Chapter 38: Building Something Real
Thanksgiving at the Gallagher house was controlled chaos with Fiona at the center orchestrating miracles from limited resources.
Ben arrived early carrying groceries he'd insisted on buying—turkey, vegetables, pie ingredients. His contribution to family holiday, accepted after Fiona's token resistance.
"You don't have to keep buying food," Fiona said, unpacking bags.
"I'm eating the food. Seems fair I help pay for it." Ben found the roasting pan automatically—he'd learned the kitchen's geography over months of morning coffee and late-night conversations. "Besides, this is my first Thanksgiving with people who matter. Want it to be good."
"First Thanksgiving? Ever?"
"First one that feels like family instead of obligation." He'd spent previous Thanksgivings with college roommates or alone—memories from his previous life that felt increasingly distant. "This matters more."
Fiona kissed him—still new enough to feel electric, familiar enough to feel natural. "You're sweet. It's disgusting."
"I'll work on being more cynical."
"Don't you dare."
The kids descended throughout the morning. Lip helped with cooking, Debbie decorated with construction paper turkeys, Carl and Ian argued about football games, Liam clung to Fiona's leg demanding attention.
V and Kevin arrived with side dishes and loud commentary. Frank appeared sober-ish and surprisingly helpful. Mickey showed up with Ian, awkward but present—his relationship with the family improving slowly after the confrontation resolution.
"This is domestic as hell," Mickey observed, watching Ben mash potatoes while Fiona managed three simultaneous cooking timers.
"That's the goal," Ben said.
"You're really settling in here. Dating Fiona, helping with the kids, doing the whole family thing."
"Yeah. Problem?"
"No. Just weird seeing someone choose this life instead of trying to escape it." Mickey grabbed a beer from the fridge. "Most people see South Side as place to leave, not build family in."
"Most people don't know what they're missing."
Dinner was loud, crowded, perfectly imperfect. They crammed around a table meant for six, passing food over each other, arguing and laughing simultaneously. Frank made inappropriate jokes until V threatened him with a fork. Debbie insisted on going around saying what everyone was grateful for—awkward but genuine.
"I'm grateful for Fiona keeping everything together," Lip said.
"I'm grateful for not being dead," Ian added with dark humor that made Mickey laugh.
"I'm grateful for turkeys," Carl contributed. "They're stupid and delicious."
"I'm grateful for Ben fixing everything," Debbie said. "Like actually everything. The sink, the heater, Carl's attitude—"
"Hey!"
"—and making Fiona smile more."
Silence. Then Fiona's eyes got suspiciously bright. "Deb—"
"It's true! You smile way more now. Like all the time. It's gross but nice."
Everyone laughed. Ben caught Fiona's hand under the table, squeezed. She squeezed back.
When his turn came, Ben kept it simple. "I'm grateful for this family. For letting me be part of it. For teaching me what home feels like."
"Okay, now we're all crying," V announced, wiping her eyes. "Thanks a lot, Ben."
After dinner, while kids scattered and adults cleaned, Fiona found Ben on the back porch smoking.
"You don't smoke," she observed.
"Special occasions." He offered her the cigarette. She took a drag, passed it back. "Today was good."
"Yeah. First Thanksgiving in years that didn't feel like we were pretending everything was fine." She leaned against him. "That's partly you. Your stability, your presence. It changes the atmosphere."
"It's you doing the heavy lifting. I just show up."
"Showing up is half the battle. Nobody else does it consistently." She pulled his coat tighter—Chicago November bit through layers. "My family's adopting you. You notice that?"
"Hard to miss Debbie announcing it at dinner."
"Means you're stuck with us. All the chaos, all the dysfunction, all of it. Forever."
"I'm okay with forever."
She turned to look at him directly. "Are you? Because I come with five siblings, an alcoholic father, a house that's always falling apart, and approximately zero chill about anything."
"I know exactly what I'm getting into. Been here ten months watching it all unfold." Ben cupped her face. "I choose it. Choose you. Choose this family. Not despite the chaos—including it."
"You're insane."
"Probably."
She kissed him—longer this time, promise and commitment mixed with cold night air and cigarette smoke. When they broke apart, her smile was genuine.
"Okay. Let's do this. The relationship thing. Officially."
"We've been doing the relationship thing for a month."
"Yeah, but now it's Thanksgiving Official. That's different." She grabbed his hand. "Come on. Inside. V wants to play charades and she's terrifying when people refuse."
They went inside together, into warmth and noise and family. Ben's place at the table, in the house, in their lives—established and accepted.
December brought Christmas preparation and relationship routines.
Ben and Fiona developed patterns: morning coffee together, lunch twice weekly at the diner, evening check-ins even when they didn't see each other. Phone calls throughout the day—her asking advice about kids, him requesting her opinion on shop decisions.
