What's a Girl to Do? (Season 6)

by originella

Newly released from prison, Murphy Gallagher-Blomqvist is determined to prove her innocence, no matter what its cost. With two relationships fizzling out and one reigniting, Murphy must figure out where her loyalties lie as she navigates through life, once the charges are dropped. When she calls her own marriage into question, Murphy must figure out what she wants once and for all.

4. To Save A Life

Chapter Four: To Save A Life

I found that, as the days went on and I continued to use up my vacation days from the firm to fulfill my obligation to the diner, I had no regrets whatsoever. In fact, the hustle and bustle of the restaurant was just what I needed, and I found I liked chatting with the customers and making sure that they were getting everything they wanted. Several of them had been coming for years, and so they knew Fiona, and would frequently comment on how similar the two of us were to each other. I couldn't help but laugh at that once they were out of earshot; other than our eyes, our personalities, and our temperaments, Fiona and I were nothing alike. I had red hair like Ian, I was close to Debbie in height, and I had a drinking problem like Lip and Frank.

Emphasis on the drinking problem; I'd been sneaking beer bottles into the office during the day just to cope, and would throw them out into the bins in the alleyway without anyone noticing what I was doing. I knew that I was being unprofessional, but I found that I couldn't get through the day without a buzz. Since I'd stopped breastfeeding the boys the summer before—when they had been six months, which had been a large point of contention with Nicholas—I found that I missed the freedom to drink, and, now that I had it back, I was not about to let it go. The most frightening part of this "problem" that I had—which was, of course, not a problem, because I was completely fine—was that my ability to function accordingly wasn't impaired, and I could just carry on my merry way however I saw fit.

Now that Iana was in the advanced preschool class—which I'd promptly moved her into her accumulate more hours at the diner—she was in school for six hours a day. For arguments sake, it was a pre-kindergarten class, and she was thriving in the environment, despite the fact that she was younger than the rest of the group. The instructors loved her, however, and were constantly telling me how intelligent they thought she was, and I was pleased at the words. Iana was very special to me—she had been a beacon of light in the darkness of my life, for my belief that I couldn't have children naturally had eaten away at me for years—and now that she was thriving in the educational world, I couldn't have been more pleased.

On Monday, the beginning of the final week of September, I had a text from Allie, informing me that she would be leaving early from the firm and would love to pick up Iana and the boys to have a grandmother day with them. I immediately agreed; I had to go over inventory for a couple of hours, and I would feel better at finishing it in one go before returning to it. When her second text offered to let them spend the night, and asked if she could use the spare key to go and collect some of their things, I didn't hesitate. Allie was a wonderful grandmother to my children, and even before Iana had been adopted, had treated her as a granddaughter, and so I allowed Allie to take my children for the night. I also received a text from Nicholas, who too consented to Allie taking the kids, and said that he was working late on the analysis of a deposition, so he wouldn't be home until late.

I sat back in my chair then, rolling my shoulders, and seeing the amount of beer bottles beside the desk that I'd attempted to hide were eating away at me. I got to my feet, gathering them up into a bag and walking outside the office; I needed to stretch my legs a bit. I made my way out into the alley, swinging the bag into the dumpster and leaning against the side of the restaurant. I reached into the pocket of my jeans and fumbled for the pack of cigarettes I'd been chipping away at since the second half of the week before. My lighter was in my other pocket, and I stuck the stick of tobacco between my teeth and got the lighter to flare up, and I inhaled the smoke into my lungs effortlessly.

I got out my phone again, and sent a text to Ian. How's your day going?

Fine. Just got back from a call a few minutes ago. How about you?

I scoffed then, rolling my eyes at his nonchalant attitude as I took the cigarette out from between my lips, allowing some of the smoke to escape in a plume as I wrote him back. Just standing in the alley on my smoke break.

Since when do you smoke?

You know I didn't have a cigarette until I was twenty-one.

Ian replied quickly then. No, I know that. But you've been smoking a lot more lately. What's up with you, Murph?

I bit my lip then; Ian could read me like a book, and he always seemed to know immediately when something was bothering me. Allie's taking the kids for the night and Nicholas is working late again. I'll come by the house tonight, make some dinner, and we can talk. All right?

