A good week had past, business was same as usual. I was sitting in my office when I saw a letter sitting on the right edge, almost teetering. Feeling curious, I opened it immediately. I unfolded the paper as it read.

 Sully,
I hope the garage is doing well. After everything New York has been through, you deserve it. Hell, as well as you run that place, you deserve it. Shit's just not the same down here. I thought business would be better; being closer to the source and all. But it's messy down here. There's no respect and no honour.  Far Messier than New York. I thought I would enjoy the sunshine, but it's miserable. The humidity is terrible on my curls. There's constantly bugs everywhere. There's ALLIGATORS. And I'm always sweaty - and not in the good way.
I miss home. I've never seen a Christmas without snow. Did you know it doesn't snow in Florida? Not at all. They string Christmas lights on the palm trees. It's sad, really. And, as odd as it sounds given the amount of time we spent together, not to mention that  you're  you were my boss: I miss you, too, you baby-faced bastard. You're the only person I have left in this world. Certainly the only person I'm fond of.
I hope your holidays are bright and warm. Put a wreath on Freddie's grave for me, won't you? And think of me when it snows.
 
Yours Truly,
Frankie Jo

I sat there holding the letter, all different thoughts running through my mind. One thing was certain, I couldn't let Frankie get away!. I placed the paper in my pocket and headed home to pack.

48 hours later, Florida

It took 24 hours to get to Florida and settle in, then another fucking 24 hours to locate the damn garage Frankie worked at. I immediately spotted her working on a car. The curls made it easy to identify her.

I walked up behind her speaking in a calm, yet serious tone. "You left me for this place?." My hands were firmly in my pocket, as I waited for Frankie's reaction. wondering how she was going to react when she turned around.

Frankie was bent over the open engine of a late-model Model T, looking tense, frustrated, and overall miserable. She was suspiciously jumpy, even for someone who worked with gangsters. And she slammed her head into the hood of the car with a sickening smack as she whirled around to face the voice that crept up on her. For a brief moment, her eyes were wild - the "fight" part clearly winning out in her fight or flight response. "I'll cut you," she yelled instinctively, the words rushing out of her mouth as she whipped to face her presumed aggressor. Though how she'd pull off such a stunt with a 3/4 inch socket wrench was a feat of the imagination. 

For a moment, she simply stared in disbelief as James' keen blue eyes regarded her with a sparkling smile. As the slow avalanche of realization collapsed over her, a parade of emotions washed over her face. Recognition, embarrassment, shame, relief... and just a hint of fear. Glancing around the yard/bay with a look of cautious worry, she sat the wrench on the bumper with a light chuckle. 

"Sully, you bastard!" She looked perturbed when she turned back around. But with a final weary glance around the shop, her concern melted away as she rushed to him. With a gleeful giggle, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight for a moment before the reality of her behaviour registered in her thoughts. She was hugging him. She was actually hugging him.  For a moment, she froze. Trying to process her own reaction to his presence. With a shy chuckle, she pulled away from him... just slightly... biting her bottom lip as she blushed up at him. Quite girly compared to her normal "hardass tomboy" routine." 

"What are you doing here, Baby-face?" She couldn't hide the smile that tickled the corners of her mouth, even as she glanced around the yard again. "You know you shouldn't be on someone else's turf," she scolded him, trying to camouflage the concern in her voice by straightening the button on the front of his suit. 

Clearing her throat, she fished a shop rag from the back pocket oh her typical denim jumper and began stubbornly wiping the grease from her hands and arms as another mechanic came around the corner.  "So what can I do for you, Mr. S...Shoaltz?" It was a little too loud and a little too conspicuous. Obviously, something about being here made her extremely uncomfortable. ... uncomfortable enough that she didn't want her employer to have his name. With a pained expression, she looked up at him, her deep brown eyes apologetic as they pleaded with him to go with it and get the fuck out of here.

