Chapter 1 - Revelations

I sighed as I stood waiting outside the old brick building, my hand instinctively pulling my thin jacket closer to my body. I let the nicotine hit my blood stream before making my way inside, the piece of paper I had to have signed seeming to weigh a million pounds. I slipped into the same folding chair I always chose, one furthest from the podium. My knee bounced as I watched some of the familiar faces from the last eight meetings file in, most notably Brad, who had agreed to sign my court mandated paperwork after each meeting.

I paid little attention as people started to share their feelings. I'd done the whole group thing growing up, after I failed to stay in a foster home for very long. Each time, I felt uncomfortable and in need of a drink. AA meetings were no different. I wasn't an alcoholic. I just liked a few drinks after a stressful day.

"Grace, why don't you share this time?" Brad encouraged. It was my ninth meeting. The ninth time I refused to say anything. "C'mon, just once?" He gave me a look that told me if I didn't share something, anything, he wouldn't sign the paper. I sighed inwardly, knowing I only needed to get through six more meetings before I finally finished my terms of probation.

I slowly made my way to the podium, receiving gently encouragement from the breakfast club like group of drunks who had come to know me – or somewhat know me – over the last few months. After spending two months in jail for aggravated assault, I figured, why not try to make some friends with the fuck up's of Chicago's South Side.

"My name's Grace, but most of you know that already," I muttered, running my hand over my face in frustration.
"Hi, Grace," the crowd echoed out of habit alone.
"Unlike most of you," I said carefully, my eyes scanning the crowd. I found my eyes lingering on the man in the back – he had light brown, curly hair and a thin smile on his lips. I'd seen him from time in time in the Alibi Room – a bar I frequented for as long as I could remember. We shared a mutual friend, Kevin Ball, the same person who had posted my bail after I got into a fight with a couple guys outside of the bar. "I'm only here because the judge thinks I have a problem."

I smiled inwardly as several people chuckled. I didn't take my eyes off the man in the back. Something about him seemed familiar – more so than just another drunk I saw from time to time.

"Maybe I do," I said with a shrug. "But alcohol takes care of that problem," I laughed. "Anyway, I'd love to stand up here and lie to you, say I'm such and such days sober, but let's face it, after a meeting, I do what all of you want to do," I said, my tongue clicking softly. "I hit a bar, drink away my sorrows, and go on to lead a productive, alcohol -." Brad cut me off before I could continue.

"Thanks for sharing, Gracelyn," he said dimly. I threw a snarky smile his way before returning to my seat. The rest of the meeting droned on, before finally, I could make my way outside for a much needed cigarette.

After saying goodbye to a couple people I actually knew, I stuck around, waiting for Brad to sign the damn slip for me.

"You know, Gracelyn, if you'd work the program…" he murmured as he initialed in the correct spot.
"I'm not a drunk, Brad," I said sourly. "Trust me."
"Let's go to Patsy's, talk over a slice of pie?" he tried. He always went to Patsy's after a meeting with some of the guys from the group. "Please? Just this once?"
"Whatever," I muttered. I didn't have shit else to do anyway. "Meet there in 20?"
"Where are you going first?" He asked carefully. Brad knew good and well where I was going.
"My probation officer doesn't give a fuck if I'm sober," I reminded him. "Besides, I need to check in. He needs this," I waved the paper in the air.
"20 minutes," Brad nodded. I said nothing as I walked briskly down the sidewalk, grateful that my PO always met me a few blocks away from the brick building. After checking in, he informed me that if I completed all of my meetings, I'd finally be off probation, since I completed the mandatory 150 hours of community service a week prior.

I made my way to Patsy's Pies a while later, later than I expected to. I'd stopped to refill my flask beforehand, knowing that after a sit down with Brad, I'd only have one thing on my mind.