Sounds good to me. Just let yourself in when you get off work. See you later.

I finished my cigarette and headed back inside to finish the inventory, and managed to get everything sorted out a little after five. The dinner rush was going to happen at any time now, but Mondays were usually slow, so I always left just before it began, and the staff knew to call me if there was an emergency. I got to my feet once I'd finished the paperwork, and put it into its correct file folder and pulled on my leather jacket. I had to stop at the grocery store and pick up a few things, or, I reasoned, I could easily get some takeout. It really didn't matter—Liam was at the phase where he would eat anything, and Ian and I had the same taste in food.

I said goodbye to everyone for the night and stepped outside towards my car, fishing my keys out of my pocket and letting myself in. I decided to call for some pizza, just wanting to keep it simple that night, and picked up the two I'd ordered and drove straight to the house. One was meat-lovers and the other one was cheese—I like cheese, sue me. As I parked outside the house and let myself out, I could see the light from the television glowing in the autumn darkness, and I smiled to myself, stepping into the yard, up the stairs, and towards the door. I got my house key out of my pocket and let myself in, spotting Liam immediately on the couch.

"Hey, little man," I called as I stepped inside. I leaned down and kissed his head, chuckling as he made an annoyed sound as I crossed the room. My brother was officially in the adolescent phase, and I loved every minute of it. "You hungry? I got pizza."

"Meat-lovers?!" Liam cried out then, immediately my best friend as he blitzed off the couch after me, following me into the kitchen.

"Of course!" I said indulgently, setting the boxes down and figuring out which one he wanted. I got a plate for him from the cupboard, getting two generous slices and putting them directly onto the plate. "Now, of course, if you want more, take some."

"You know it!" Liam said, grinning up at me, his plate secure in his grip, as he turned around and returned to his show.

I shook my head at him, amused as I crossed to the fridge and opened it up, beer bottles glaring back at me. Immediately, and without thinking, I grabbed one, getting the cap off effortlessly and taking a drink. My senses were immediately overflowing with relaxation, and I loved the feeling of the calm spreading over me as I got a slice of cheese pizza for myself. I brought the box over to the table, because I'd been so focused on the damn inventory that I'd skipped lunch, and just sat at the table, taking out my phone in a fluid motion.

Liam is eating and he is happy. Just sitting here waiting.

Ian texted back quickly. Traffic awful, but hurrying back! I love that I got Fiona's car...

You only got Fiona's car because she offered it to me and I gave it to you.

Yeah...but I still got it...

I rolled my eyes, placing my phone on the surface of the table, taking small bites of my pizza, and focusing entirely on my beer. When I finished my bottle, I rooted around in my pocket for my cigarettes, lighting one up and merely staring at my slice of pizza, not even halfway eaten, and just allowed my head to roll back so that I was staring up at the ceiling. The kitchen door opening causes me to straighten up, and I let out an audible groan as Frank crosses the threshold and steps inside.

"Ah, it's another one of my ungrateful children," he says by way of greeting, opening the box of pizza in front of me. "Of course you would like just cheese on yours," he goes on, shaking his head and walking over to the other box.

I took my cigarette out of my mouth and got to my feet. "What do you want, Frank?"

Frank rolls his eyes, taking out a slice of meat-lovers and cramming it into his mouth. "Still not holding my breath for you to call me 'Dad'," he muttered.

"Jesus Christ," I muttered under my breath. "Law enforcement knows you're my father, and so does the general public. What the fuck does it matter?"

Frank grins. "I knew you'd sound South Side sooner or later."

I crossed my arms. "Fuck off," I muttered, bringing my cigarette back to my mouth again. "You don't know a fucking thing about me."

"I know that you're my daughter, which makes you a Gallagher," he said simply. "I know you must resent the shit out of me."

I scoffed. "You think?" I demanded then, glaring at him. "You fucking knew about me for over twenty years, and you never bothered to look for me! You went out and found fucking Sammi when you needed her, but you never tried to find me. Why is that, I wonder?" I said, lowering my voice, my rage bubbling towards the surface. "Did you think I would have all of Monica's DNA or something?"