As she wiped the grime and sweat from her face, her curls brushed back just enough to reveal a large, deep purple bruise along her left temple, spreading across her forehead. "What um... what model?" She asked, her voice tense with held back tears as a man approached them from the shop behind her. 

He was short, but VERY well built. Beneath his thin A-shirt his muscled arms, chest, and neck displayed a menagerie of rough and poorly inked tattoos, and Frankie bristled and stiffened instinctively as he approached. "Need some help, man?" The bald latino asked, stepping uncomfortably close to Frankie's shoulder. James would notice her flinch as she turned her face away from him,  "Nah, Matteo. I got it."  

"Really," the shorter man puffed up, grabbing the back of Frankie's neck roughly, "Then what does he want, my little pet?" Frankie shrugged off his grip, "He needs a home consult, and maybe a tow. 1931 DUESENBERG MODEL J DERHAM TOURSTER, right kiddo?" She locked eyes with James, knowing he'd recognize the model from their first meeting and praying he would understand her coded message. 

After seeing the bruise on Frankie's temple, everything kind of went blurry for me. She was using code talk and trying to hide the bruise. When everything went quiet, I placed my hand on Frankie's chin and slightly tilted it to the side, revealing the mark once again.

Shutting my eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, I ask Frankie very softly, but very serious as you could read the rage on my face.

"Frankie...how did that happen?."

As she looked to me with some fear in her eyes, I stared in her eyed with the most ensuring look I could possibly give.

"Frankie, I know your not stupid!, by now you know me, and what I do...so tell me...what happened?."

I kept my hand on her chin, awaiting a response. and to see if this guy got smart with me.

Frankie trembled, her bottom lip quivering as she tried to shirk his eye contact.  "Sully, please... don't do this. You don't..." 

Frankie's pleading was cut short as the other man ripped her away from James by her hair. She squealed as he gripped her by the back of her head, bending her backwards to glare down into her face, "Sully? SULLY?! Who the fuck is this Frankie Jo? What right's he got to use your pet name? Huh? And why does he think he can come into MY BUSINESS and speak to MY piece of ass? Huh? HUH?!" 

Frankie whimpered as she flinched away, trying fruitlessly to shield her face. "Please," she pleaded, looking at James instead of Matteo, "He's made, Sully. He's made and they own this. Please. It'll mean war. Please. It's not worth it." 

Frankie screamed as the man's fist slammed hard into her mouth. Her head lolled to one side, recoiling from the blow as a tearing heat overtook her lips. "WAR? It'll mean WAR, Frankie Jo. WHO THE FUCK DID YOU BRING TO MY OUTFIT? HUH?!" The man spat in her face, "As if anyone would start a war over a filthy cunt like you. You can't even act like a WOMAN, you fucking WHORE!" He threw her roughly to the ground and with snivelling shame, she crawled toward James' feet. 

"I oughta shoot you right now and make him watch," the man continued screaming at her as he pulled a pistol from his belt at the small of his back. Frankie grunted and collapsed as he pistol-whipped her hard. Aiming the gun at the back of her head, he turned his outrage on James, "Now you... you're gonna tell me who the fuck you are showing up here like this talking to MY girl. And you're gonna tell me RIGHT NOW. Or so help me god, I will blow her pretty pink brains all over your shoes, and drag you back to my Don. ANSWER ME!!!" 

James expression was cold and blank as Frankie sniffled up at him from the ground. It was a pitiful sight to see her... so strong and vibrant, so full of life and zest, reduced to a rocking ball of tears and terror. "PLEASE."  she begged him once more, her voice trembling and breaking as she pleaded. Her eyes told him she would never ask. She desperately yearned for him to save her, to take her away from all of this, back home, back to the shop. But she knew what it would mean. And she would NEVER... no matter what it meant for her... NEVER ask him to do that. 

Standing in rage, I had to act fast.

"I'll tell you who I am!, but first get the pistol away from her!." Matteo lowers his gun, and tucks it away in his pants, still demanding who I am. I help Frankie up and walk in front of her, easing very closely to Matteo.

