Chapter 12: The Steve Problem Begins
Ben was elbow-deep in a Civic's engine, tracing a coolant leak, when he heard Fiona laugh.
Real laughter. Not the exhausted chuckle or sardonic snort he'd heard before, but genuine, unguarded joy. The sound made him look up so fast he nearly cracked his skull on the hood.
Fiona stood thirty feet away, talking to a guy Ben didn't recognize. The man was tall, mid-twenties, with the kind of casual good looks that came from money and time spent at gyms. His clothes screamed expensive trying to look modest—designer jeans artfully faded, jacket that probably cost three hundred dollars made to look thrift-store casual.
And he was making Fiona laugh. Actually laugh, her face lit up in a way Ben had never seen.
His Danger Intuition pulsed wrongness. Not physical threat. Something else. Something that made his chest tight and his jaw clench.
Jealousy, his mind supplied. You're jealous.
The realization hit like cold water. He barely knew Fiona. Had fixed her washing machine, given her twenty bucks at a convenience store, repaired toys for her sister. They'd had maybe three real conversations. And here he was, feeling territorial over a woman who wasn't his and never would be.
The guy said something that made Fiona laugh again, then they started walking toward Ben's garage. Toward him.
Ben forced himself to look busy, returning attention to the coolant leak his MacGyver Mind had already diagnosed. Heard their footsteps approach, heard Fiona call his name.
"Ben? You got a minute?"
He straightened, wiping grease on a rag. "Yeah. What's up?"
"This is Steve." Fiona gestured at her companion. "His car's making a weird noise. Thought maybe you could take a look?"
Steve extended his hand, smile practiced and perfect. "Hey. Heard you're the guy who fixes things around here."
Ben shook his hand. Steve's grip was firm but not aggressive—calculated to convey confidence without threat. Ben's Silver Tongue stirred defensively, recognizing another manipulator.
"I fix things," Ben agreed. "What's the problem?"
"Probably nothing. But there's this clicking sound when I turn left. Figured I'd get it checked before it became something expensive."
They walked to Steve's car—a BMW, current year, gleaming despite South Side's perpetual dirt. Ben's MacGyver Mind assessed it automatically: perfect condition, no visible damage, maintained meticulously.
He slid into the driver's seat, started the engine, turned the wheel. Listened.
Nothing. No clicking, no grinding, no sound beyond normal operation. The car was fine. Perfect, even.
This is manufactured proximity, Ben realized. He doesn't need a repair. He's creating an excuse to be here, to interact with Fiona, to position himself as someone who values her input.
Classic con. Ben recognized it because he'd considered running similar plays himself.
His Silver Tongue tried activating, ready to call Steve out, to expose the manipulation. Ben forced it down through sheer willpower. Exposing Steve would make Ben look jealous, paranoid. Would push Fiona toward defending Steve instead of questioning him.
"Let me check a few things," Ben said, popping the hood.
He spent ten minutes pretending to diagnose a problem that didn't exist while Steve and Fiona talked nearby. Ben caught fragments of conversation—Steve asking about her family, her work, her dreams. Questions designed to make her feel seen, heard, valued.
And it was working. Fiona's body language opened up, relaxed. She smiled more, laughed more. Steve mirrored her movements with practiced subtlety.
Ben's MacGyver Mind showed him the truth: Steve was running a con. Not sure what kind yet, but definitely a con. The expensive car, the manufactured need for repair, the calculated charm—all pieces of a larger game.
But telling Fiona that would make Ben the bad guy. So he made a different choice.
"Found the problem," Ben said, straightening. "CV joint's wearing out. Not critical yet, but it'll need replacing soon."
Complete lie. The CV joint was perfect.
"How soon?" Steve asked.
"Month, maybe two. I can fix it now for two hundred, or you can wait and it might cost four hundred when it fails completely."
Steve didn't hesitate. "Fix it now. Better safe than sorry."
"I can do a temporary patch for fifty. But you'll need the full repair eventually."
"Just do the full repair. Money's not an issue."
