Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

That night, she forgot to call him Jimmy.

They were lying naked. They were spent, about to throw the sheets over themselves and get on to la-la land. She swatted his chest with a lazy flick of her hand and she whispered,

"Steve, get the lights."

He didn't say anything of it when he got up, sighing, hobbling over to the other side of the room to flip the switch. Fiona briefly registered that she had fucked up, gave herself a mental pinch that she often did, thinking,

Not Steve- Jimmy.

It had also happened a few weeks ago when some guy he used to "work" for came pounding on the door, looking for money.

She had been using the last of the laundry detergent to do the dishes by hand in the sink, stressing about her upcoming pay check which was supposed to cover the electric and the groceries. She was going to have to add dish soap to the list, which meant that they would have to go without shampoo, or she might get Ian to fill some empty shampoo bottles with soap from the showers at the YMCA. But she secretly knew that Jimmy would show up with a bag of all sorts of soaps when she least expected it, because he knew things without her telling him. He knew when the kids were sick of PB&J in their lunches, and he knew when they needed shampoo.

Then, while she was working out the minor details of her week, there came a vicious pounding at the door, which was thankfully locked. She dropped the plate in the water. Mentally, she went through the checklist of people currently looking for a piece of the Gallaghers. Goddamn it, that was a long list, but usually it was someone after Frank, which was no big thing. Then, she heard,

"Hey motherfucker. Steve! You still owe me for that piece, you little son-of-a-bitch, open the fucking door!"

She picked up her cell and called him, almost dropping the phone in her soapy hands, and forgetting to worry about water and electronics. He answered and she gritted her teeth as the guy yelled,

"Hey, I hear you in there, you protecting your boyfriend?"

"Steve," she said loudly in the receiver. "You better get the fuck over here."

The whole Jimmy/Steve thing was hard to get her head around.

She had fallen in love with a man named Steve, who was mysterious, and reckless, and infatuated, and who had taken her to that fancy restaurant, and on a joyride.

Now here was Jimmy in her arms, who was adoring, and quieter, and who seemed to understand about everything that happened around them, even when she didn't quite. He was like a silent partner. He rarely let her ask for anything. He was different than before. He didn't want to spoil her anymore, mostly because he knew she wouldn't let him, but still he made her want for nothing. Wanting for nothing was new to her.

Sometimes, she worried that he'd changed, that he'd adopted more than just a wife and a tan when he was overseas.

He nestled into her, into the sheets. Everything settled, and his breathing got slow and quiet. Close to sleep.

She wasn't that worried, not really. She tended not to worry about the little things- like school lunches, pay checks, and first names- when she was with him.