"I don't throw rank around the way you do, but I do let my actions speak for me!." Matteo without hesitation swings at me, catching me right in the side of the face. in retaliation I grab him by the throat as we slam into the car Frankie was working on. I punch Matteo twice on the ground, as he then reaches for his gun. I grab the knife that I had tucked in my shoe, and stab him in the neck. Civilians scream as I continue the assault with multiple stabs to the side of the neck. As Matteo laid lifeless I stood up with my jacket covered in blood. I pull out a stack of cash and begin flicking bills on his body while replying.

"Hit people who cant fucking defend themselves!, not while I'm around you prick!...take this cash and let your friends bury you with it!."

Two men came in and before they could react I Draw my gun and aim at both of them.

"He brought it on himself!...im taking Frankie out of here. Follow us and ill rain a shit storm down on this place like you never fucking seen before!."

I grabbed Frankie and walked out with her, driving off with her once I got her in the front seat.

"Should have came for you sooner!, don't worry...there wont be any war ok?. We need to get out of here though!."

I continued to drive, waiting for Frankie to say something.  

Frankie was quiet for a long while, collecting her wits and her thoughts. Quietly she stared out the window, sniffling softly every now and again. She was utterly unable to bring herself to look at James. "I'm not your responsibility, James,"  she whispered softly, camouflaging her anguish with irritation. It was a thin attempt. She was transparent in her attempts to hide from him. 

He was patient with her. And they drove in silence for a long while before she was able to even steel a sidelong glance in his direction. He smiled at her; pity, concern, compassion, and regret etched into the lines of his face. The tenderness with which he regarded her cut her to the core. And she almost started crying again. 

Angry at herself for feeling so vulnerable, for being so helpless and worthless, for having SO LITTLE control over herself and her life, slammed her fist into his dashboard with a frustrated growl... and immediately regretted it. Shaking her fist, she hissed and whimpered; her bottom lip trembling as pain and embarrassment threatened to shatter the carefully constructed dam that currently retained her emotions. Half crying, half laughing she chuckled pathetically, " Well that was stupid."  She pet and wiped the place where her fist had landed with her shop towel, "I'm sorry. I'll buff that when we get home." 

... when WE get HOME... the words came out before she even realized how sideways they could go. Turning away from him slightly, she mouthed them to herself again, desperately trying to wrap her fragilized mind around everything rushing through her. With a heavy sigh, she looked down into her lap, biting her bottom lip, and finally convinced herself to look at him... really look at him. 

Meeting his frosted blue gaze with her teary brown eyes, she pressed her lips together; holding back a torrent of thoughts and emotions. She was overwhelmed with the weight of it all. There was so much she wanted to say that it all crowded her mind into oblivion. She tried desperately to make sense of it all, to organize her thoughts in some single file order that would allow her to speak. 

"Why?" was all she managed to squeak out, biting her busted lip... and then wincing. With a soft chuckle at her own stupidity, she looked out the window again, unable to bear the gentle weight of his tender gaze. "Why, James?"

Frankie had finally broke her silence. All she could really say was why?.

I continued to drive, keeping my eyes straight, focusing on the road. I then broke my silence and responded to her. "What do you mean why?...should I have let him shot you?, or worse and keep beating you until god forbid that happened?. He was scum!, would have never thought twice about killing you or anyone else."

Frankie then uttered softly "and you?." It was loud enough for me to hear, but I couldn't blame her for saying it. I licked my lips slightly, a look of deep thought crossed my face.

"I may do what I do, but at least I don't abuse women!...never have and never will. Look Frankie, everything I do...it has purpose!." I then have a flashback of me setting Eddie on fire, which Frankie did not know about. "Ok almost everything I do had purpose!, I never said I was perfect. And yea sometimes I can get a little hot headed. But in life you can either be a shark, or bait. As long as I am breathing I will never be bait!. It's how it was in war and prison and as far as I'm concerned...its no different on the streets!."

