A/N: Yes, Frank. Let's take the one-legged, barefoot woman out in public. Good idea.

Also; by the time Bekah asks for Apple juice it's about 5:30/6:00-ish at night

Xx

I was most certainly not fine. I'd insisted on headed down the stairs first, and as a result, when I hit the ground-level, I lost all dignity and went sprawling. When I hit the floor, I ended up rolling onto my back as I began freaking giggling.

And I think Frank now thinks I'm completely bonkers. Good job, Bekah.

But, other than that little tumble, Frank had stayed true to his word and kept my -- bare -- feet on the ground and my pretty face unscathed. Well, save for the couple bruises and cut lip I had from previous fights.

And now we were sat in a cozy lil' diner on the corner of W 44th Street and 9th Avenue. Granted, his version of 'a few' blocks was three blocks North and two East -- ergo, he was supporting the majority of my weight a lot while we walked, but over time I kind of got the hang of stuff.

Cozy little diner. I didn't quite catch the name of it, but it was a quaint little building. The place itself was narrow, the only seating being booths lining the windows looking onto the street, and the stools standing in front of the bartop. Frank had more or less carried me to a booth off to the left of the door -- the one on the end, in the corner, and beside the fire exit -- and I gladly fell onto the peeling orange leather seats. From the way that Frank beelined for this booth, though, it made me think he frequented the place.

The tabletop was freckled grey, various chips and cracks beginning to form around the edges, though most weren't too noticeable. The bar top was greenish, which I found a little weird; why have the tables and counter different colours?

Then I kind of noticed that the counter looked brand freaking new and everything kind of clicked together.

Finally, I turned my attention back to Frank, who had been waiting patiently this entire time for me to quit staring at everything, "Hi..." I smiled a little at him.

He looked tense, but forced the corner of his lip to quirk up, "Hi." he'd responded with the same tone I'd spoken in; short and clipped, but with no sign of hostility or ill-feelings.

Just as I'd began cringing about the possibility of attempted small talk, a short lil' waitress wandered over with a mug and a pot of coffee and, without a word, set said mug in front of Frank and filled it to the brim.

I wrinkled my nose at it.

Don't get me wrong, I love the smell of coffee. The taste? Not so much.

Oh look I've zoned out again. The waitress -- Darcy, apparently, according to her nametag -- was looking at me expectantly, her short blonde curls seeming to bounce, even as she stood still.

I blinked a little, "Oh, uh... what'd y'say? Sorry..."

I didn't mean that one bit.

"Would you like some coffee?" her tone wasn't mean or snippy at all, despite needing to repeat herself, which I liked.

The word, "Ew." was out of my mouth before she'd even finished asking.

She giggled, "Alright, then. Would you like anything else to drink? We got soda, beer, water, apple juice..." her voice trailed off as I watched her talk. She was cute. Bright green eyes, nice smile, soft features. She looked around my age...

I shook my head. Anyway... "Apple juice. All the apple juice." God, it'd been so fucking long since I'd had apple juice. I missed that shit like you wouldn't fuckin' believe.

"Alright, I'll get you that right away," she set down two -- albeit, suddenly acquired -- menus on the table in front of both me and Frank, took up the coffee pot and turned and disappeared behind the counter top.

Frank had his eyebrow quirked up, and he was swishing the mug around, looking down into the half-empty glass at his coffee, "Apple juice?"

"Don't judge me," I did my best to sound offended, though it was mock-offence.

He slurped down the rest of his drink -- and I cringed so horribly, because I could feel the heat radiating off the mug from my seat across the table. Did this man even have any nerves left in his tongue and/or mouth? Or taste buds?

Anyway, he'd slurped down the rest of his drink and set the empty glass back down on the table, "Apple juice is such a children's drink, isn't it?"

I just noticed the permanent coffee ring stains on the table, making me wonder just how often he'd frequent this diner -- he seemed pretty determined to sit in this booth, and as a creature of habit myself, maybe he wasn't too subject to change, either, "I'm a child at heart."

Nothing has ever been more true and more false at the same time; I've been told by some -- Brendon -- that I retain a childlike essence to myself, but all the same, I had just about no childhood. I feel, as a result, I'd grown up too fast. Too fast in all the possible wrong, twisted directions I could have gone, but too fast nonetheless, "I don't doubt that," was all Frank muttered, though, staring out the window.

