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Game Over
chapter forty eight
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TW:
mentions of blood and self harm in
the later part of the chapter.
THERE WAS SOMETHING ABOUT THANKSGIVING THAT MADE PHOEBE EVEN MORE TIRED. She could remember not eating a whole day just to save room for the usual festive array of food. She could also remember discarding the turkey giblets and the neck bone even though it made her gag in disgust. But now that she's alone, she doesn't feel so obliged to follow those rules. Maybe that's why she dragged Alan out of bed and over to her mother's for brunch. The two entered the warm house, shedding off the clothing shielding them from the winter cold. "Do I smell coffee?" Alan asked, his nose in the air sniffing like a bloodhound. "That you do. I just put on a pot," Millie responded with a laugh. The guests kicked off their shoes without hesitation. "He basically lives off of the stuff," Phoebe explained as he slipped between the two, making a beeline for the kitchen.
"Most people do nowadays," Millie replied with a half shrug. She hesitated, but decided to give Phoebe a small hug, her hand patting over the girl's back. Phoebe reciprocated just as awkwardly, releasing a short laugh. "You look nice." Phoebe glanced toward her mother's outfit. She wore a burnt orange turtleneck with a black vest over it with white stitching. "I know you're going to the Gallagher's for Thanksgiving dinner," Millie began to explain, ringing her fingers out in front of her, "so I thought I would treat this like Thanksgiving dinner. I would much rather do this than go to another family function to explain why neither you nor your father is there with me." A sympathetic feeling washed over the younger girl as she listened. She frowned a bit to herself. "Eh, it's so boring there anyway. All they talk about is football, their jobs, and their kids. You're better off here."
"What kind of coffee is this?" Alan asked curiously, walking back up to the two women with a cup in hand. Millie's brows rose for a moment as she tried to recall just what she had bought. "Ah, I think it's just a dark roast. The creamer is hazelnut, though." Alan's face contorted into one of realization. He took another sip, the steam warming his red cheeks. Phoebe wanted to laugh at him for being so cute, but refrained from doing so. "Do you want to try?" He moved closer to the group, holding his cup out to Phoebe. She took it gratefully and took a small drink. It was good, though she wasn't the biggest fan of coffee. She would drink this, though. "Good, huh?" He looked like a proud father with the way his eyes gleamed. He smiled so brightly that Phoebe almost felt blinded. "Yeah. It's good," she laughed, handing the cup back over to his waiting hands. "Well, let's not allow the food to get cold. I made a big breakfast."
Millie took the lead toward the kitchen. Everything was once again set up in nice platters, lining the surface of the kitchen island. There were eggs, biscuits, pancakes, sausage links, and a gallon of orange juice was sitting on the counter. Phoebe bit down on her bottom lip. She had been so hungry. The smell of it all was making her mouth water. "I was thinking we could sit in the living room. We can put something on the record player and talk?" For a moment, Phoebe's eyes flickered toward the empty dining room. The table was no longer set. The tablecloth was wrinkled. Her mind flickered between now and then, hands nervously pulling at the hem of her skirt. "Let's eat in the dining room," she blurted out, surprising even herself. Millie looked at her with wide eyes. "You want– Are you sure? You didn't do too well last time."
"What happened in the dining room?" Alan asked, oblivious to the tension surrounding them. Neither of them spoke. The memory was interpreted in different ways. From Phoebe's point of view, it instilled fear. It was the moment her father showed his true colors. She watched as his face changed, as his eyes darkened, and as his hand flew out to grab her like something out of her nightmares. She could remember the heavy pressure of his fingertips digging into her biceps, bruising her skin, bruising her heart. It was the moment she realized the monster lurking in his shadow. But for Millie, it was the moment she realized just how badly she wanted it all to be over. The perfect family picture she tried to instill in her brain faded away like a polaroid catching flame. It was the moment she realized just how terrible she was at motherhood, at loving someone other than a monster. It was one of her biggest regrets, especially after seeing the way Phoebe reacted the last time they had walked into the dining room.