As I cooled off a little, I turned on the radio softly, as it played a nice Christmas tune. Which I had hoped would relax Frankie a little.

"Frankie...none of this is your fault ok?. And your safe with me ok?." As she stayed quiet, I spoke up again...this time saying something Frankie may not have expected.

"I couldn't let him hurt someone I care for!." I kept my eyes forward, as I realized I had showed emotion for the first time since my prison release. I had no idea how Frankie would handle it. I could only sit there and continue driving as the Christmas music played softly.  

At first, Frankie chuckled a little. She knew who he was, how he thought, and what he believed. She knew why he'd killed the man. But it was a huge risk. He'd killed a made man of a rival city's outfit. At best he'd risked his life, and at worst he'd risk outright war between Miami and New York. What she didn't understand is why he'd risk doing that for her. 

"...none of this is your fault," he reassured her, and she snerked coldly. This was all her fault; all of it. If she hadn't reacted like she did, this wouldn't have happened. If she'd killed the ass herself the first time he touched her, this wouldn't have happened. If she'd refused the job offer in the first place, this never would have happened. If she'd never written him, this never would have happened. If she never left New York, this never would have happened. If she'd just manned up and faced her own fucking demon once in her miserable life, this NEVER would have happened. It was absolutely her fault. And if he died because of it, that would be her fault too. She whimpered softly, staring down at the floorboard in a thin attempt to hide the tears stealing silently down her face. It was all her fault. 

As the dulcet tones of Frank Sinatra seeped through the stereo speakers, Frankie sighed heavily... shakily. 'Christmas Dreaming' filled the car with a  sappy, syrupy sweetness that turned her stomach, and with a nearly audible eye-roll, she reached for the radio dial. But stopped just short as the words tumbled out of James' mouth. 

His eyes stayed forward, the wheels in his head clearly spinning like tires on hot pavement as the realization of what he'd said stole across his features. Frankie, croaked a little, staring at him with parted lips that would form no words. A million thoughts crammed to the front of her mind, all fighting to be first through the door; like Christmas shoppers pressed against Macey's window every morning. It was too much. It was all too much. The rogue, Freddie, the move, Matteo... and now this. And what the hell did that even mean? 

Frankie tried desperately to make sense of all her rushing thoughts. Maybe he meant like a sister. He could totally just mean like a sister. Or a friend. They were friends. She couldn't let herself get ahead of... herself. But then... he had come all the way to Miami... just because she missed him. And he'd... done what he'd done to Matteo. But that didn't mean that... 

Her heart twisted and squeezed inside her chest. That thought - that it didn't mean anything - hurt almost as much as all of her abuse in Miami combined. And that did mean something... at least to her. But she couldn't possibly say that. Not now. At least not until she was sure exactly what it meant. She needed time to figure out what she felt, and how to deal with it... how to deal with everything that had happened recently. But, she couldn't let his admission go unacknowledged either... not after everything he'd done. She needed him to know. She needed him to know that she saw him, that she appreciated him, and... that he moved her. 

Wordlessly, she slid across the fine Italian leather of the front seat; scooching closer to him a little at a time, gauging his reaction. His eyes remained glued sternly to the road, but he didn't pull away. So she scooched a little closer, the taught denim of her jumper over her supple flesh warm against his side as he placed a cautious arm around her. Frankie sighed shakily as she laid her head on his shoulder, nestling into his side; the romantic Christmas music almost too poignant as they drove in silence for a while. 

After miles of driving, I began to get tired. Frankie had fallen asleep a few miles back, the sleep was much needed for her. We were getting closer to New York, maybe 40 miles. I decided to stop at a motel which was located near a diner.

I let Frankie sleep but kept my eye on her as I went in to get a room. After getting the key I woke her up, as I told her I got us a room for the rest of the night.

upon entering the room there was one bed. I looked to Frankie and said "It's all they had available. I can sleep on the couch, you take the bed. Also a 24 hour diner across the way. You hungry?."