I looked out, too, but all I saw were three people wrapping their coats tighter around themselves, and a sleek black Bel Air rolling by on the road, "Nice car," I commented quietly.

Frank only grunted, still without taking his eyes off the car. I figured he must be a car person to have his eyes glued to it like that -- though his hat was still pulled so far over his eyes, if it weren't for the grunt I'd've thought him asleep, "So..." I began slowly, "Mind if I ask you a question?"

"If I say no are you gonna ask anyway?"

"Any other person, I would," I shrugged, staring down at the open menu in front of me, but not processing a single word I looked at, "Though, I feel like I know how you... feel, I guess, so if you say no I won't ask it."

"Just say it."

Okay, then... " Uh, why do you... why is there a bunch of, uh... y'know... weapons... in your apartment?"

He was quick and smooth with his reply, "I sell 'em. Never use 'em."

With the bruises he held, I guess you could assume I was right to be suspicious with his statement, "Good, I'm lookin' for new stuff."

"Can't."

"Thought you just said you sold 'em," yeah, now my mindset was settling into the idea of him lying through his pearly whites. Who says they sell weapons and then turns down an opportunity to do just that?

"Sold 'em all, already," all this time he'd been looking out the window, but he finally looked at me, now, "You gotta wait, sweetheart."

"Rude," I murmured sarcastically, "R-o-o-d," yes, I know that's far from the correct spelling so shut the hell up.

"That's not-"

"Shut up."

Frank made a face that said 'alrighty, then...' -- the wide eyes and gentle cock of his head and everything were included -- and went back to looking out the window at the passing Bel Air again.

That's twice now.

Maybe they're just lost.

Anyhoe, I'd just possibly offended Frank over here -- it was hard to tell -- and something was gnawin' angrily at something in my chest, trying to tell me that was wrong to offend the man. I humphed and began drumming my fingers on the table, just as the waitress lady -- Darcy, I reminded myself -- returned with more coffee and my, "Apple juice!"

Yes, I sounded like a three year old.

Did I care?

Fuck, no.

It was a really tall, glass, too. The condensation on the outside of the glass dripping down my fingers and onto the table, onto my lap as I downed half the glass in one swallow.

"Have you two figured out what you'd like to eat?" Darcy was so peppy. It was both adorable and irritating at the same time, and her cuteness was preventing me from being one-hundred-percent angry with her.

Plus it was kind of her job.

Nonetheless, I still felt slightly embarrassed that I had completely forgotten there was a menu even in front of me, so I slowly picked it up and started speed-reading through it, though nothing looked appetizing at the moment.

I'll just... "I think Imma have a chocolate chip muffin...?"

"Would you like a cup of coffee with that?" Darcy made a little bit of an apologetic face, "I'm required to ask, sorry."

I nodded, "Yeah, sure."

If all else fails, Frank will drink it.

I think, anyway.

If not, oh-freaking-well.

Darcy finished scribbling down my order on a little notepad and smiled over at Frank, now, "And for you, sir?"

He gave her a wry smile and waved his coffee mug around, "Jus' more coffee for me, ma'am."

Darcy grinned widely at him, showing off her perfect pearly whites, "I'll be right back with your guys' orders."

I couldn't help but stare as she flounced away again, couldn't help eyeing up her butt in that just-short-enough red uniform skirt. I let out a breathy sigh and straightened back out in my seat, ignoring the look I was getting from Frank, "Think I can get 'er number?"

"'f y'quit lookin' at her like that, maybe," he shrugged nonchalantly.

"She's too cute to swing my way, anyway," I huffed, sliding lower in my seat. I crossed my arms, "I never get any'a the cute girls."

I had the suspicion I was either weirding Frank out, or confusion the living daylights outta him.

If I was just weirding him out, it was quite fun. But I had the feeling I was confusing him so I elaborated. Vaguely, but elaboration nonetheless, "No preference."

"'s none'a my business," he was back looking out the window, narrowing his eyes at something.