"Long story," Phoebe finally responded, shrugging her shoulders. "But I'm sure. Let's do it." There was a pause. Millie assessed Phoebe closely, eyes focused on the brunette before she sighed. "Sure! Alan, would you help me move everything?" — "Yeah!" He passed his cup over to Phoebe and began moving the platters into the dining room. Phoebe watched, her hands clutching the mug tight between them. She couldn't let the past hold her back anymore. Sure, it was just a room. It wasn't like it was something bigger, like going to school (she had already had time to conquer that fear). She knew that if she couldn't get over this, then she'd find herself believing she couldn't get over anything, and she needed her strength. "It's nice," Alan spoke, snapping the girl out of her thoughts. "Thank you," Millie replied with a small laugh. "I've always wanted a big house." Alan passed by Phoebe with another platter, winking over at the girl. He felt so proud of himself for making Millie like him.
She rolled her eyes at his action, bringing the cup up to her lips to take a drink. Once the two were done, she knew that it was time. She passed the drink back over to her fiance and made her way into the small room. Millie watched closely as she decided on a seat to take. She situated herself in the one opposite of her old one, sitting down. Alan swooped in behind her and helped scoot her up to the table with a smile. "I'm going to pour some orange juice into the pitcher real quick. You two should go ahead and plate yourselves some food." Alan sat across from Phoebe, wiggling his eyebrows over at the girl. "It smells so good," he stated, using the tongs on the platter to place a few sausages on his plate. She nodded her head in agreement, plating herself some eggs. "She's always been a good cook," she replied, not realizing the compliment that left her lips. She took the top pancake and a few sausages to finish off her breakfast.
"So, what happened here?" he asked. He took a bite of the sausage, his eyes never leaving hers. She pressed her lips into a firm line. She knew that she didn't have to answer. He would understand if she told him that she didn't want to, but she also knew that it would be better to get it off of her chest. Keeping secrets never helped in relationships. So why did she feel so reluctant to tell him? She waved the question off dismissively, a smile apparent on her features. "I'll tell you some other time," she told him with a finalizing nod. He only shrugged his shoulders. She would tell him eventually. Seconds later, in came Millie with a now full pitcher of orange juice. "How are you guys liking it?" she asked, sitting beside Phoebe. The younger girl smiled over at her mother before turning back to her eggs. "It's really good, Millie. You're a really good cook." She laughed a bit at the compliment, shocked by how sweet his words were.
Phoebe shoveled a forkful of eggs into her mouth, sighing at the soft texture. Her hand flew over her mouth as she looked over to her mother. "Do you have any salt?" she asked. She was already getting ready to stand when Alan cleared his throat. "I can get it. I wanted to top off my coffee, anyway." Both women glanced toward the boy, but he was already standing with his mug in hand. "It's in the cabinet beside the refrigerator," Millie told him, wide eyes moving from the boy to the girl beside her. Phoebe smiled knowingly back at her mother. Alan was just proving himself even more to Millie, making her fall in love with him like everyone else around them.
He left the room silently, sock feet padding over the tile floor. "Wow," Millie sighed, starting to plate her own breakfast. "You really hit the jackpot with that one." Phoebe poured herself some orange juice, laughing at her mother's words. "Yeah," she replied, agreeing whole heartedly. "He's a freaking angel." Phoebe took her mother's cup next and poured some into hers. "I'm so happy for you," Millie blurted out. "Truly. With everything Patrick and I put you through, you deserve to find someone who treats you like this." Phoebe snorted. She wasn't going to argue with her. "And he's so handsome." Millie let out a giggle that caused a blush to arise on her daughter's cheeks. "Mom!" she gasped. "What?" she feigned innocence. "He is! He's very handsome."
Phoebe's tongue prodded inside her cheek, a laugh rumbling from her chest. "So, what? Are you going to be a cougar now?" she teased, taking a sip of her orange juice. Millie shuddered dramatically, shaking her head. "Oh, no," she replied. "No younger man could keep up with me. Besides, I'm much happier... alone." She cut a piece of pancake and popped it into her mouth, eyes downcast toward her plate. Phoebe swallowed. "You're not alone," she said. "You've got me. And your new son-in-law." Speak of the angel, she thought. "Were you two talking about me?" he asked, bemused by the two women gossiping while he was gone. He sat the salt shaker beside Phoebe's plate, stopping to kiss the top of her head. The heat in her cheeks worsened. "Nothing you should worry about," Millie responded with a wide smile. "Girl talk."