I waited for a response as I sat down for a moment.

Frankie stirred sleepily from the car as James lead her inside. As she looked at the bed, she couldn't help but smile. Of course, they only had a single available. Rubbing her aching face, she turned for the door with a groggy grumble. It wasn't exactly an answer. But she grabbed his hand tugged him toward the diner, giving no thought to the implications of her actions as the needs for sleep and sustenance took over. 

The Diner was loud and uncomfortably bright. The seats were all shiny leather in primary colours; reds, yellows, and blues. And the hot lights, dangling above each booth, gave the whole place a harsh incandescent glow. Frankie was sure it was intended to be peppy, to help late night drivers perk up, but in her bleary-eyed exhaustion, its only effect was a searing headache. 

"Sit anywhere you like," said a pretty, blonde waitress from behind the bar. Squinting against the bright lights, Frankie sleepily eyed the Diner and was dismayed to find the only available booth backed up against the door. They could sit next to the door or they could sit at the bar with their backs to it. There was no comfortable option. Choosing the lesser of two evils, Frankie slid into the booth to their right; facing the door. With a bit of a frown, James moved to sit across from her. 

Taking his hand, Frankie blushed a little as she shook her head.  "Would you.. uh..." she dropped his hand, looking away out the frosted window. Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. The flush of her cheeks showing more than just shame, "Sit... over here... please?" Frankie swallowed softly, looking back up to meet his eyes. "It feels safer." 

As Frankie asks for me to join her on the other side of the booth, almost nervously as she paused her words, I chuckle and move to her side. I sit down slowly, now facing the door as well, I place my arm around her.

"Don't get much safer then this does it?." The words came out in a humorous way as I could see it calmed Frankie quite a bit.

"Don't worry ok?...were almost home, and I am going to take care of everything ok?...I will make things right!, I promise. But I cant do it on an empty stomach, so lets get some food...and try and ignore these bright lights and dark colors yea?."

The blonde headed waitress approached us, as Frankie was still trying to decide. I went ahead and ordered. "Cheeseburger, and a coffee." The waitress replies "fries too?." 

"Can't forget the fries!...yea lets do the fries too." I then look to Frankie, once again showing emotion towards her as I replied.

"What are you getting sweetie."

As the words left my mouth, I looked forward and scanned the surroundings. Trying to figure out how Frankie seemed to be the only one who softened me up a bit. Was it love?...I was beginning to have zero doubt it was. In my head the humorous side of me kicked it, as I contemplated on whether or not I should shoot someone, just to make up for the soft side I had shown tonight.

I sat and awaited to hear Frankie's order, and what would follow after the waitress left.    

The word made Frankie squirm a little bit. A nervous chuckle escaping her lips as she tried to focus on scanning the menu. It wasn't that she didn't like the feel of him calling her 'sweetie'. In fact, she did. More so than she was ready or willing to admit. But that was just it, she wasn't  ready, and the range of conflicting emotions that stirred inside her felt like a pit of vipers slithering through the veins. 

She was fresh out of the most abusive relationship she'd ever been in... and that was saying something. Being with James was like rubbing sugar in that open wound. She was scared... in more ways than one. Sure there was all the worry of what he'd done, and what would happen next... of having to step back into normal New York life as if nothing had happened... when the whole reason she ran away is because so much had happened. But more than that, what if everything she thought she felt was just a psychological response to the situation? She could fight it all she wanted, but she WAS still a woman. And that whole biological imperative for a caregiver/provider had a horrible tendency to muck things up.  And here sweet little baby-faced James was, running to the rescue during literally the worst time in her entire life. How could she not fall for that?  James deserved better than a desperate rebound. Much better. And what if she wasn't. 