I was about to follow suit, but Darcy had returned with a fresh pot of coffee and a mug, which she set on the table before filling it up for me, "Would you just like me to leave the pot here?"

"Yes, please," I chirped, my nose twitching at the alluring scent of coffee.

Yes, I know I don't drink coffee, but Frank at the moment is refilling his third mug already.

He drinks coffee.

Darcy had already disappeared again, probably to go grab my my chocolate chip muffin that I wasn't planning on eating, and I was now looking disdainfully at my coffee, "Frank y'wanna drink this?"

"'f y'didn't want it, why'd you ask for it?" he didn't sound mad or anything. He sounded more like he was wondering why a three year old tied their shoes together.

"Her sweetness is intoxicating," I pouted.

"At least try some, first," he nudged the mug towards me, "'f y'don't like it, I'll drink it."

I took a deep breath, cupping my hands around the white mug. It was searing hot and made me shudder, "Do I have to?"

"Yes," he looked like he was enjoying my struggles.

That jerk.

I ever-so-slowly lifted the mug up to my mouth and took a quick sip, and immediately after, I pulled away and almost dropped the coffee in my lap, "Ouch!"

I think I was right in my suspicions of Frank not having any nerves in his mouth. I just burned off the taste buds on the tip of my tongue, and if he's drinking this stuff as easily as he is... yeah. No nerves.

Or taste buds, because this stuff tastes like burned asphalt.

I was coughing, now, struggling to keep my shuddering in check as I set my mug back down on the table as quickly and as smoothly as possible, "Jer-k-k." I stuttered out.

He was snickering! Well, more shaking with not-so-stifled-laughter as he reached for my unwanted coffee, "See, that wasn't so bad."

"For you, may-be..." I scowled at him, trying to clear the tickle in the back of my throat. I ended up sounding like an irritated pterodactyl-lizard-zombie... thing, though, which made me giggle, "I almost fuckin' died."

His chuckling got worse after that, "Sounds more like a you-problem."

Asbestos mouth... I thought angrily.

I swallowed my retort for a moment when Darcy returned with my chocolate chip muffin, setting it in front of me, "Here you are! Fresh outta the oven, too. Enjoy!" she started back behind the counter, "If there's anything y'need, don't hesitate to call!"

I smiled widely at her and waved a little as she left, "Thank you!"

As soon as she was out of sight I returned my attention back to Frank, the smile wiped from my lips, my expression back into all seriousness, "Well it kind of would be your problem because I'd've died on your watch and you'd... well, you'd honestly get away with it," my seriousness deflated and I probably sounded a bit sad, "No one would notice me missing. But adding onto that, you'd'a put in all that work making sure I didn't bleed to death in a dumpster only to have my actual cause of death be death-by-coffee."

He offered up a half shrug, prying his gaze from the window long enough to look at me, though there was... something in his eye, "Yeah, wouldn't wanna waste all that effort it took to pin you down and dig the bullets out. You as hard to hold onto as a worm."

"What's wrong." it wasn't a question.

"We need to leave. Now," as he said that he was sliding to the outside of the bench seat, standing up, "How's the leg?"

"I wanna chop the damn thing off," I was also standing up, sighing contently when my bare feet hitting the cracked linoleum, "Otherwise I s'pose I can hobble and-or hop quick enough."

He set a small stack of nicely folded bills on the table and gently took hold of my elbow, helping me along at the same time as tugging gently, "Wait!" I lurched back, slipping my arm from his grasp to head backwards a bit.

He waited, giving me that look again and I came back to him, looping my arm through his while holding up my other hand, "Muffin."

He sighed heavily and continued headed towards a severely back door of the building, pulling a little harder on my arm once in awhile, though his grip never tightened on me. I do think, though, that I was holding up quite nicely for someone with one leg, compared to him, who had two.

So now I was in a back alleyway kinda place with a handsome, dark, mysterious stranger, though I felt like he wasn't the danger.

And I only thought that because of his hospitality towards me.

And, also, because when I glanced back to the dimly-lit street, I saw that sleek black Bel Air parked on the side of the road.

I sighed heavily and adjusted myself to keep better pace with Frank.

I didn't even get Darcy's number, dammit.

Xx

'tis about.... like, legit 6 now

'tis dark out