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It’s noon in Miami, but only 11am in Chicago and maybe Fiona didn’t fly fucking far enough because ahead of her, also waiting in line for overpriced coffee (something she can afford to do these days), is a slim, brunet man wearing the ugliest fedora Fiona’s seen in around ten years. And at first she has to blink, and pinch herself, and discreetly stare holes in the back of his head to figure out if it’s really fucking him of all people before she hears a smug voice call out:
“Black coffee, with uhh two sugars please.”
And fuck it’s him.
Lying sociopath JimmySteve. Car thief, on the run from drug lords, flaky, JimmySteve(Jack?) who has the same stupid voice with his same stupid shoes and how the fuck did he manage to find her in Miami. Her one chance to get away from the shitshow she left in Chicago. Fiona had never counted herself as a lucky person, wherever she went and whatever she did, misfortune seemed hot on her heels, as though Frank and Monica were constantly breathing down her neck and carelessly breaking the shit around her in a drug-induced mania even when she had no clue where they had fucked off to (when they weren’t 6ft under).
JimmySteve has now moved from the counter and is waiting for his order, casually scrolling through his phone as though he hasn’t just ruined Fiona’s entire day just by standing there. She thinks about what her call with Lip will be like that evening, how many guesses it’s going to take him to figure out the person that she thought she finally got rid of is the one person that is still somehow stuck to her like gum on her shoe. The worst part is that Fiona had thought that she had been careful. No more rich lesbians coming into her business every day and leaving $100 tips, no more big black cars parked outside of her apartment, or random gifts being delivered to her door. She had somehow thought that the universe would actually let the last time she saw him be the time she got to say goodbye, instead of him just leaving and not figuring out that he was gone gone until days after he left.
The strength it takes to not simultaneously rip her hair out, stomp on the floor like a toddler and storm out the coffee shop is immeasurable, and instead she settles for tucking her distinctive brown mane under her shirt and tugging down her hat and hoping that keeping her eyes down will be enough to avoid him. If he doesn’t already know that she’s there of course. Because every time they had met had been on his terms, after he found out where to find her, always surprising her by showing up into her life at the worst time. Like now, for instance. Fiona Gallagher is finally moving up in the world, one business degree later, and this time it’s actually going to stick. She won’t allow herself to be pulled into the explosion that’s about to happen if JimmySteve looks a little to the left.
“Black coffee, two sugars for Nathan?” The barista calls out and JimmySteveJackNathan awkwardly hops over to the counter to collect his order. And then he starts walking down to the seating behind her and Fiona suddenly becomes very interested in the plants near the opposite window. He walks straight past her. Fiona lets out a sigh of relief and relaxes just a little bit more. She’ll take her coffee to go and he’ll never know she was here (if he wasn’t the one to facilitate this possibly random meeting in the first place). Except now her problem is that she keeps wanting to look back. Who is he texting? Does he still have an insane sweet tooth? Were those salmon colored bermuda shorts really the only thing in his wardrobe because maybe it looked fine in the early 2010s but now he just looks like one of the many tacky tourists that seem to infest Miami at this time of the year. But the most important question that she can’t stop thinking about is whether or not what he’s doing is illegal- has he stopped stealing, stopped getting involved with dangerous people, has he got a job that doesn’t involve constantly looking over both shoulders and having one foot out of the door?
Fiona doesn’t know. And why should she care. It’s been almost ten years since he drove away on that motorcycle and she actually has her life in order- for the first time ever. So why does the idea of Jimmy changing for someone that wasn’t her bother Fiona so much?
“Hi, may I take your order?”
She’s quickly and violently shaken out of the storm in her head by the barista who’s looking at her with a touch of concern in their eyes.
“Double espresso please. For Fiona,” she smiles, trying to reassure the barista that she’s fine. “Oh to go as well would be great,” she tacks on and then goes to stand somewhere else to wait for her order.
As long as she gets out of this coffee shop quickly and never comes back again then she’ll be fine. A brief glance over her shoulder lets her know that JimmySteve is still on his phone, taking leisurely sips of his drink. Fiona tucks herself in the corner facing away from him and attempts to focus on the emails she’s been putting off answering and whether Lip will laugh at her for being a pussy or share his own stories about avoiding exes in public spaces- probably both.