Frank rolled his eyes. "Please. I didn't even know you were mine until I saw you that day, and I was still unsure until I saw your birth certificate."

I shook my head at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Monica got pregnant with Ian when she fucked my brother, Clayton, when she was high on PCP in 1995," Frank said, and I rolled my eyes—I already knew this information. "For all I knew, you two were identical."

"So, what you're saying is, you didn't think you could be my father, so that's why you never bothered to fucking look for me?!"

Frank grinned at me, finishing his slice of pizza and moving to grab another one. "I knew you'd understand," he said to me.

"Oh, yeah, I understand," I said, crossing over to him and slamming the box shut, and he pulled his hand back immediately.

"Ow, fuck, Murph!"

I reached out then and slapped him across the face. "I told you not to call me that, Frank!" I yelled at him, my hackles up and ready for a fight. "But believe me, I understand your motives for not tracking me down—really, I do! You didn't want to have another kid for Fiona to raise. I guess, after all those years, fucking Frank Gallagher felt some guilt!"

Frank rolled his eyes. "I don't feel guilty, Murphy."

I shook my head at him. "No, no of course you don't. To have or admit guilt, you need to be a person with empathy. You have no empathy, Frank. You're a hollowed-out shell—the only things you can do are for yourself. You can eat, you can get drunk, you can shit, and you can fuck. It's all you're good for, Frank, because god knows you wouldn't know how to be a good father in a million years!"

"I'm still the only father you've got—"

"You are not my father!" I cried out then, hating that my voice was shaking as I jabbed my finger in his face. "You will never be my father! I got along fine for over twenty years without a father, and I sure as shit don't need one now!"

Frank looked perplexed then and inhaled. "You drunk, Murphy?"

Immediately, I felt my cheeks flame with anger. "What?!" I demanded then, my voice as sharp as the crack of whip.

Frank grinned. "You're drunk, aren't you?"

I crossed my arms, returning my cigarette into my mouth, hoping that the smoke inhalation would calm me. "No, I'm not."

"How many have you had today, Murph? Ballpark."

I shook my head at him. "You're crazy. I'm not drunk."

Frank reached out then and pushed me on the shoulder, and I immediately stumbled, falling backwards into the counter. "You're drunk."

I scoffed, keeping my cigarette in between my teeth. "So what?"

"How many beers, Murphy?"

"I don't know!" I fired at him then, glaring at him. "Ten, maybe?" I said, hunching my shoulders at him, and wanting to claw his eyes out for what he was insinuating. "Why do you care?!"

Frank shrugged. "You're my daughter."

"Don't say that," I said, my voice wavering slightly. "You never gave a shit about me, Frank, or any of the rest of us. You kept me away from my siblings—the one place I could've been happy in my life—just because you were afraid of being stuck with a second kid that wasn't yours. Do you realize how selfish that is? One DNA test would've confirmed it, or just by looking at me, like on the day you met me..." My voice broke then, and I considered something that I'd never considered before. "Did you even see us in the hospital together?"

Frank shook his head. "No. Monica must've had you sent away immediately into the foster care system. I never saw you until that day."

"Jesus," I whispered, shaking my head and stumbling towards him then, knocking him out of the way and grabbing another bottle from the fridge.

"Sure that's a good idea, Murph?"

"Go to hell," I replied, taking the cap off and chugging down my first sip. "And don't fucking call me that—I fucking told you already..." I turned around then, regarding him for a moment as I leaned against the fridge, the coolness in temperature feeling good on my back. "Why are you even here, Frank? What do you want?"

"Can't a father come by to see the daughter he didn't get a chance to raise?" he asked, throwing his hands up into the air.

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "Frank, I hope you realize that that statement applies to four of your children, and not just me..."

He rolled his eyes. "I just don't understand why you can't just live and let live, Murphy," he replied, his tone peppered with exasperation. "My other children haven't forgiven me fully, of course, but they don't want to kill me every time we see each other..."

I shook my head at him, lifting the beer bottle to my lips and trying to hold it together. "You know that statement is also completely untrue, don't you?"

