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The first thing Fiona hears when she enters the house is Debbie's crying.
It's a noise she'd recognize anywhere. Fiona still remembers the first time she heard it. Debbie had been home from the hospital for a full week and Frank and Monica had gone on a bender. "Gotta make up lost time!" her father had said when they got back smelling like a bar floor. Never mind that Monica hadn't been sober through half the pregnancy.
At ten years old, Fiona already knew the drill, so she hadn't been surprised to be woken up first thing in the morning of that seventh day by a baby crying. The cry that had woken her had been sharp and insistent and had tore at her heart a little-Fiona knew from experience that it was a hunger cry, knew from experience that it on the off chance her parents were around it would go ignored. She had padded out of her room and towards Debbie's crib. She had picked up Debbie, tiny and soft and pink faced and had ordered a begrudgingly awake Lip to fix up a bottle-unable to put her sister down when the sheets on the crib were still dirty, when they hadn't been changed, when Debbie was still sniffling and whimpering in her arms about the injustice of waking up alone and forgotten.
Debbie had cried multiple times since that first time-falling off swings and being teased by her brothers-she was a sensitive kid they learned that fast-and one occasion when Monica dropped her due to having the shakes-Fiona had kept her with her for the rest of the month.
Schoolyard teasing and Mother's Day and Father's Day and Carl putting her dolls in the toaster, Debbie's cry became engraved somewhere deep inside Fiona. It was kept in the same place as Lip's voice and Ian's laugh and Carl's first word. Fiona could hear it in a crowded room, in a park full of children, could recognize it even if she was half awake.
Debbie's crying now, sobbing, and Fiona's moving without any thought, one moment she's at the door the next she's halfway to the living room.
"Debs?"
She's only half aware that Ian is a step behind her, that Kev is asking what's going on and handing a sleeping Liam to Trevor. She's unaware of anything except that Debbie's crying.
"They took my baby" she says and the heartbreak in it makes something in Fiona shift, awakens something she had thought was dormant since the pregnancy test, since 'I know what I want' and harsh words and ultimatums. She cups Debbie's face like she had when the girl was ten, wiping her tears away with her thumbs.
"Who took your baby" she says feeling a pang in her heart when Debbie just cries more.
Fiona glances at Ian who looks back at her on Debbie's other side, his hand on Debbie's shoulder. Fiona's pretty sure they have mirror expressions-both of them out of practice with comforting this Debbie who lies and schemes and seems to have more Gallagher than all of them, both of them acting on memories of the child she used to be. Both of them unable to ignore her cries filling the room.
"They took my fucking baby" Debbie says burying her face in her hands.
Fiona reaches for Debbie's hands with her own, feels something cold slither into her chest. Franny's her niece. Fiona hadn't wanted the kind of life she heralded for Debbie, had felt the panic of a caged animal at the idea that being so closed to getting stable-so close to feeling like she could breathe-that another person would put a kid in her lap; eighteen more years stretching before her like a hundred mile run.
But Franny was her niece and Fiona loved her, had held her and smiled down at her at her birth. She was family and one of hers; Fiona always knew she would love her because that's what Fiona did. And now someone had her, had had her for who knew how long and it's all Fiona can do to clamp down on the urge to shake Debbie, demand answers, grab the killing bat.
It loses to the older instinct of taking Debbie's hand, of reaching out to brush her hair back from her face-falls to the older instinct to comfort her sister, born from the first time she heard that cry.
The chair sticks to her legs when she sits in front of Debbie, sweat and grime from a full day of heavy work clinging to the fabric. Fiona notices this distantly like she notices distantly that Trevor is whispering something to Ian about taking Liam upstairs, hears his footsteps in fade as he heads up the stairs. All her attention is on the child in front of her.
Because Christ, Debbie's a child. Fiona had seen it when she had lashed out last year, angry and hurt and young. She had seen it again when she had been huddled in the for under the stairs, feverish and terrified to hold her baby. She sees it now and she does what she always does when one of her kids is hurt and crying.
"Debbie, honey" she says, surprising herself with how soft it is. She hadn't used that tone with Debbie since the girl turned thirteen. The only thing she and Carl seemed to agree on was that they were too old for it.
It's the voice though, that seems to do Debbie in. She all but crashes into Fiona's arms and sobs all the harder. Fiona for her part doesn't hesitate to wrap her arms around her.
"Go get her some water please" Fiona whispers to Ian, cupping one hand on the back of Debbie's head, one hand on her back. She knows from his expression as he nods that he's remembering the times Debbie would cry herself sick when Frank went missing. Fiona's thinking of that too, even as she falls back on old familiar patterns almost on autopilot.