And it’s then, probably the most unfortunate coincidence out of all the unfortunate coincidences that she’s been forced to endure today that just as Fiona resigns on taking her final quick glance over her shoulder, to make sure JimmySteve isn’t stealing a car behind her, or talking to drug lords, the barista announces to the entire coffee shop:
“Double espresso for Fiona.”
It’s like a slow-motion car crash. She’s still looking back while JimmySteve looks up at the word ‘Fiona’, as though that name still means something to him, and when they lock eyes she can see the emotions that flit behind his eyes go from shock, to confusion, back to shock again.
His chair screeches as he jumps out of it and runs over to her, almost bumping into several other customers and their coffee-filled hands, while Fiona tries to make a quick exit. It doesn’t happen. He catches her as soon as she gets outside, standing in front of her and blocking her from walking forward.
“Fiona,” JimmySteve starts, before having to stop and catch his breath, “is that really you?”
He looks good. Almost too good. His hair is a little shorter than she’s used to and he has a couple gray strands. He’s still tan, but his nose is a peeling red despite his hat. It’s his eyes that catch her attention first, though, green and stormy.
She doesn’t know what to say. She thinks about slapping him instead. Yes it’s me, the girl you left behind so many times that she dumped you, the one who trusted you even though she didn’t even know your real name, the one you could’ve settled down with instead of just playing house if you’d have bothered to stay still. So, instead Fiona fumbles around her purse for a cigarette, coffee still in the other hand, and lights it, taking a long hard drag before answering his question.
“Fiona Gallagher, in the flesh.”
The words seem to punch him in the gut with the breathy noise he lets out when she speaks. However, he quickly manages to collect himself enough to say, “fuck Fiona, how long has it been? Like eight years?”
“More like ten,” she snorts, and tries to walk away. But he corners her again.
“Hey, come back inside and we can finish our coffees together, for old times sake?”
Fiona just stares at him. JimmySteve isn’t deterred, something that doesn’t surprise her.
“Fi, please, you don’t seem like you’re in a rush and i’m only in Miami for a couple more days, lets just sit down together like the past ten years didn’t happen, huh?”
He’s putting on that smile again, the charming one that always got her to fold. And fuck it’s been so long that she’s had to deal with his bullshit that her tolerance must be shot because that’s the only possible reason for why she agrees, stamps on her cigarette, and walks back inside the fucking coffee shop.
They get a few stares as they walk back in and Fiona wonders how many people watched them outside, especially since now JimmySteve has returned to his abandoned coffee that a worker seemed to be about to grab.
JimmySteve takes a big breath, opens his mouth, closes it again, and then opens it once more to squeak out, “so Fiona Gallagher, how have you been?”
She sighs, this is such a bad idea, the kind of bad idea that got her to fall in love with him in the first place.
“Small talk is how we’re doing this, huh, Nathan?”
“Or we could go straight to the obvious,” JimmySteve stares down at his coffee (ignoring the Nathan comment), just for a second, before looking her into the eyes with this sly look on his face, “since your last name is Gallagher and you aren’t wearing a wedding ring, what happened to the musician with the strong right hook?”
The urge to slap him returns.
“Wasn’t so big on me cheating on him with my ex.”
“Yeah, that’ll do it.”
Silence.
“Still didn’t marry again, though, right?”
“Neither did you, it seems.”
Fiona sips at her coffee while JimmySteve nods at what she says, but it just tastes like ash, the only sensation she gets is the hot liquid burning the back of her throat as she focuses on how to keep the conversation short in hopes that he’ll never find her again.
“So! How long are you in Miami for,” he says, swiftly changing the subject.
“I live here,” she deadpans, but regrets it immediately because now he knows the city she lives in, “I’m assuming you don’t? Here for a job?” It’s wishful thinking, but probable all the same.
“Nah, vacation. I had a couple good jobs a few months ago that paid well enough for me to take some well deserved time off and head to the sunshine state. I’m here until Monday.”
Fiona takes that information in, but doesn’t know how to respond. He’s probably got a long line of brunettes back at whatever hotel he’s staying at.
“You here with the rest of the Gallagher clan?”