"Yeah, girl talk," Phoebe echoed, narrowing her eyes playfully at her lover. He shrugged his shoulders, taking his seat comfortably with a fresh cup of coffee. "Alright, I got it," he replied, holding up his hand defensively. "Can we switch it over to gender neutral talk? I'd like to join the conversation." Phoebe muffled her laugh with one hand as she salted her eggs the way she liked. Millie snorted. "I suppose," she answered teasingly. The morning went on like that, full of fun banter and conversation. It was a nice way to start the day, Phoebe concluded.
—
The house smelled wonderful and was buzzing with life. Phoebe entered with Alan right in tow, her eyes meeting a majority of the family in the kitchen. "Hey!" Veronica greeted the couple enthusiastically, smiling brightly from behind the counter, standing right next to Kevin. "Wow, it smells amazing," Phoebe said, taking off her scarf and tossing it onto one of the hooks by the door. Kevin smiled smugly. "Thank you," he replied. Alan beamed over at the older man. "You cooked it?" he asked. "Dude, you need to teach me." Phoebe left the two to do their manly bonding, taking a spot next to Veronica and giving her a tight hug. "Happy Thanksgiving," she muttered, squeezing the woman. "Happy Thanksgiving, Phoebe." Once they pulled apart, she could hear the sound of plates clacking together. She moved into the living room where the table now was. "Hey, Debs," she greeted the younger girl as Fiona passed her. "Fi," she teased, letting her hand chase after the older girl's. "Hey, Pheebs," Fiona responded, giving her hand a tight squeeze before getting back to the cooking.
"Do you need help?" Debbie nodded her head with a small smile. The two silently began to set out the plates, the cups, and the silverware. "Is Lip coming?" she asked the older girl, brown eyes peering up at her. Phoebe bit down on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from frowning. "I'm not sure," she replied, offering the girl a small smile. "He told me he would think about it." Debbie released a sigh, getting to the napkins. They were napkins saved up from restaurant visits, all being different colors and different sizes. Phoebe halved the load and set up the other end of the table. "I hope he comes," Debbie muttered seemingly to herself, but Phoebe heard her. She frowned. "Do you want me to call him?" she asked, and Debbie's head snapped up to look at her. It soon began to nod quickly. "Okay. I'll be right back."
For more privacy, Phoebe climbed the stairs up to the second floor while dialing his familiar number. It rang as she looked for a place to sit. It rang as she ran into Ian leaving the boys' room. It rang while she leaned against his old bed, arm crossed over her waist. Soon enough, she reached the voicemail box that had not been set up yet. Not wanting to give up, she called again, and again, only to have no answer or response. Sighing, she pocketed her phone and went back downstairs. It seemed to be even more chaotic as Fiona dragged Monica out from under the stairs, the older woman crying for her to stop. "I look a mess," Monica cried, running her hands over her face. Frank scoffed in disbelief. "No, you don't. You look beautiful. Doesn't she, kids?" He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. It was one of the softest things Phoebe had ever seen Frank do.
Debbie and Carl looked at their mother strangely, confused by the whole situation. "You look great," Debbie replied awkwardly, Carl slowly nodding his head. "Yeah. Hi, Mom," Carl spoke. Phoebe patted the boy's head as she passed by them, approaching the couple and her fiance sitting at the table. Kev took the head of the table with Veronica on one side, Alan on the other. Phoebe stood behind Alan and snaked her arms over his shoulders. "You're not spending Thanksgiving under the stairs, okay?" Fiona spoke gently to Monica, holding her tight. "Debs, set a place for Monica. We're all having dinner together. With the kids at the table." The younger girl moved quickly and did as she was told. Monica's face fell as her eyes brimmed with warm tears.
"That's right." Frank helped his wife over to the table. "You're gonna sit here." He pulled out the chair for her and helped her sit down. She sat down reluctantly, her arms crossing over her middle. "Well, happy Thanksgiving," Frank said, pushing his hair back from his face. He glanced around the silent room with pinched brows. "Happy Thanksgiving!" he tried again, using his arms to encourage everyone else to reply. Scattered replies echoed in the room, though Monica remained silent. "Hey, Monica. Do you want me to get you something to drink?" Phoebe asked the older woman, resting her hand gently against the blonde's shoulder. She audibly sniffed before shaking her head."Who's hungry?" Kev asked, trying to ease the awkward tension.
