HARD TIMES ━ lip gallagher²

12 | shit show

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AMARA WASN'T AT ALL surprised to see that both Lip and Freddie were gone from their shared room the next morning when she arrived back at the Gallagher house.

What she was surprised about, however, was the flock of people chasing after Mickey while she was grabbing a change of clothes from her dresser. None of them glanced her way as they all piled into the boys room, and curiously, she dropped the shirt in her hands and made her way over.

"Mickey," Ian called again, but his fiancé didn't answer. Amara backed against the wall with widened eyes when the brunette walked past with a gun in his hands.

"Terry Milkovich!" Mickey bellowed, Amara made eye contact with Ian, who had just noticed her standing there, and they both rushed to trail after him.

"What the hell is he doing with a gun?! In a house with kids!?"

"You fucking pig fucker!" Mickey went on. Sandy jogged past them all on the back stairs and tackled Mickey to the ground. Amara paused mid-step after him, and glanced between them. "What the fuck, Sandy?!"

"Give me the fucking gun, Mick," she demanded, still wrestling him as Ian struggled to grab the weapon.

"Oh, shit!" Ian swore once a bullet rang off and shattered the back window of the van that was still parked in the backyard. Amara hadn't even noticed both Carl and Debbie ducked behind her.

Something caught in her throat, and Amara punched her chest as she coughed. Ian was still fighting Mickey, who had now tossed Carl the gun, but she wasn't watching them anymore. Her gaze was on the dark cloud of smoke that seemed to be coming from something close by. Maybe not even a block away.

And then it made sense to why Mickey was so mad. Her eyes were still welded with tears from the coughing she had done just a moment prior, and as she glanced back to the couple, the look of despair on their faces was enough to want to make her kill Terry. 

It was what he deserved, after all.

Back in the kitchen less then ten minutes later, they were rushing to come up with a backup plan. Amara felt like a shitty groomsmaid (she and Ian couldn't figure out what to call her so they went with that) for not thinking worst case scenario. She should've had some sort of plan B.

"Terry burned down the Bamboo?" Debbie asked in disbelief. Amara blinked and tuned back into the conversation, turning her head away from the small window above the sink. She was trying to balance way too many things—it was finally catching up to her.

"Jesus," Debbie went on, sighing. "There's homophobic, and then there's Vladimir Putin homophobic."

"We'll just call everybody," Sandy said, crossing her arms and joining the rest of them at the table. "Tell them the wedding is postponed."

"What? No!" Debbie protested. "We can figure this out."

"There's gotta be another non hate-criming gay church in Chicago," Amara said while staring at a stool absentmindedly. "Even if it costs extra I'll pay it. You guys deserve to get married."

"We should just elope," Ian broke in, shrugging. "Go to the courthouse. It's what we should've done in the first place."

"No way," Amara scowled and shook her head. "Remember the last time someone got married in a courthouse in this family? We are not having a Gus-Fiona repeat situation. You guys are getting married for real."

"Yeah," Debbie agreed. "You can't let hate win."

"Wake up, Little Mary Sunshine. Hate always wins."