She couldn't do this. Not now. Shaking the thoughts from her head, her dark curls bobbed lightly against his shoulder as she desperately scoured the menu. "Pancakes!" It was the first things she'd said all day with any certainty. And it felt good to be sure of something. Even if it was only what she'd be having for dinner-breakfast. "Short-stack, with bacon - extra crispy, eggs over medium, grits instead of hashbrowns and... um.... extra butter and extra syrup... OOOO! and a side of French toast." 

She nodded with an air of over-important finality as she handed the waitress her menu. The young woman chuckled softly, her eyes soft as she regarded Frankie, "And what can I getcha to drink, Doll?" she asked, smacking a piece of big chew bubblegum softly. James twitched a little, and Frankie couldn't help but remember their first meeting... her interview. Snuggling into his side, she laid her head over on his shoulder for a moment, patting his chest gently... sensing his aversion without a single word. 

"Orange Juice, por favo... um... please." Again the waitress chuckled, "Sure thing, Sug."  As she turned away from the table Frankie noted the tiniest baby bulge just starting to strain against the fabric of the girl's uniform. She sighed heavily... too heavily... against James' chest as he hand shot out to catch the woman's wrist. The girl looked shocked and confused for a moment before Frankie met her gaze with a teary look of gentle empathy and compassion. "Gracias,"  she said with special emphasis, her words weighted with unspoken meaning and understanding. The girl simply smiled and nodded. Gotta make ends meet somehow, Frankie was sure. 

"De nada," the waitress smiled back pointedly before patting Frankie's fingers and slipping away to the kitchen. 

Sliding away from James, Frankie silently stared out the frost-covered window... drawing little shapes in the fog on the glass. She didn't want to think anymore. She wanted to retreat away somewhere else where none of this life existed. After a while, she poked him lightly and pointed to one of her childish "drawings" on the window. "Hey look," she shot him a goofy grin, "A cheeseburger." 

I glance at the glass, slightly chucking. "Quite the artist huh?".

I lit up a smoke, once again checking my surroundings. This time catching something, more of an issue for me really. A few guys at the bar was staring at me, as well as the waitress through the window from the kitchen. I thought for a moment, when suddenly it smacked me right in the face!, I knew what the issue was. I looked to Frankie and quietly said to her, "The marks on your face!...I think the waitress and a few others think I did it."

I inhale the smoke as the tip of the cigarette glows red, slowly exhaling the cloud into the air.

"I should have realized. Maybe you should clean yourself up a little in the bathroom before the food comes." I sat and let Frankie decide on whether or not she wanted to go to the restroom. All I could do is remain calm, at least until I was approached by someone...which I had a feeling would happen before we left.  

Frankie stared up at the bar with a soft gasp of realization. Of course they would think that. Hanging her head  to hide her embarrassment she whispered softly, "I'm so sorry, James." As her gaze trailed up to his face, she fixated for a moment on the blood splatter staining the hem of his jacket. "That's not gonna help." Thinking for a minute, she chewed her tongue as she tried to devise a plan to address both problems. 

"Okay. I'm gonna do that... in just a minute. But for right now, why don't you offer me your coat. Afterall, it's awfully chilly over here by this window." The look in her eyes told him she had some kind of plan as he slid the jacket off and slipped it carefully around her shoulders. She smiled brightly, a little hint of a sparkle lighting her features as she snuggled conspicuously close. Nestling into the crook of his arm, she laid her cheek gently on his shoulder with an overly obvious, affectionate nuzzle. 

For a few moments, she pretended to make small talk, her eyes never leaving his face as she showered him with would-be adoration. The sudden change in demeanour only obvious to him as her dark curls curtained her face from anyone else's view. "I'm going to kiss you when I get up," she said with a matter-of-fact air of cold necessity, "Try to act natural about it. If I can sell this, we might make it outta here without any more problems." She smiled as she sat up, shrugging off his jacket. Folding it with purposeful care, she nested it carefully into the booth next to them so the blood was discreetly hidden. Scooting over, she bumped her weight against him with a playful pout, "Now, scooch. Let me out." 

