When news first breaks that the Lishman Corporation is opening one of its flagship free clinics in Canaryville, Fiona Gallagher's first reaction is one of bone-crushing relief. No more sitting up with sick kids hoping they don't get worse because she can't afford the bills, no more wanting to curl up in a ball and cry when Carl finds yet another way to break his own bones, no more panicking when Ian's medication runs out and she hasn't got the money for more. It seems like their entire lives revolve around money, how much they don't have and when more is coming in and what needs to be paid when it does. She is still haunted by the memory of last winter, sitting next to Liam's hospital bed as the doctors got his breathing regulated and she vacillated between hoping he got better and praying that the health insurance from her last job hadn't been cancelled yet. She'd been let go the day before, eight days before Christmas, and the excuses would have felt sincere if she hadn't heard them so many times before. Cutbacks. You were last in, it's just unfortunate. We'll call you if anything else comes up. She could recite every single one from memory.
The health insurance had been cancelled, of course, which was just their shitty luck, and so they'd spent three weeks without heat, huddling into beds together to keep warm, until Carl of all people had arrived home with a bundle of torn notes and pressed them into her hand. She'd stared at him in disbelief and he'd just rolled his eyes at her and told her to get the gas turned on already, because he was fucking freezing and sick of sharing his bed with Liam. She never asked him where he got the money, or told him that she knew that Liam ended up in his bed anyway, more often than not; she'd just hugged the package he'd given her into her chest, taken a moment to breathe and blink away the exhausted tears in her eyes and then reached for the one phone they had left that hadn't been cut off.
She watches the news channel intently as they repeat the story, listening to one of the Lishmans talking about how they grew up in Chicago and felt the need to give something back to their city, and allows a tiny part of herself to hope that this is the start of things getting better.
In contrast, Frank Gallagher's first reaction is a rambling monologue about the arrogance of the rich and the pitfalls of modern medicine and how doctors think they know it all but really they're just out for all they can get. He's sitting at the bar in The Alibi, it's eleven am and already most of the regulars are in attendance, groaning as they become aware that Frank's on his high horse about something yet again.
"Must be Wednesday," Tommy mutters under his breath, deliberately avoiding making eye contact. He knows from experience that engaging Frank when he's like this will only ruin his morning.
"Their city," Frank is saying scornfully, as the news channel that Kev's set the flatscreen onto re-runs the same clip of the Lishman brothers over and over again. "They don't know shit about this city. These rich pricks think they can come here and tell us how to live our lives?"
There's a moment of silence as everyone exchanges knowing looks, and then Kermit hesitantly mentions his mother's gammy leg, his girlfriend's heart condition and Frank immediately changes direction. "Doctors," he says, pointing his beer down the bar at Kermit. "Are crooks. Making up all these bullshit diseases—and why? So that schmucks like us will pay them to cure us. Well, I'm not falling for it. We don't need their fucking charity."
"It's a free clinic, Frank," Kev points out tiredly. "They're not asking for anything."
"Ah, not yet they're not." Frank's attention swings back to Kev, whose shoulders noticeably sag. "But just you wait, Kevin. Just you wait, once they've got us right where they want us then they'll stick their hands out. You mark my words…"
He rambles on for a good ten minutes, getting louder and louder with his arms waving wildly, while Kev nods and pretends to listen and Kate rolls her eyes and turns her back on them to stack the pint glasses. Frank's in the middle of a rant about the medical profession getting people hooked on drugs so that they can charge them to keep giving them out, when he pauses to try and swindle a free shot of whiskey out of Kev and then stops mid-sentence as an idea occurs to him. He's out of the door like a shot, Kev's mouth hanging open as he watches him go, and as it swings shut behind him everyone in the bar breathes a sigh of relief. Kev takes a shot for himself instead, downs it, and considers it well-deserved for having not punched Frank in the face.
Fiona's second reaction is to wonder about the possibility of maybe getting a job. She's done admin and reception work before, even if it was just temping, and she's sure a venture of this size will need a good few people to deal with paperwork. It would be ideal she thinks, well-paid with good benefits, and she knows that if she can only find a way to get her foot in the door, she could be good at it. She runs a household of five kids, for fuck's sake, has done since she was seventeen, and working admin is a piece of cake in comparison. There's a sudden fire in her belly, lit by the possibility, however small, of things maybe going right for them, just this once. She scours the article that appears in the local paper the next day, but it's too focused on the fact that so many people in their neighbourhood will be able to access healthcare for the first time and the only mention of employment opportunities is in a tiny addendum at the end, with a New York phone number for anyone who might have enquiries. Her fingers fly over the phone keys, not even thinking about how much the long-distance call might cost her, and within minutes she's talking to a snooty receptionist who tells her that recruitment will be advertised nearer to the time but that she'll send out an application pack all the same. Fiona holds her breath until the line disconnects, and then whoops out loud.