"We're disgusting," Lip observed one afternoon, catching them being affectionate in the kitchen. "Like actually gross with the constant touching and smiling."
"Jealousy is ugly on you," Fiona shot back.
"Not jealous. Disturbed. There are children present."
Debbie, reading at the table, didn't look up. "I think it's nice. They're happy. We should want Fiona to be happy."
"Thank you, Debbie," Fiona said pointedly.
"Still gross," Lip muttered, but he was smiling.
The kids adapted to Ben's increased presence quickly. Carl showed him something he'd built for shop class—actually built, not stolen. Ian brought Mickey over more often, their relationship becoming semi-public under Ben's normalization. Debbie recruited Ben for school projects requiring "dad skills" which made Fiona cry and Ben's chest tight. Even Liam accepted Ben's authority alongside Fiona's.
Christmas was modest—Ben's contribution stretched the gift budget but couldn't make it extravagant. Everyone got something meaningful within financial constraints. The kids were happy, which made Fiona happy, which made everything worthwhile.
"You're staying tonight," Fiona announced Christmas evening after kids were asleep.
"Am I?"
"Yes. Because it's Christmas and I want to wake up with you tomorrow and I'm tired of you leaving every night." She was nervous despite the declarative tone. "Unless you don't want to—"
He kissed her quiet. "I want to."
They fell asleep tangled together in her bed—not sex yet, just closeness and trust and choosing each other daily. Building something real from accumulated small moments.
Late December, V cornered Ben at the Alibi.
"You're in love with her," V said without preamble.
"Yes."
"Like actually in love. Not just enjoying the relationship but committed long-term."
"Yes."
V studied him with unsettling intensity. "Are you planning to propose?"
Ben's MacGyver Mind had already been calculating timelines, but hearing it aloud made it real. "Eventually."
"How eventually?"
"Few months maybe. Want to make sure she's ready."
"She's ready. Trust me." V leaned forward. "Fiona's been hurt by every guy who promised stability. They all left eventually—her mom, Jimmy, every boyfriend before that. You're the first one who shows up consistently, who treats the kids like family, who makes her feel like partnership is possible."
"That's a lot of pressure."
"Marriage is pressure. But you're already doing the marriage things—helping with kids, making decisions together, being present daily. Legal recognition just makes official what's already true."
"Three months feels fast—"
"South Side timelines are different. When you know, you know. And you know." V grabbed his hand. "Don't let fear of moving too fast stop you from offering her what she deserves. Stability. Commitment. Legal protection for the kids through your partnership."
Ben processed this. V was right—they were functionally partnered already. Marriage formalized existing reality rather than creating new one.
"I'll think about it."
"Think fast. Fiona's not getting any younger and neither are you."
She left him with his beer and his thoughts. Around him, the Alibi hummed with South Side life—people drinking away problems, celebrating small victories, existing in the space between survival and thriving.
He was thriving. For the first time since transmigration, life felt stable and good and right. Fiona was the center of that—her strength, her laugh, her constant fight to keep family together.
Three months was fast. But V was right: South Side timelines were compressed. Crisis came frequently. Stability needed cementing before chaos returned.
And his Danger Intuition whispered warnings about spring—Robbie approaching, cocaine incident pending, house arrest and crisis ahead. Better to build foundation before disasters tested it.
Ben finished his beer and made the decision.
He'd propose in February. Give them Valentine's Day proximity without the cliché. Give Fiona commitment . Give himself the concrete certainty of formalized partnership.
Three months was fast.
But when you knew, you knew.
New Year's Eve at the Gallagher house was alcohol and laughter and terrible TV.
Ben and Fiona claimed the couch while kids and friends filled every other available space. Mickey and Ian sat close but not obviously together—progress in increments. V and Kevin were disgustingly affectionate. Even Frank was present and not completely drunk.
At midnight, everyone counted down enthusiastically. Fiona kissed Ben while chaos erupted around them—kids blowing noisemakers, adults shouting, pure joy in the moment.
"Happy New Year," Fiona said against his lips.
"Happy New Year."
"2013's going to be better. I can feel it."
Ben's Danger Intuition hummed warnings about spring's approaching disasters. But Fiona was smiling, family was happy, and this moment was perfect despite future chaos.
"Yeah," he lied gently. "It's going to be great."
Because it would be—stability first, crisis later, marriage as foundation before storms tested it. He'd propose in February, they'd weather choas together, and partnership would survive what individual effort couldn't.
2013 would bring disasters.
But it would also bring commitment, growth, family strengthened through shared struggle.
That was worth the approaching chaos.
That was worth everything.
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