“No, they stayed in Chicago, though Lip’s constantly threatening to move to Milwaukee with his baby mama and Liam.”
“Lip has a kid?”
“Two. Surprised?”
“No, I could’ve guessed that.”
And he’s right. After what happened with Karen, and how he’s always taken care of Liam, Lip being a dad was probably set in stone.
“Speaking of dads, I heard about yours, and uh sorry about that.” She tries to sound as though she’s full of condolences or whatever the fuck, but it’s hard when your ex’s dad groomed your kid brother (under your watch but you just didn’t know it).
“It’s fine, it’s been a few years, plus we had what you could call a complex relationship, but you’d know about stuff like that anyway.”
Maybe it’s not too late to hit him.
“Well, Frank’s dead as well if it makes you feel any better. Overdose plus COVID.”
“Frank’s capable of death?” JimmySteve actually looks surprised.
“Apparently so. Didn’t make it to the funeral, though, I only went to Monica’s because I was the one unfortunate enough to have to plan it.”
JimmySteve narrows his eyes, “how did you find out about that anyway, keeping tabs on me?”
“About Frank’s death?” Fiona’s confused.
“No, no, not your dad’s death,” he says, waving his hand around like he’s trying to swat Frank away, “my dad’s death.”
Fiona’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, um, Ian.”
JimmySteve just scoffs, and rolls his eyes. “Of course you did.”
And Fiona doesn’t know what to say to that so she just sips her coffee again. They sit in silence for a few more minutes when JimmySteve starts talking again.
“So how are the rest of the Gallaghers anyway? I’m assuming Liam isn’t still pooping in his diapers.”
That makes Fiona smile a bit. She’d talked to Liam the other day and was simultaneously shocked about both how mature he sounded and glad that she hadn’t done any lasting damage after the coke accident.
“Yeah, he started High School not too long ago. Wants to be either an astrophysicist or a lawyer.”
“Jeez, the kid has big dreams. Always knew he was going to make it.” JimmySteve is nodding like the times he babysat Liam in an effort to hide from those drug lords make him a proud parent. Sometimes she forgets how long JimmySteve actually lived with them for, and how big of an impact he had on the smaller kid’s lives.
“You thought a Gallagher was going to make it?”
“Well, Frank and Monica weren’t his parents.”
And that’s almost the final straw. Fiona almost slams her coffee down and almost gets up and almost storms out of the coffee shop but something in Jimmy’s eyes pins her to her seat. If this is going to be the last time she sees him, actually the last time, then she’s going to make it worth her while.
“Debbie’s a lesbian with a welding business and an elementary schooler.”
JimmySteve nods along and keeps too much eye contact.
“And Carl’s a cop.”
He audibly chuckles at that and waits for Fiona to tell him that it’s a joke. She just shrugs and smiles. JimmySteve’s grin drops.
“Wait, you’re not joking?”
“Nope. Let me grab a photo.”
Fiona picks up her phone and flicks through her gallery while JimmySteve says, “always thought he was going to be a criminal, not the one catching them.” Fiona just smirks, and pulls up one of her favorite recent photos of Carl standing outside the Alibi at its new grand opening with his partner Officer Tipping.
“Is that the Alibi?”
“Yeah, Kev and V moved to Kentucky and sold it to Carl, who’s turning it into a cop bar.”
“Yeesh, remind me to never go back there again.”
Fiona snorts and tries to hide a smile, but Jimmy notices. She straightens her face and changes the subject.
“And Ian is married.”
JimmySteve raises his eyebrows, but clearly isn’t all that shocked, maybe because while the Ian he remembers was still in High School, it has been a while and Ian isn't the only one who's changed.
“Who’s the lucky guy? Anyone I would know? Hopefully not Lip’s baby mama’s dad.” He laughs at his own joke, but Fiona just rolls her eyes.
“Yeah actually you do know him, funny enough.”
JimmySteve stops laughing and instead his face shifts in a way that Fiona knows is him being more interested than he wants to let on.
“Shit, seriously? Who?”
“Mickey.”
“Like Milkovich?” Now he’s actually shocked. “Wait, wait, wait, I thought Mickey couldn’t even say the word gay unless it was to insult whichever poor soul he was beating up for drug money.”
