Dinner ended in a rare, pleasant atmosphere.
Lip and Ian actually kept their "promise" and went back to tidy up their biohazard of a room.
Carl squatted back in his corner, continuing his "great scientific enterprise" of electrocuting the Barbie doll, looking like he wouldn't rest until he'd reduced it to ashes.
Debbie was sensible as always, carrying her homework and Liam up to the second floor.
Shane helped Fiona carry a stack of greasy plates and pots to the sink.
They stood side by side, one soaping, one rinsing. The teamwork was surprisingly smooth.
Warm water washed over the dishes. The only sounds in the kitchen were the splashing water and the background noise of the South Side outside the window (sirens and the occasional gunshot).
Suddenly, Fiona nudged Shane gently with her elbow and lowered her voice:
"Hey, Shane. Where did you get the money for the chicken and pasta?"
Her eyes held a look of scrutiny, but mostly worry. She was afraid Shane might have gotten involved with a gang.
"Did you... keep some of the money from that wallet you found the other day? Or did you do something else?"
Shane had anticipated this question.
He turned off the faucet, shook the water off his hands, and turned to face Fiona. He shook his head with a slightly smug look.
"No, no, no. Fiona, you underestimate your little brother."
He dragged out his tone, then reached into his pocket, pretending to grab something. In reality, he redeemed cash from the system—five twenties and two tens.
He waved the total of $130 in front of Fiona. The crisp new bills made a satisfying crinkling sound.
"See this? I helped some rich, lazy students pass a major test a while back. This is their 'thank you gift.' They were very generous. I have savings, Fiona. You don't need to worry about me at all."
He cleverly linked "rich kids" and "tests" to explain the high income, which fit his established persona of doing homework for others.
Fiona looked at the bills, her eyes lighting up. Her mouth opened in surprise, then she sighed in relief, a gratified smile spreading across her face. She slapped Shane on the back hard.
"Wow! Looks like our little Comrade Shane Gallagher is growing into a man who can hold his own! Good job!"
Her praise was characteristically blunt and rough, the Gallagher way.
The dishes were mostly done. Fiona handed the drying duty over to Shane and hurriedly wiped her hands on her apron.
"I'm leaving the rest to you! I'm gonna be late for my night shift!"
This was Fiona's daily life. Like a spinning top that never stopped, almost all her free time was filled with various part-time jobs.
Aside from occasional relaxing moments with Veronica, most of her life for the past decade had been rushing from one workplace to another.
After all, she had to feed seven kids (including Shane, one more than in the show!). The burden on her shoulders was even heavier here.
Luckily, Lip, Ian, and now Shane were growing up and could earn their own money or even contribute to the household. Otherwise, if Shane had transmigrated a few years earlier, he would have seen Fiona working like a robot, one job after another, with no room to breathe.
"Bye! Love you!" Fiona shouted as she rushed upstairs, quickly changing into clothes suitable for a noisy bar and spraying on some deodorant.
Running downstairs, she yelled to the living room: "Bye, Carl! Bye, Debbie!"
Her gaze swept over Carl and his dangerous "shock device." Fiona frowned, strode over, snatched the tortured Barbie doll from Carl's "lab bench," and placed it on top of the fridge.
That was a spot Carl absolutely couldn't reach.
"Also, Carl! Dismantle that damn 'machine' tonight! Are you seriously not happy until you burn the whole house down?"
Fiona's tone was strict.
Carl looked up at the doll on the fridge, then at his painstakingly assembled "masterpiece." His little face was full of indignation, but under Fiona's glare, he eventually muttered reluctantly: "...OK."
Shane finished putting away the clean dishes. He turned around and saw Carl teetering on a stack of stools of different heights, wobbling like a circus performer, trying to reach the doll on the fridge.
"OK, Carl," Shane sighed, walking over to steady the stools. "Stand still. I'll get it down for you, okay?"
Carl immediately jumped down and hugged Shane's leg happily. "Yeah! Shane is the best!"
Shane easily grabbed the doll and handed it to Carl, pinching his cheek while he was at it.
Carl took the "victim" but looked up at Shane with innocent eyes:
"Shane, I saw you have a lot of money just now. Can you buy me a gun?"
Shane didn't hesitate. He flicked Carl on the forehead, not too hard but enough to sting.
"Ow!" Carl covered his forehead.
"Keep dreaming. You want dragon meat next?"
Shane said grumpily. "But..." He changed his tone, looking at Carl's disappointed face, and dangled a carrot:
"If you behave yourself for a while, don't break stuff, and don't try to blow the house sky-high, I might consider buying you a mechanical toy."
Carl's eyes instantly lit up again.
"Yeah! Mechanical toy!"
In his little head, scenes of burning and electrocuting the "evil" mechanical toy while Carl the Great Hero saved the world were already playing out.
With Shane's promise, he hugged the doll contentedly and went back to his "science experiments."
Shane smiled, seeing how easily Carl was appeased. Little Carl was kinda goofy; even his destructiveness had a pure persistence to it.
He tidied up the kitchen, then went to the second floor to symbolically "supervise" Lip and Ian's cleaning progress. As expected, he received two eye rolls, two middle fingers, and two impatient "Fck offs."
Shane didn't care. Satisfied, he took his book [Basic Principles of Pathology] back to his basement shelter and immersed himself in the ocean of medical knowledge.
The night passed without incident.
The next day was Sunday.
Clatter—Bang!
The familiar bathroom war broke out on the first floor right on time. The intensity was no less than on a weekday.
What? You ask why Shane doesn't participate in this daily battle?
Because he possessed ancient Eastern survival wisdom: handle your business before bed, so it's not urgent when you wake up.
Plus, he was used to showering at night, unlike Lip and the others who liked to hog the bathroom in the morning.
Shane stretched on his basement bed, feeling energized.
He had already read half of the thick [Nutrition for Muscle Gain & Fat Loss]. His speed was amazing, and thanks to his enhanced comprehension and focus, he understood about 80% of the core principles and common nutritional pairings.
Even if he couldn't remember every detail, it didn't matter. Shane was pragmatic. He was handsome and had a great body; that was enough. If you couldn't get in shape, that was your problem.
He got up to brush his teeth and wash his face. Walking to the first floor, he saw the bathroom door vibrating from the pounding, mixed with Lip and Ian shouting at each other. Clearly, there would be no vacancy anytime soon.
Debbie hadn't come down yet either.
"Alright, Plan B."
Unsurprised, he went back to the basement, grabbed his spare toothbrush and toothpaste, found a relatively clean bowl in the kitchen, filled it halfway with water, and resolutely walked out the door into the biting cold wind of a Chicago winter morning.
The wind felt like knives scraping his face. He shivered and quickly squatted by the porch, brushing his teeth with the cold water in the bowl.
The freezing water made his gums ache, but he powered through it.
Then, he splashed the cold water on his face. The shock made him gasp, instantly waking him up completely.
Not wanting to linger outside, Shane rushed back into the warm house with his bowl.
"Phew—"
He closed the door, shutting out the cold. Shane let out a long breath, feeling the blood that had frozen in his veins start to flow again.