Of course it wasn't. Steve pulled out his wallet—leather, expensive—and counted out two hundred in cash like it was nothing. Fiona watched with obvious surprise. Ben felt sick.
He'd just lied to make Steve pay for a repair that wasn't needed. Pure spite disguised as diagnosis. The shame tasted like copper.
"I'll have it done by tomorrow," Ben said.
"Perfect. Thanks, man." Steve shook his hand again, then turned to Fiona. "Want to grab lunch while we wait? There's this place—"
"I should get back," Fiona said. "Kids are home from school soon."
"Right, of course. Rain check?"
"Maybe."
They left together, walking toward the street. Steve said something that made Fiona laugh one more time before she headed toward her house and he got into a different car—a Mercedes this time, parked a block away.
Ben stood in his garage and felt like garbage.
"That was interesting."
He jumped. Lip leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"How long have you been there?" Ben asked.
"Long enough to watch you lie about Steve's car."
"I didn't—"
"CV joint's fine. I looked at the car while you were talking. You made up a problem to charge him money." Lip's tone wasn't accusatory, just observant. "Why?"
Ben couldn't answer. Had no explanation that didn't reveal jealousy.
Lip pushed off from the doorframe, approaching. "You like Fiona."
Not a question. A statement of fact delivered with the confidence of someone who'd figured out the puzzle.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Ben tried.
"Please. You undercharged her for the washing machine. Gave her money at the store. Fixed Debbie's toys for nothing. Helped Ian with whatever the hell he needed help with. And now you're sabotaging Steve with fake repairs." Lip's expression was sympathetic despite the words. "It's obvious, man."
Ben's shoulders sagged. "I'm not sabotaging anyone."
"You literally just charged him two hundred bucks for a problem that doesn't exist."
"Fine. Yes. It was petty." Ben ran a hand through his hair. "But Steve's running a con. I don't know what kind yet, but he is. The expensive cars that change weekly, the manufactured problems, the charm—it's all calculated."
"Maybe. Or maybe he's just a rich guy who likes Fiona." Lip studied him with uncomfortable perception. "Either way, she's gonna do what she wants. And guys who try to 'save' her just piss her off. Trust me. I've watched it happen."
"I'm not trying to save her."
"Then what are you doing?"
Good question. Ben didn't have a good answer.
Lip pulled out a wallet—his own, worn and held together with duct tape—and counted out thirty dollars. "Payment for the laptop. You actually fixed it this time."
"Lip—"
"Also, for what it's worth? Steve drives a different expensive car every week. BMW Monday, Mercedes Friday, saw him in an Audi last weekend." Lip met his eyes. "Just in case you wanted to, you know, accidentally figure out why."
He left before Ben could respond.
Ben stood alone in his garage with two hundred dollars in stolen money, the knowledge that Lip had seen through him completely, and the weight of his own jealous stupidity.
I know Steve's story. Car thief. Con artist. He'll hurt Fiona eventually. But knowing that doesn't give me the right to interfere. Doesn't make my jealousy noble or my lies justified.
He put Steve's money in the cash box, planning to return it tomorrow with an apology about "misdiagnosing the problem." The shame wouldn't wash off that easily, but at least he could stop being actively petty.
That night, Ben lay on his mattress and cataloged everything he remembered about Steve from the show. The car theft ring. The lies about his family. The way he'd drag Fiona into his chaos and then disappear when things got hard. All the pain Steve would cause.
And underneath that knowledge, the uncomfortable truth: Ben was jealous. Territorial over a woman he barely knew because he'd watched nine seasons of her life and fallen for a character who was now real, complicated, and completely out of his reach.
Recognizing what's right and not acting on jealousy are very different skills, he thought bitterly.
He'd failed at both today.
But tomorrow, he'd do better. Return the money, apologize, stop letting his foreknowledge and feelings override his ethics.
Tomorrow, he'd remember that Fiona Gallagher wasn't his to protect, his to save, or his to want. She was her own person, making her own choices, and Ben's job was to respect that even when it hurt.
Even when she chose Steve.
Even when he knew exactly how that story would end.
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