Chapter 10: Fiona's Ridiculous Pride
In the South Side of Chicago, a college degree might as well have been a miracle.
Even a cheap public university was completely out of reach for most families here.
If someone could afford to send their kid to college, that already meant they weren't truly poor.
And for everyone else?
The only way out was a full scholarship.
If you were smart enough to earn one, and lucky enough to balance part-time jobs and student loans, then maybe — just maybe — you could claw your way to a diploma.
But even that was rare.
In this neighborhood, competing with kids from stable, middle-class families like William's was almost impossible.
Lip Gallagher was one of the few exceptions — a genuine genius in a sea of chaos.
Across the entire South Side, there were maybe a handful like him.
Still, in the Gallagher family, even that was considered progress.
After all, Frank Gallagher — the man, the myth, the walking hangover — had technically gone to college once.
He just never finished.
He loved to brag about that fact, though,
and Lip had unknowingly started walking that same doomed road all over again.
In truth, both Fiona and Lip had been ruined by the same two poisons — alcohol and sex.
---
"Wow," Fiona said softly, looking at William with a faint smile.
"So you must be really smart, huh?"
There was a flicker of envy in her eyes —
though whether she was jealous of his brains or his money, even she probably couldn't say.
That was the kind of person Fiona was — complicated, contradictory, and hard to read.
William chuckled. "I get by."
Honestly, nobody in that house cared much about education anyway.
Maybe Fiona, a little.
But the rest? Not a chance.
If Lip had actually cared, he wouldn't have needed Mandy Milkovich to fill out his college applications later on.
And the others — well, they'd already dropped out of caring long ago.
---
"Hey, Veronica! You got the keys?"
The front door swung open.
A tall white guy in a black leather jacket walked in — Kevin Ball, Veronica's long-suffering boyfriend.
"Wow," Kev said, looking around. "Whole family's here? What'd I miss?"
That was all the invitation Veronica needed.
With dramatic flair, she started retelling the story of the nightclub brawl, describing every detail of William beating down the security guard.
By the time she finished, Kev's eyes were shining.
"Wait — you took down Cliffton?" he asked, almost reverently.
"No way. Man, I hate that dude. You're a legend!"
He clasped William's hand in admiration.
Apparently, that particular bouncer had annoyed Kev one too many times.
Soon, Kev was deep into a story about Jimmy's petty grudges, his bad attitude, and his precious car.
William listened politely, but his mind wandered —
he had no interest in stealing cars.
He wasn't Steve Wilton, after all.
---
Fiona checked the clock and suddenly cut the conversation short.
"Alright, everyone, it's late. Bedtime."
The way she said it made everyone glance at each other —
they all knew what she really meant.
Lip and Ian exchanged knowing looks and, without a word, started upstairs.
Debbie, of course, groaned in protest.
"But it's not even midnight!"
"Shut it! Upstairs!" Fiona snapped, glaring.
She wasn't about to let her little sister ruin her plans.
---
Kev and Veronica shared a look, then grinned.
Kev clapped William on the shoulder.
"Man, let me say goodbye properly — in case Fiona murders you tonight."
"Real funny," William muttered, forcing a smile.
With that, the couple headed home, leaving the house quiet again.
Now it was just William on the couch.
The dim lamp flickered faintly, and upstairs, Fiona's voice could be heard coaxing her siblings to bed.
William took a deep breath.
"For the regeneration factor…"
"You're really doing this, huh?"
He reached into his pocket and felt for the two condoms he'd confiscated from Steve earlier.
Still sealed. No tears.
Good.
The last thing he needed was to become a South Side dad before unlocking a healing factor.
---
After a few minutes, Fiona came downstairs.
Seeing William's back on the couch, she hesitated for a moment, her fingers brushing her collar.
The house was quiet now.
Too quiet.
She tugged lightly at her shirt — it suddenly felt hot.
Then she started tidying things up, or at least pretending to — moving one object from one side of the room to another.
Every motion just made her look busier.
But really, she was stalling.
---
"For the sake of science," William thought, exhaling slowly.
"And the system."
"Let's get this over with."
William didn't say a word.
The silence hung heavy in the room — awkward, warm, electric.
Fiona shifted uneasily, glancing toward him, then slowly moved closer.
The sound of her bare feet against the old linoleum filled the quiet.
After a moment's hesitation, she drew in a soft breath, her eyes fixed on him.
"Tell me…" she said, voice barely above a whisper,
"did you… do all that today… because of me?"
Of course she remembered —
the way he'd stood up for her in the nightclub,
the way he'd looked at her afterward.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached up,
brushing across William's chest.
Her head tilted downward, eyes flickering with something between hunger and confusion,
and she leaned closer — lips almost grazing his neck.
---
"Damn it… to hell with it!"
That was all William thought before his rational mind shut off completely.
There was no lust in his head, no sentiment — only the single, burning goal pulsing in his chest:
the reward.
Immortality. Regeneration. The self-healing power he'd been chasing all this time.
He lifted her chin gently, fingers firm beneath her jaw.
Fiona froze, breath catching in her throat.
Her eyelashes fluttered, her lips parted.
Then, slowly, she closed her eyes.
The spark ignited.
And just like that — dry tinder met flame.
William kissed her, hard.
Fiona gasped softly, then melted into him —
passion surging, raw and unrestrained.
They didn't make it to the bedroom.
Somewhere between the couch and the counter, the world blurred into heat and motion.
The old, creaking house filled with the rhythm of chaos —
a messy, tangled song of two desperate people finding distraction,
if not meaning.
---
(The following scene has been removed by the mighty hand of censorship. Glory to the System.)
---
[Ding! Mission Complete: "Interrupt the romantic encounter between Fiona and her 'boyfriend' Jimmy Lishman."]
[Reward Acquired: Regeneration Factor (Level 3).]
---
A soft chime echoed in William's head.
"Finally."
His eyes brightened —
victory gleaming beneath the dim kitchen light.
(The following description has been harmoniously omitted. The gods of propriety are merciful.)
---
BANG BANG BANG!
The sudden pounding at the door nearly shattered the moment.
"Fiona!"
A man's voice — familiar, loud, and painfully inconvenient.
Tony.
The one cop in the South Side who hadn't slept with her.
"Oh, shit," Fiona hissed, instantly snapping out of it.
"Shit! Shit! Shit!"
It wasn't embarrassment that made her panic —
it was her family.
If Tony was here in the middle of the night,
there was only one explanation:
Her drunken disaster of a father, Frank Gallagher,
had probably been hauled home again.
And for someone like Fiona —
whose pride was both her armor and her curse —
that humiliation cut deep.
Even if no one else cared,
she always did.
---
While she darted upstairs to throw on clothes,
William just stood there, sighing.
He didn't care.
Not about Frank.
Not about Tony.
The only thing that mattered was that the system had paid up.
Pulling his shirt back on, he buttoned it lazily and walked to the door.
---
The door creaked open.
"Hey, Fi—" Tony began,
then froze.
His words died instantly.
Because standing in front of him wasn't Fiona —
it was William.
The blond man from earlier.
The same guy who'd taken down a thief in the street like it was nothing.
Disheveled shirt.
Ruffled hair.
A look that screamed wrong place, right time.
Tony's face twitched.
As a cop, he had a sharp memory — and an even sharper sense of implication.
He didn't need evidence.
He already knew.
Still, pride demanded he ask anyway,
clinging to whatever excuse he could make for the woman he worshipped.
"Uh… Fiona's home?" he asked stiffly, pretending not to notice the obvious.