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Jan. 30th, 2016 12:41 amShe's missed this. A part of her feels awful for thinking so, given the shit that's going on now, the painfully familiar state she'd seen Ian in, but then, their lives wouldn't be their lives if there weren't something fucked up going on at any time. It comes with the territory of being a Gallagher. Anything else, and that's what would be impossible to wrap her head around. This... God knows it's not going to be easy, least of all for Ian, but at least it's something she has an idea of what to do about. At least she's here for it at all. She would count herself lucky to have gotten out early anyway, but now she really does. It's a hell of a thing to have come home to, but she can't imagine the others having to deal with it on their own with her in jail for another eighty-some days, Debbie and Carl only somewhat recently acquainted with the extent of what this did to Monica, Lip with so much on his plate already. A lot of that is her fault, and she's not sure she'll ever really forgive herself for that. Sitting on their front steps with his hand in hers, though, everything feels closer to normal than it has in a long time.
Finally, finally, she's gotten her family back. The rest, she can deal with. It doesn't mean there's not a lot of shit she still has to figure out, but she feels a lot more capable of it now than she did even a few days ago, and she's pretty sure that has less to do with the NA meeting than this right here.
Fiona isn't sure how long they stay there, but finally she pulls herself to her feet, tugging at her sleeves as she does. "I'm going inside," she says. "Don't freeze to death out here, okay?" With as used to Chicago winters as they are, she knows full well there isn't any chance of that, but they could probably use a little levity, under the circumstances. There hasn't been much of that in a long time now, or at least what feels like it, the time since her birthday having felt like a fucking eternity. Shooting Lip one last thin smile, she pulls open the front door and steps into the house.
Except it's not the house she steps into. Just where she is, Fiona hasn't got a fucking clue, but she's lived in one place her entire life, and whatever this place is, it's not that. It's in much better shape, for one, and when she turns to glance back out the door, it's a different door. Instinctively, she tenses, trying hard not to panic. Shit, Lip just finished telling her that people can have their first psychotic break anytime in their teens or twenties, and she's still firmly within range of that, and wouldn't that be just her luck, too? Gets out of jail, finally starts to pull herself together, only to lose it in spectacular fashion at the worst possible time. That's the last thing she needs. The last thing any of them fucking need, after everything else.
A shrill beeping sound pulls her from her thoughts, and she glances down at the monitor on her ankle, the source of it. In a way, it's as much a comfort as it is a relief. On one hand, it means chances are she hasn't snapped, because it wouldn't be doing that if she were standing just inside the front door of her own house. On the other, she doesn't have a fucking clue how she's going to explain this to her PO without sounding like she's gone on another bender, and she really doesn't want to get hauled off to jail again already, least of all when she didn't do anything this time.
Tapping her foot anxiously, as if that might be enough to stop the ankle monitor beeping, she takes a few unsteady breaths, then blurts out, "Shit. Shit!"
Finally, finally, she's gotten her family back. The rest, she can deal with. It doesn't mean there's not a lot of shit she still has to figure out, but she feels a lot more capable of it now than she did even a few days ago, and she's pretty sure that has less to do with the NA meeting than this right here.
Fiona isn't sure how long they stay there, but finally she pulls herself to her feet, tugging at her sleeves as she does. "I'm going inside," she says. "Don't freeze to death out here, okay?" With as used to Chicago winters as they are, she knows full well there isn't any chance of that, but they could probably use a little levity, under the circumstances. There hasn't been much of that in a long time now, or at least what feels like it, the time since her birthday having felt like a fucking eternity. Shooting Lip one last thin smile, she pulls open the front door and steps into the house.
Except it's not the house she steps into. Just where she is, Fiona hasn't got a fucking clue, but she's lived in one place her entire life, and whatever this place is, it's not that. It's in much better shape, for one, and when she turns to glance back out the door, it's a different door. Instinctively, she tenses, trying hard not to panic. Shit, Lip just finished telling her that people can have their first psychotic break anytime in their teens or twenties, and she's still firmly within range of that, and wouldn't that be just her luck, too? Gets out of jail, finally starts to pull herself together, only to lose it in spectacular fashion at the worst possible time. That's the last thing she needs. The last thing any of them fucking need, after everything else.
A shrill beeping sound pulls her from her thoughts, and she glances down at the monitor on her ankle, the source of it. In a way, it's as much a comfort as it is a relief. On one hand, it means chances are she hasn't snapped, because it wouldn't be doing that if she were standing just inside the front door of her own house. On the other, she doesn't have a fucking clue how she's going to explain this to her PO without sounding like she's gone on another bender, and she really doesn't want to get hauled off to jail again already, least of all when she didn't do anything this time.
Tapping her foot anxiously, as if that might be enough to stop the ankle monitor beeping, she takes a few unsteady breaths, then blurts out, "Shit. Shit!"