The look on Jame's face was nearly priceless as she crowded him out of the booth. 

As Frankie stood up, she planted a kiss, smiling afterwards as she walked towards the restrooms. My jacket still in her arms as she closed the door to the ladies room. I sat back down at the edge of the booth, thinking we might be in the clear. Unfortunately no matter how good Frankie sold it, seemed as though the people around us wasn't buying it.

As the waitress stared daggers at me, the food popped up on the ledge in the little window, only Frankie's order was there. It was then placed in a bag and brought over by a gentlemen who looked to be the manager, that or a regular customer. He walked the bag over and stood in front of me, as he replied. "I don't feed women beaters!...and I damn sure don't want you in my establishment!."

I still had my smoke. I took an inhale, then exhaled slowly, speaking up to the gentlemen. "I know it looks bad, and I cant blame you but to see it any other way. But you have it all wrong!...I didn-"

He slaps the smoke out of my hand, as Frankie emerges from the bathroom. He yells "FUCKING WOMEN BEATER!...LEAVE NOW!."

I didn't want to stress Frankie out anymore, she had been through enough. She was going to speak up and defend me, but I stopped her. Placing the bag of food in her hands.

"Frankie...lets respect the mans wishes ok?, you can eat your food in the room."

I gave Frankie a stare,  trying desperately to get her to follow me. The cops was without a doubt attention we did not need. I knew Frankie wanted to stand by me, it was one of the many reasons I cared for her so much. I had hoped she would leave quietly, but I needed to let her make her own decisions.   

Frankie was positively trembling with indignation as she stomped her way from the bathroom to their booth. James pressed the bag of food in her hands with a look that pleaded with her not to say anything... but she is a Flores after all. And her latin temper flared as she turned on the man from the diner. Stepping between he and James, she tiptoed as far up into his face as her relatively short height would allow. 

"Now you listen here. I'm sure your mother would be right proud of you standing up for someone you think is weaker than you. But you should get all the facts first, Tonto," Frankie spat the pejorative at him, jabbing a calloused finger lightly into his chest. And for a brief moment, she looked JUST LIKE Freddie. "These bruises are from my ex, and THAT man is helping me escape that life. He saved me... which is more than I can say for you. Sending me off with someone you thought was hurting me... you should be ashamed!" 

Stepping back she took James' hand with a determined glare, "If battery upsets you so much, I'd think you oughtta reward people who actually DO  something about it... unlike yourself. You oughtta pay for dinner AND tomorrows breakfast, you white knighting jerk off. But... since my appearance offends you SO MUCH I guess you don't want my money funding your establishment either. So I guess we'll just take these pancakes and leave." 

Tugging James' hand she moved for the door, shoulder bumping the guy on the way. "C'mon Sully, I don't wanna be here anyway." 

The man looked a little embarrassed, as Frankie was now pulling me out of the place. all I could do was smirk and flip the guy off as we walked out the door and back to our room.

Once inside, I began to set up the couch for me to get some sleep. Frankie was enjoying her pancakes, which thanks to her temper were free. I sat on the couch, smiling at her. She had fire, pride, she represented everything a strong women would be. Made me think of her sister Freddie, and John.

Because of her their memory stayed alive, all the while I was falling for Frankie...which was something that didn't happen to me often. Our eyes met for a brief moment, as I was still smirking. I replied "You didn't have to do that for me!, but thank you...I'm glad I came looking for you. The shop wasn't the same without you there."

As she continued to eat, I uttered one last thing. "Nothing was the same without you there!."

I then looked down, exhausted, awaiting to hear what Frankie would say next.   

Frankie stopped mid-bite, syrup dripping off her fork as it hovered before her open mouth. Her heart jumped into her throat, freezing her breath with a hitch. So many conflicting emotions and urges... too many. Especially after the long day and more so for her after the preceding month. She didn't have it in her to have this conversating right now. She just didn't. But she couldn't just say nothing ... not after everything he'd one. Her eyes shifted back and forth a few times between James and her waiting pancake. 