Frank gripped the opposite counter then, looking me over and attempting to figure out something to talk about. "Would it really kill you to call me 'Dad' once in a while, Murph?"

"Stop fucking calling me that," I muttered, swirling the beer around in its bottle before pulling it back to my lips and chugging it. "Only family members get to call me that."

"I'm your father, Murphy. You know that, your siblings know that, and the local government and law enforcement know that. Why won't you call me 'Dad'?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You may be my father, Frank, but you sure as shit aren't my dad. I have never needed parents—I got along fine without them—and I know I'll be all right without you as a father."

Frank looked annoyed then. "Why can't you just get over it?" he asked. "Why can't you just let yourself be my daughter?"

"I'm not your daughter by choice, Frank. I just so happen to have a sizeable amount of your DNA pumping through my veins. That's all it is." I was instantly relieved when the kitchen door opened again, and Ian stood on the threshold, taking in my expression, and the person standing opposite me.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Frank?!" Ian demanded, slamming the door behind him and stomping over, standing in between the two of us.

Frank shrugged. "Wanted to see my daughter."

Ian groaned. "Frank, Murph moved out almost a year ago."

Frank rolled his eyes. "Forget it—I'm leaving," he said, snagging a piece of pizza before either of us could call him out on it. "Oh, before I forget," he said, making his way to the kitchen door and turning around, "maybe address the fact that that's your eleventh beer today, Murph," he said with a grin before stepping out and shutting the door behind him.

"Eleventh beer?!" Ian demanded then, turning around and staring at me as I finished the bottle before he took it away from me. "What the fuck, Murph?!"

I shrugged. "Doesn't matter," I said, reaching into my pocket for another cigarette, only to find the empty carton. "Fuck," I whispered.

"Murphy, you're supposed to be the responsible one here," Ian said, dragging his hand through his hair as I looked up at him. "What the hell is going on with you?"

"I just..." I shrugged then, not altogether sure myself. "I'm not coping," I said quietly. "I have to drink, Ian. I have to..."

"What?" Ian asked, just looking me over then. "What are you talking about?"

I bit my lip then, knowing that I had to talk about it. "That's why I stopped breastfeeding the boys so soon," I said quietly, and Ian looked concerned. "Last summer, when Fiona said that she was going to be with Jimmy again, I don't know... Something snapped, and I needed something to cope with the fact that she was being so fucking stupid," I said.

"How bad is it?"

"It's bad," I said, dragging my hand across my mouth.

"How bad?" he pressed.

"So bad that Allie offers to take the kids several times a week, and that Nicholas stays at the firm working late," I said quietly.

"And for you?"

"I tried to get off it last week," I said quietly. "Even though Fiona left, I knew I had to cut back, but I couldn't..."

"What happened, Murph?"

"I was shaking," I whispered. "I was shaking and throwing up and all I could do was think about having another beer..."

"Sounds like Frank, when his liver was failing," Ian said quietly.

I shrugged. "I need it, Ian," I whispered. "I need it..."

"Murph, you can't," Ian said, his tone sounding tortured. "You're behaving like an alcoholic, and I can't let you do that to yourself..."

"I'm still functioning!" I burst out then, my voice trembling as I tried and failed to make him see reason with me. "I can't function without it, Ian."

He shook his head. "You can, Murph. I know you can."

I rolled my eyes, getting another beer out from the fridge behind me, and although he made no moves to stop me, Ian's expression said it all. "What?" I said, narrowing my eyes at him as I got the bottle cap off, and drank it. "What are you going to do? Yell at me some more?"

Ian narrowed his eyes at me then, taking me by the shoulders and dragging me over to the kitchen table. "You're going to sit there, Murph," he said, and pulled out a second chair to sit beside me. He got out his phone then, and I vaguely heard him speaking into it as the beer continued to dull my senses. "Hey, man. You need to come over right now. There's a bit of a situation... Okay. Thanks."

"Oh, great. What have you done now?" I demanded, turning to look at him and narrowing my eyes at him, feeling like a kid in the principal's office.

