Fiona laughs when she hears the news. It's a somber phone call from the hospital. Sounds of Fiona's loud, barking laughter jars the nurse on the phone. This is his favorite joke, death; something tried and true. Frank faking his own death to avoid problems happened a few times before. In fact, it's happened more times than Fiona can count, to be honest. All throughout her life, all throughout time, this fucking stunt was gonna be pulled. As long as someone believed him and his antics, Frank would pull this shit again.

Should Fiona even try? Logic dictates she should. Nothing can be finished without some effort. It's Frank. Anything could happen, and not in a good way. This jerk would definitely do something to get himself killed, that useless sack of human flesh. But the part of her that knows Frank, really knows Frank, expects this to be a fluke. A mere accidental, farcical tragedy.

Morbid curiosity keeps her on the line. The hospital tells her that Frank got on the kidney transplant list. However, due to a history of severe drug and alcohol usage, he was rejected. As a result, he was left to wither and eventual died on a hospital bed. Frank was alone and scared in his last moments, demanding to see his family. It was what he deserved, truly.

When the nurse ended the conversation, Fiona went about her day. Nothing changed, not really. It's another crap day in the cycle of a chaotic life.

It's lucky that Lip's in between classes, minding his own business when Fiona calls with the news. Lip sighs in relief. With Frank dead, it's one less burden for Lip to carry. The tension on his shoulders eases. There's enough on his plate with school and financial aid anyway. More energy to focus on school, something that actually mattered. A glimmer of what seemed like happiness grows brighter at this knowledge.

"Is it bad that Frank's death is motivational?" Lip asks, and the casual tone made the question seem more morbid than less. Thank God no one pays attention to his phone conversations.

"Not at all. He is-was-drain on society. Any reminder to do better than him is a necessary one," Fiona responds with a guffaw, and her overwhelming confidence reassures Lip. He wants to make something of himself. Something, really, anything! It's better than the bitter taste of wasted potential. The yearning to be normal, wanted, needed without punishment eats Lip alive sometimes (most times, truthfully).

But now, he's gonna swallow that vulnerable insecurity and move on. Success is only as good as the work you put in; he damn well knows he's gonna put in the work. No one needs to know who Frank was, and that's a secret he's willing to keep. He has, after all, kept worse.

Enough changes to motivate Lip to make his own changes. Taking charge never felt so invigorating, he thinks as he walks to class with a spring in his step.

Ian and Fiona are two peas in one pod, because he laughs too when he hears the news. It's less harsh and barking; in fact, it sounded more like Fiona told a great joke at a party.

"Are you sure he's not faking his death to collect the insurance money?" Ian asks in disbelief, just to make sure Fiona's not pulling his leg.

"I'm one hundred percent positive. I have the autopsy report to prove it. Got to see the body, too. A pretty gruesome sight. Thank God you didn't see it," Fiona explained, and Ian knew his giddiness was rational. With Frank out of the way, so many doors opened and so many doors shut.

"I don't think I'll ever be this relieved again," Ian says.

"Don't get used to it. We probably have to plan a funeral, and that costs money I don't want to spend," Fiona says in that responsible way she does without being condescending. Ian shrugs.

"Do we even need a funeral? I doubt anyone would come if we did," Ian says. A part of him is defeated that society expects him to mourn a vile man. He's a good enough actor to cover his emotions if absolutely needed, but it's not like he wants to.

"Yeah you're probably right. I'll let the hospital deal with his body. I hope we get a tax write-off for donating him to science," Fiona jokes, and Ian laughs.

Life moves on without any fanfare, without a second thought.

Fiona tells Debbie at home on the couch, without anyone present. She's unpredictable, that Debbie, her temper known to show up at any time. Her emotions are intense and run deep but in a sensitive way. She's young enough where emotions do that to a person. Fiona expects intensity.

It's a quiet affair, and Debbie takes it better than Fiona expected. It's a relief that Debbie doesn't need consoling, because Fiona isn't willing to give it out. Debbie breathes, in and out, steadily. Anxiety is clearly written across her face, and Fiona thinks she knows why: death is still strange, even if it's Frank we're talking about.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Debbie asks, and she's the only one who seems genuine about the question. Fiona stops long enough to gather her thoughts.