"Didn't think you were going to show up," Brad said eagerly, standing so I could slide into the booth. "You already know James and Timmy," he said as he motioned towards the two older men in the group. They were always nice to me at meetings. "This is Lip," he motioned to the curly haired man I saw at the meeting.
"Gallagher, right?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. Lip nodded, his eyes searching mine. "Small world."
"What's that mean?" Brad asked, clearly intrigued.
"Nothing," I shook my head.
"How's the search for your birth parents coming?" Timmy asked. He'd helped me fill out the right paperwork the week before. I hadn't updated him since we turned them in at city hall. It was surprisingly hard for an eighteen-year-old to get a hold of their birth certificates if they didn't know where they were born.
"Another dead end," I scoffed. "My mother signed it, but apparently daddy-dearest couldn't be bothered."
"You know who your mom is though?" Brad asked, giving me an encouraging look. God, I hated sponsors.
"Yeah, but she's dead, so it's another dead end."
"What was her name? Was your name really Gracelyn?" Timmy bombarded me with questions. For a split second, I was ready to pull out the flask and spike the coffee that was sitting in front of me, but I knew better than to do that.
"Monica. No last name. How the fuck she pulled that off is beyond me," I sighed. "But no, I wasn't born a Gracelyn, thank fucking god, because I've hated this name since I was old enough to write it. Found out my birthday is all fucked up too."
"Really?" Timmy asked. I barely registered his question because I was too busy watching Lip's expression change. He blinked quickly, before getting up hastily, much to everyone's surprise. Brad made a move to follow him, but decided against it.
"What's his problem?" Timmy scoffed. I said nothing, just looked the way Lip had left.
"I'll be right back," I said slowly, as I stood to leave.
"Lip's in a mood, better to let him go," Brad said warily.
"I know his type. Dated enough drunks in my lifetime," I said with a wave of my hand. "I promise, I won't fuck up my probation," I added as an afterthought. Brad knew I had a temper, one that could easily get me into a lot of trouble if I wasn't careful.

I hurried out of the diner, catching the troubled look one of the waitresses shot my way. It didn't take me long to find Lip, he was standing at the corner, his bare arms crossed, having left his coat behind.

"What's up your ass?" I asked as I approached him, a cigarette loosely gripped between my lips.
"That name…" he mused, looking up at the sky.
"The fuck are you talking about?" I asked.
"Fucking Monica," he grumbled. He refused to look at me and for a moment, I found my brain scrambling to figure out why that name might mean something to him.
"You know her?" I asked, hopeful, too damn hopeful. After spending my entire life bouncing from one foster home to the next, facing abuse that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, I couldn't help but he hopeful that maybe, just maybe I could get a lead on who I really was.
"Knew her," he scoffed. I stared at him blankly, my hand reaching for my flask without thinking. I took a long sip, letting the heat of the whiskey burn away the emotions that threatened to bubble over. I hesitated before offering it to him, knowing that it was insanely inconsiderate to offer an alcoholic liquor, but I was far from a saint. Against his better judgement, Lip shook his head.
"Knew? As in past tense?" I asked, taking another sip.
"She's dead. Been dead since last year," Lip murmured.
"Son of a bitch," I muttered. So it was a dead end.
"She…there was no father on your birth certificate?" he asked hesitantly.
"No," I sighed. I pulled the folded piece of paper out of my pocket. For whatever reason, I'd been carrying it around with me since I got it.
"Son of a bitch," Lip growled. He threw the paper back at me, his eyes ablaze. I hesitated, before finally working up the balls to ask him what the fuck that was about. He didn't say anything, instead, stormed back into the diner. The brunette who had stared at me before, was talking to him when I finally made my way back in.

"You're kidding me!" I heard her exclaim. She shot me another look. I stood, confused, near the booth where Brad and the rest were still talking over pie.
"What did you do?" Brad asked me, his face turning from one of concern to one of anger.
"Nothing!" I cried. "He told me he knew Monica," I added. Brad sighed and watched as Lip and the brunette went back and forth for a few moments, before she finally approached our table.

"Let me see it," she said sternly. I blinked, now completely confused.
"Excuse me?" I asked, my fingers curling into fists.
"The birth certificate, let me see it," she demanded.
"Why?" I asked, now really needing a fucking drink. I had to keep my temper in check, I knew that. My freedom relied on it, but her tone sent ripples of rage through my already hot blood.
"Because Monica was my fucking mother," she growled.

I felt my mouth fall open at her words. Suddenly, everything I worked so hard to keep together, the fact that I would never track down my birth family, the acceptance of that fact, falling apart around me. I blinked, trying to get the wires in my brain to cooperate with little avail. Finally, I managed to pull the piece of paper out, my heart beating so fast, I was sure the entire diner could hear it.

