Chapter 31 – The Reformation of Fiona Begins to Show Results
"William… I need you."
The moment Fiona said it, her voice broke. Sobs trembled through the line.
"Hey, hey. Don't cry," William said gently, his tone calm and even. "Tell me what happened."
Just hearing his voice seemed to steady her.
Ever since William had walked into her life, Fiona's independence — that fierce, self-reliant spark — had started to fade.
She didn't even realize it, but she'd developed a habit of leaning on him.
And now, when the chaos of her family closed in again, she instinctively reached for him like a drowning person reaching for air.
Through quiet gasps and broken pauses, Fiona explained everything — the investigator, Aunt Ginger, the fraud, Frank's confession.
William listened in silence. When she finally finished, he didn't rush to comfort her or make promises. Instead, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
Interesting.
There was something here — a trigger. A pattern.
And sure enough, the familiar digital chime sounded in his mind:
[Ding! New Mission Detected]
Claiming a dead person's pension is immoral. Make Frank Gallagher realize the error of his ways.
Reward: Gambling Mastery
William raised an eyebrow. Huh.
Not useless, but not exactly inspiring either.
After all, expecting Frank to feel guilty about anything was like expecting snow in hell.
That man could sell his own children and still think he'd done them a favor.
"Fiona," William said finally, "we'll deal with Frank later. For now, the priority is making sure you and your family keep that house. Find Aunt Ginger's remains — wherever Frank hid them — and we'll forge a will. Make it look legitimate."
He remembered the original version of events — how Fiona and Veronica had covered everything up by hiring an old woman from a nursing home to impersonate Ginger.
It worked. Barely.
But William wasn't about to play babysitter to a house full of chaos addicts.
He had his own goals. His system. His experiments.
And Fiona — broken, desperate, but loyal — was part of that experiment.
"Don't worry," he continued, his tone softening. "We'll take care of this. Just… don't do anything rash until I get there."
"Okay," Fiona murmured, her voice faint and trembling.
He could hear the exhaustion in her tone — the hollow quiet that came when someone stopped believing in rescue but reached for it anyway.
She was right where he wanted her.
"I'll be there soon," William said, and hung up.
---
Outside the Gallagher house, Fiona lowered the phone and rubbed her eyes.
Lip had followed her out during the call. He hadn't said a word — just leaned against the porch railing, watching.
When she turned around, he asked quietly, "You just called William?"
Fiona nodded. "Yeah."
Lip frowned, a conflicted expression crossing his face.
The past few days had shifted something in him.
On one hand, William was clearly dangerous — manipulative, unpredictable, maybe even unhinged.
But on the other hand… he got things done.
He helped Fiona when nobody else could.
And then there was Karen — the way she now avoided Lip like he carried the plague. Every time he saw her flinch away, his temper burned hotter.
William's name had become a sore spot, a reminder of everything Lip couldn't control — his pride, his family, his own impulses.
He didn't say it aloud, but a thought crossed his mind as he looked back at his sister's trembling hands.
Maybe Fiona's not the only one who's starting to depend on him.
Lip had never once seen William approach Karen again after that messy fallout — and he paid attention. For all of William's chaos, he was strangely disciplined when it came to cutting people off.
"Mm," Fiona murmured faintly, exhaling a slow stream of cigarette smoke.
Lip walked over and held out his hand. She understood immediately, passing him the cigarette without a word. He took a long drag, the orange ember glowing in the dim winter light.
"So," he asked, his voice low and cautious, "what's the plan? If this goes wrong, we lose the house. And you know damn well Patrick won't miss the chance."
Patrick Gallagher — Frank's cousin.
A snake cut from the same rotten family tree, but a bit more cunning. He held equal claim to Ginger's inheritance, and in the original story, he was the one who forged the will first, snatching the house right out from under them.
Fiona's voice cracked. "I don't know."
She hugged herself tightly, like she could hold her collapsing world together through sheer will. Her eyes shimmered, and for a moment, Lip thought she was going to break down again.
He sighed. "Alright. I'm heading to school. Just… think of something, okay?"
Then he left, disappearing down the icy street.
---
"Ian Gallagher! Get your ass back here!"
Mickey Milkovich shouted from across the alley, sprinting after Ian with his brothers Iggy and Colin close behind.
In the original timeline, Ian would've gotten away easily — he always did. But William, watching from a distance as the chase spilled into the street, couldn't help but smirk.
Butterfly effect, huh?
He'd already changed too much in this world; the plotlines were starting to twist in strange new ways. Still, he had no intention of interfering.
Let them run. Ian was no longer bipolar in this version — a blessing that would lead him straight to Mickey soon enough. William had no need to meddle.
He turned away, straddled his motorcycle, and headed for 2119 Wallace Street.
---
Ten minutes later, the roar of William's S1000RR echoed down the block.
The moment Fiona saw him dismount, she bolted from the porch — all restraint gone — and threw her arms around him.
"Oh, thank God… you're here."
William gently patted her back, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. So easy to break. So easy to mold.
He hadn't expected such dramatic progress — all it took was one hit to her pride, and Fiona's defiance had turned into dependency.
"Let's go inside," he said softly. "It's freezing out here."
Thanks to Lip's recent side hustles under William's guidance, the Gallaghers weren't behind on bills for once. The gas was running, and the house was warm — a rare miracle in Chicago's brutal winter.
Inside, Frank was sprawled on the couch as usual, mumbling half-coherent nonsense between sips of beer.
Veronica, however, was pacing in excitement.
"Veronica, you're a genius!" Frank slurred, grinning from ear to ear.
Her "genius" idea?
Find an elderly woman from the nursing home and have her pose as Aunt Ginger to fool the investigator.
It was idiotic — and very on-brand for Frank.
Just then, Fiona and William stepped through the door.
"What genius idea?" Fiona asked, frowning.
Kevin filled her in, explaining Veronica's plan.
As he spoke, Fiona's expression darkened. The others might not have noticed, but William did — and it pleased him.
Good, he thought. She's starting to think for herself again… but with the right foundation this time.
"V," Fiona said quietly, shaking her head. "That's fraud. Aunt Ginger's dead."
Frank scoffed. "Technically," he interjected, "as long as she's not legally dead, she's alive. Which means the checks are still valid! It's just creative accounting."
He grinned like a man who thought he'd just invented ethics.
"Who the hell is this guy, anyway?" Frank finally asked, noticing William for the first time.
They'd met briefly at the Alibi, but Frank's brain — marinated in whiskey and bad decisions — couldn't retain the memory.
Fiona clenched her fists. "Stop it, Frank! Stop screwing up my life!"
Her sudden outburst made everyone flinch.
William leaned casually against the doorway, watching the father-daughter meltdown unfold. He half-expected popcorn to materialize in his hands.
Frank waved her off, exasperated. "What? It's a good plan! You get to keep the house, I keep the checks — win-win!"
Fiona froze for a second — and then, to everyone's surprise, she laughed.
It wasn't a happy laugh. It was hollow. Bitter. Almost manic.
Because at that moment, she realized just how far gone her father truly was.
And maybe, just maybe — William was right.
Sometimes, people like Frank couldn't be reasoned with.
They could only be rewritten.