"Something that'll help you," Ian fired back, crossing his arms. "Look, Murph, I know that the real you is in there somewhere. Don't let her go. Please."

I scoffed then, taking another swig from my bottle, gripping it in between my fingers, refusing to let it go. "She's still here, Ian. Fuck, I mean, I'm the realest I've ever been. I'm sorry if you don't see it that way."

Ian sighs, waiting in silence for the next several minutes, until the kitchen door opens and Lip steps inside. Ian gets to his feet then and gestures towards the table, and I deliberately avoid eye contact with both my older brothers as I lean back in the chair. I am vaguely aware of Lip sitting across from me, and Ian debriefing him about the situation, but I find I cannot look at either of them, the shame slowly but surely beginning to eat away at me.

"I just didn't know who else to call," Ian concludes then.

"Hey, man, it's okay," Lip said, and I felt his eyes on me then. "Murph, Ian says that you've been drinking a lot. Care to explain why?"

I looked up at him then, narrowing my eyes at him. "What's it to you?"

"Murph, I'm your brother," Lip replies. "I don't understand why you would think I wouldn't care about you, or this situation. Come on. Talk to us."

I rolled my eyes. "Doesn't matter."

Lip took his palm then and slammed it down on the surface of the table, causing me to physically shudder at the unexpected gesture.

"Lip!" I screamed then, looking at him like he was crazy. "What the fuck?!"

"I'm not going to let you do this to yourself, Murph!" he said then, and Ian quickly looked from one of our faces to the other, debating whether or not to intervene. "One alcoholic kid in a family is enough!"

I rolled my eyes at him then, uncaring about his attitude. "I am not an alcoholic, Lip. Jesus, what do you take me for?!"

"Murphy, you're using alcohol to cope with your depression," he said, and my eyes snapped back to his.

"What the fuck do you know?!" I growled at him.

"You're upset that Fiona left!" Lip yelled. "Fuck, I mean, we all are! But we're now drowning our sorrows in alcohol!"

I scoffed then, taking another swig of the beer, and Lip narrowed his eyes at me. "I'm not drowning my sorrows, dammit. I just need it to take the edge off things at work, and to help me function now and again..."

"Fuck, Murph," Lip said, shaking his head. "Do you know how many times over the last several years I've wanted to pick up a bottle and drink from it? When we found out the two of us couldn't be together, when we found out that you were pregnant and it could've been mine... I mean, of course I slipped up several times—because I'm a fucking alcoholic, but at least I admit to it. I always admit to it, because I knew I was in the category of predisposition to have it happen to me. Since you and I have the same DNA, Murph, you're in that category, too. You're an alcoholic."

I shook my head at him, taking a final swig of my beer—finishing the bottle—and getting to my feet then. "Fuck you, Lip," I replied, throwing it into the bin and walking into the living room and towards the front door.

"Murph!" Lip shouted then, and I heard his footsteps behind me then, and, as I turned around, I saw him coming at me then, and he slammed me up against the wall.

"Lip?" Liam asked then, and I swore quietly, forgetting that he'd been on the couch.

"Go upstairs, Liam," Lip said, his eyes never leaving mine.

"But Lip—"

"Now!" Lip yelled then, and Liam quickly got to his feet and scurried past us and up the stairs, disappearing from sight.

"Lip, get the fuck off me!" I yelled as soon as he was gone, and struggled beneath his grip. "Let me go, right now!"

"Not until you admit it!"

I rolled my eyes. "If you don't let me go, I'm going to fucking kill you!" I yelled, attempting and failing to shove him off me.

"Say that you're an alcoholic, Murph!" Lip said, his voice shaking. "Just admit it. That's the first step to all of this—"

"I won't admit it because it's not true, you fuckhead!" I yelled then, and managed to get my strength back in an attempt to shove him away from me. "Now, get the fuck off me and stop demanding shit from me!"

Ian stepped into the room then, watching in horror at what was happening in front of him. "Lip, maybe that's enough..."

"Murph needs to admit it!" Lip yelled then, and I knew that he was at the point of no return. "She needs to admit what she is..."