She all but pulls Debbie on her lap-a tighter fit now but neither sister cares. Fiona can still tuck Debbie against her shoulder, can still stroke her hair and hold her little sister and soothe her cries.
She did this when Debbie fell off that swing, did it when Monica left the first time, and the second time, and the last time, the time she came home from the pool, the night at the hospital, for fifteen years Fiona's done this; her hands continue to stroke Debbie's hair with almost no conscious thought.
"Debbie shhh honey" she says and bites back saying 'it's okay'. Franny's missing. Debbie's baby is missing.
Saying it's okay would be a joke-would be downright insulting.
"I got you" she says instead rocking them a little, finds herself falling back into the same things she'd say to Debbie as a baby. "Hey, I'm right here shh"
She continues on this vein, continues to hold her sister it's not until her crying gives way to coughing that Fiona pulls back.
"Deb's you're gonna make yourself sick" she says holding Debbie's face so she can look at her-her face is red and blotchy and streaked with tears.
It's so similar to that first time she held her. Fiona suddenly aches with the sudden urge to be able to wrap her up and pace with her through the living room, for simpler times with simpler problems.
Debbie's breathing hitches again and Fiona make herself focus on the present.
"Hey Debbie, honey breathe." she says a bit more insistent "Come on Debs just take a breath for me huh."
Debbie tries, and tries again, and on a third time pulls in a shuddering breath.
"That's it, that's good" Fiona says and finds herself once again reaching for the words she'd use when this was a more common occurrence.
Debbie had been an anxious kid, fast to cry, faster to sob, and living in a house where people disappeared constantly hadn't helped. Fiona had had to coax her out of hyperventilating almost every time Frank didn't come back for more than two days.
"That's good Debs try another one" she says, seeing Ian come back with the water, and continues on this vein, soft whispers of of 'breathe honey' and 'I'm right here' her forehead resting against Debbie's and her arms around her.
She isn't sure how much time passes, how long they're sat together with Debbie's cries the only sound and Fiona's soothing the only counter. Fiona repeating mantras she thought she wouldn't need anymore; had put away like lost toys and old clothes but remembered as easily as she remembered every time she had done this.
"Tanya and Cecilia, they took her" Debbie says after she's finally calmed down enough to talk.
Her voice is scratchy, and she's slumped against Fiona with her face against her older sister's shoulder, her hand holding onto Fiona's sleeve almost reflectively. It makes Fiona think of Debbie at seven years old, hiding behind her legs while a CDFS worker made notes in a clipboard.
The first time they had been in the system with her Debbie had been five, old enough to cry, too young to understand what was happening. She had been seven the second times. Both times she had clung to Fiona's sleeve, had been unwilling to talk to anyone or even let go of her sister until they were back home. The second time her eyes had gone wide when she recognized the car and Fiona had held her, had told her "It'll be okay" and stroked back her hair even as she and Lip and Ian shot each other panicked looks. She had wanted to protect her, keep her from crying before she had to. Debbie still hadn't let go of her throughout the entire visit.
Fiona feels the cold ball of fear in her chest melt away at knowing where Franny is-that she's safe at least. She feels shock and an anger she thought she would never feel again take its place.
Debbie had been seven the second time DFCS took them, and Fiona had swallowed her panic and dread and whispered "it's okay" to keep Debbie from the same fear. She had kept her busy with toys and stories and even chores to ensure she didn't feel the absolute terror of not knowing where your family was, when you would see them again, only that they wouldn't be with you; had kept her from seeing that fear reflected in the eyes of her older siblings.
She had given everything-would still give everything to shield her from that.
Fiona had thought Debbie didn't want her protection anymore-that she didn't need her protection anymore. She had buried the ache of pushing her baby sister to fend for herself and own her decisions with the knowledge that Debbie had risen to the challenge, figured out ways to provide for Franny even if they weren't ones she approved of. She had told herself that it had been the right choice, that nothing bad would happen, that she had protected her when she needed it. And now here she was holding the little girl she raised and wiping her tears as cries tore out of her from a hurt Fiona had felt both of those times Debbie had hid behind her, from a hurt she wouldn't wish on anyone.
"Derek's family" she said to looking at Ian for the first time since she walked in, hand still stroking Debbie's hair in a constant rhythm, almost subconsciously.
She sees Ian's jaw set; his eyes wander to the wall above the stairs behind her where the baseball bat is hanging. She knows her face is the same.
Ian had been nine during that DCFS visit, Lip ten, they had made a pact. They'd protect the younger kids at any cost.
