carl, who was in his full police uniform, struggled to remove the arm Ian had wrapped around his shoulders.
"Why the fuck is he wasted at four in the afternoon?" Mickey demanded as he accepted Ian's weight, including a boa constrictor-like arm around his own shoulder. "He said you two were gonna go for a jog together."
"Carl roofied me," Ian murmured into Mickey's neck, and with the proximity, Mickey immediately smelled something sweet on Ian's breath. "Had me blow a guy."
Mickey's glare turned murderous as he took a threatening step towards his brother-in-law, even with Ian koala'd onto his side.
"No, I didn't, and you did not blow a guy, Ian," Carl said with an eye roll, unphased by Mickey's glare or advance on his person. "They asked you to blow a PBT and you couldn't even manage it."
Mickey's face twisted in confusion, but he wanted to get Ian out of their doorway before he forced Carl to elaborate further. He managed to get Ian to their couch and wrestled him down to sit. Then he turned back to Carl again, eyebrows now high on his forehead. "Explain. Start with why. The. Fuck. Is he trashed?"
"I didn't roofie him. I gave him two shots," Carl explained.
"Roofied," Ian murmured again from the couch. "Police brutality."
Mickey glanced down at his husband and found Ian touching the tip of his nose with alternating pointer fingers. Mickey frowned before heading to the kitchen to get Ian some water.
"You know he can't have fucking shots on his medication, jackass," Mickey lectured. He returned to find Ian still sitting, thankfully, but also glaring at his little brother. Carl had his thumbs tucked into the vest of his uniform and seemed unphased by Ian's anger. "So, what? You guys went drinking instead of jogging and some dumbass street cop -"
"Hey!"
"- harassed him?" Mickey slowly waved the glass in Ian's face until he focused on it enough to take it from Mickey's hand.
"Thanks, Mick," Ian said with a slow smile in Mickey's direction.
"Okay, hear me out," Carl began.
The warm feeling in Mickey's chest from Ian's grin was immediately replaced with dread as he realized he wasn't gonna like whatever this Gallagher-themed bullshit was going to be.
Carl finally closed their apartment door, although he didn't move away from it, and staying close to the exit was another bad sign as far as Mickey was concerned. Ian tugged on his arm and Mickey let Ian pull him down next to him on the couch. Ian slumped into his side and he rested a reassuring hand on Ian's thigh and gave him a squeeze. It'd been a while since Ian had even been tipsy, so he was already dreading the hangover that was to come.
"What?" he barked at Carl before gently nudging Ian's hand to remind his husband to drink the water.
"Rookies are required to bring in inebriated people so we can practice field sobriety testing," Carl explained matter-of-factly.
"So why not just grab a drunk off the fucking street?" Mickey demanded as he realized where this story was heading.
"Because," Carl said slowly, as if explaining the concept to a child, "drunks on the street are typically very uncooperative and disorderly. We're supposed to bring in a friend or family volunteer."
"You volunteered for this shit?" Mickey asked, turning back to Ian.
"No!" Ian tried to lunge for Carl, but his long giraffe legs weren't cooperating, and he only managed to fall back into Mickey's side and spill some of his water on Mickey's jeans. "He didn't fucking tell me where he was taking me or that he put rum in my Gatorade bottle!"
At that, Mickey jumped up to lunge at Carl himself, but only made it to his feet before Ian's giant-ass hands wrapped around his waist and held him back.
"You did fucking roofie him!"
"Rum is not a roofie," Carl countered.
"You know what I fucking mean, asswipe," Mickey fumed, equally pissed that Ian was taken advantage of and that Carl didn't appear to be appropriately terrified of the fuming Milkovich only a few feet away from him. "Why would you assume he'd be okay with this?"
"Bad assumped, Carl," Ian tried to say. "Assumped?"
"Did you go after him because you knew his medication would make him an easy target?"