Ironically, Frank's second reaction is also to wonder about Fiona getting a job, although it's for entirely different reasons. He sits in the Gallagher kitchen two days later, drinking a beer he snuck from the fridge when Fiona wasn't looking, and tells her his plan. She glares at him incredulously, wondering how her father still manages to surprise her with the depths he'll sink to.
"Fuck you, Frank," she says, weaving around the kitchen as she speaks. She grabs dishes from the table and the breakfast bar and sticks them into hot water in the sink. "I am not getting a job so that I can steal drugs for you." She collects laundry from the pile under the chute, shoves it into the larger pile in the corner; tries to remember whose turn it is to put it on and then sighs and accepts that she'll probably end up doing it herself. She hears Frank's intake of breath as he opens his mouth for another try and she whips round, one of Liam's t-shirts still in her hand. "I am not stealing drugs for you, period."
"Aw, c'mon Fiona." Frank adopts a self-pitying whine, one that she's heard countless times before and has long since grown immune to. "It's not a big deal. Just a couple of pills, that's all. Some Oxy, a few Perco—"
"No, Frank."
Ian Gallagher doesn't hear about the clinic until several days later, having been stuck in a dorm room studying furiously for a mid-term, but when it's over and he calls Lip to tell him how it went, his brother fills him in.
"It's the talk of the neighbourhood," Lip tells him. "I'm amazed they're not queuing up outside the place already."
Ian's first thought is that maybe it will take some of the pressure off Fiona, maybe it might help with the cost of his own medication among other things, and he really hopes it will. He's seen Fiona, sitting up late at night with creases etched into her forehead, dark circles under her eyes and bills spread out on the table in front of her, and he hates how unfair it all is. She had never asked for this, not that any of them had, but her burden is so much heavier than the rest of them. He and Lip help out where they can, but it's been harder since they've gone to college and have their own expenses to cover, and he knows that Debbie and Carl pull as much weight as they can, but somehow his sister just seems to look so much older and more worn every time he sees her. Ian feels like somehow a huge part of that is his fault, his stupid fucked up biology that means he can't get through the day without some ever-changing cocktail of drugs. He wonders if this clinic will help at all with that, and he really hopes so because lately, even with the medication, he feels like he's drowning and pulling Fiona and everyone else down too. He seems to trudge through his days on auto-pilot, terrified every time he feels too right or too wrong that the whole cycle is starting again, and afraid to go back to the doctor to ask about his medication in case the next one they want to try is even more expensive than the last. He's been wondering, lately, if this is what it will be like forever, if it will ever change or if at some point this will just become his new normal, and he's not sure which possibility scares him more.
It's several weeks after the announcement was first made that Jimmy Lishman and his brother make their way to Chicago. The clinic is almost done, is due to open in a couple of weeks' time, and it's been well documented that the Lishmans always ensure to oversee the opening of their clinics personally to ensure that they get off to a good start. They spend the first three days doing recruitment, interviewing for the admin staff last, and the entire Gallagher household is on tenterhooks waiting for Fiona's return.
When she comes through the door, her face gives nothing away and there's a moment of silence before Carl blurts out an impatient, "Well?" She holds the face for a few seconds more before breaking into a huge grin, and the kitchen is filled with cheers and whistles.
"Five days a week, mornings," she tells them. "It's perfect."
"What were they like?" Veronica asks her. "Because those boys looked hot on the tv."
"Hey!" Kev protests from beside her, and she waves her hand at him dismissively.
"Very hot," Fiona confirms with a laugh as she takes the celebratory beer that Lip is handing her. "The older one was a bit snooty, but the younger one was nice. Friendly." She smiles a little, and Veronica wolf-whistles. Fiona pokes her tongue out. "Shut up, he's probably like that with everyone. You can all see for yourselves though, he said he'll be coming out to the Alibi to check out the local nightlife."
"Nightlife?!" Lip snorts. "He'll be in for a shock. He'll probably end up getting mugged."
