Chapter 47: The Wedding Date Set
"July twenty-seventh," Fiona announced, circling the date on the kitchen calendar with red marker. "That's it. That's our wedding day."
Ben looked up from washing dishes. The calendar showed summer stretching ahead—May's boxes empty and waiting, June marked with Debbie's school events, July circled in aggressive red.
"That gives us three and a half months," V said, already making lists on scrap paper. "Totally doable. I planned my wedding in six weeks."
"Your wedding was at the courthouse," Kev pointed out from the doorway.
"Still counts." V waved him off, focused on her lists. "Okay, priorities: dress, suit, food, music, decorations. What am I missing?"
"Marriage license," Lip offered. He'd come home for spring break, currently sprawled across the couch with textbooks. "Thirty-day waiting period in Illinois. File in June, get married in July."
Debbie bounced on her toes, sketch pad already open to dress designs. "I can make decorations! Paper flowers, banners, table centerpieces. All DIY, super cheap."
"I'll handle setup," Carl added. He was cleaning his workbench—skills Ben had taught him over months of after-school shop time. "Ben showed me how to build that arbor. I can do it."
Ian emerged from the basement with Mickey trailing behind. "Playlist's half done. Got your favorites, Fi, plus dance music that won't make people want to die."
Ben dried dishes with mechanical precision while the family erupted into wedding planning chaos. His MacGyver Mind tracked details automatically—budget calculations, timeline coordination, resource allocation. But his Danger Intuition hummed underneath everything, counting down.
Late July. That's sixteen weeks away. Danger arrives in May or early June—8 to 12 weeks from now. Six weeks minimum before the wedding.
"Ben? You good?" Fiona touched his arm.
He forced a smile. "Yeah. Just processing. July twenty-seventh."
"Too fast? We could push to August—"
"No. It's perfect." He set down the dish towel, pulled her close despite the audience. "July twenty-seventh. Our wedding day."
She relaxed against him. "I can't believe this is actually happening. Actual wedding, actual marriage, actual future."
"Believe it," Ben said into her hair.
If I prevent the cocaine disaster. If Liam stays safe. If Fiona doesn't get arrested. If preparation is enough.
Wedding planning consumed the next two weeks.
Fiona found her dress at a consignment shop in Pilsen—simple white with lace sleeves, $175 including alterations. She modeled it in the shop's cramped changing room while V cried and the saleswoman offered tissues.
"You look beautiful," V managed between sobs.
"It's just a dress—"
"It's YOUR WEDDING DRESS and you look BEAUTIFUL and I'm SO HAPPY." V dissolved into incomprehensible emotion.
Fiona caught Ben's eye in the mirror, rolled hers affectionately. But she was smiling, radiant in white lace, looking at herself like she couldn't quite believe the reflection.
Ben's suit rental cost $120 for basic black. Nothing fancy—he'd tried on three options before Fiona declared the simplest one perfect.
"You clean up good," she'd said at the rental shop.
"I look like every guy at every wedding."
"You look like my guy at our wedding. Big difference."
The Alibi's reception planning happened over beers on a Tuesday night. Kevin offered the space free—"Family rate, which means no charge and you're handling cleanup."
"We'll do a potluck," Fiona decided. "Everyone brings a dish. V coordinates so we don't end up with seventeen casseroles."
"I can coordinate." V pulled out her phone, already texting the neighborhood. "This is going to be beautiful. Chaotic but beautiful."
"That's the Gallagher brand," Kev said.
Ben watched them plan, contribute ideas, build something together. The wedding was becoming real—a specific date, tangible preparations, actual momentum toward a future he'd been working to secure since February.
Fourteen weeks until wedding. Six to eight weeks until disaster. Everything depends on the space between now and crisis.
Lip found Ben at the shop late one night.
"You're stressed." Not a question.
Ben tightened a bolt with unnecessary force. "Wedding planning is stressful."