"He's my brother, I didn't go after him," Carl stated with an exasperated tone, as if Mickey was the unreasonable one in this situation. "Although, it would take a fucking fortune to buy enough alcohol to get you drunk compared to Ian. And, obviously, Lip can't do it. Tami is pregnant. I'd be stuck taking care of Franny for the night if I asked Debbie. And Liam's underage."
"You thought about Lip's disease but not Ian's?" Mickey growled, even though he already knew the answer. Carl's newly confused expression only solidified that. "Alcohol can decrease the effectiveness of his medication, dumbass."
"Why do you sound like Google right now?" Carl asked, although he at least had the decency to look guilty for the first time since he'd arrived.
"Because, unlike his own brother, who apparently doesn't care if he sabotages him, I know how to do research and pay attention to the doctor," Mickey ranted, even though it had likely been a rhetorical question. Ian managed to pull himself closer to where Mickey stood and he wrapped his arms around Mickey's waist and pressed the side of his face against Mickey's abdomen.
"Assplumtion? Assplum? Ass play?" Ian snorted a laugh. "Mick. Mickey, ass play."
"That seems like a low blow," Carl said with a one-shouldered shrug. "It's not like I'd know any that. I don't go to his doctor appointments."
"Ass play," Ian whispered into Mickey's stomach before he laughed loudly. One of his hands roamed down to squeeze Mickey's ass before he laughed again.
"I should kick your fucking ass, Carl," Mickey growled, doing his best to turn so Carl wasn't getting a fucking show of Ian groping his ass. "That was a shitty thing to do and he's gonna be pissed when he's sober again."
"Pissed, now" Ian murmured. Due to Mickey's movements, he let go of Mickey's ass and wrapped that arm back around his husband's waist while his other hand slowly traveled towards his belt buckle.
"Yeah, well, so am I!" Carl exclaimed. "It was supposed to be an easy training exercise and earn me some brownie points. But he could barely do any of the tests, refused to blow into the breathalyzer, and then started yelling at everyone and kicking at my supervisors when they tried to put the cuffs on him."
"Why would they fucking cuff him!" Mickey erupted. Ian startled at the outburst, but didn't protest when Mickey grabbed his hands, including the one that had been trying to unbuckle Mickey's belt. One look at the red and irritated state of those poor freckled wrists had Mickey lunging at Carl.
"Shit," Carl exhaled as he ripped the apartment door open. "It's a felony to assault a police officer!" Carl yelled as he sprinted down the hall.
"It wouldn't my first," Mickey yelled back as he barreled after him.
Carl nearly ran over Mrs. Fletcher as she exited the elevator and began pressing the Door Close button repeatedly. Mickey reached the doors just as they were shutting, and, in a panic, Carl threw something at him. Mickey caught it on reflex, which kept him from sticking his hands in between the closing doors to stop Carl's escape.
Mickey cursed as he realized Carl had thrown Ian's phone at him, explaining why he couldn't reach Ian all afternoon.
"I'm gonna beat your ass!" he screamed towards the elevator doors, sure that Carl could still hear him.
Mrs. Fletcher tsk'd behind him. "Mickey, you should not threaten a peace officer."
"He's my brother-in-law," Mickey grumbled as he headed back towards his apartment.
"Oh, then that's fine," Mrs. Fletcher said with a completely serious nod. "Do you and Ian like apple pie? My daughter-in-law made several for a school auction and my son begged me to buy the last of them so she would think they were a hit. I have too many."
Mickey stopped in his tracks and gladly took one of the boxes she offered with a grin. "Sounds good to me. Thanks, Mrs. F."
"Mickey!" Ian yelled from within their apartment. "Ass play!"
Mickey blew out a breath as he felt a flush travel up his neck to his face. "I'm just gonna…" he nodded his head towards his door and ignored Mrs. Fletcher's smirk.
"I miss being young," she sighed as she watched the Gallagher-Milkovich apartment door shut.