Jimmy Lishman sticks to his word and on the following Friday, the packed-out Alibi falls silent at around eight-thirty when he, his brother and a third man walk through its door. Kev falls over himself to welcome them in, offers them a free drink which Jimmy declines in favour of buying a round for the whole bar instead. A rousing cheer is raised, and he finds pats on the back coming from all sides.
He makes polite conversation with everyone, smiling widely and answering even the most banal questions, but his eyes are searching the bar and when they finally find Fiona at the bar, he makes his excuses and weaves over to her. He taps her on the shoulder, offers her another drink, and she bites her lip and smiles as she agrees. Veronica leans over, whispers something in her ear that makes Fiona laugh and swat at her, and then Vee moves down the bar to talk to Kev.
Ian's sitting at a table in the corner with the rest of his siblings, and he eyes the newcomers curiously. They're ridiculously out of place—even though they look like they've attempted to dress down in jeans and casual shirts they still look hilariously over-dressed. Lishman and his brother seem nice enough, Ian thinks, and Jimmy in particular has a pleasant face with a friendly smile, although they're both a bit too clean-cut for Ian's liking.
The third man, on the other hand, is shorter than Jimmy but a little broader, with dark hair and sharp blue eyes, and looks like he has a rough edge despite his tailored clothes. Ian is intrigued; he watches him as Jimmy remains the centre of attention, notes the tension in his shoulders and how he looks like he'd rather be any place other than here. It's a total contrast to Jimmy's easy-going friendliness and his brother's polite-but-stilted conversation.
Gossip spreads quickly around the bar about the Lishmans' friend, and Ian hears so many different stories that all he knows for sure is that his name is Milkovich and he's recently inherited his family's company which means, if Ian believes what each person says to him in a conspiratorial whisper, that he is filthy rich. Ian's not sure it necessarily does mean that, but the three of them are certainly richer than anyone else in the room, and pretty much every woman in the bar knows it. Several of them approach the Lishmans and although they make conversation with all of them and smiles in all the right places, it's clear Jimmy only has eyes for Fiona and news quickly spreads that the elder brother, Chip, is married with several small children and apparently takes his vows very seriously. There's an air of disappointment when that fact sets in, and eventually all the attention turns to their friend, despite the fact that his sour expression never cracks and he pretty much ignores each and every one of them, nursing beer after beer at the bar instead while everyone else has fun around him.
"Do you think they'd find him quite so attractive if he wasn't so rich?" Ian murmurs to Lip with a grin and Lip smirks.
"Fuck no," Lip answers with a laugh. "Can't blame them though, right? Hell, I think even I'd give it a bash if I thought I stood a chance." Ian stares at him incredulously and Lip feigns innocence. "What? For that kind of money? I'd totally do it." He pauses, considering. "Well, as long as I could be the one, y'know. Sticking it in." He makes a lewd gesture with his arm, forming a fist and punching it forward, and Ian snorts and pushes his brother's shoulder. Lip shoves him back, and they wrestle good-naturedly until Lip manoeuvres Ian down into a headlock and then ruffles his hair affectionately before releasing him. "Later, little bro'. Gonna see if I can distract some of these eyes. Can't let the rich dudes have all the fun, right?" Ian rolls his eyes and gives him a last, gentle shove and Lip slopes off, eyes tracking the room until he settles on a pretty blonde who's poking a straw at the last dregs of her drink. Ian watches as Lip turns on the charm, tells a couple of jokes until the girl can't help but laugh. They move towards the bar together, Lip spinning some sort of line about the importance of hydration, and Ian smiles faintly.
He mooches around for a bit, makes jokes with the regulars, smiles cheerfully when Fiona brings Jimmy over to introduce him to everyone, and then eventually finds himself sitting alone at the table, nursing a half-drunk beer. He's bored now, watching people pair up when he can't—he ignores the voice in the back of his mind that says won't because in the Alibi at least, it's definitely can't—but although he'd rather not be here, he feels almost obliged to stay until his family is ready to leave, because inevitably at least one of them will need to be half-carried home and he'll probably be the only one who's anywhere near sober. Lip's still at the bar, with a different girl this time, Carl's got himself into some sort of drinking contest—Ian's slightly disturbed by the fact that his brother actually seems to be winning—while Debbie is dancing up a storm and Frank is trying to make conversation with the Lishmans' friend Milkovich. He's pointedly ignoring Frank's barely coherent ramblings, eventually going so far as to turn his back on Frank mid-sentence and walk away, walking straight past Ian to stand just to the side of the door to the street. Jimmy has clearly been watching too, from across the room where he's standing at Fiona's side; Ian watches as he leans in close to whisper in her ear and then slides his arm from where it's been resting loosely around her waist, taking care to do it slowly and drag his fingers across her back. She just looks at Jimmy and rolls her eyes, laughing a little, and Ian smiles. It's nice to see Fiona having fun for a change. She's smiling wider than Ian's seen in a long time, her body swaying in time to the tinny beat of the music that's playing, and Ian wonders if Jimmy realises quite how unusual that is these days.