"I can't fucking believe it," the woman hissed as she scanned the piece of paper with her eyes, her eyes tearing over slightly. "I don't believe it."
"What?" I managed to squeak out. "What!"
"You're…holy fucking shit," she hand rose to her mouth. "I knew you looked eerily familiar when you walked in here…"
"Spit it out for fuck's sake!" I cried. I felt Brad's hand tighten around my wrist. I spared a glance back at him, catching the warning look in his eyes. "What!"
"Monica…how…" the woman's eyes teared over now. She quickly swiped at the tears. As soon as Lip saw her tear up, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"Fi, it's okay," he murmured. I suddenly realized that the two looked alike. They had to have been siblings. "Fiona?"
"She's his twin," she said, her voice shaking. "She's Ian's fucking twin."

I wasn't sure if it was the alcohol that flowed through my veins that caused it, or the pure shock of the situation, but as soon as the words left her lips, I found the diner swimming at a speed that nearly floored me. I felt someone pull me towards the booth and sat down heavily, unable to form a coherent thought.

"The birthday," the woman, Fiona, said, pointing at the date on the piece of paper. "They…they're…"
"I know," Lip said carefully. He studied me again, his time, his eyes tracing the features on my face.

I broke the stare, suddenly feeling like the room was going to fall down around me. I pushed past the pair, ignoring Brad's panicked cries as I ran from the diner, my heart in my throat. I'd been drinking since nine that morning, so as soon as the cold air hit me, I felt the food I'd only just recently eaten rise in my throat. I doubled over, letting the contents paint the sidewalk in a wonderful shade of yellow. Once I felt I could stand upright, I took off running in the general direction of where my van was parked, the only home I had anymore, having been evicted from my apartment the week before I got arrested. In the back of my mind, I found myself silently admitting that maybe I really did have a problem, though I'd never admit the words aloud. I was about to shove the key into the ignition when I remembered that my jacket was still at the diner, my keys still in the pocket of it, along with my flask, cigarettes and phone. I cursed inwardly, hating that in my haste, I hadn't thought to grab it. I didn't want to return to the diner, so I didn't. I sat in the van, overly aware of how damn cold it was, but grateful that my bottle of cheap whiskey was right where I left it. I chugged as much as my mind could handle before clumsily pushing the door open, letting the icy air bite at my bare skin. I could have grabbed a sweater from the back of the van, but even in my drunken haze, I knew it was covered in vomit from the night before. I glared at the building in front of me, almost feeling like it was taunting me, making me feel even worse about being in the situation I was in. Angrily, I approached the brick siding, throwing several punches at it, until my anger was under control. I sat back down in the driver's seat, the door still open, my hand not yet registering the pain that I was sure would be there in the morning. I considered my options for a while before finally getting up again, this time closing the door behind me.

Without wanting to spend the rest of the night parked in front of the same brick building I was trying to avoid, I slowly made my way back to the diner, this time overly aware that the open sign had been flipped over. I could see from where I stood across the street that Brad and the rest had already taken off, but through the glass, I could see Lip and Fiona sitting in the booth that the trio had once occupied.

I tried the door, pissed beyond words that it was locked. I walked over to the window near the booth and tapped lightly, motioning to my coat that was still in the same spot I left it. A moment later, Fiona shoved open the door, motioning for me to come inside.

"Jesus," she mused as she looked me over. "You smell like a damn brewery."
"Gee, thanks," I slurred. "I just need my shit."
"As much as I hate to say this, I'm not letting you leave like this," Fiona said carefully. "It'd be wrong."
"I don't know who the fuck you think I am, but I'm a grown ass adult, I'll do as I please," I growled, more out of stubborn habit that actual anger.
"Tough," she said firmly. "I own the apartment building down the street, you can crash there."
"Fuck that," I said stubbornly, though my words slurred more than I would have liked.
"You can have your coat, but I'm keeping your keys," Lip said sternly, coming to his sister's side.
"Again, don't know the fuck you think I am, but I'm leaving," I slurred. I made a move to grab my keys from the curly haired man, but stumbled in my effort to do so. Unwillingly, I let the man catch me before I could hit my face off the chair behind him.
"Fuck," he swore as he pushed me towards the booth. I sat down, though I was no longer in control of my movements.
"I'm going to call Ian," Fiona said softly. "Her hand's bleeding pretty bad."
"You gonna tell him?" I vaguely made out Lip asking as he placed a glass of water in front of me.
"Not yet," she said carefully. "Not until we know more."

