Chapter 16: When in Doubt, Just Blame Someone Else
"Well," William said, raising his glass with a half-smile,
"I've always had a good eye for people."
His gaze met Bianca's — calm, unwavering, and laced with just the right amount of danger.
He didn't bother to hide it.
That was the thing about America — subtlety was a dying language here.
And judging by the slight flush on Bianca's cheeks, she didn't mind being studied like a work of art.
Of course, she didn't know that William already knew everything about her —
her kindness, her integrity, even the tragic way her story was supposed to end.
All of it learned from a TV show that had long since burned into his memory.
By the time their drinks were empty, words were no longer necessary.
They left The Alibi Room side by side.
Behind the counter, Kevin watched their silhouettes fade into the night,
raised an eyebrow, and muttered, "Damn… that guy's got game."
---
Bianca's apartment was in the North Side — the land of people who still had dreams, credit, and working plumbing.
As a practicing physician, she belonged to the top one percent of earners nationwide —
not that she acted like it.
The rich might count their money in seconds,
but even among normal people, doctors still lived comfortably above the chaos.
When they reached her building, she wrapped her arms around herself,
nervous energy disguised as modesty.
"Would you… like to come up? I've still got some beer left," she said softly.
Her voice wavered, giving away her nerves.
For all her poise, this was the first time she'd ever invited a man she barely knew into her home.
---
[Ding! Mission detected: Intercept Frank Gallagher's affair with Bianca Samson.]
[Reward: 5 cubic meters of storage space.]
William smirked inwardly.
He'd planned on going up anyway —
now he had an official reason.
"Beer sounds perfect," he said. "I was just thinking I'm a little thirsty."
Bianca rolled her eyes at his transparent excuse but unlocked the door anyway.
Her apartment was small but warm — typical of Chicago's North Side,
where every square foot cost a kidney and a prayer.
Still, the space was spotless, neatly organized.
Everything about it screamed discipline —
a reflection of the kind of person who could survive med school and still smile afterward.
William sank into the soft couch, scanning the room out of habit.
"I lied," Bianca admitted, returning from the kitchen.
"I don't actually have any beer — only water. Hope that's okay."
William took the glass from her hand, his expression unreadable.
"Well," he said, "you didn't really think I came up here for the beer, did you?"
Bianca froze, caught off guard.
Her lips twitched into a shy, helpless smile.
---
"Your rooftop," William said suddenly.
"Can you get up there?"
"Huh? Yeah, but why?" she asked, puzzled.
"Thought we could get some air," he replied casually. "Clear our heads."
Bianca hesitated, then nodded. "Sure. Maybe the cold will help me sober up."
---
Rooftop
The night was clear — the kind of rare, windless night when even the moon looked too clean for this city.
They leaned against the low concrete wall,
talking about nothing and everything — the hospital, the city, the stars that weren't really stars.
The conversation didn't matter. The silence between them did.
Eventually, Bianca rested her head against William's shoulder.
He turned — and suddenly, they were eye to eye, breath to breath.
Her hand slid up to the back of his neck.
A heartbeat later, their lips met.
(Here, the universe politely turns the camera away — for "content policy" reasons. You know what happens next.)
---
"Isn't this… kind of dangerous?" Bianca gasped, gripping the rooftop edge,
half laughing, half terrified, peeking down at the glowing city below.
"Relax," William murmured, steadying her by the waist.
"I've got you."
(The universe again declines to provide further visual details. Fade to black.)
---
[Ding! Mission complete: Intercept Frank Gallagher's affair with Bianca Samson.]
[Reward obtained: Storage Space +5 cubic meters.]
---
"Fuuuck—!" Bianca screamed into the night air,
her voice half laugh, half euphoria. "My heart's gonna explode! That was—oh my god—Shit! Shit!"
William smirked faintly, zipping his jacket.
"That's one way to clear your head."
A few minutes later, as they both caught their breath,
Bianca shivered and tugged her shirt back on.
"Let's go inside. It's freezing up here."
---
Back at her door, she stopped, hesitating.
The air between them was heavy, intimate.
"Hey… are you staying over?" she asked, looking up at him.
Her eyes said more than the words ever could.
If he said yes, this wouldn't just be a one-night thing.
It would mean something — the start of something real.
---
William met her gaze and smiled faintly, teasing.
"Well, it's only been one day," he said softly.
"Are you sure about that already?"
Bianca didn't answer.
She just stood there — flushed, smiling, and silently daring him to say no.
Bianca tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into a soft, knowing smile.
"Well… I like you," she said quietly. "So, what's your answer?"
William met her gaze — unwavering, amused — and smiled.
That was answer enough.
---
South Side – 2119 North Wallace Street
Once again — for the third time in a week — William found himself standing in front of the Gallagher house.
The paint was still peeling. The windows still screamed poor but proud.
Nothing had changed — and yet, everything somehow felt different.
He knocked.
A few moments later, the door creaked open.
It was Debbie, all freckles and awkward innocence.
"William?" she blinked, surprised.
Apparently, she still remembered his name.
"Is Lip home?" William asked, giving her a quick once-over.
His mind was already running through possibilities —
if bipolar disorder counted as a transferable illness,
could he just… shift Ian's condition onto her?
Debbie's smile was polite. Still sweet. Still sane.
Not yet the manipulative, self-righteous disaster she'd grow into.
"He's here. Come in — I'll go get him."
So polite. So trusting.
It almost made William feel guilty for mentally drafting a plan to dose her with abortion pills down the line.
Almost.
It's not cruelty, he told himself. It's mercy. Better a quiet ending than a lifetime of chaos.
---
A few minutes later, Lip came down the stairs, cigarette hanging from his lips.
"Hey, you're here," he said. "Come on up — I think I've figured something out."
William followed him, nodding in approval.
When given a task, Lip actually threw himself into it.
He'd even managed to suppress his sex addiction — temporarily.
"Good," William said, stepping closer and clapping a hand on his shoulder.
The motion was casual, friendly — perfectly timed.
And in that instant, he quietly transferred the erectile dysfunction he'd collected from the hospital straight onto Lip.
He'll thank me someday, William thought dryly. A man without urges can't ruin his life chasing them.
He almost felt noble — like a saint who specialized in ironic miracles.
---
"So," William asked after a moment, "where's Fiona? Haven't seen her around lately."
It wasn't longing — not really.
He just didn't trust her to make good decisions unsupervised.
If she was going to spiral, he preferred it happen under his watch.
Lip froze on the stairs, silent for a few seconds.
Then he turned back, expression unreadable.
"She's working," he said flatly.
William caught the tone — sharp, cold, defensive.
The way Lip's jaw tightened told him everything.
Of course.
That was the Gallagher way.
When in doubt, when the world falls apart,
when you don't have the courage to face what's broken —
Blame someone else.
---
He could already see it in Lip's eyes.
Somewhere in that stubborn brain, the story was being rewritten:
It wasn't us who broke her. It was him.
William.
The outsider. The scapegoat.
He didn't even bother correcting it.
He'd been in this world long enough to know — in the South Side, guilt was currency.
And you paid it forward however you could.