"I know James. I know," she muttered softly, receptively. It wasn't much. But her tone said enough. Going back to her pancakes, she devoured them as if she hadn't eaten in days, keeping a careful eye on James all the while.  "That doesn't look very comfortable," she said matter-of-factly, gesturing toward the couch with her fork. "You know," she told him as she stuffed everything back into the bag and tossed it basketball-style into the trash. 

She trailed off as she rounded the corner to the small bathroom, trying to decide how she was going to sleep, "I... um... I really wouldn't mind if you wanna... I dunno... split? the bed?" She leaned around the corner, bare from the shoulders up from what he could see, her dark curls cascading down her past her shoulders as she pulled it free of the many bobby pins that normally held it tightly in place.  "I'm sure we could put arrange it so it's not... y'know... y'know?"  Her voice echoed off the tile as the sound of the shower running quickly drown her out. 

Although the couch was not the most comfortable, it also could have been worse. I could hear in Frankie's voice that she wanted me close to her. However I think it was for all the right reasons. Safety, sense of security...couldn't be to sure but I figured I would take her up on the offer.

I sat on the bed and turned on the radio, trying to see what our drive would be like in the morning. The shower continued to run as I made myself comfortable, still listening closely on the weather. The shower turned off, as I laid in bed on my back, fingers interlocked while draped on my chest. I waited for Frankie to come out, wondering if she would change her mind about the sleeping arrangements.

Frankie tiptoed out of the shower, wringing her hair out with one of the hotels cheap towels. With a conflicted sigh, she glanced around the tiny incandescent bathroom. On the one hand, she hadn't felt this clean or this safe in well over a month... at least. On the other, how the fuck was she going to sleep tonight? She had nothing to put on except for her grease-stained jumper; she had no idea what she was going home to, how people were gonna react, or how she was gonna continue to work for James when they got there; and then there was James and everything that went along with him. 

Silently, she snuck a hidden glance around the corner into the bedroom. "AY, dios mio,"  she mumbled softly under her breath, melting down the wall to sit huddled against the cold bathroom tile. Why'd he have to look so... innocent? Laying there like nothing had happened, like they were a completely normal couple, as if he were just waiting for her to come to bed after a long day. Well, he IS waiting for you to come to bed, the shattering thought echoed in her mind, sending goosebumps across her chest. Still huddled on the floor, she snuck another glance into the bedroom with a soft huff, heart aching and her mind racing. The idea that... had they chosen any other life... this could be normal for them was almost cruel as it bit into all the vulnerable and 'girly' parts of her mind that she tried so hard to keep hidden. 

Now wasn't the time to be lamenting the could-have-beens. It was late and they still had a long day ahead of them tomorrow. Steeling herself, she shook the thoughts from her head softly, and glanced around the bathroom again hoping for a spare towel. There wasn't one, but she did notice a swash of brightly coloured silk crumpled in a corner beneath the sink. With a perked brow she leaned over and, to her surprise, was awarded with a heavily embroidered silk robe. The floral print reminded her of Frankie. How could housekeeping miss this? she wondered to herself, but shrugged softly. It was hers now. 

It was a little loose and a little long on her smaller-than-average frame. But, for having nothing else, it would work. Cinching it tightly around her waist, she pulled her damp curls over one shoulder and tiptoed as silently as she could out into the sleeping area. James looked so content and peaceful, it was almost painful. Frankie didn't wanna think about it. Yet she kind of envied it, at the same time... in that mischevious way that makes you wanna ruin nice things for other people. Pretending to slide into bed, she moved to fluff her pillow... and smacked him right in the face instead with an impish giggle. 

A pillow fight? Seriously?? They were too old, and it was too late. And mafiosi don't do stupid things like pillow fights. Yet, as Frankie giggled and skip-danced away from him across the room... her eyes sparkled for the first time in months.