Archive of Our Own ^beta

Debbie comes home, and the house is quiet.

For the Gallaghers, this is unusual, if not flat-out concerning; Debbie can count on one hand the number of times she’s come home to a quiet, empty house without there being something terribly wrong. Typically, the TV’s going or there’s music playing, and someone’s shouting or laughing or talking loudly over the sound of dinner sizzling on the stove. When Ian and Carl are home, they’re usually fucking around playing video games; when it’s Lip and Ian, they’re sitting in the backyard smoking a blunt and cackling like their own stupid jokes. Liam’s the only remotely quiet kid in their family, but even he can’t help getting sucked into the cacophony of Gallagher chaos.

And then there’s Fiona.

Fiona, in the kitchen, pots and pans clanging together as she cooks dinner for the family. Fiona, laughing loudly with V in the living room while folding laundry, catapulting more socks at her friend than she folds. Fiona, singing in the shower, her high, clear voice sweet as honey in the pale dawn sunlight.

Fiona, the backbeat of the Gallagher symphony. Fiona, who makes this house home.

The others not being up and moving this time of night is odd, but nothing that makes Debbie worry. Frank is, thankfully, passed out on the couch and snoring, one less problem for Debbie to deal with right now; Lip and Tami are out doing god-knows-what with their roller coaster of a relationship; Carl’s on his nightly run; and Liam and Franny should be asleep.

Debs confirms this after dumping her bag and keys on the kitchen counter and heading upstairs, and thankfully finds her daughter tucked safe and sound in bed, her thumb in her mouth. She’s so precious it makes her breath catch in her throat. Debbie smooths the covers over her narrow shoulders and presses a kiss to her fiery hair, careful not to wake her. Franny sighs in her sleep but does not stir.

Satisfied, Debbie peeks into Liam’s room. If the whistling sound of his breathing and the steady rise and fall of his space-patterned sheets are any indication, he’s out like a light. Debs leaves a crumpled handful of bills on his desk with a sticky note attached—thanks 4 babysitting!—and head back downstairs to the kitchen.

Careful not to wake anyone, Debbie grabs a beer from the fridge and pops off the cap. She takes two long, refreshing swigs while taking in the dim, empty kitchen. No, the others leaving the house quiet tonight isn’t so big a deal; what does make Debbie worry is Fiona’s absence.

With the way she’s been doing lately, her silence makes Debbie the most anxious. Shutting the fridge door with her hip, she glances out the back window—and glances something in the distance moving. She sets her beer down on the table and moves closer to get a good look. There’s a figure in the backyard that must be Fiona.

When Debs makes her way down, she lets out a sigh of relief. Tension unspools in her chest.

“Hey!” she calls. In the tall grass is her sister, sitting in one of their shitty plastic lawn chairs, facing the house. Fiona smiles, waves.

“Hey.”

“Mind if I join you?”

Fi gestures to the second chair beside her.

Debbie steps carefully through the overgrown lawn and over Franny’s discarded toys and eases herself down into the rickety old chair. The last time she saw Fiona sitting in one of these, she was drunk off her ass, sobbing about her apartment complex, about the carnage of her love life. Now, she seems almost worryingly calm.

Debbie’s so used to seeing Fiona stressed and working that it’s almost scary when she’s like this: her hands still, her brow light. She isn’t sure what to say.

“Hey,” she repeats, and it makes Fi laugh.

“Hey.”

Fiona gives her a soft smile before staring back up at the house, her eyes meticulously taking in every inch of the crumbling brick and exposed cement. She looks ethereal in the faint moonlight. Ephemeral. Like she could disappear into the air at any given moment.

Startled by her sister’s sudden appearance of fragility, Debbie reaches out to grab her hand. Fiona squeezes her palm as though in reassurance.

“You okay?”

Debbie scoffs. “I should be asking you that! What are you doing out here?”

“I dunno,” Fi sighs, shrugging. “Just… thinking.”

“Hm.”

They’re silent for a moment, taking in the sounds of the neighborhood: faint music in the distance, the distinct chugging of the El, the humming of the cicadas. Debbie starts absentmindedly rubbing a thumb in circles over Fiona’s bony knuckles.