I was barely registering their conversation at that point, my vision blurring so horribly, I had to shut my eyes to keep from throwing up.
"Think she's another Sammi?" Lip's voice asked hesitantly.
"No," Fiona replied. I sensed someone staring at me but made no move to acknowledge them. "God, she looks exactly like him."
"Right down to the freckles and eyes," Lip agreed. I could sense a feeling of calm, of safety wash over me, something I'd never felt before. "He'll know, you know."
"Yeah, probably," Fiona's voice carried from some ways off. "It…it definitely explains the letter he found when he went through Monica's shit."
"Yeah," Lip murmured. I felt someone touch my face then. "Hey, hey, Grace, you still in there?" he asked softly. I forced my eyes open and for the first time, really took in his face. Any time I'd seen him before that moment, he looked angry or sad about something. In that moment, he looked anything but.
"Mmm," I managed to groan.
"Get a bucket," I heard Lip instruct before I felt him push my hair from my face. "Hey, you're safe, okay? And in response to your earlier statement, you most definitely are an alcoholic."
"Fuck…" bile rose in the back of my throat, but I managed to force it down. "…you."

As soon as the words left my lips, my stomach heaved. Lucky for them, Fiona's had retrieved a bucket quickly and I managed to not puke on Lip's shoes as he held my hair from my face, murmuring softly while I shook against his grip. As soon as my stomach had nothing left to free itself of, the room seemed to dim even more, my vision growing darker and darker around the edges. Before I could react, everything went black. Something I was all too comfortable with, despite the insanely fucked up situation I seemed to be in.

I woke some time later to the familiar sound of my best friend screaming at me over the roaring in my ears. I blinked my eyes against the harsh diner lights, taking only a few seconds to register that Raelyn Quinn, my former foster sister and trusted ally was shaking me roughly.

"Stop…shaking…me," I murmured as I shoved her away in time to puke for what felt like the millionth time.
"Fucking Christ, Gracelyn, first you get fucking arrested and held in Cook County, mind you, the one fucking place I don't have hook ups, then you get out and go AWOL so I have to rely on shitty updates from Iggy Milkovich of all fucking people, now you go and get so fucking trashed I'm getting a call at 2AM from your fucking sponsor?" she screamed.
"Take it down a notch, sis, please," I groaned, holding my head in both hands. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard in that moment. "Who the fuck called you?"
"Brad," she scoffed. "Told me I could find you here. Said you learned who you really were. These three took care of you till I could get here. Mind you, that was after I called you a hundred times, since you never checked in last night."
"Not my sponsor, just a do-gooder who can't stay out of everyone's lives," I growled. I could barely remember the events of the last few hours. I remembered a meeting but that was about it. I could remember ending up at the diner, and at some point learning that the brunette who owned the place was Lip's sister, but what actually happened, all of it was a blur. I sat up straighter, realizing she said three people. "Three?"

I looked at the pair of familiar faces, registering that I was still at Patsy's when my eyes locked on the face of someone who could quite literally be me in male form. Suddenly, as soon as our eyes locked, I felt something rush through me that I had never felt before. It felt like I finally found the missing piece, the piece that I didn't know I was missing.

"Earth to Gracelyn? You still with us?" Raelyn waved her hand quickly in front of my face. I blinked, my eyes never leaving the man's face. "Seriously, Gracie, you're actually freaking me the fuck out."
"Remember when we first got into the same home? You know, the group home in Rockford?" I asked her carefully. "When we used to joke that I was always so one way about everything? You said it was almost like there was another part of me missing?"
"Sure, we were trying to pass the time, in a productive way, instead of getting our asses kicked since you know, brilliant blonde and hard-ass gingers aren't supposed to get along," she laughed softly.
"I think…I think I just found my missing part."

A/N : Now, here I went and promised myself I wouldn't start another story before I finished my latest one, but after an interesting dream I had a couple nights ago, I couldn't shake this one from my mind. I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with it, but I've yet to do a first person POV for shameless, so I figured may as well.

Comments will definitely motivate me to keep going with this one!