"I am!" Carl explained, hurriedly taking a seat. Phoebe decided to sit beside Alan, their hands joining together under the table. Kev stood from his seat, smiling over at the family he had made over the years. Normally Thanksgiving was a holiday Phoebe hated. It was always spent with people who didn't care about her. It was filled with the same questions: Do you have a boyfriend? Are you passing all of your classes? What college are you thinking of going to? The food was always amazing, but sometimes good food couldn't make up for poor company. But sitting in the Gallagher house, surrounded by the people she loved, she realized that maybe the holiday wasn't so bad after all. She brought Alan's hand to her lips and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles. He squeezed her hand in return.
Everyone took their seats, engaging in conversations. Monica remained quiet in her seat, spacing out and away from the chaos around her. "So, have you guys picked a date yet?" Veronica asked the couple, smiling brightly. "Yeah, shouldn't you guys do that? It'll be hard to rent out the courthouse if you don't hurry," Fiona added. Frank's head whipped toward Phoebe in surprise. "Date?" he asked. "Date for what?" She wasn't surprised that he didn't know about the engagement. Frank was never there, anyway. "I'm getting married," she told him. She fought off the urge to show him her ring. She didn't think he'd snatch it off and run, but Frank Gallagher was so unpredictable. "To who?" he asked, voice raising in surprise. Alan raised his hand, startling the older male. "Huh? Since when?" Phoebe rolled her eyes, amused by his reaction. She was sure it came as a shock. It shocked her at first too.
"We're thinking of Christmas," Alan answered Veronica's question, finally. Her eyes widened for a moment. "It's after her birthday, and makes good for an anniversary." Fiona laughed. "It's like everyone will be celebrating it with you," she joked, eliciting a laugh from Phoebe. "Here we go!" All heads turned toward Kevin announcing his arrival with the turkey in his grasp. Everyone gasped at the beautiful bird. They cheered happily as he came to set it down at the table. "Good job, baby," Veronica praised her husband. "Can't wait to get that turkey in me." Phoebe laughed at the way he rubbed his hands together, eyeing the bird hungrily. Carl went to lean over the table to take a piece, only for his hand to be slapped away by Veronica.
"Ah! We haven't said grace yet," she scolded the boy. Frank cleared his throat from the opposite side of the table, attracting everyone's attention onto him. "I'll say it. I'll say the grace," he suggested. "Hold hands." Everyone took the hand of the person beside them, dropping their heads in respect, eyes closing. "Dear Lord, thank you for this food that we are about to eat. Thank you for bringing my Monica back to me. And please make my brother Clayton burn in Hell for all eternity when the time comes." Alan choked on his own spit, surprised by Frank's last sentiment. "Amen." Everyone glanced around the table before echoing his last word with amusement. The chaos continued as everyone began to plate their dishes, passing things over one another and dropping spoons.
There was questioning on who would carve the turkey until Frank declared that, as the man of the house, he would be doing it. Kev didn't argue and let Frank take over the action to provide for the family waiting to dig into the meat. "Who likes dark meat?" Frank asked, Carl immediately raising his hand. Phoebe's eyes followed Monica out of the room and into the kitchen, turning to face Ian curiously. He only held up his hands and rubbed them together. She concluded that she had just left to wash her hands. "Ooh, me too," Kev spoke. "And on my turkey, also." Phoebe released a big laugh, shocked by her own outburst. Kev pointed at her with a smug grin, laughing. "You're fucking awful," she told him with a shake of her head.
"I invited Conrad. Is that okay?" Debs asked after there was a knock at the door. "Conrad?" Fiona echoed in confusion. "My homeless guy from the pool." Phoebe licked the cheese off of her fork to switch over to her green beans. "Her homeless guy?" Veronica shrugged her shoulders. They had learned not to question anything that came from any Gallagher mouth. "Everyone, this is Conrad!" An older man entered the house, dressed warmly in tattered clothes. They all greeted him with enthusiasm. Leave it to Debs to help the homeless. Fiona leaned over the table with a small smile. "This is much better than bald eagle," she joked. Veronica laughed. "Hey, we're still eating that!" Kev declared. "What did we miss before getting here?" Phoebe asked, incredibly confused. Carl looked over at her proudly. "I shot a bald eagle." It was a simple question, but a shocking one. Her jaw dropped. "Holy shit, really?" Both Carl and Steve nodded their heads. "They wanted to eat it for Thanksgiving. So, being the only normal one here apparently, went out and bought a turkey."
