"Frank?" he groans, but she just keeps walking. He can't hate her half as much as she already does; it's already broken, this is not survivable. "Frank?!" he screams again, but she just keeps walking.
Veronica and Fiona have that same exact conversation everybody has already had with Fiona about her big choice or whatever, Fiona is the put-upon center of the universe who like the pelican of yore feeds the masses on blood from her breast, yadda-yadda, and Fiona randomly confesses that she is in love with Steve, so she breaks down crying or something and Veronica gives her a hug, and it's like, Costa Rica or don't, but shut up already.
In better news, Lip very nearly runs Frank down with a stolen car, but settles for beating the everloving shit out of him. Sheila gives Frank this whole speech about whatever lie he's told her about the beating, and they love each other, and it's pretty sweet considering how worthless Frank is.
In even better news, Eddie heads out to the ice hut, cuts a hole in the ice, ropes himself to a cinderblock, and dives deep. Until the boys at work saw, he wasn't ashamed. All that ugliness came bouncing right back, the second they saw what she'd done to him.
Lip finds Karen, hands still covered in blood and bruises, and they head out into the night while Fiona goes looking for her luggage. It's everywhere; it's covered in toys and trash and memories, but she finds it.
Karen apologizes to Lip, and he takes her hand. They are quiet. And the night is quiet, and absolutely shameless:
Ian: "She is kind of a slut."
Lip: "Yeah, but so am I."
Fiona waits for the train to take her to O'Hare; Steve waits for her there. The couples are kissing, and the security guys can't help but notice his bruises.
Lip's reading in his bedroom when Frank arrives on the front lawn, screaming his name: "I'm a shit. No, I am!" he shouts, as though anybody was there to disagree. He's making even less sense than usual; his words are spreading apart, into scripture and astronomy, Led Zeppelin lyrics, his own victimhood. There's something true behind his words, but the emergent structure is so desperate and useless that it just sounds like gibberish. "We're both victims!" he screams again and again, but whom he means, and victims of what, it's hard to say. It's sad. Lip finally opens his window and Frank sighs, in relief.
And Phillip Gallagher pisses on his father, in the snow. Frank jumps back, startled, and then shrugs. Fair enough.