“Yeah, well, it’s been a long time since then,” Fiona says, shrugging while JimmySteve is still trying to figure out how Mickey and Ian are still together. “They have an apartment on the West Side together, a security business, and a dog called Maddy. Ian is even thinking about going back to school and getting an Associates Degree in Nursing, the business is going so well.”
“Huh, that sounds almost… normal.”
Fiona doesn’t mention how Maddy is actually long for MAD, which is short for Mutually Assured Destruction, something Mickey learnt about when watching a Cold War documentary with Ian, Lip, and Liam for Liam’s homework.
“They were on and off for a while, but they got it together in the end,” she adds. “You know there was a time when I thought that they wouldn’t end up together at all, and that Mickey wasn’t good for Ian. I actively told him to stay away.”
Melancholy takes over the features on Jimmy’s face, but he doesn’t say anything. So, Fiona carries on.
“Right before Monica died, Ian was doing real well. He had a job as an EMT, a boyfriend who worked with homeless gay teens, and he had dreams again. I was so proud of him, well I am now, but this was the first time in years that things for him seemed to be looking up, you know?” She doesn’t mention the bipolar, or the military police, or the pills, or Sammi, JimmySteve doesn’t need to know in order for her to get her point across, she just continues, “And Mickey was in prison-”
“-Wow what a surprise,” JimmySteve interrupts with a grin. Fiona just glares at him and carries on.
“-So I thought they were finally over.” She takes a sip of her lukewarm coffee, “until we got the news that Mickey had escaped. Ian swore up and down that he wasn’t going to get involved with Mickey’s bullshit again, that if Mickey tried to contact him again that he would ignore it and move on with his life. That was when I told him that getting back together with Mickey wouldn’t do anything good for him, that it would set a match to all his good progress. And then Ian disappeared for a few days, I thought he was at the boyfriend’s place, or working a super long couple of shifts and just didn’t come home, until he told us that he had just left Mickey at the border after almost going to Mexico with him. Ian said he couldn’t do it because that wasn’t his life anymore, that he didn’t want to be a fugitive on the run, even if it was with Mickey.”
“So what happened next? If Mickey was on the run in Mexico, how did they end up married on the West Side,” JimmySteve says, almost frantically.
“Ian stopped doing well, got thrown into prison. I still remember the first time I visited and expected him to be all glum and all the things I was going to say to him to make him feel better about it, but when I sat down with him, he had this infectious grin on his face. I thought he was sick or something. But then he told me that Mickey had given up his life on the run and turned himself in in order to spend Ian’s sentence together, and now they’ve both finished up their paroles and are living together as free men.”
JimmySteve doesn’t say anything for a second and the conversation goes quiet, he looks thoughtful, and nostalgic, as though he’s remembering something he once said to Fiona years ago about running off to Dubai.
“You know you never told me how you are, Fi,” he says, changing the subject. It’s that fucking nickname again, that feels like the trigger to a time machine.
“I’m good. I have a business degree, and a job where I call the shots, and a nice apartment where I can relax and get a full night's sleep. A dream come true.”
“Very different to the Gallagher house then?”
“Very.”
Her coffee is almost done and she has to leave in a second, but it’s as if JimmySteve senses her pulling away when he says, “a part of me will still always love you, Fiona, a-and I have this great job in Texas coming up, that’s not even that far from here, you can still join me you know, the offer’s still there,” he confesses, babbling, but Fiona just shakes her head.
“And all of me knows that it’ll be a bad idea. I can’t go with you, Jimmy, you know that. I have a good life here.” A wave of pure emotion just washes over her and crashes on the shore as she watches his shoulders sag and his mouth return to a straight line.
“I know,” he says quietly, “goodbye Fiona.”
She stands up to leave and throws her to go cup in the bin.
“Bye, Jimmy.”
The first thing she does when she gets home that night is kick her feet up on her couch and pick up her phone, clicking on the little telephone icon next to Lip’s name in her contacts. Fiona barely lets him say “Yo,” before she drops the bomb she knows all the Gallaghers will find out by the end of the day.
“You’ll never guess who I ran into at a coffee shop today, Lip.”