After several minutes, Fi says quietly, “I went to visit Ian today.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. He… I just—needed some advice. And he gave me a lot to think about.”

“You’re leaving, aren’t you.”

Debbie isn’t sure what makes her say it; why she’s suddenly so sure it must be the case. As abruptly as the realization comes on, however, she finds that it isn’t so shocking. It doesn’t make her feel like a child—terrified, abandoned. It doesn’t make her feel small. Just… sad.

Fiona goes very still in the seat beside her and does not meet her gaze.

“It’s time,” she says, and her voice is so small it sounds like a plea, “I’ve got nothing going for me here: no job, no partner… And you kids are all grown up. Except for Liam.” Fiona rubs at one eye with her spare fist. “I’m going to talk to him in the morning, see if he wants to come or if Lip can take over his guardianship. And then…”

She shrugs then, trails off. And then—freedom. And then—everything she was denied in childhood.

Fiona glances as Debbie, a shadow of worry crossing over her face.

“Are you mad at me?” she asks, and she sounds so young it makes Debbie want to sob.

“No,” she whispers, and is surprised to find that it’s true. She squeezes Fiona’s hand. “No, I’m not. You’ve done… everything for us. You deserve to live a life of your own. It’s just that… It’s just that I’ll miss you so much.” Fiona smiles, her eyes watery.

“I’ll miss you too. But I’ll call every day. It’s not like I’ll disappear. Promise.”

Debbie slides her palm out of Fi’s and links their pinkies together instead. “Promise.”

They sit there in companionable silence for a long moment, looking up at the back of the house. The small bedside light in the boys’ room comes on for a few minutes, then goes off again. Maybe Liam had gotten up to use the bathroom. Or grab a drink of water. Fiona smiles up at the slanting blinds wistfully and swallows hard, as though suddenly overwhelmed by emotion. It startles Debbie how abruptly vulnerable she looks; how tired.

Growing up, Fiona was her everything. A pseudo mother, since Monica wasn’t around. A pseudo father, too, since Frank was the way he was. A best friend. A protector. A provider.

Unlike the younger boys, Debbie was never unaware of Fiona’s reality; just not entirely privy to her secrets. She could see, even as a little girl, everything her sister did for them, the sacrifices she made, how hard she worked. How much it weighed on her. How desperately she had to fight. And even then, she knows there are things Fiona hid from her, things she’ll never understand about her sister’s childhood, not because Debs can’t handle the knowledge, but because Fi would never unveil the most damaged parts of herself to her.

They’ve come a long way since seeing each other as mother and daughter, worked hard at finally being sisters again, but there are some things you can’t erase—some self-preservation habits that never go away.

Debbie’s thinking about sacrifice and motherhood and choice when Fiona interrupts, her voice shaky.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about second chances,” she says, “About do-overs. Leaving… Leaving feels like a do-over. But I wish I could have a second shot at so many things. I’ve made so many mistakes.”

“Haven’t we all?” Debbie laughs. Fiona, however, looks over at her soberly, tears glittering in her eyes, and it makes the smile drain off Deb’s face in an instant. “Hey. What’s wrong?” Fi takes a long, shuddering breath.

“I’m so sorry I treated you so badly when you were pregnant,” she finally confesses, “And for kicking you out over Franny. I was so scared and so worried and… Instead of being a good sister and a responsible guardian about all that fear, I was so fucking… mean to you. And I'm so—I’m so sorry.”

Her face crumples then. It’s always like a punch in the gut to see Fiona cry; she never likes to do it when anyone else can see. Even now, she lets go of Debbie’s hand to bury her face in her palms, shuddering into them, folding in on herself like a paper doll.

The thought causes Debbie’s heart to lurch. It feels unnaturally, cosmically wrong to see her big, strong sister so small.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Deb’s coos, leaning up out of her chair to kneel in front of Fiona, pulling her hands away from her tear-stained face. She wonders if this is how Lip felt that one time, all those years ago, picking her up from Sheboygan at the crack of dawn. He’d told her about how little she’d seemed, devastated and half frozen. She’d struggled to believe him then, but now—

“I’m sorry,” Fiona gasps, and Debbie cups her wan cheeks in her palms.