"That's not it." Lip lit a cigarette despite the NO SMOKING signs Ben had posted. "Your danger sense showing something specific?"
"Timeline. Problems arrive May, maybe early June. Wedding's late July."
"So if you handle the problems, you get the wedding."
"If I handle them perfectly." Ben set down his wrench, faced Lip directly. "If the cocaine appears and I keep it away from Liam, keep Fiona from legal consequences, survive the chaos without destroying our relationship—then we get married. If any piece fails, she could be in jail instead of walking down the aisle."
Lip took a long drag. "You've been preparing for months."
"Preparation isn't certainty."
"No. But it's something." Lip flicked ash into an empty can Ben kept for this purpose. "Look, you've done everything possible. Narcan everywhere, house locked down, family trained. You can't prepare more than you already have."
"I can monitor Fiona's emotional state. Watch for attraction to Robbie breaking through her commitment. Be ready to intervene if she makes bad choices—"
"That's controlling, not protecting." Lip's voice sharpened. "You know the difference."
Ben did know. Had been walking that line for weeks, trying to trust Fiona while preparing for disaster his powers showed approaching. The balance was exhausting.
"What if trust isn't enough?" Ben asked quietly.
"Then you handle the consequences together. That's what marriage is." Lip stubbed out his cigarette. "You're marrying Fiona because you love her, not because you can control her choices. Remember that when things get hard."
He left. Ben returned to the engine he was rebuilding, hands working automatically while his mind churned through probabilities and preparations.
Six weeks until disaster. Fourteen weeks until wedding. Trust and preparation. Those are my tools.
He just hoped they'd be enough.
That night, Fiona fell asleep mid-sentence about wedding flowers.
"—thinking wildflowers, not roses, roses are expensive and kind of generic, maybe sunflowers? Or those purple things, what are they called—"
Her voice trailed off. Breathing deepened. She'd been working double shifts at Patsy's Pies, saving every possible dollar for their wedding and future.
Ben lay awake beside her, staring at shadows on the ceiling. His Danger Intuition pulsed steady warnings—not screaming anymore but present, insistent, counting down to the moment everything would be tested.
May. The cocaine arrives in May. Six weeks from now, give or take. All my preparation, all my planning, all my trust in Fiona—everything converges in six weeks.
He turned on his side, watched her sleep. Engagement ring caught ambient light from the street, throwing tiny reflections across sheets. In four months she'd be his wife. They'd be married, legally bound, building a life together.
Unless disaster struck first. Unless cocaine appeared and chaos followed and everything they'd built came crashing down despite his best efforts.
No. Not this time. I've prepared too thoroughly, planned too carefully, anticipated too much. When disaster comes—and it will come—we'll survive it. We have to.
Because the alternative was unthinkable. Prison instead of altar. Handcuffs instead of wedding rings. Loss instead of love.
Ben wouldn't let that happen. Couldn't let it happen. Had spent months preparing specifically to prevent that outcome.
Trust her. Protect Liam. Document everything. Use all four powers if necessary. Whatever it takes to get from May's disaster to July's wedding intact.
Fiona shifted in sleep, moved closer. Ben held her carefully, this woman who'd chosen him over chaos, who wore his ring and planned their wedding with fierce determination.
He'd fight for this. For her. For their future. When cocaine appeared in six weeks, when Robbie's recklessness threatened everything, when the show's timeline tried to destroy what they'd built—Ben would be ready.
He had to be. Because July twenty-seventh was circled in red on their calendar, and he'd move heaven and earth to make sure they both made it to that date free and together.
Sleep came eventually, fitful and full of half-formed contingency plans. Tomorrow brought more wedding planning, more preparation, more counting down to the moment when everything would be tested.
But tonight, Fiona slept peacefully beside him, dreaming of sunflowers and purple things she couldn't remember the name of.
Ben held her close and swore silently: Whatever comes in May, we survive it. Together.
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