"Jesus fuck, this isn't some therapy or some shit!" I yelled back, and knocked him off of me at long last, my eyes blinded by tears. I took a moment to catch my breath, and yet remained on my guard in case Lip moved to grab me again, and just found myself staring at him. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I whispered.

"Murph, please," Lip said, his voice trying not to shake. "I know an alcoholic when I see one, and your behavior checks all the boxes..."

"Get off this, Lip," I replied, leaning up against the wall, and crossing my arms. "I'm not going to admit to something that I don't believe to be true."

"Then, let's start off easier," Lip said, his mind working in an attempt to make some sort of compromise with me.

I scoffed. "You call shoving me up against the wall easier?!" I demanded then, looking at him like I thought he was psycho.

"Murph, come on," Ian said from across the room. "He's just trying to help."

I rolled my eyes. "He hides it very well..."

"Murph, why did you start drinking?"

I raised my eyes to Lip's then, hating myself for allowing the tears to escape from my eyes. "I don't know," I whispered.

"Well, when did the drinking start?" he wanted to know.

I sighed. "Last summer, after I quit breastfeeding the boys," I replied. "I guess I thought I had a handle on it, but..."

"What happened?" Lip asked me then.

"After Fiona left, okay?!" I demanded then, hating that I had to show off my vulnerable side. "It was after she left and I fell off the wagon completely. I've been going to The Alibi almost nightly and just throwing back a few..."

"Alone?" Ian asked.

I shook my head. "No, of course not."

Ian mulled that over for a moment. "You said that Nicholas has been working late at the firm recently," he said quietly. "So, it's not with him."

I sighed. "No. No, it's not with Nicholas."

"Who are you drinking with, then?" Lip wanted to know. "Because it hasn't been with any of us, that's for sure. Fiona took off, I've been working a lot, Ian didn't know anything about this, Debs doesn't drink a lot, Carl's on assignment, and Liam's too young. So, Murph, the question of the hour is, who's your drinking buddy?"

I leaned my head back against the wall then, staring up at the ceiling. "Tommy," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Your arresting officer?!" Lip demanded. "The one who gave you a fucking bloody nose on the day he met you?!"

I gave a stiff nod. "Yeah."

"Why the fuck would you associate with that asshole?!"

"She claims they're friends," Ian informed Lip softly.

"Jesus, Murph," Lip said, and my eyes snapped back to his. "No wonder Nicholas is working until all hours of the night..."

"Not to mention that Allie keeps offering to watch the kids," Ian put in.

I give them both looks of shock. "Excuse me?"

Lip rolled his eyes. "It's obvious, isn't it?"

I shook my head then, unsure of what they were referring to. "Look, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, but if someone could fill in the blanks for me, that'd be great."

Ian sighed then, and I turned to look over at him.

"What?!" I demanded, my voice sounding like a whip. "If you've got something to say, then say it. Don't drag it out, for fuck's sake."

"Murph," Lip said, his voice soft then, and I turned to look at him again. "I think Nicholas thinks that you're fucking Tommy."

"Fucking Tommy?!" I cried out then, shaking my head. "No, of course I'm not—"

"Murph, you're spending all this time with him. What's he supposed to think?" Ian asked, and I turned to look at him then. "You're his wife, and yet you're spending time with another man without supervision..."

"I'm not some thirsty teenage slut!" I cried out then. "I would never cheat on my husband, for fuck's sake! What do you take me for?!"

"An alcoholic," Lip said quietly, and my eyes locked to his. "They justify their actions, ones that they may think are considered all right, but that others sense and know that are wrong..."

I shook my head at him then, before I advanced upon him and smacked him full across the fact, the rage bubbling off my skin. "I'm not a fucking alcoholic, or a cheating wife!" I yelled at him, my voice shaking. "Shut the fuck up and leave me alone!" I said then, and turned and looked at Ian, who was shocked at the display. "And, if you're on Lip's side here, then that goes for you, too, Ian! You can both go to hell!" I said, my voice reaching its breaking point then as I turned around, ripping the door open and stomping out into the lobby, whereupon I grabbed my jacket, opened the front door into the cold night, and slammed it behind me.