Fiona takes a breath, forces the anger deep into her spine the same way she used to to stand straight at PTA meetings and job interviews at 14. She leans down, makes herself be soft for Debbie who's started to cry again, quietly this time.
"They saw me on the street with Franny" Debbie says "it was Frank's stupid idea, I thought-" another cry and Fiona reaches for the glass of water, hands it to Debbie who takes a sip and then keeps talking "I thought if they saw where we live, that I had home for us, I thought they would help me."
Her voice cracks at the end and Fiona puts the glass back on the table and goes back to whispering soothing words and stroking her sister's hair. She hears Ian's footsteps and the scrape of a chair being dragged on the floor and then he's sitting in front of them, a hand on Debbie's shoulder again.
"They said I could fool DCFS, but I can't fool them" Debbie says, and then she's crying in earnest "they say I'm a bad mom but I'm not-I'm not! And they have Franny. She was crying, she was crying." Debbie breaks down crying again and Fiona holds her tight, shushes her, thinks of Debbie at seven hiding from a social worker, of her crying that second time they were taken when the boys were taken away (they had been split by gender that time), of her hyperventilating at ten over Frank going missing and 'I'm gonna deck that little bitch.'
It takes almost two hours for Debbie to be convinced sleep is the better option-she had been nodding off against Fiona already, but it was as though the concept of sleeping without Franny back in her arm was too abstract, wouldn't compute. (Fiona understood that, remembered holding Debbie at five while she slept and thinking Carl is with Lip and Ian somewhere out there, Carl is with Lip and Ian and I can't see him, can't say goodnight, can't tuck him in like I've done every night for four years)
Ian had suggested they take the baseball bat and get Franny back themselves.
"It's bullshit" he had said, and Fiona had agreed "they can't just take your fucking baby you got rights, custody and shit."
Debbie had had a conniption, that almost resulted in another breakdown, saying, "they'll call the cops" and "they'll take her away they'll say we're crazy and then I'll never see her again" and after Fiona had calmed them both down it had been decided a plan could be discussed in the morning.
Fiona leads Debbie to her room on a hunch because Franny's crib is in Debbie's room and because Debbie still hasn't let go of her sleeve as they reach the top of the stairs.
"I don't know if she stopped crying" Debbie says when Fiona tucks her against her, pulls the covers around them both. Her voice is hollow. Fiona didn't think there'd be a time she'd want Debbie lashing out at her or sulking or cursing but hearing that voice, seeing Debbie glassy eyed and barely responding to anything, she finds she'd prefer it. She'd prefer anything to seeing her like this. Fiona thinks Debbie could call her a bitch right now and she would cry tears of joy
"I don't know where she's sleeping, if she's had her night feeding I don't..." Debbie doesn't finish but trails off into a whimper. She tucks her face flush against her sister's side, arms reaching around her like she's a much younger child-Fiona remembers her doing this after Monica left and after the thanksgiving their mother was hospitalized. Debbie burrows her face into her side and Fiona holds her close.
"I know honey" she says thinking back to those social worker visits, to that first time they had been separated with Debbie and Carl with them.
They had separated them by gender, Ian Carl and Lip sent in a different car. Fiona had sobbed and screamed into a pillow so as not to wake her sister, had sat at the table too sick with anxiety to eat or talk or do anything but think that she didn't know where her brothers were. She didn't know who had them, if they were nice, or if they were worse than Frank and Monica, if they knew Carl couldn't drink normal milk or that Lip didn't like "kid stories" at bedtime or that Ian was fighting off a cold.
Debbie at least knew where Franny was, but Fiona knew from experience that didn't make the ache of needing your child with you any less.
"I don't know if she's okay" Debbie says even as her eyes are blinking shut "I need to know if she's okay."
Fiona strokes her sister's hair, kisses her forehead, and holds her. It's all she can do. She swears she can hear her own past-self echo her words.
"I know" she says and then adds as a promise "you will."
Debbie finally falls asleep still crying, still talking about Franny, and it's only then that Fiona lets her own tears fall. She doesn't move to wipe them away, too afraid to wake her sister.
A buzz from her pocket has her reaching for her phone-carefully so she doesn't disturb Debbie who's still nuzzled into her side with her arms around her. She unlocks her phone and sees a text from Ian.
(Ian knows her, knows she wouldn't want to leave Debbie, not when she's still clinging to her in her sleep)
she reads the text message
"We're fixing this right"
Yes, Fiona types back, she drops a kiss on Debbie's forehead, smiling softly when the frown on her face smooths out a little, we are