She grimaced at his use of the adjective "normal". Kev shook his head. "We're gonna roast it, bake it, fry it. I don't care, but we're really gonna eat it." Frank placed a big piece of turkey onto Kev's plate, nodding along to his words. He probably wasn't even really listening, but it was nice seeing him present. "I bet it tastes like chicken," Carl suggested. Alan snorted. "A lot of things taste like chicken, bud." — "Well, we could always eat it for Christmas. Maybe Kev can cater for the wedding." Phoebe quickly shook her head as everyone else erupted in laughter. "As tempting as it sounds, I'd rather not feed our wedding guests an illegal bird." As their laughter died down, a thud sound came from the kitchen. It was just loud enough to gather everyone's attention. "What was that?" Fiona asked, brows pinched.
She was the first to stand, followed by Veronica and Kev, and then Ian and Phoebe. Kev was the first to see it, breathing out a shaky, "Holy fuck." Curiously, Phoebe pushed past him only to stop suddenly in her tracks. Monica lay on the floor, leaned against the cabinets, blood spurting from her wrists. She gasped, eyes wide, stomach churning. "Give me a phone. I need a phone," Fiona exclaimed. Taking action, Phoebe slid onto the floor beside Monica. "I need towels and duct tape," she stated sternly. She took hold of Monica's wrists in her hands, ignoring how warm the liquid was, and tried to stop the bleeding. "Hey, Monica, I need you to look at me, okay?" The blonde's eyes were droopy, tired. Alan grabbed Carl and Debbie and hurriedly moved them back into the living room away from the gruesome scene. "Towels!" Phoebe cried out, casting a glance back toward the adults behind her.
Steve was the first to jump into action. The blood was coating Phoebe's hands, staining her jeans at the knees. He took the over mit from the counter and passed it to her, going on a search for towels. "You're okay," Phoebe spoke, her voice breathless. "Just keep breathing and keep your eyes open. It's going to be okay." She kept the over mit firmly pressed to one of Monica's wrists, the other still being clutched in her opposite hand. "Steve," she called out. "Steve, please hurry. There's... fuck." He came back to her side and wrapped a dish rag around Monica's wrist. "There's been an accident," Fiona spoke into the phone pressed to her ear. "2119 North Wallace. She's bleeding badly. Yeah, uh, she's awake."
"She's going into shock," Steve whispered. Phoebe shakily pushed the hair in her face back, completely oblivious to the streak of blood her hand left behind on her face. "What do we do?" she asked him. "Towels. We need more towels. Frank, more towels!" Phoebe looked back to see the man with a ghost white face, his arms held over his head. If she wasn't so freaked out, she would have guessed he was going into shock too. "Towels! Will somebody give me a fucking towel!" Phoebe placed her hand over Steve's. "I've got her," she told him. "I've got you, Moni. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, okay?" The blonde blinked toward Phoebe, a stray tear falling down her cheek. "I'm sorry," she croaked out. The younger girl shook her head. "You don't have to apologize. It's okay."
"Frank, they want to know if she took any pills?" Frank looked between Fiona and his wife, bleeding on the floor. "Dad? Dad!?" He hurried out of the house, unable to function around the thick tension. Fiona sniffed. "I'm not sure." Steve raided the cabinet for towels and handed a good bit to Phoebe. They started to make tourniquets above the cut area while keeping pressure onto the wounds. "Breathe," Phoebe directed her as they lifted her arms up to slow the blood flow. "Okay, move, move. Help me with her feet, Frank. Frank?" Phoebe scrambled away, almost slipping on the blood on the floor. "Get... get over here!" Kev took Phoebe's previous place, to help Steve calm Monica down.
Phoebe unconsciously wiped her hands against the front of her shirt, forgetting that they were coated in Monica's blood. She looked back over where Alan stood in the living room, hands locked behind his head. Happy Thanksgiving, she thought to herself.
from rumi . . .
this chapter was so hard to write.
honestly the first time i watched it, i
cried so hard. but i'm proud of myself for
getting through it!
i am sad that i didn't include phoebe
in the delivery room😭 but there's a
reason for that that you'll see why in
the next chapter!!
how did you guys like the chapter?
what's your favorite part?
i can't choose. i just feel so proud
of this chapter so imma stick with all
of it haha.
don't forget to vote + comment!