"We're not having a funeral, if that's what you mean," Fiona explains.

"I expected that," Debbie says, "I meant was...how are we supposed to move on? Forget him like that?"

"I mean...what else is there to do, Debs? He hasn't done anything to contribute to us aside from helping birth us and cause trouble," Fiona says as if it's brand new information. Debbie's a little frustrated, but it's understandable.

"I need some time to process this. I don't miss him, but I do need to get used to not having him around, fucking everything up," Debbie explains after moments of collecting herself.

Everything changes, but it's good to feel a little more prepared.

Fiona tells Carl about the death out of obligation, not because Carl would really particularly care. It's only the right thing to do to let him know. Honor and family above all, Fiona says: it's been drilled into her head since pretty much birth. At the end of the day, Carl was family and more of a part of the family than Frank could ever be as a deadbeat dad.

Carl learns and, as Fiona thought, Carl doesn't care. She made the right decision by keeping the discussion casual over the bustle of breakfast, with the house is that limbo state of waking up and leaving for the daily grind.

"Was I supposed to feel remorse or sadness or some shit like that?" Carl asks. Fiona knows she'd never say it out loud like Carl does, but she agrees.

"Society expects you too, but I personally don't. Feel how you want. I can't control feelings," Fiona explains. Carl nods, a sage and strangely tranquil movement. Carl had these moments of understanding so infrequently that Fiona learned to relish them when they did arrive.

"Cool," Carl says, as if he learned that the McDonald's soda machine was getting a routine cleaning. Silence fell between them. Fiona and Carl, without vocalizing it, distantly realize at the same time that they don't have much in common. With Frank dead, they've found common ground: uncertainty.

Expectations versus feelings was the only change that Carl had to grapple, but he did so without any sophistication.

Fiona doesn't directly tell Liam about Frank's death. Liam is too young to really know about death, too innocent to have that amount of corruption in his system yet. Life would eviscerate him soon enough, with or without Fiona's help. She dances around the subject, making metaphors that make only half-sense. Saying gentle mentions of Frank never come back stick to Liam well enough. At least, it's enough where Fiona thinks he doesn't need to directly hear the word "death".

Liam is not jaded by expectations to people-please; not hardened by rejection; not cynical by human error. He has no reason to be, at this age. Fiona never got the ability to be naive or innocent. It sucks, being responsible without tangible reward. Early parenthood robbed her of such luxuries. Liam is a black boy who will grow up with vastly more hostile circumstances. Fiona doesn't know that struggle, but she will shield him from it as long as she can physically manage.

Liam is a Gallagher but his destiny is still malleable, still up for changing toward something greater than him. He will have the bliss of growing up without Frank's toxic influence, and that's almost astonishing enough to make Fiona want to cry. If Fiona can help it, Liam will break the cycle of abuse that started with Frank.

It's a lot to place on a baby's shoulders, but it is better to hope for something more than something less. It's what Liam deserves, in a post-Frank world.

How Monica learns the news, when Fiona just barely had enough time to inform Kev and V, is a mystery that makes Fiona's blood boil. Monica cries and wails and makes a scene, banging on the door and demanding to be let into the house. She misses her Frank, and Fiona realizes that Monica at least had the decency most of the time to stay the hell away.

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" Monica sobs, throwing herself at the front door. The door is weak enough as is. It might break if she keeps this up. Fiona wonders if the tears are genuine or if they're from her deadly mix of bipolar and excessive stimulants. They might be: there was something to be said about the Monica and Frank power couple. Fiona didn't want to be the one who said it, though, and she feels determined to keep it that way.

"Because this would happen. I don't need your drama. Stay away from me and my family or I'll call the cops," Fiona exclaims, her voice an uncontrollable screech. Monica stops, and it's pretty abrupt. What was a girl to do when your deadbeat mother attempts to beat down the door?

"I'm sorry I failed you Fiona," Fiona waits for the punchline and, with that, Monica leaves. It would've been heartwrenching from anyone else.

Life moves on, whether or not Fiona was ready. She did have her siblings, Kev and V. though, and that was more than enough.