Jimmy crosses the room and then stops in front of Milkovich, giving him a half-hearted punch to the shoulder. "What's going on, Mick?" he says, and Ian chances a glance across at them as he listens intently to their conversation. "You've been standing around with a long face all night. Come and have some fun with us."
"Seriously? In a fucking dive like this?" His tone is sneering, and Ian feels his hackles rise a little. He knows full well that the Alibi is a dive, it's the kind of place that no-one would look twice at, but it's theirs. It's community and family and home, and he resents the way that it's being so easily dismissed. He sneaks another look in time to see Jimmy frown at his friend and Milkovich glare right back at him, before gesturing towards Fiona. "Look, you've found yourself a pretty girl and I think you probably picked the best out of a seriously bad bunch," he continues dismissively. "No-one here's worth my time."
"Plenty of ladies to choose from, man," Jimmy says, gesturing to the packed out bar. Milkovich scowls at him; Jimmy laughs and then adds with a good-natured grin, "or guys, y'know. Fiona's got brothers." Ian feels his eyes widen in surprise at the implication of the comment and looks down at his drink to hide the smile that's twitching at the corner of his lips. Well, well, he thinks. Maybe Lip's in with a chance after all.
He chances another look up just as Jimmy is following up his comment and twisting his body to point out Lip, then Carl and finally Ian. The other man's eyes follow Jimmy's finger to each of Ian's brothers with obvious disinterest and Ian quickly looks away again as Jimmy's finger points at him. He doesn't see Milkovich's head turn but he can still pinpoint the exact moment that the other man's gaze lands on him; it's like time stops for the briefest second, his skin prickling as eyes burn into him, but it doesn't feel intrusive or creepy like it normally does when guys check him out. He's not quite sure how it feels actually, but it's something he hasn't felt for what seems like the longest time and he likes it. He likes that it feels like those eyes have been on him for hours when it's barely been seconds and he's about to look up despite himself when he feels Milkovich's gaze track away again. Ian shifts in his seat, suddenly inexplicably uncomfortable, and he strains to hear what Milkovich says next.
"The red-head's ok, I guess. Still not worth my time, man." Milkovich takes a long drink from his beer and leans nonchalantly back against the wall, picking at the label on the bottle. "Look, you're wasting your time Jim. I'm not here to pity-bang some poor kid from the projects, ok?" Ian feels heat creeping up his neck, humiliation curling in his stomach. He's been called worse before, but somehow this hits harder.
"Go have your fun with whatever-her-name-is and leave me the fuck alone, alright?" Milkovich has barely paused for breath, obviously completely unaware that Ian has heard every word. Ian is grateful for that, at least. Jimmy sighs, grips his friend's shoulder briefly, and then merges back into the crowd, seeking out Fiona again.
Ian doesn't react at first, is almost stunned at how quickly he was dismissed and how much that rejection hurts. He's not even sure why it hurts, not really. He had no intention of hooking up tonight, certainly not with Milkovich, and yet… He's suddenly overcome by an almost uncontrollable urge to laugh; he hides his smirk behind his hand and ducks off towards the bar where Lip's drinking alone, his latest companion seeming to have vanished. "Not rich enough for her, I guess," Lip shrugs when Ian asks. "It's a tough crowd tonight."
Ian rolls his eyes, orders a fresh beer and then leans in to tell Lip what he's just overheard. "That fucker!" his brother exclaims after Ian relays the conversation. "Doesn't he know who we are? Fuck, you're probably the most eligible bachelor in this place!"
"Such a shame I'm only an 'ok', then," Ian jokes as he takes a drink of his beer.
"You never know," Lip muses. "Get him drunk enough…" Ian waggles his eyebrows suggestively and then they both burst into peals of laughter.
They don't see Mickey Milkovich watching them from across the room, his mouth set in a thin, hard line.