“It’s okay,” she promises, fighting back her own tears, eyes wide and soothing, “It’s okay. I forgive you, Fiona. I forgave you a long time ago, okay? Not because I think you did the right thing, but because I understand. I wouldn’t say all the right things or do everything perfect if—if Franny did what I did at that age. I get it now. Fiona, I forgive you.

“And besides,” Debbie adds, a little shameful, “I was mean to you, too. Not just when I was pregnant, I mean—for years, I was just… so mean to you.”

“You were just a teenager—”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Debs interrupts, “I was young, yes, and—going through something, but that’s no excuse. I was still terrible to you.

“I don’t think it occurred to me until recently that… When you were that age, you were raising all of us. Working. Doing your best to be a good parent.” She shakes her head, stroking a thumb gently back and forth over Fiona’s cheek. Her finger catches a stray tear along its path, smearing shiny wetness across her face. Fi leans into her hand, seemingly subconsciously.

“I’m sorry for being mean to you,” Deb’s whispers, “And for not standing up for you when Lip kicked you out. And—being so harsh about you making money when you were…” Addicted? Spiraling? “Struggling.”

Fiona musters up a thin, watery smile and turns her head to press a kiss into Debbie’s palm. Her thin fingers come up to circle her wrists, like she can’t bear to let Debs go.

“And I’m sorry…” Debbie swallows, feeling herself well up a little. “I’m sorry I didn’t name Franny after you.”

Fiona jolts a little. “What?”

“I… I always wanted to,” she confesses, “I used to imagine it when I was little. Having my own little FiFi or maybe making it my daughter’s middle name. But I… I had her against your advice, and we were fighting, and Frank was—was there, manipulating me again, and I loved him, but—” Debbie can feel a rebellious tear streak down her cheek. “I missed you so much and I was so angry. And so I didn’t.”

“Oh, Debbie,” Fiona breathes, and she sounds so brokenhearted it makes her want to cry more.

“Do you…Do you forgive me back?” she asks instead. That makes a sad little laugh bubble up out of Fiona’s mouth, and a few more tears to slip down her cheek. Still, she’s smiling. Still beautiful.

“Of course I do,” Fiona says, “Oh, Debbie. I hate fighting with you. I wish we hadn’t been so…” She shakes her head, lost for the words.

“Cruel to each other?” Debbie suggests, “Distant? Confused?”

“Scared,” finishes Fi. Her hands squeeze Debbie’s wrists. “And confused. And hurt. We could’ve been sisters again so much sooner.”

“Yeah.” And now you’re leaving, Debbie’s traitorous mind thinks, Now you’re leaving and we’re too late.

“But I’m glad I have you. Hey,” Fiona says with sudden determination, her cheeks still wet but her eyes dry and clear. She leans forward in her chair to press her forehead to Debbie’s, and Deb’s eyelids flutter at the affection—familiar, maternal. “I know I’m moving, but I’m not leaving you. Not really. I’m always going to be there for you.”

It’s been a long time since Debbie saw Fiona as her mother. She’s all grown up now, with a child of her own, and she’s taken care of her big sister right back. But a small part of her still wishes nothing ever had to change; that she could just have a little more time under her big sister’s wing, a year or two where they just get to love each other with nothing else in the way.

But Fiona needs to leave. And Debbie needs to let her go. She deserves better than what she’s got here; she always has.

“I love you,” Debbie says softly. Fiona smiles, pushes a lock of red hair back off her forehead.

“I love you too, kid. Take care of yourself, okay? And take care of this old place for me. It’s gonna need someone like you.”

“I will,” Deb’s promises, and links their pinkies together again. “I swear. Everything’s going to be alright.”

In the distance, a plane hums past them in the night sky. The El chugs on. Crickets chirp. Things will never be the same again, with Fiona gone. But there’ll always be Fiona, on the other end of the phone call.

Always Fiona, chasing her dreams.